Glossary

(To find a series of fan-made maps, check out Fanworks; they have a section at the bottom!)

This is a glossary for all the people and places up to Volume 5. It contains spoilers about everything that has occurred to this point. You have been warned.

A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
X
Y
Z

 

A

Acid Flies – Small flying black insects with green abdomens that are filled with flesh-eating acid. They explode when swatted. Also apparently very tasty if you like insects.

Adventurer – The ubiquitous monster-slaying, dungeon-delving, ale-drinking heroes who fulfill requests for gold. They’ll kill your monsters, clean out lairs, but they won’t iron your sheets. They come in Bronze-rank, Silver-rank, and Gold-rank classifications. There are also Named Adventurers, who are famous throughout the world.

Adventurer’s Guild – An organization that oversees adventurers. Adventurer’s Guilds are standard across the world but each one varies in terms of competency, size, and so forth. This is the place where adventurers hang out and collect their rewards. Adventurer’s Guilds provide a number of services, not least of which is classifying adventurers into rankings so people can judge them harshly.

Agnes – A Human [Innkeeper] who runs the Frenzied Hare in Celum. Used to be friends with Erin until a nasty incident involving her [Barmaids] drove them apart. Her husband is sick and can’t work, which means Agnes has to run the inn with her hired help. She sucks at cooking.

Aiko Nonomura – A Japanese girl from the other world! She was part of Gravetender’s Fist along with a number of otherworlders, but subsequently joined the Red Cross Company. She is not much of a warrior, but is able to draw quite well since she aspired to be an artist back in her world. Artist, not mangaka. Although she draws manga quite well too. She’s multi-talented!

American Group – A term used to refer to the summoned Humans in the Blighted Kingdom. Comprised solely of young men and women from America, this group was the most numerous gathering of people from Earth until they were slaughtered in their first foray against the Demons.

Initially regarded as a colossal waste of resources, they were shuffled off the front lines to a village on the outskirts of the Blighted Kingdom. However, when it became apparent that the summoned Humans could level extraordinarily quickly they were recalled to the capital for a second chance. Following Tom’s successful defense of the castle, their fortunes have risen although their fate has yet to be decided…

Amerys – A Human Archmage of Wistram and one of the King of Destruction’s Seven. Amerys, known ironically as the Calm Flower of the Battlefield is a lightning mage capable of shooting lightning, flying, and generally doing all the other things you wouldn’t want an enemy [Mage] doing. She is loyal to her King, but currently still residing in Wistram for reasons unknown. She also had an odd buddy-buddy relationship with Mars, who is the only person who can survive being zapped by Amerys. She shoots lightning when drunk.

Anand – One of the Individual Workers of the Free Antinium. Anand was once a simple Worker until he met Erin and was introduced to the joys of chess. Now he is a capable and adaptive [Tactician] that works to defend his Hive. His strategies are often free-form and aggressive, which puts him ahead of his fellow [Tactician], Belgrade. Anand enjoys playing chess, eating, playing chess, and occasionally staring at the night sky and contemplating the meaning of his short life.

Angler Ghouls – Seriously bad news. You see a glowing swimming dead body coming at you a thousand feet under the sea? You’re in the wrong neighborhood.

Anith – A Jackal Beastkin and the leader of the Silver-rank team Vuliel Drae. He’s a fairly low-level [Mage] with some decent combat spells but is well aware that he and his team are barely better than Bronze-rank fodder. Despite that, his team has had some amazing success over the last few days and Anith hopes it will continue. He’s an optimist.

Antinium – The Black Tide. The invaders from Rhir. These strange ant-people invaded Izril years ago and fought in two bloody wars known as the First and Second Antinium Wars. They live in Hives underground and mainly come in two varieties, Workers and Soldiers. More specialized versions are known to exist, but they vary from Hive to Hive. Each Hive has its Queen and own personality, but the Antinium are united in one goal: to return home.

Ashfire Bees – Big, flying bees as large as your hands or larger if you have small hands. They have massive stingers, are practically immune to fire, and will kill you in an instant if you approach their Hive. They can even kill things immune to their stingers by lifting them up and dropping them. And their honey is delicious. Oh, so delicious.

Assassin’s Guild – An organization similar to the Adventurer’s Guild, the Assassin’s Guilds across the world are more shadowy and less common. There is an active guild in the northern region of Izril, but their contracts are usually expensive and reserved only for those with the coin and influence to contact the guild.

The members of an Assassin’s Guild are dangerous killers, but even they have targets they hesitate to go after. Magnolia Reinhart used to be a preferred client and one of the few individuals that they refused to take bounties on, but much has changed…

Az’kerash – The Necromancer of Izril. The famed ‘Slayer of Kerash’ as his name implies, the Necromancer haunted Terandria for over a hundred years before invading Izril. He was supposedly slain during the Second Antinium Wars, but he survived his death and is gathering his forces in a hidden castle to the west of the Blood Fields in southern Liscor. He has an army of powerful undead and five—no, four powerful unique undead, his Chosen.

The Necromancer is cunning, powerful, and will do whatever it takes to achieve his goals. He also has an apprentice in the form of the Goblin Lord, who he has taught necromancy and gives orders to. Az’kerash is a foe feared by his enemies, or rather, his enemies who know he’s alive. He’s also kind of a jerk.

 

B

Badarrow – One of the Redfang Goblins, Badarrow recently became a Hobgoblin after fighting in Esthelm and surviving the battle there. He is an expert [Archer] and extremely picky about the quality of his arrows. Taciturn and grumpy, Badarrow is nevertheless one of the leaders of his group although he often lets Headscratcher take charge. He dreams about obtaining an enchanted quiver of arrows someday. He really likes arrows.

Bagrhavens – It is said that some monsters were born of other species that engaged in dark, profane acts. These monsters sprung from the first of their kind, those who had broken all laws and depraved themselves to the point where they were no longer people. Bagrhavens are one such foe, and take the form of half-woman half-crow creatures that hunt in the night. Hideously fast and agile, they can leap on their foes and tear them to bits. They nest in the darkness.

Baleros – One of the five continents of this world, Baleros is known for its jungles, its insects, and the mercenary companies which fight in countless conflicts across the continent. There are few standing armies—rather, each ‘company’ is a small power unto itself and fights for the highest bidder or forms alliances to control land and resources. In Baleros, the Four Great Companies are considered to be the largest powers and each controls enough land and resources to be considered a nation unto themselves.

Baleros is rich with resources, blood-soaked with the small wars constantly being fought and yet for all the small conflicts it contains, it has suffered far fewer continental wars or terrible disasters compared to the other four continents over the centuries.

Banshees – Screaming ghostly ladies. They scream, you die. It’s a very simple concept.

Basilisks – Staring lizards. Basilisks can petrify their enemies with their glares, but the petrification can be resisted or reversed if it is not completed. They are dangerous if met when unprepared. Basilisk meat is also very succulent.

Batman – The Dark Knight. Also, what Ryoka used to call herself when she was a kid. She would hang upside down on balconies and scare her parents in the middle of the night.

Bea – One of the Chosen of Az’kerash. Bea is an undead woman, and can be mistaken for a zombie as her body is rotten and plague-stricken. However, while a zombie will continue to decompose, Bea’s body was made this way by design. A single touch from any part of her body is enough to convey numerous deadly poisons and infectious diseases which a conventional healing potion cannot cure.

Bea was closely attached to Oom, the only one of the Chosen who was similarly untouchable, until his death. Now she is alone and only her master can touch her without danger.

Beastkin – A type of species found mostly on Baleros and Chandrar, Beastkin does not refer to one specific people but a set of tribes known collectively as Beastkin. Each tribe takes traits from a specific animal, such as Cat Beastkin or Rabbit Beastkin. Scattered and relatively sparse, the Beastkin are a rare species but generally acclimate to any lands they find themselves in. They also tend to have interesting relationships with animals given their heritage. A Rabbit Beastkin is wary of cats for instance, and will generally save innocent bunnies by beating up any predators on the prowl.

Beatrice – A Dullahan [Runeshaper] and former friend of Pisces and Ceria. Beatrice was an older student in Wistram Academy when the two [Mages] first joined the academy. She was romantically involved with Calvaron, a Centaur, and their love would have been considered highly unacceptable if either one returned to Baleros. Beatrice grew distant from Pisces upon learning of his affinity for [Necromancy] and she cut all ties with both him and Ceria when his disastrous unleashing of undead led to Calvaron’s death.

Bekia – A Gnoll [Maid] in service to Magnolia Reinhart. Perhaps one might think it is silly to have a Gnoll as a housekeeper given their penchant to shed fur and the rarity of Gnolls in the service workforce. However, Gnoll [Maids] are excellent at sniffing out rot, pests, and intruders. She also cooks meat dishes wonderfully. And she does shed, but Humans smell so no one’s perfect.

Belgrade – One of the two Antinium [Tacticians] in Liscor’s Hive. Belgrade is a careful chess-player and [Strategist] and fond of static defensive maneuvers. That usually puts him at a disadvantage with Anand, his fellow [Tactician] and Belgrade often compares himself negatively to Anand. However, he has recently learned several skills which allows him to create traps and fortifications, making his defensive abilities that much stronger. Belgrade loves pondering over games of chess and is one of Erin’s most avid students as he will listen to her lectures on chess games for hours where no one else will.

Beniar – Formerly the Silver-rank team leader of the Windfrozen Riders, Beniar is now a [Captain] and a [Cataphract] serving in the Unseen Empire. Initially brash and dismissive of Laken Godart, he has found a worthy leader in the [Emperor] and leads the small unit of cavalry in Laken’s army against his foes. He is something of a hothead and still has an inflated sense of his own worth, but he truly believes in Laken’s abilities and has found a home to defend and fight for. That is worth far more than any adventurer’s gold to him.

Bethal Walchaís – A high-level [Lady] and personal friend of Magnolia Reinhart, Lady Bethal is far, far more impulsive and hotheaded than Beniar could ever be. Prone to flights of passion, she leads her personal order known as the Knights of the Petal or Rose Knights against monsters or enemies of the land. Bethal is besmitten with her husband, Sir Thomast, and is the last of her line, her family having perished fighting during the Second Antinium Wars.

Headstrong, passionate, and a little bit insane, Lady Bethal has more admirers than enemies and her influence is great. She is also an excellent dancer both on the ballroom and in less formal settings.

Bird – One of the Individual Workers of the Free Antinium. Bird is a [Hunter], a predator of all things flying. He likes bows. He likes birds. He likes shooting birds, which may be contradictory to some, but makes sense to Bird. He is currently acting as a guard for Erin’s inn and enjoys sitting in the watch tower on top of the inn and shooting birds. He is very happy in life as Erin will occasionally come up to feed him hot food or give him a drink. Bird would be happy just to be able to shoot birds. He likes birds.

BlackMage – A [Mage] and [Engineer], BlackMage is a Human from Earth who is currently residing in Wistram. He initiated a group chat with a large group of people who owned iPhones with a fusion of magic and technology. However, his attempts to connect with other Humans from his world have been stymied by other parties hunting for people from his world and the dangers posed therein. He has agreed to make Wistram a rallying point for Humans from his world and is attempting to make that goal a reality. He is fan of 8-Bit Theater, the web comic, hence his username.

Blighted Kingdom – The sole Human kingdom on Rhir. The Blighted Kingdom, ruled by the Blighted King, is a nation constantly at war with the so-called ‘Demons’ of Rhir. Currently, the Blighted Kingdom is protected by four massive walls that prevent the incursion of monsters and enemies armies. A fifth wall is in construction and has been for over a decade, but the battles with the Demon King’s armies have seen a stalemate across the continent.

Blighted Queen – One of the rulers of the Blighted Kingdom, the Blighted Queen is a former [Warrior] who became the third wife of the Blighted King. Though she is a [Queen], her abilities as a ruler are practically non-existent and it is thought that if the Blighted King should die, his mantle will be taken up by one of his surviving daughters. The Blighted Queen is a powerful combatant and uses a mace with deadly effect.

Blood Fields – A strange area of land to the south of Liscor. The Blood Fields have traditionally been a place for Drake and Human armies to do battle rather than commit to an all-out war. As such, the constant bloodshed has given rise to a unique flora which is crimson like the blood that is spilled upon the ground. In winter, the Blood Fields are mostly passive, but their true nature emerges in the spring or when many bodies pass through the area…

Bog Wraiths – There exist many types of wraiths in the world. Some live in bogs.

Bone Giants – Big skeletons. Big skeletons. Used as siege weapons by the Necromancer during the Second Antinium War. Ironically, they’re not nearly as heavy as regular giants since they’re bone, so they pose a weaker threat. However they were used to great effect when backed up by a Necromancer that could keep repairing them and armed with mounted ballistae.

Bone Horrors – An advanced form of undead. Bone Horrors have no set shape, and are created out of whatever bones are available to form horrific, if sometimes clumsy, nightmares. They are extremely difficult to kill but lack the special abilities of most other undead. Pisces has created his own unique variants of these undead which are superior in combat ability and look scarier too.

Brunkr – A Gnoll [Warrior] with dreams of becoming a [Knight], Brunkr was sent to Liscor to assist and guard his aunt. He was one of the best warriors of the Silverfang Tribe and was killed by Venitra in Liscor. He briefly taught Lyonette the basics of swordsmanship and had developed the beginnings of a relationship with the princess and Mrsha when he was murdered.

Bugear – One of the Redfang Warriors, Bugear was known for the persistent infections of mites and other crawling insects in his ears. He was noted as both despising and tolerating the insects because while they stung and burrowed into his ears they were a portable food source as well. He perished outside of Liscor fighting Eater Goats with neither insects in his ears or fear in his heart.

Byres – A noble house in Izril, the offspring of the Byres house are often [Merchants] or [Warriors] despite their aristocratic lineage. They are considered a minor power and their wealth rises and falls with the demand for silver, which they export and temper their weapons with. The Byres family used to be known for their crusades against monsters, most notably the vampire threat that used to plague Izril and the world. With the destruction of vampires, their wealth and standing has been reduced, but they are still considered an honorable family with a proud ancestry.

 

C

Calac Crusand – The son of Venith and Maresar Crusand, Calac was born after the King of Destruction entered his slumber. He has a mixed view of his father’s king due to this, but is determined to prove himself to his father. Taught to be honorable by his father and ruthlessly efficient by his mother, Calac is a young, passionate man who could use less parental influence and an opportunity to be his own person. He’s a decent warrior but as in all things falls short when compared to either of his parents.

Calanfer – One of the numerous Terandrian kingdoms of royalty, Calanfer is ruled by House Marquin, to which Lyonette is heir, if distantly. The kingdom of Calanfer does not lack for [Princesses] and [Princes], but is not notably powerful militarily or economically. Their main capital are their royal heirs who can make political marriages and thus safeguard the kingdom through diplomacy.

Calectus – A high-level Selphid [Honor Guard], Calectus was assigned to protect Geneva Scala from harm. He is a very formidable fighter and a trusted voice in the Selphid community, which often asks difficult missions of him. Calectus admires Geneva’s work and ethos, but finds her personal morality often at odds with his mission of keeping her safe.

Calruz – A Minotaur [Fighter] and the former leader of the Horns of Hammerad. Calruz was or is a hotheaded, impulsive and occasionally arrogant Minotaur, but one that cared deeply for his team’s welfare and did not hesitate to lead them into battle. He was interested in Ryoka romantically, taught Erin the Skill [Minotaur Punch], and was presumed dead in the disastrous expedition into Liscor’s crypt. It was assumed by all that he had died when confronting Skinner, but it is now speculated that he is alive in Liscor’s dungeon. Whether he is alive or not, his body has yet to be found. 🐁

Calvaron – A Centaur [Mage] and Wistram student, Calvaron was a known broker of secrets, the unofficial currency of the academy. He made friends with Ceria and Pisces during their first year and helped both students in various ways during their time at the academy. He was romantically involved with Beatrice, but was slain when the undead Pisces unleashed in Wistram’s crypts attacked the academy.

Cameral – A Dullahan [Strategist] and one of Niers’ advanced students, Cameral is a solid and competent tactician and has learned from Niers for over four years now. Though he lacks noticeable weaknesses he often lacks the raw creativity that Niers seeks to instill in his students. His greatest achievement in life was beating the Titan in a game of Go, a feat which has earned him the respect and envy of his fellow students.

Camouflaged Scorpions – Don’t step on them. But then, since you can’t see them how would you know they’re there? A mystery for the ages. Until they sting you and you die.

Carn Wolves – A species of wolf native to the area around the High Passes in Izril, Carn Wolves are three times larger than normal wolves and are highly dangerous. They have rust-red pelts and hunt in packs. Some Goblin tribes have learned to domesticate and ride these wolves, and the Carn Wolves occupy a high niche in most ecological food webs. Though they are dangerous in the open, they are easy targets for [Archers] and spellcasters at higher elevations and thus not considered a Gold-rank threat.

Cecille Reinhart – One of the [Ladies] of the Reinhart family, Cecille is an arrogant, haughty noblewoman convinced of her own importance due to the status of her birth. She dislikes Magnolia intensely, but lets her manage the Reinhart family affairs as Cecille has no patience for such matters herself. She enjoys lavish affairs, mistreats her servants, and greatly resents the spending limit Magnolia has imposed on her family.

Celestial Trackers – A former Silver-rank teams contracted by Laken Godart to protect him and the village of Riverfarm. The Celestial Trackers were formerly led by Odveig until it was revealed she was a spy for Magnolia Reinhart. Now the remnants of their group have become part of the Unseen Empire’s standing army. The Celestial Trackers were a group of [Hunters] and [Scouts] who specialized in tracking down monsters and prey and fighting them in their habitats.

Celum – A small Human city close to Liscor, Celum is considered a developing city that has yet to develop as much as the northern Human cities on Izril. Despite that it is fairly prosperous and has recently been connected to Liscor by means of a magical doorway in Erin Solstice’s inn. Additionally, the city has undergone something of a renaissance as a troupe of [Actors] has begun performing nightly in the city, attracting tourists and coin from other nearby cities.

Centaurs – A species indigenous to Baleros, Centaurs are prideful and dislike any affront to their dignity, much like Minotaurs. Unlike Minotaurs however, Centaurs are less focused on honor and their warriors often mount rapid sneak attacks, employing the trademark speed and marksmanship of their kind. They deeply resent being compared to horses, which they regard as incomplete rejects to their perfected forms, but they like sugar lumps, carrots, and having their backs scratched.

Ceria Springwalker – A half-Elf [Cryomancer] and the leader of the Horns of Hammerad, Ceria Springwalker was once a student of Wistram until she was expelled from the academy due to her association with Pisces. However, she was still named a mage of Wistram and bears the title proudly, if sometimes with regret. Her right hand is nothing but bone as she sacrificed her hand to save some of her friends during the expedition into Liscor’s crypt. Having lost her original team, Ceria is determined to keep her new team safe—and to rescue her friend and former captain Calruz if at all possible.

Chandrar – One of the five continents, Chandrar is a hot arid desert with an abundance of sand and a deficit of nice, cuddly things. The nations that rule this land are less prosperous than the rest of the world but make up for their difficult home with unwavering spirit. Chandrarian law is simple and direct. Offenders and war enemies are either slaughtered or made into slaves. Where other nations export goods or culture or resources, Chandrar exports people.

Charles de Trevalier – A rich and arrogant young man and a student of Wistram, Charles de Trevalier is well-connected due to his family’s wealth and influence. He has his own circle of allies and is an enemy of all non-Humans. He hates both Ceria and Pisces and has conspired against them numerous times, going as far as to throw a spellbook meant for Ceria into the sea. He lusts after female non-Humans, but does not consider them in any way equal to Humans, an attitude that has earned him many enemies and some friends in the academy.

Chole – An otherworlder summoned by the Blighted Kingdom. Chloe is a [Nurse] due to her studying to become a medical practitioner in college before she was taken. However, her knowledge of medicine is extremely limited and she is mostly only able to apply healing potions to her injured friends.

Chosen – A group of unique undead created by Az’kerash to serve him in all things. The Chosen are highly intelligent and capable of autonomous thought. Each one is a powerful creation designed to fulfill some role. They currently number four: Bea, Venitra, Ijvani, and Kerash. Their fifth member, Oom, was slain by Zel Shivertail and the group is led by Kerash who was appointed by Az’kerash to succeed Venitra after her failures at Liscor.

Circle of Thorns – A group set against Magnolia Reinhart. They have sent [Assassins] against her, employed the Assassin’s Guild to strike at Magnolia and her allies. But who they are and what they want is a mystery. They’re probably not nice people. Just a guess.

Cirille Bitterclaw – An Oldblood Drake [Commander] stationed in Rhir. Cirille is a decent commander whose unit is stationed in the city’s capital. She rarely sees action as her soldiers are used to keep order, patrol, and escort dignitaries around the city. However, she firmly believes that stronger support of the Blighted Kingdom is needed as she has seen the danger the Demons pose. Like many Drakes sent abroad, Cirille has a more open mind to cooperation with other races, a position that is contrary to the opinions of most Drakes living in Izril.

Cognita – A Truestone Golem and the leader of the Golems of Wistram, Cognita was created by Archmage Zelkyr to defend and manage the academy from all threats. Including that of mages. Cognita restricts access to the higher floors with three guardian Golems, forcing mages to challenge her to ascend. No mage has ever survived their challenge.

Cognita is seem as indispensable around Wistram but she is not liked. Her feelings on her continued service to Wistram is unknown. Cognita is intelligent and resembles a huge, perfectly sculpted woman. She can punch through stone walls with ease.

Corusdeer – A magical deer that thrives in snowy climates, Corusdeer are able to ignite their horns until they are hot enough to vaporize bone. These deer are hunted due to the alchemical properties of their horns, but pose a very great danger in herds. They are considered even more dangerous in the summer months, when their horns can start huge wildfires during dry seasons.

Crawlers – Known as Armored Crawlers, these things resemble the upper torso of a Human, minus the head and blow up to gigantic sizes. They have dark green hides that have been fused together with metallic bodies. Crawlers are mindlessly aggressive and thought to be the failed creation of a mage that spread centuries ago. It is unknown how or if they reproduce and no one wants to find out.

Crelers – Possibly the most disgusting and dangerous thing you will ever see. Crelers are considered a worldwide threat and their nests are destroyed whenever possible. They go through many stages of evolution, first hatching from eggs that can survive for years or decades in any number of hostile environments.

‘Baby’ Crelers have two forms, a gelatinous form where their internal organs are kept on the outside of their body and thus vulnerable and an attack form where they turn themselves inside out and become whirling masses of pinchers, legs, teeth, and so on.

Crelers past that stage become progressively harder to kill, and junior Crelers are already considered a challenge for even a Silver-rank team. Adults are considered a Gold-rank threat at least, and Crelers that have lived for over a decade are threats that may prompt the evacuation of entire towns and cities. And they never stop growing…

Crypt Lords – A type of undead formed out of an amalgamation of rotting corpses. Crypt Lords are huge, hulking monstrosities that have black ‘blood’ in their bodies, a highly poisonous substance they are capable of spitting at will. They are intelligent to a certain extent and can lead other undead. However, an individual Crypt Lord is only ranked as a Silver-rank threat. They are strong and tough, but alone they are manageable. It’s when they form undead hordes with hundreds or thousands of zombies that they become truly dangerous.

Curulac – A former Goblin King, Curulac of a Hundred Days terrorized the continent of Terandria for a hundred and two days in actuality. He destroyed countless kingdoms and ended many royal lineages himself, slaughtering Humans by the thousands. Terandria still reviles his name and hunts down Goblins actively in case one of his kind should ever appear again.

Cynthia – A Human from Earth, Cynthia was one of the Humans summoned to the Blighted Kingdom. She still believes that help will one day arrive for her and clings to the belief that the US Government is looking for her and actively researching a way to bring her back from this world. She has a deep fear of clowns due to Tom’s insanity but was actually the person to help him make his costume when they first entered this world. Cynthia is afraid, homesick, and desperate to be free of this terrible world where death and horrors are all too common…

 

D

Daly – A young man from Australia, Daly appeared in Baleros with a group of international students that had been travelling through an airport. He is a [Rogue] and [Axe Warrior] who served in Gravetender’s Fist until joining the United Nations Company. He is a strong warrior and fights in the combat division of his company. Daly has adapted quickly to this new world, and he and his friends from Australia are ranked on par with experienced mercenaries from other companies.

Dasha – A half-Dwarf adventurer, Dasha is a Silver-rank [Axe Fighter] and part of Vuliel Drae. Though she has never visited the home of the Dwarfs in Terandria she has adopted the culture of what she perceives to be her people. Intolerant about any remarks about her height, she enjoys hitting things, drinking, and staring at butterflies.

Dawil Ironbreaker – A Gold-rank adventurer, Dawil is a Dwarven [Warrior] and a member of the Silver Swords. He is a powerful fighter and exceptionally strong and tough, often wading into combat and trusting to his full-body armor to keep him safe. Though often plays up his Dwarven heritage, Dawil has never picked up a hammer except to bash monsters over the heads and actually enjoyed refined culture, like wine, viewing paintings, and pulling pranks on arrogant half-Elves.

Death Wailers – Evil fungi that scream like mandrakes when animals or people wander near. Unlike mandrakes, death wailers have no magical ability and simply scream with such volume that they will rupture the eardrums of those affected and cause internal damage. They grow on the corpses of the fallen, and as such can spread very quickly by destroying the local wildlife.

Demons – A term broadly applied to the non-Human mutants living on Rhir. Demons are beings affected by Rhir’s persistent corruption and manifest a variety of features from horns to extra eyes and so on. The Demon have their own kingdom that is at war with the Blighted Kingdom, although little is known about their culture or hierarchy. The Demon empire is commanded by the Demon King, and while they are capable of leveling and a great deal of military intelligence, they are not formally recognized as a people by most nations in the world.

Dragons – Ostensibly flying lizards with magic. Dragons are mighty creatures that are more myth than reality in the world’s eyes. Capable of flight and boasting incredibly tough bodies, the most ancient of Dragons can even cast magic despite their race being incapable of leveling and obtaining classes. Dragons are prideful, greedy, and mostly extinct…

Drakes – The descendants of Dragons. Drakes are a bipedal species quite similar to Lizardfolk, although they deeply resent the comparisons. Their species has many qualities of Dragons including their arrogance, avarice, and prickly personalities. Drakes live in the southern half of Izril in city-states with high walls. They often war amongst each other and only ever unite when their species as a whole is threatened.

There exist unique throwback examples of Drakes with special abilities, known as Oldblood Drakes, but the majority of the species lacks the qualities of their distant ancestors. Another grave insult for Drakes is to call them ‘Humans with tails and scales’, which will inevitably provoke a fight.

Drassi – A very talkative Drake who works as a [Barmaid] in Erin’s inn. Drassi chatters like other people breathe, but she is responsible and hardworking…even if she won’t shut up. She knows Erin through Selys and decided to work in Erin’s inn because she thought it would provide her with an unparalleled amount of gossip. She has yet to be proven wrong.

Drath Archipelago – A fractured series of islands near the edge of the world. The Drath people are an exotic group of foreigners with odd ways that are rarely seen. They live in their small islands, keeping to themselves, occasionally clashing with the Minotaurs or other sea travelers. The Drath people have learned to fear the edge of the world beyond which the earth and ocean ends. Not just because the world ends. The Drath fear what might come from beyond the edge of the world and hunt among the lands of the living.

Draugr – A type of powerful undead not commonly seen in the world, Draugr are exceptionally strong and tough, standing out from their lesser zombie kin. They can run and often appear where the undead are plentiful. They are ranked as a Gold-rank threat due to the danger of a Silver-rank team handling them, but the average Gold-rank adventurer is generally able to deal with most Draug one-on-one.

Dresh Horses – The reason why you look horses in the mouth. If you see something looking back…run.

Drevish – Known as the Architect, Drevish was a Human man once famed for being one of the King of Destruction’s Seven. A genius [Architect] capable of building incredible structures ranging from walls to citadels to entire settlements, Drevish was the oldest of the Seven. Irascible, cranky, and dismissive of military matters, Drevish lived to create wonders where none existed. His severed head was sent to Flos shortly after he awoke from his slumber as a declaration of war from the Emperor of Sands.

Dropclaw Bats – A predatory type of bat that enjoys living in caves and dropping on their prey. They have very sharp and large claws that allow them a single, deadly strike.

Drowned People  – Often referred to as Drowned Men, Drowned Women, Drowned Gnolls, and so on, the Drowned People of the sea are not technically a species as they are in fact other species altered by contact with aquatic monsters. A Drowned Man might start life out as a normal Human man until he accidentally or intentionally bonds with a sea creature, such as a squid. Thereafter his body will change to take on the qualities of the monster or animal, allowing most Drowned People to breathe underwater and live far more ably in the sea.

Drowned People rarely live lives on land due to the difficulty of such an existence and the alienation they feel, but rare exceptions do forsake the sea, though it will call them to the end of their days.

Dryads – Leafy trees that occasionally get up and walk about. Dryads are trees with extraordinarily high magical ability that have gained sentience. They are feared by [Woodcutters] because sometimes when cutting a tree, the tree will hit back.

Dullahans – A race of armored beings native to Baleros. Dullahans may look like normal people in many respects, but their bodies are unique in that their ‘skin’ is in fact the armor they wear, and their heads are detachable from their torsos. Dullahans are bound by a complex hierarchy and judge each other by the quality of their armor and other social values. They can upgrade their bodies from simple wooden armor to become massive behemoths clad entirely in steel.

Durene – A half-Troll [Paladin] and the lover of Laken Godart. Durene was originally a [Farmer] ostracized by the rest of her village until she encountered Laken wandering in a forest outside her cottage. The two quickly became a couple and Durene was the first person to join the Unseen Empire. Originally timid and indecisive, Durene’s confidence has grown with her prowess in battle. Now she is willing to fight to defend her home and the [Emperor] she loves.

Dwarfhalls Rest – A mountain to the northeast of Invrisil. Dwarfhalls Rest used to be a Dwarven settlement in millennia past, but it was long abandoned and has been claimed by Goblins in the past few decades. It is a defensible stronghold and has many tunnels that allow defenders to ambush would-be attackers.

Dwarves – Short people that live on Terandria. They have journeyed and settled on other continents, but they mainly keep to one continent.

 

E

Eater Goats   Hungry, hungry goats capable of eating almost anything. Also willing to eat almost anything. Eater Goats are considered a Gold-rank threat because these packs of goats hunt in relentless packs. Difficult to kill because of their incredible tenacity, Eater Goats will bite even if only their decapitated head remains. Their jaws can tear through steel and they are smart enough to even bypass tall walls with their incredible agility. Perhaps not deadly to most adventurers individually, Eater Goats instill fear in other monsters as they swarm over anything they consider food, which sometimes includes each other.

Eater of Spears – One of the Goblin Lord’s lieutenants. Eater of Spears is a towering, muscular Hob who earned his name from his practically impervious body. He can survive a lance to the chest from a charging [Knight] though he was unable to stop Zel Shivertail during battle. Eater of Spears is silent, strong, and can talk though he usually chooses not to.

Edward – Edward or ‘Eddy’ is an otherworld Human summoned to the Blighted Kingdom. Hailing from America, he is the most knowledgeable member of the American Group on all kinds of games, whether it be board games or video games. He is a self-styled gamer and aims to be a [Spellsword], assuming the class exists. For now he is a Level 5 [Warrior] and a Level 7 [Mage] due to his fear of actually participating in combat.

Elia Arcsinger – A Named Adventurer, this half-Elf [Archer] is renowned across the world for a single feat: slaying Velan the Kind. Her arrow was the one that pierced the Goblin King’s skull and made her world-famous. She has a unique Skill known as the [Line-Ender Shot], which is feared for its incredible power. Elia generally resides on Terandria where she is constantly hailed as a hero, but she occasionally travels to combat the Goblin threat, which many see as her mandate in life…

Eliasor Melissar – A young [Lady] of twelve years of age, Eliasor’s mother, [Lady] Patricia Melissar was recently killed by an [Assassin] during a reception at her family’s estate. As her father is previously deceased, Eliasor now rules over the entire Melissar house, a daunting task made even more stressful given the fear of a second [Assassin] targeting her life. She is currently protected and assisted by a group of Magnolia’s servants, and is considered under the Reinhart family protection, although that is little reassurance to Eliasor as her mother was one of Magnolia Reinhart’s closest friends and allies.

Elves – A long-extinct race, Elves are no longer seen in this world and all traces of their existence have been erased save for their bloodlines which exist in the form of half-Elves. Though the Elven civilization is erased, their blood strikes true even diluted across countless generations. However, the half-Elf race is a far cry from what Elves were. The fair folk were rumored to be spellcasters beyond compare, warriors made peerless by hundreds of years of training, and close to immortal as any species has ever come. Why they disappeared is unknown, or forgotten, and there are perhaps only a few artifacts shaped by them left in this world. Whether such artifacts have been found or are hidden away in some ancient tomb is also a matter for speculation.

Embrim Thrus – Known as the Plague Locust, Embrim is a Human man and one of the three members of the Tripartite Law company of Baleros. He is exceptionally gifted at necromancy spells and spells that revolve around sickness and plague. Despite his aptitudes, he resists being called a [Necromancer] and instead styles himself as a formidable variant of the [Battle Mage] class. Since he does not in fact summon the undead, his opponents are hard pressed to argue the point. And opening their mouths when Embrim is raining poison from the skies is usually a bad idea anyways.

Emily – A high-level [Hydromancer] and one of the otherworld Humans summoned to the Blighted Kingdom, Emily is the second-highest leveled person in the American Group. She has passed Level 30 in the [Mage] class despite being in this world for only a few months and leads her group with Richard. She is considered an idol and leader because of her good looks and capability for taking charge, although she does not get along with Tom. As far as he’s concerned, the feeling is mutual.

Emperor of Sands – An [Emperor] of Chandrar, the Emperor of Sands rules the largest nation on the continent as of today. They first rose to power in the years after the King of Destruction entered his slumber. The Emperor of Sands is a Stitch Person, but has no one true gender or even personality. They change bodies like clothes, each one having its own strengths and weaknesses, desires and interests. But the core of the Emperor of Sands remains. They rule their empire and expand, through diplomacy and trade and war and conquest. They see the King of Destruction as their natural enemy, as only one ruler can claim Chandrar as their own.

Erille – The [Princess] Erille is the younger daughter of the Blighted King. She and her sister are the only surviving members of the royal family aside from the Blighted King and Queen—their siblings have perished due to assassination or in battle over the years. Erille is a shy girl whose only true friend was the [Fool]—until his betrayal and death. She was fascinated with Tom since he shared many attributes with the [Fool] and had begun to trust him after he saved her life. But then Tom killed the [Fool], a man who was more father to her than her father herself.

Erin Solstice – Possibly the heroine of the tale. Erin Solstice is an [Innkeeper], a master-class chess player and a fan of strategy board games from Earth. She first wandered in to this world on her way to the bathroom and has been stuck ever since. Sometimes silly, sometimes serious, Erin took the abandoned inn she found just outside of Liscor and turned it into a prosperous place of business. Until her skeleton blew it up. Now she resides in an even better inn closer to Liscor and has countless friends and a few enemies. Erin’s only goal is to keep her friends safe and her inn running, in the short term, and possibly find her way back home in the long term. She goes from day to day in her inn, cooking food, talking with guests, and changing the world.

Esthelm – A city just to the north of Liscor, Esthelm was a fairly average Human city until it was attacked by the Goblin Lord’s armies and much of its population slain. Devastated, Esthelm’s remaining populace turned to anarchy until the combination of the undead and Goblins forced them to band together or die. Lead by Ylawes of the Silver Swords, the city beat back the monsters and undead and reclaimed their pride. The city is now recovering and has survived the Goblin Lord’s passing. Determined not to fall once more, Esthelm is fiercely recovering. It still remembered a young woman who was part monster who fought to save them, and the strange Goblins who gave up their lives as well so Esthelm would survive.

 

F

Face-Eater Moths – A lot more dangerous than they sound, and they sound quite bad. They will eat your face off, no questions asked. Adventurers dread finding nests of them in caves or underground locations. Because, y’know, they’ll eat your face.

Falene Skystrall – A high-level half-Elf [Battlemage] and the sole female member of the Silver Swords. Falene Skystrall is a Wistram Graduate and quite adept at magic. She is something of a stereotype of the half-Elven race which is by design; Falene believes she should set an example and represent her species by acting as the wise mentor and the aloof voice of reason in most situations. She often argues with Dawil, who regards her acting as just that: an act. Though Falene knows several Tier 4 spells and even a Tier 5 spell, she is fond of rapid casting of low-Tier spells in quick succession, overwhelming her foes with sheer variety and firepower.

Fals – A Runner often seen in Celum and the cities nearby, Fals is the highest-level Human [Runner] in the area and a City Runner greatly respected among the local Runner’s Guilds. He is nowhere near the level of a Courier, but he is quite quick and able to defend himself or escape from monsters or brigands on the roads. He had a one-sided crush on Ryoka at one point and is the target of affection by quite a few other Runners, including Garia Strongarm.

Feor – The oldest living Archmage of Wistram, Feor is a half-Elven [Mage] of great renown among his people and…less renown elsewhere. Within Wistram he is a huge political force, often leading Wistram’s mages in making decisions with his considerable influence and power. He is a powerful mage although he has not in fact obtained the [Archmage] class—he represents the pinnacle of what mages in Wistram can achieve without entering the higher floors.

Feor is determined to increase his magical power, but not by risking his life in what he thinks of as a suicide attempt. Consequently his gaze has strayed out of Wistram to new and powerful magics across the world. He has heard of a legendary Antinium capable of casting unique spells at will and deeply desires to meet her, despite the inherent dangers of such an encounter.

First Landing – The capital of the Human cities in northern Izril, First Landing is so named because it was the first city built by the Five Families when they first invaded or as they would put it, ‘colonized’ Izril thousands of years ago. First Landing is a trading capital of the world, home to thousands of influential people and countless more plebeians. It’s defenses have been strengthened significantly after the Second Antinium Wars, to the point where it is considered on par with a Walled City. By Humans. Drakes just laugh at the comparison.

Fischer Cows – A rare breed of cow that produces magical milk. Fischer Cows are expensive and hard to raise due to the increased difficulties of feeding and housing such creatures. Nevertheless, a [Farmer] or [Herder] who manages to keep just one such cow producing milk will earn a huge profit selling his milk to [Alchemists], [Nobles], and [Chefs], all of whom desire the milk for their own purposes.

Five Families – Veltras, Reinhart, El, Terland, and Wellfar. These were the five original noble families that left the continent of Terandria to settle in Izril. The Five Families invaded the home of the Drakes and the Gnolls with powerful artifacts, laying siege to Walled Cities and destroying them in a lengthy war that divided the continent in two. The Humans took the northern half and the Drakes and Gnolls were forced into the southern.

The Five Families have waned in strength from their days of glory and many of their ancestral artifacts have been lost, but they are still famed throughout the Human lands as influential figures. Each family is led by a scion who commands their fortunes. The two best known scions are Tyrion Veltras and Magnolia Reinhart, both of whom are considered some of the most important Humans on the continent and perhaps the world.

Flesh Worms – See ‘Skinner’ for a unique variant of the species. Flesh Worms are huge, deadly worm-like creatures with two tendrils that they can use to literally grab the flesh off their victims. A mature Flesh Worm can easily rip the skin right off a Human and uses the dead skin to coat itself, forming a layer of protective ‘armor’. Flesh Worms are intelligent, strong, and tough, and are considered a foe worthy of a Gold-rank team.

Flooded Waters Tribe – A small tribe based around Liscor now led by Rags. The Flooded Waters Tribe used to be a weak group of Goblins led by a single Hob, barely surviving by preying on passing travelers and other monsters. Now they are a massive tribe formed of Goblins from countless other tribes.

Led by their extremely intelligent Chieftain, the Flooded Waters tribe is most notable for its large number of crossbows and stone crossbows and it’s Infantry, who wield twenty foot long pikes, capable of impaling their enemy at range. This tribe is notable in that it does not actively raid or destroy Human settlements, preferring instead to waylay caravans and travelers on the road and steal their goods while leaving the Humans (usually) alive.

Floodplains – An area around Liscor filled with many hills and valleys. The Floodplains are significant because of their name, and host to a number of dangerous creatures year-round, including but not limited to Hollowstone Deciever or ‘Rock Crabs’, Shield Spiders, Goblins, Corusdeer, and possibly Dragons.

Flos Reimarch – The King of Destruction. Flos Reimarch once conquered all of Chandrar and was poised to conquer the rest of the world when he suddenly abandoned his empire, letting it collapse into ruin. This marked the end of the era and was known as the King of Destruction’s slumber. For decades Flos has sat in his decaying shell of a kingdom, until he was spurred to reignite his dreams once more after learning of the existence of Earth and other worlds.

Passionate and imposing, Flos is the highest-leveled [King] in the world and beloved by his people. Countless years after his slumber he still has many powerful vassals at his command, scattered across the world though they might be. His return has sent fear into the hearts of other nations, and though his kingdom is diminished, it is considered a world-wide threat by some. The King of Destruction was attended by seven legendary vassals in the past, known simply as the Seven, but only three of his vassals have rejoined him now. One is absent, and three are dead.

Foliana – Known to most as Three-Color Stalker, Foliana is a Squirrel Beastkin and the nominal leader of the Forgotten Wing Company, one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros. She genenerally leaves most of the work up to Niers, though. Extremely deadly and nearly impossible to detect, Foliana gained a fearsome reputation from her habit of sneaking into enemy camps and slaying commanders and other high-level officers by herself. She is one of the highest-level [Rogues] in the world and enjoys muffins.

Fool – Known simply as the Fool, this [Fool] was a fixture in the Blighted King’s court in Rhir. An extremely high-level representative of his class, the Fool faithfully entertained the guests of the Blighted King for many years. However, when he discovered the cost of summoning the ‘heroes’ from Earth to Rhir—a cost the Blighted King paid in the unborn lives of his subjects—he rebelled, forming a secret pact with the Demons to abduct the princesses and invade the capital. He failed, in no small part due to the actions of Tom whom he had befriended only days earlier.

The Fool, generally regarded as a useful irritant, displayed the true abilities of his class in his last moments, catching and juggling lightning and making a mockery of the elite warriors of the Blighted King. He died as he had lived, laughing at the failures of Humanity.

Forgotten Wing Company – One of the Four Companies of Baleros. This company is made up of all species and is led by Foliana, known as Three-Color Stalker, and Niers, known as the Titan of Baleros. It surprises many to learn that Niers is in fact the second-in-command, while their leader is in fact the reclusive and very strange Foliana. However, the arrangement seems to have worked; the Forgotten Wing Company became one of the four greatest companies of Baleros from nothing. It is now feared for its devastating ability to strike at the worst moment for others thanks to its leader and strong assortment of experienced [Strategists] it employs.

Fortress Beavers – Extremely big beavers who can build literal fortresses out of wood. They can block rivers, cut off entire roads…look, the name really says it all.

Fraerlings – The small folk of Baleros. And they are very small. Usually not more than a foot high, Fraerlings are reclusive and keep to themselves in tiny hidden villages, rightly fearing larger animals, monsters, and people. They have a high degree of civilization and technology, but only ever go into the cities to trade, and even then, rarely. There is only one Fraerling of note who has strayed from his home to become a figure of world renown, and that is Niers Astoragon, the Titan.

Frenzied Hare – An inn run by Miss Agnes and her husband. The Frenzied Hare is less-frequented inn in Celum due to its poor cooking and mediocre beds. It used to get more business when Mister Agnes was the [Innkeeper]. However, his prolonged sickness has forced Miss Agnes to take over and the inn has suffered as a result. The Frenzied Hare enjoyed a great boom of prosperity for a few weeks when Erin Solstice took over, but has since lost its popularity with Erin’s absence and subsequent feud with Miss Agnes.

Frost Faeries – Mischievous tiny flying immortals that hail from another world. The Frost Faeries appear every winter to spread snow and chaos and greatly enjoy tricking mortals and playing pranks on them. They defend themselves with snow and ice if attacked but never kill—they are bound by the laws of their King, which prohibit interference with this world. Mind you, the Frost Faeries have a loose relationship with rules in general, but even they have their own truths.

Invisible to all but people from Earth due to their glamour, Frost Faeries are treated as a natural phenomenon by most. Which is good because the fae are pranksters and troublemakers at heart. Like the legends, the fae lose their powers around cold iron, love gifts of sugary foods and flattery, and strike dubious bargains. The Frost Faeries do not lie however, merely twist the truth. And they hate half-Elves for reasons unknown.

 

G

Galuc – One of the Centenium, Galuc the Builder perished along with many Antinium in their ill-fated voyage across the sea from Rhir. A powerful figure, his presence lives on in the forms of the Soldiers and Workers, all of whom were modeled after his body. While Soldiers are physical giants, they are still mere reflections of Galuc, who was as large as any half-Giant and famed for his ability to build and—a rarity even among the Centenium—a sense of humor.

Gamel – Once a villager, now a [Knight] and personal attendant to Emperor Laken. Gamel was nothing more than a young man living in Riverfarm with distant dreams and no concrete aspirations—until the day the avalanche struck his home. It was Emperor Laken who saved Gamel’s friends, family and his love, and it was to him that Gamel pledged his loyalty. Though he is inexperienced as a warrior, he was given the [Knight] class by his [Emperor] and has shown nothing but loyalty to Laken. He was mortally wounded in a battle against Goblin raiders, but Laken saved his life, further proof of the bond that connects ruler and subject.

Gamel also has a young woman who is the center of his affections, but he has yet to take their relationship any further. Strident he may be in defending his ruler, but he still struggles with love.

Garen Redfang – The former Chieftain of the Redfang Tribe as well as a former Gold-rank adventurer and member of the Halfseekers, Garen Redfang is a hero among Goblins. To those who knew him, he is a traitor. Years ago, Garen disguised himself and wandered from Human city to Human city, passing as a traveler until he found a group of like-minded souls named the Halfseekers. He quickly became part of their team and the Halfseekers became a group known throughout Izril—until he betrayed his comrades and slew half of them before fleeing into the wilderness. The exact reasons why he did so are unknown, but Garen soon created one of the most powerful tribes and occupied the High Passes.

Garen has since lost control of his tribe and much of his influence, but he remains an exceptionally dangerous foe. He wields ‘Redfang’, a crimson blade that gave him his infamous name and his skills are considered on par with any Gold-rank adventurer in the world. Garen is a decisive war leader, a deadly fighter, but a poor Chieftain. In combat he excels. But when it comes to inspiring people or managing things like supplies, Garen is actually less useful than the average Hob.

Gargoyles – Nasty stone beasts that frequent mountainous areas such as the High Passes. Gargoyles are considered a Gold-rank threat due to their proclivity to pose as pieces of the landscape until their prey wanders by. Although not nearly as dangerous as many Gold-rank monsters, their tough skin, ability to ‘spit’ stone shrapnel and their tendency to hunt in packs makes them too much of a threat for Silver-rank teams to handle. Their innards are fragile however, and if you can break their stone skin, Gargoyles fall quickly.

Garia Strongheart – A Human [Runner] who usually delivers around Celum, Garia Strongheart is exceptionally strong due to growing up as a farmer, but meek and mild most of the time. Suffering from self-esteem issues due to her larger build, Garia sees herself as a subpar Runner, for all that she can carry more than most other Runners. One of Ryoka’s few friends, Garia has an unrequited crush on Fals and often envies Ryoka’s natural talents. She recently began practicing martial arts at Ryoka’s insistence, although Garia usually settles any fight with a single punch. She once knocked out a bull with a punch. She’s embarrassed about that fact, actually.

Garry – One of the Individual Workers of the Free Antinium. Garry was one of the original Workers that learned to play chess at Erin’s inn. Despite becoming an Individual, he is the least well-known of the five surviving Workers, owing to his duties. As a [Cook], Garry spends his time almost exclusively cooking for the Queen of the Free Antinium, satisfying her cravings for actual food instead of the Antinium’s horrible nutrient paste.

Garry likes cooking and enjoys his job, although he dreams of cooking with Erin, rather than producing endless appetizers for his Queen. But he never complains. And he sometimes makes snacks to take to his Worker friends when he gets off duty.

Garudas – A race of bird-people that inhabit Chandrar. Garuda are one of the few sentient species that can fly, and their bodies are relatively frail compared to most species as a result. Hollow-boned and swift, Garuda tribes are somewhat reminiscent of Gnolls. Although in their case, the Garuda vigilantly patrol the arid deserts and fight bloody wars over the limited water supplies. To an unprepared army, Garuda attacks are hard to repel, as the feathery warriors will simply drop rocks from above, loose arrows and magic out of range, and retreat before they can be counterattacked. Prideful and fierce, Garuda make few friends, but those they do accept are comrades for life.

Garusa Weatherfur – A Gnoll [General] from Pallass, Garusa Weatherfur was one of the foremost generals in southern Izril. An aggressive attacker, she was briefly mentored by Zel Shivertail and was one of two generals sent to suppress the Goblin Lord. During their campaign, she and Thrissiam Blackwing engaged in a brief romantic relationship before fighting the Goblin Lord in a pitched battle that saw Garusa in a position to take his head.

However, the intervention of Az’kerash turned victory into defeat and Garusa was slain and reanimated into a Draug. She was then put to rest by Thrissiam Blackwing. Her death sent a ripple of shock through the Gnoll community, who regarded her as one of their heroes. Garusa was one of the few Gnolls to reach such a high position of command in a Drake society, and her loss is still mourned by many tribes.

Gazers – The strange seers of Baleros. Gazers are a relatively unknown species, as they keep to themselves and rarely stray out of their jungle home. Nevertheless, their ability to cast magical spells and cause effects with their multiple eyes is so powerful that one of the Four Great Companies—the Eyes of Baleros—is led by Gazers. Still, it is rare to see Gazers even in Wistram. They practice magic differently from most [Mages] and they have…problems dealing with other races. And each other.

Gazi Pathseeker – A half-Gazer, one of Flos’ Seven, and perhaps the most famous representative of her kind. Despite her Human heritage, Gazi has most traits of her Gazer ancestry; she has a single large eye and four smaller eyes, all of which are capable of seeing through walls, flesh, and rotating in every direction. Her main eye is so powerful that Gazi can charm and paralyze her enemies, and such is her visual ability that she can deflect arrows and dodge almost any attack. It was that ability which earned her the title of Gazi the Omniscient.

Feared for her ability to hunt down enemy [Scouts] and [Spies], Gazi remained fiercely loyal to her King after he entered his slumber and wandered the world to find something that would wake him. She attempted to kidnap Erin and Ryoka until being blinded by Erin, and has since returned to Flos’ side. Gazi still hasn’t forgotten the eye-poking incident. But she is patient. She was once a slave.

Geneva Scala – A Human from Earth, Geneva Scala was a medical student when she was transported to Baleros. First signing up as a [Doctor] as part of a mercenary company, Geneva quickly felt a calling to bring her knowledge of medicine to a world sorely in need of it. Her understanding of surgery and anatomy combined with this world’s healing potions allowed her to save countless lives on the battlefield.

However, war has no respect for Geneva’s dedication to save lives and her neutrality as a doctor caused the war to spill into her camp more than once. Paralyzed after one such attack, Geneva’s body was taken over by the Selphid, Okasha, who now lives symbiotically with her. After escaping another bloody battlefield, Geneva has become part of the United Nations company and leads the Red Cross division, attempting to continue saving lives as best she can.

Geram Redfist – A former [Brawler] of some renown, ‘Redfist’ Geram found himself offered a position as Captain of the Guard by Lady Rie Valerund. Bemused, he accepted and has become Lady Rie’s right-hand man. Loyal, good in a fight, and full of street smarts, Geram is a dedicated servant of his [Lady]. He does not know what to make of [Emperor] Laken, whose service he has also entered, but he is willing to accept a man who saved his life.

Gerial – A Silver-rank adventurer and former member of the Horns of Hammerad. Gerial was a solid second-in-command to Calruz and a competent adventurer until the ill-fated encounter with Skinner in Liscor’s crypt. He perished trying to buy time for his team to run. All of his dreams and hopes died with him, but his past lives on. It may one day catch up to those that survived…

Gershal – A low-level [Lieutenant] hailing from the city of Vaunt, Gershal is no legendary leader. His home city manufactures cheese and while it is very good cheese, neither its small army nor its officers are outstanding in any way. Nevertheless, Gershal is a solid leader who fought well in the battle against the Goblin Lord outside of Invrisil. He stood with Zel Shivertail in the hour of the [General]’s death and the Tidebreaker’s passing has motivated Gershal to become a better leader himself. Whether that is an idle promise or not remains to be seen.

Ghosts – Scary. Ghosts don’t resemble floating bed sheets so much as wailing, twisted pieces of spectral memory that lash out at the living. Ghosts represent fragments of the people they were and can take on terrible forms. They are also impossible to kill without magic, and so become the bane of warriors everywhere. Considered a high-rank undead threat, Ghosts are an elite type of monster that come in many sub varieties, like wraiths, night stalkers, and so on.

Ghouls – An advanced zombie in many respects. Ghouls are tougher, faster, and smarter than zombies, which doesn’t really say much when you get down to it. A Silver-rank threat, a Ghoul is a tough fight for a [Warrior] at low-levels, but can be easily baited into traps or defeated when attacked by multiple combatants. Ghouls are only really deadly to experienced fighters when they launch sneak attacks, which is, unfortunately, what they love to do.

Giant Moles – You laugh, but when a giant mole the size of a house decides to eat you, who’ll be laughing then? The mole, that’s who.

Gnolls – Furry hyena-like people who live in tribes in the southern half of Izril. Gnolls are nomadic, tribal people who value self-sufficiency and teamwork. They have keen noses and are excellent hunters, trappers, and if need be, fighters. Some Gnolls live in Drake cities, but the Gnoll and Drake species have a troubled history, and sometimes clash—when they’re not fighting Humans, that is.

Gnomes – An ancient race, only spoken about in myth and legend. Who the Gnomes were, what they did, and why they vanished is all unknown. The one thing that is known is that they once reached the moon. Seriously. A Dragon said it, so it must be true. Ahem.

Goblins – A species of people defined as monster by most of the known world. Goblins are a tribal, nomadic species that often steals or ambushes travelers to survive. Considered unintelligent and a minor threat most of the time, Goblins become far more dangerous when led by a Chieftain, or worse, a Goblin Lord or King. In such times nations or even the world must unite to put down the Goblin menace, but such is the prolific nature of Goblins that they are never eradicated for good. No one ever asks the Goblins what they think of their lot in life. No one has ever cared until now.

Goblin Chieftain – A Goblin leader who has taken command of a tribe of Goblins, whether by force, cunning, charisma, or other factors known only to Goblins. Chieftains are generally the highest-level Goblin in their tribe and their tribes can range from a few dozen Goblins to a massive tribe thousands strong. A Goblin Chieftain is a dangerous threat, and some famous Chieftains have even been classified as Gold-rank threats.

For all that, a Chieftain is only a stepping stone to greater things. A particularly powerful Chieftain may one day become a Goblin Lord, and talented Chieftains are often hunted down to prevent just such an event occurring.

Goblin Lord – If only one out of ten thousand Goblins had the potential to become a Chieftain, one in a million, or one in tens of millions of Goblins could ever rise to become a Lord. Not much is known about the criteria that allows ordinary Chieftains to become Goblin Lords, but every Goblin Lord has demonstrated overwhelming ability in one field or another.

Goblin Lords suited to battle are terrifying opponents on par with a Named Adventurer and can command massive armies over a hundred thousand strong. Their existence is exceedingly rare, and the only time multiple Goblin Lords have ever been sighted is when a Goblin King emerges. In any other time, a Goblin Lord will instantly be hunted down by every civilization to prevent just such a nightmare from becoming reality.

Goblin King – The pinnacle of Goblinkind. A Goblin King emerges every few centuries at most. They are bringers of calamity and wage war on nations, endings the lines of kings and wreaking havoc. They are considered a worldwide threat and the last two Goblin Kings, Curulac of a Hundred Days, and Velan the Kind, both decimated the continents they appeared in. Goblin Kings lead millions of Goblins in their armies with Goblin Lords acting as lieutenants. They are incredibly difficult to kill, cunning, and full of wrath.

No one knows what makes a Goblin King, but sheer talent and unique ability that no other Goblin can match is undoubtedly one of the criteria. Goblin Kings bring destruction. For their kind as well as the world.

Golems – A type of constructed being made by [Mages]. Golems are generally huge, thoughtless creations designed for labor or war. Tough to kill and without a will of their own, most Golems are rare. However, a few rare variants do exist, and some even have the ability to think. Whether or not that equates to free will is unknown, and no one is about to make more thinking Golems to try and find out.

Gravetender’s Fist – An undead suppression company specializing in removing corpses from the battlefield. Gravetender’s fist, like other suppression companies, made their wage by going from battlefield to battlefield at night and putting down undead and collecting the bodies of the fallen to be burned. This small company was dissolved after a disastrous battle between the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company embroiled it in the conflict. Since then, the surviving members including the Humans from Earth have created a new company known as the United Nations company.

Great Companies – Baleros has no armies. Or rather, its nations seldom bother with  armies of their own and prefer to hire mercenary companies to keep the peace, do battle, and suppress monsters. Of the thousands of companies on Baleros, large and small, there have always been the Four Great Companies. The current leaders of Baleros who are practically nations unto themselves are the Forgotten Wing Company, The Iron Vanguard, Maelstrom’s Howling, and the Eyes of Baleros.

The Iron Vanguard is primarily made up of Dullahans while Maelstrom’s Howling is almost exclusively comprised of Centaurs. The Eyes of Baleros are considered to be a Gazer-led company although they recruit from multiple races.

Grev – A street urchin of Celum, Grev is a Human child whose only family in the world is a Drake by the name of Jasi. Born to Human parents after his older sister was adopted, Grev lost his family early on in life and his sister took the burden of raising him far too early. Consequently, Grev is a product of the streets and used to steal and work with the criminal element of Celum before an encounter with Erin Solstice. Now, he is a member of the Players of Celum, a troupe of new [Actors] which he and Jasi are part of. Grev now employs his time assisting with the theatre by producing supplies, props, and so on. All legally, of course.

Greydath – One of the Goblin Lords who fought with Velan the Kind. Greydath of Blades was perhaps the strongest Goblin Lord living in terms of sheer martial might. He may well be the strongest Goblin in the world now, as all the Goblin Lords were thought to have perished after Velan’s death. Masquerading as an old, senile Goblin in Tremborag’s mountain, Greydath followed Rags’ tribe for reasons known only to him. He has lived for a long time—long enough to have a white beard—and he once was a mentor to Pyrite when the young Goblin was growing up. Greydath is unmatched with the old greatsword he wields. Or at least, he hasn’t found anyone capable of killing him yet.

Griffins – Giant eagle-lions with attitudes. Griffons hunt in packs and are considered a serious threat in northern Izril and Terandria. Ironically, these savage hunters are not common in the southern half of Izril at all—they have a territorial relationship with Wyverns and have pushed into their habitat after crossing the sea from Terandria. That’s right. They’re invasive giant eagle-lions. The worst kind.

Griffon Hunt – A Gold-rank team of adventurers. Griffon Hunt is a famed team known for their history of hunting the deadly Griffins of northern Izril. Its original members have mostly left, but two of the founders, Halrac Everam and Ulrien Sparson, stayed with the group and recruited two [Mages] to fill out their ranks.

Joined by Revi, a [Summoner], and Typhenous, an experienced [Mage], they successfully continued their group’s legacy before venturing to Liscor in hopes of being the first to explore Liscor’s new dungeon. It was there that the team met Erin Solstice and, after a murder involving the Named Adventurer known as Regrika Blackpaw, they confronted her. However, the Gnoll was too powerful and slew Ulrien before fleeing.

Devastated by their leader’s loss, Griffon Hunt came close to falling apart as the three remaining adventurers dealt with the loss in their own way. Though Revi and Typhenous are new to the team, they are loyal members of their group and refuse to leave Halrac to himself. However much the [Scout] wishes they would.

Grunter – A Redfang Warrior and Hob, Grunter led his small band of warriors until he perished at Esthelm. Quiet, defined by his burps, Grunter was a solid, steadfast Hob who spoke little and cared more than he let on. He fought and died with only one word on his lips. Redfang. Redfang, his pride, his hope, and glory.

 

H

Half-Elves – A race of people with a number of reclusive settlements in Terandria, half-Elves are a rare sight throughout the world. Hated for the sins of the past, the half-Elves of today are insular and largely trust only their own kind. Half-Elves are known to be gifted in magic, a remnant from their true Elven ancestry. No matter who bears a child, they will always be born half-Elf. This trait has allowed the race of half-Elves to survive throughout the millennia, but they are currently a small population and only a few of their most adventurous children travel abroad.

Halfseekers – A Gold-rank team referred to as the ‘Half Freaks’ by their enemies. The Halfseekers are a well-known group known throughout Izril for accepting half-species and people ostracized for being different. They are a happy-go-lucky group that helps those in need—or were, until the betrayal of one of their members, Garen Redfang. This large group of adventurers was reduced to three: Jelaqua, Moore, and Seborn, and are now trying to rebuild and claim a share of Liscor’s treasure.

The Halfseekers currently reside in Erin’s inn and take a laid back approach to life in general. Each one of them has sworn to kill Garen Redfang if they ever meet him again.

Halrac Everam – Known as Halrac the Grim, this Human [Scout] is a Gold-rank adventurer and member of Griffon Hunt. A former [Soldier], Halrac’s skills and reputation is such that he’s considered close to becoming a Named Adventurer. However, this [Scout] does not seek fame—he hates being around most people and prefers the company of his friends.

He has one less friend now, having lost his comrade Ulrien in a recent encounter with Regrika Blackpaw. Halrac is currently driven by anger and frustration and has been entering Liscor’s dungeon alone, venting his grief by taking on hordes of monsters by himself.

Harpies – Probably extinct, but then again you never know your luck!

Hawk – A Rabbit Beastkin [Courier] who lives in Liscor, Hawk is known throughout the city. Adopted by Drakes, the Rabbit-man is obsessed with finding scaly love as members of his own species live only in a few regions in Baleros. He has yet to find any female Drake willing to put up with his vegetarian diet though, and the Courier runs alone. Speaking of running, he’s quite good at that. Hawk is extremely quick and a dangerous person to try to mug—he is very good at foot-to-face combat and can easily dispatch or outrun almost any foe he meets while delivering parcels across the continent.

Headscratcher – One of the Redfang Warriors, Headscratcher is a Hobgoblin warrior adept at fighting who leads the four remaining members of his group. Initially viewing Humans solely as an enemy, it was Headscratcher who became closest to the young [Florist] in Esthelm and it was he who mourned her death most of all. Heartbroken by the loss of his friends and the young woman, he is determined to keep his four remaining comrades alive—even if it means his death.

Hedault – A Human [Enchanter] based in Invrisil, Hedault is widely considered to be the best [Enchanter] in the city. He is adept at identifying and repairing artifacts that adventurers bring him and his services are widely sought-after.

Hedault is impatient and often highly critical of most enchantments for their uniformity and lack of originality. He does not suffer fools or backchat, but got along surprisingly well with Ryoka Griffin. She convinced him to buy a magical wand from her in exchange for a large number of magical artifacts and an outstanding favor to the Horns of Hammerad. Hedault still has the wand, and it has enhanced his magical prowess greatly although he has not revealed to anyone that it is in his possession—or how he got it.

Hethon Veltras – The older son of Lord Tyrion Veltras. Hethon is more timid than his brother, Sammial, and rarely speaks up. He does not know what to say to his father, who he rarely sees, and he is unsure if he will ever become a [Lord] worthy of ruling the Veltras family.

High Passes – A deadly mountain range that separates the continent of Izril in half. The High Passes are incredibly tall mountains, the peaks of which have never been climbed. Deadly monsters make the High Passes their home and as such, travel over the mountains is practically impossible.

Only two passes exist through this mountain range—one of which is filled with monsters and never used. The other is a safe route that passes by a Drake city, Liscor. The High Passes have never been conquered, never been explored. At least, that’s what people say. There are those who have ventured into this deadly place, and those who make it their home…

Hollowstone Deceiver – See Rock Crab.

Horns of Hammerad – A Silver-rank team of adventurers. Formerly led by Calruz and known as an aggressive company of competent adventurers, the Horns of Hammerad suffered near-complete destruction when they attempted to explore Liscor’s crypts with a group of other Silver-rank teams.

In the aftermath of their defeat only one member, Ceria Springwalker, was thought to be alive. She reformed the group and recruited three other aspiring adventurers to join her. Yvlon Byres, an injured [Warrior] and formed leader of the Silver Swords, Ksmvr, an exiled Antinium Prognugator, and Pisces, a [Necromancer] expelled from Wistram. This new team managed to work together despite the many different personalities and made headlines when they found treasure in the Ruins of Albez, earning the Horns of Hammerad many powerful artifacts.

This newly-equipped team is now substantially more powerful than it was before and could be considered a pseudo Gold-rank team. However, they are still inexperienced and new, and thus unproven. The Horns of Hammerad are now currently seeking to enter Liscor’s dungeon, having been informed that their former leader, Calruz, may yet be alive…

 

I

Ijvani – One of Az’kerash’s Chosen, Ijvani is a black skeleton mage. Her bones are coated with metal and she is highly resistant to harm. As the sole dedicated spellcaster of Az’kerash’s creations, Ijvani considers herself more intelligent than her kin. She proclaims herself the ‘greatest skeleton in the world’ and is confident in her own abilities to the point of arrogance, a trait that stems from her trust and faith in her master/creator, Az’kerash. That faith has been shaken after the battle with Zel Shivertail and a wounded Ijvani now slowly makes her way back to her master’s castle.

Illphres – A high-level ice-mage, this Human woman was counted as one of the most experienced and influential mages in Wistram until her demise. Illphres, like the other mages she associated with had reached the highest peak of potential in Wistram, just under that of the Archmages. Unlike the Archmages however, Illphres was determined to ascend to the higher levels of Wistram and pass Cognita’s deadly test. She and several other mages decided to challenge the Golems.

They failed.

Until her death, Illphres had taught Ceria Springwalker magic, reluctantly taking the young half-Elf and then slowly growing to enjoy Ceria’s presence. Illphres left her student with a magical tome after her death, but the spellbook never reached Ceria and was instead hurled into the sea by Charles de Trevalier. Illphres’ command of ice magic was so advanced that she could build a fortress out of ice and cut entire ships in half with her ice magic, as well as ‘skate’ across the sea.

Ilvriss – A Drake Lord of the Wall. Ilvriss is arrogant, rude to non-Drakes, picky, and often temperamental. However, he is also brave, a caring leader (of other Drakes), and heartbroken. In a battle between an army led by Zel Shivertail and forces under his command Ilvriss lost his second-in-commend, Lieutenant Periss. Unbeknownst to the world, the two had been secret lovers and her mysterious death caused Ilvriss to journey north, following the one Human who could tell him how Periss had died: Ryoka Griffin.

Having become embroiled in Liscor’s politics, Ilvriss eventually learned it was Az’kerash, the Necromancer himself who had killed his love. However, vengeance became the last issue on Ilvriss’ mind with the death of Zel Shivertail and his only goal for the moment is to return to his home city of Salazsar and gather his allies close.

Far from home, Ilvriss’ personality has changed and he has grudgingly begun to respect non-Drakes, or one of them at least. Nevertheless, he is still prideful as ever and is currently embroiled in a political battle with Pallass to return home.

Imani – A young woman from Earth, nationality unknown. Imani has dark skin and had the misfortune of being teleported into a Creler nest with a group of people. She was the only survivor. Shell-shocked by her first entry into this world, Imani was last seen in the presence of other Humans from Earth in Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion. Where she is now is unknown.

Insill – A Drake [Rogue] with black scales and a member of Vuliel Drae. Insill is a Liscorian native and a Silver-rank adventurer with very little experience compared to seasoned adventurers like Ceria or Yvlon. Nevertheless he is quite capable at detecting most traps and has entered Liscor’s dungeon with his team in hopes of finding treasure. Somewhat naïve, Insill’s group was only saved by a masked swordswoman they encountered in the dungeon. The Drake has subsequently fallen in love with this stranger and dreams of meeting her again.

Invrisil – The City of Adventurers. Invrisil is a massive Human city sitting squarely in the center of the northern half of Izril. It is a prosperous city with an exceptionally strong economy due to the presence of many adventuring groups that keep the surrounding area safe. Although the city is technically part of Magnolia Reinhart’s domain it is nominally ruled by a [Mayor] and elects its own officials. The city is always filled with new ideas, technologies and people, and is considered to be one of the major cities on the continent.

Ishkr – A Gnoll [Waiter] employed at The Wandering Inn. Ishkr is a city-born Gnoll who came to Liscor with the Silverfang Tribe two decades ago. Hardworking and preferring silence, Ishkr does not observe as many Gnollish customs as the rest of his people. He enjoys working for Erin as she gives him quiet jobs he can perform by himself, and he is a competent helper as well. He enjoys steady jobs, good pay, and Erin’s cooking. He also has a secret.

Isles of Minos – An archipelago removed from the five main continents, the Isles of Minos are home to the sole Minotaur population in the world. The Minotaurs guard their isle jealously and allow only small embassies to visit their port-Capital, so not much is known about the Isles. Warships crewed by Minotaurs regularly patrol their waters, threatening death to any pirates or travelers who do not follow strict rules when sailing through the area.

Isodore – The older daughter of the Blighted King of Rhir. Isodore is around seventeen years of age and is considered next in line for the throne despite her low level and youth. As such she is constantly under a great deal of scrutiny and danger as she is one of two children to survive the assassination attempts over the years against her. Concerned with her younger sister’s safety and wary of Tom and the otherworlders summoned to defend Rhir, Isodore has learned to watch and listen rather than speak.

Isolationists – A political faction within Wistram. The Isolationists believe that Wistram should cease accepting new students from abroad and close their doors to all but the most determined of mages. Isolationists prioritize the study of magic and disdain involving the Academy with politics. They are a small faction and often clash with the more mainline political groups. Several of their number including Illphres challenged the Golems recently and were wiped out, weakening the group’s influence in the academy.

Issrysil – The Drake name for the continent of Izril, seldom used since no one but Drakes can pronounce it properly. See Izril.

Ivolethe – A Frost Faerie considered old even by her kin, Ivolethe was the only member of her kind to befriend Ryoka. Unlike the rest of her impetuous sisters, Ivolethe saw something in Ryoka that attracted the two together. She went as far as to call Ryoka her friend and bent the unwritten rules of the fae in many places for Ryoka. She attempted to teach the young woman magic and often hung about Ryoka, lending her sharp tongue to many situations.

Ivolethe delighted in stories and art from Ryoka’s world, as such creativity was the only new thing the immortal considered worthy of humanity as a species. Ivolethe perished when she directly broke the rules of the Faerie King by freezing Venitra as she was about to kill Ryoka. For her crimes her body was shattered. And that, apparently, means the death of the fae.

Izril – The continent of Drakes and Gnolls and Humans, but no [Kings]. Izril was ruled by Dragons in the far-distant past, but as the age of Dragons passed, the Drakes began to lose their influence over their land. After feuding with the Gnoll tribespeople for thousands of years, both sides were pushed from the northern half of the continent by Humans from Terandria, the Five Families who would become the leaders of the Human settlements.

Ever since then, Izril has remained divided in half with the Drakes and Humans often warring over this ancient grudge. The north half of Izril is mostly Human while the south is populated by Drake cities, Gnoll tribes, and recently, the Antinium Hives. The mountainrange known as the High Passes seperates the two halves, and the mountains are so high that no climber has ever returned from the higher reaches. And it’s still considered more peaceful than three out of the other four continents. Go figure.

 

J

Jasi – A young female Drake, Jasi lived in Celum all her life as a [Washer], barely tolerated for being a Drake and earning just enough to survive. Struggling to keep her young brother Grev out of trouble and making a living, Jasi met Erin when the [Innkeeper] was pursuing Grev for leading her into a mugging. Initially she was offered a job as a [Barmaid] in the Frenzied Hare, but when Erin perceived the distaste Miss Agnes had for the young Drake she taught Jasi and Wesle how to act on stage.

At first reluctant, Jasi found herself bitten by the acting bug and has become a celebrity in Celum and the local cities. She is now a successful actor in the Players of Celum, a troupe where she stars in most productions as the leading lady Drake. She is eternally grateful to Erin, not least because she will never have to rub her scales off washing clothes. She still has scars on her hands from those days, a reminder of who she used to be.

Jelaqua Ivirith – A Gold-rank adventurer and the leader of the Halfseekers, Jelaqua is a famous Selphid who originally hails from Baleros. She formed the Halfseekers, a group of powerful half-breeds to champion the cause of anyone cast out from society for being different. They were a famous group that even had a Goblin among their ranks until they were betrayed. Garen Redfang slew his companions and escaped with a key they had recovered from a dungeon.

Now Jelaqua seeks to rebuild her shattered party of which only three members remain and slay Garen. Affable, fun-loving and deadly with a flail, Jelaqua’s body was recently injured in battle and she now seeks to replace it before it rots to piece, which is generally considered objectionable by most species.

Jelov – An old [Carver] and a subject of the Unseen Empire. Jelov used to be a villager of Windrest until the village was forced to flee to Riverfarm due to Goblin attacks. Fearful of being cast out due to his advanced age, Jelov was gratified to learn that Laken Godart had need of his talents. Initially carving large totem-markers to expand the boundaries of the Unseen Empire, Jelov has now created a huge variety of totems and smaller version that he sells to the subjects of the Unseen Empire as good luck charms. He is an affable old man in love with his craft, but don’t sit too close to him. He spits.

Joseph – A Human from Earth, Joseph found himself in Izril and was quickly found by Magnolia Reinhart along with other Humans. A rather sporty young man from Spain, Joseph was taken with the idea of a magical world, underestimating the very real dangers of such a place, much to Magnolia’s disgust. He was summarily given a sword and an escort and told to slay monsters as a Bronze-rank adventurer, and his current location and status is unknown.

 

K

Keith – One of the Otherworlders from Earth summoned to Rhir. Keith was a Freshman with a Major in Civil Engineering before he was summoned. He gained a few levels in [Blacksmith], but found that the gap between his theoretical knowledge and the practical applications in this world were too hard to bridge. Like many of his friends, Keith has lost his [Hero] class, but he still tries to contribute to the group with his architectural knowledge.

Keith arguably has more knowledge of metallurgy, physics, and construction than most [Builders] in this world—he just needs the time and funding to prove himself. He hopes that his return to Rhir’s capital will give him that opportunity to forge something truly unique, like armor made out of a titanium alloy.

Kenjiro Murata – A young man from Japan, Kenjiro or Ken found himself transported to Baleros with a large group of international students from around the world. Struggling with the language barrier and the reality of his new situation, Kenjiro stuck together with the only other Japanese student who had come with him, a childhood friend named Aiko. He enlisted in the Gravetender’s Fist Company with a large group of other students and found himself thrust into a dangerous battlefield within his first week.

Ken learned to fight and forged friendships with another marooned soul, Luan, but found that he preferred communication to war. He was instrumental in saving lives when the fighting between two mercenary companies began to violate the terms of war and targeting neutral groups. He escaped with his friends and the [Doctor], Geneva Scala and formed the United Nations company.

Now Ken serves as a [Diplomat], using his understanding of different races and cultures to protect and gather those stranded from his world into a company that can protect them all.

Kent Scott – A mysterious stranger who participated in a magical group chat. Kent Scott used an assumed name—likely the owner of the original iPhone—to talk with the others and ask for their names. This ploy allowed the mysterious Kent Scott to locate at least some of the stranded Otherworlders via scrying, but what he did with the information and his true motives are as of yet, unknown.

Kerash – One of Az’kerash’s Chosen. Kerash is a powerful Gnoll Draugr, the reanimated corpse of a long-dead Gnoll Chieftain who was rumored to have been as close to a [King] as the Gnoll species ever had. He was famous…a century ago. However, he was slain at the prime of his life by Az’kerash, an act of terror so famous that it gave the Necromancer his name—Az’kerash, or ‘Slayer of Kerash’. The Gnoll people have never forgotten this injustice, but they are unaware of Kerash’s new purpose: serving his master.

Kerash is currently foremost of Az’kerash’ chosen, following Venitra’s disgrace. He is a capable warrior and extremely difficult to kill owing to his superior physical body and undead endurance, but lacks the special qualities of his fellow Chosen.

Kingslayer Spiders – There are Shield Spiders. Blade Spiders. Swarm Spiders. And so on. Any good insect population inevitably has a lot of variants, and the spider population is nasty. In this case, the Kingslayer Spiders earned their name by killing a [King] as he was hunting. So yeah. That’s them.

Klbkch – One of the few remaining Centenium. The Slayer. Former Prognugator of the Free Antinium and now the Revalantor of said Hive. Also, Senior Guardsman of Liscor. Klbkch has lived a life longer than almost any living being in the world. Many lives, in fact. He has been reincarnated to serve his Hive in many forms, dating back to his original creation in the ancient Antinium Hives built in Rhir by the First Queen.

He is old. And over the centuries, he has lost much of his strength. In ages past, Klbkch was an assassin and sword master without equal. Now he only has his experience to dwell upon; he lost his original form long ago and was reincarnated into a Worker’s body when he came to Izril. Since then he has obtained a slightly more agile form, but he is a shell of his former self. Despite this, Klbkch has only one task in mind: rebuilding the Antinium to send a force back across the seas to Rhir. He is driven by that goal and his service to his Queen.

While Klbkch will do anything for his Hive, he has nevertheless found some satisfaction in being a humble [Guardsman] in Liscor. Ironically, his first friends may have been in Relc and the Drakes and Gnolls who grew to accept him here, and he has become a regular at Erin’s inn and a respected face around the city. However, Klbkch’s goal has been and always will be the same. After meeting one of his fellow Centenium, Xrn, the Slayer has decided to return to Rhir—with or without the Grand Queen’s permission.

The task of building a force that could fight its way into and out of Rhir is enormous, but Klbkch has never shirked his duties. He is dedicated, ancient, and ruthless when needs be. He also enjoys eating acid flies at Erin’s inn.

Knights of the Petal – Also known as the ‘Rose Knights’, these pink-armored elites serve Lady Bethal Walchaís and are a feared fighting force in Izril. Only numbering around eighty or so in total, the Knights of the Petal make up for their small numbers by boasting exceptionally high-quality magical artifacts and armor. They can virtually ignore most mundane weaponry and their enchanted arms are capable of besting most foes within a few strikes.

Disciplined, loyal, and probably a little crazy, the Rose Knights are Bethal’s symbol of authority and one of the reasons why she is considered a powerful [Lady] of the realm.

Krakens – Ship destroyers. They can grow to insane sizes, reaching miles in length. Unlike the predators of the land, the sea is deeper and vaster, and as such, Krakens are only one of the monsters that haunt the deeps. With that said, they are greatly feared for good reason. They also taste good when barbecued and dipped in a spicy sauce.

Krshia Silverfang – A Gnoll [Shopkeeper] in Liscor. Krshia was the first Gnoll to ever make Erin’s acquaintance and her fortunes have fallen and begun to rise since meeting Erin. Originally a prosperous shopkeeper, Krshia had led a good portion of the Silverfang Tribe to Liscor years ago, in order to earn money and bring a grand gift back to the meeting of the tribes. However, when Lyonette destroyed a stockpile of magical spellbooks with an accidental spell, Krshia lost not only her business but years of work from all the Gnolls in Liscor.

Subsequently, Krshia found herself struggling to rebuild her fortunes. With Ryoka’s help she has acquired an even greater treasure than before—a magical spellbook containing thousands of spells. For this, Krshia has declared herself and her tribe in Ryoka and Erin’s debt. She is now fighting to reclaim her spot as one of Liscor’s best businesspeople and preparing for her return to her tribe—in triumph, not shame.

Krsysl Wordsmith – A Drake [Writer], most famous for his twin historical accounts of the First and Second Antinium Wars. Krsysl initially won praise for his account of the First Antinium War, which was commissioned by Magnolia Reinhart to highlight the dangers of the Antinium. However, his second historical narrative lacked the impartiality of the first and glorified the Drake side of the war while diminishing the efforts of every other species.

Lambasted for his lack of integrity as a [Writer], Krsysl found himself ostracized from the writing world by most of the world. Defiant and unapologetic to the last, this Drake writer has not written since, and while he has some enduring popularity among his people, he has faded into obscurity in the world’s eyes.

Ksmvr – The former Prognugator of Liscor’s Hive. Ksmvr was created by the Queen of the Free Antinium in secret, so that if Klbkch were ever incapacitated he could manage the Hive. That day came sooner than he had anticipated, and Ksmvr found himself thrust into a leadership role without training. It has to be said that he failed miserably at his job.

Cast out for his failures, with one of his four arms severed, Ksmvr fell into despair before he became an adventurer and one of the Horns of Hammerad with Erin’s help. Now Ksmvr regards his three companions, Pisces, Ceria, and Yvlon, as the only important people in his world. He would readily sacrifice his life for them, a sentiment which causes his teammates distress.

Often socially inept, Ksmvr eagerly learns all the correct and incorrect lessons he can by observing his teammates. He regards Pisces as a mentor, Ceria as an infallible leader, and Yvlon as something akin to a big sister, although Ksmvr has no concept of a sister, or a family.

 

L

Laken Godart – The [Emperor] of the Unseen Empire, Protector of Durene’s Cottage, and your friendly neighborhood blind guy. Laken was teleported into this world right outside Durene’s cottage months ago and quickly became friends with Durene, without whom he might have quickly perished.

After gaining his [Emperor] class, Laken quickly developed a supernatural ‘Emperor sense’ which allowed him to detect everything in the property he owned, effectively giving him sight so long as he remained within his empire. Subsequently, he expanded his area of control from a single cottage to an entire village when Laken saved Riverfarm’s population from an avalanche that had just struck the village, burying its inhabitants.

Hailed as a savior and accepted as their [Emperor], Laken went on to protect the village from Goblin attacks and bought both food and protection in the form of two Silver-rank adventuring teams for the village.Since then, Laken’s control has only continued to expand as villages and towns and cities have pledged themselves to his new empire in exchange for protection. He now commands a small army and finds himself grappling with the burden of authority.

Amiable, patient, and thoughtful, Laken Godart is not a classical [Emperor] by any means. He is romantically involved with Durene, a half-Troll girl, and advised by a former [Farmer] and a [Witch]. He is a strange traveler, but he has made a home. And he is an [Emperor]. The first Izril has seen in millennia.

Larr – A Gnoll [Archer] and a member of Vuliel Drae. Larr is a Gnoll from Liscor. He joined Vuliel Drae because he was acquainted with Insill and he wanted to become a Gold-rank adventurer. And that’s about it. Like the Gnoll himself, Larr’s history is short, taciturn, and straight-to-the-point. If the Gnoll has any interesting qualities, it’s the adventurers he hangs out with in his team. Oh, and his unrequited love. But that’s not something Larr ever talks about.

Libertarian – A faction of [Mages] within Wistram. Libertarians believe in the supremacy of mages, as do most of Wistram’s factions, but they claim that Wistram should use its considerable influence and power to take a greater role in politics. The Libertarian faction usually pushes for Wistram to actively support mage-friendly nations and condemn or blacklist those that might prove to be enemies of the academy. A powerful faction, the majority of the Liberarian faction are Humans that hail from Terandria. Among their number are Charles de Trevalier and Rievan Forstrom.

Liches – Not the awesome, regenerating, nigh-immortal monsters you’re thinking of. Liches in this world are simply another form of undead, skeletal spellcasters who were once [Mages] in life. They’re still considered very deadly despite that, owing to their ability to rain death upon their enemy without regard for their safety. A Human [Mage] could be felled by an inopportune arrow; Liches must be destroyed completely or they will return. Not a fun threat, although most Liches are considered a Silver-rank threat owing to their frailty in physical combat. Assuming you can get that close, of course.

Liscor – The gate city of the High Passes, the guardian into Drake lands! No one actually calls Liscor that. This Drake and Gnoll inhabited city is notable in that it rests in the middle of one of two passages through the High Passes, a gigantic mountain range, that link north and south Izril. As the other passage is considered too deadly for any crossing, Liscor effectively controls the flow of traffic between north and south. Of which there is very little.

In truth, Liscor is more of a buffer in case of a Human attack than anything else. Considered impregnable owing to the unique geography surrounding the city and the powerful walls and its strong standing army, Liscor is exceptionally hard to take by siege and if an army does not conquer its walls within a short span of time, countless armies will rush to defend Liscor from any attacking force. Liscor’s presence has thwarted many attackers over the years, from Antinium to Human armies to the Necromancer itself.

The city is currently home to a good population of Gnolls as well as the Drakes who run the city, as well as the only Antinium Hive ever to be based in a Drake city at all. This unique relationship came about when the Antinium saved Liscor from the Necromancer’s armies and a peace treaty was forged at Liscor. The residents of Liscor are still somewhat uneasy about the Antinium, but are far more tolerant of them than any other Drakes in the world. Liscor is also now receiving an influx of Human visitors, mostly adventurers who seek to conquer the newly-discovered dungeon now threatening the city.

There are a few settlements outside of Liscor. Farming villages mainly, but a new inn has sprung up just a few minutes’ walk from the walls. It is run by a strange Human girl who has become the subject of much rumor and debate in Liscor as of late…

Liscorian Army – One of Izril’s more iconic mercenary armies, Liscor’s standing army is considered a formidable, if numerically small, force. Numbering only a few thousand in number, they prefer quality over quantity and hire themselves out to other Drake cities as a mobile fighting force. Liscor’s army has declined in stature since it was led by the iconic General Sserys, and it has become estranged from Liscor’s general citizens over sharp divisions about the presence of the Antinium Hive within Liscor. Nevertheless, Liscor’s army does regard the city as home, and returns to the city every few years…usually leaving after causing a good deal of havoc. It’s a strained relationship.

Lism – A grumpy, speciesist Drake [Shopkeeper] who runs a store in Liscor. He was one of the first Drake that Erin ever met and swindled Erin on her first day in Liscor. Ironically, it was also he who introduced Olesm to Erin when the young woman demanded her money back and won it in a game of chess. Lism is Olesm’s uncle and is fond of his nephew—although he still regards non-Drakes as inferior. He has a rivalry with Krshia. Until recently, the Gnoll has outperformed his shop daily in sales.

Lizardfolk – Not to be confused with Drakes. Lizardfolk are native to Baleros and stand have a rivalry with the fiery Drakes of Izril. A one-sided rivalry, actually. Drakes despise the social, inquisitive and usually cheerful nature of Lizardfolk, who value change and social interaction over personal wealth and power.

Lizardfolk aren’t even a single race; the majority of Lizardfolk are bipedal and take on the appearance of walking lizards with neck frills. However, their species has the potential to evolve or change shape—for instance, Lizardfolk may turn into Nagas by fulfilling an unknown criteria, or other, more exotic shapes. They regard these select subspecies as leaders of their kind, and thus live in a class-based society in their jungle homes. They don’t mind being called Drakes, but rather enjoy how angry Drakes get at being called Lizardfolk.

Luan Khumalo – An Otherworlder hailing from South Africa, Luan is perhaps the most athletically fit Human to come from earth. A paddler whose abilities are on an Olympic level, Luan is as fast on water as he is on land. First appearing in Baleros with Ken and Aiko, Luan found himself swept into conflict where blood and violence overwhelmed any attempt at mercy and compassion. He quickly became friends with Ken and helped save his friend’s life and eventually form the United Nations company. Married and a soon-to-be father, Luan’s only relief from worrying about his family is protecting his friends and finding a way home.

Lyonette du Marquin – A [Princess] from a Terandrian Kingdom, Lyonette du Marquin first came to Liscor as a thief, far from home and lacking the desire to work or interact with the ‘savage’ other species and ‘peasant’ commoners she found herself surrounded with. Sentenced to die in the cold, she was saved by Erin and given a job as a [Barmaid] in The Wandering Inn. Lyonette has come a long way from the tantrum-throwing girl she was in the past.

Now a competent [Barmaid] and intelligent young woman, she regards the inn as a home more than her distant kingdom, and has become a mother to Mrsha and a friend to Erin. Lyonette has a pet Ashfire Bee that she raised herself and has learned to even raid the deadly beehives and steal honey. Resourceful and keen to learn and level up, the Lyonette of today would scarcely be recognized as the Lyonette of the past. She attributes much of her change to Erin, and has sworn to repay that debt one day, in any way she can.

 

M

Mad Ones – A group of eccentric [Engineers], [Alchemists], and other creative classes based in Baleros. The Mad Ones were affiliated with the King of Destruction during his reign, as he was the only one willing to tolerate and fund their dangerous and often insane experiments. Considered a Gold-rank and occasionally Named Adventurer rank threat due to their experiments, the Mad Ones nevertheless produce the occasional useful invention. They are also left alone by and large, because sending an army to destroy or detain them would probably result in an explosion. That is to say, more explosions than normal.

Magnolia Reinhart – Known to some as The Deadly Flower Blooming in the North, Magnolia Reinhart is scion to the Reinhart family, and one of the most deadly women in the world. Rich, cunning, influential, and addicted to sugar, Magnolia Reinhart has all the wealth of her family and countless secrets and artifacts to draw upon. She helped drive back the Antinium in the First Antinium War, was part of the coalition that slew the Goblin King, and has continued expanding her influence since then.

Magnolia Reinhart has met both Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin and is aware of Otherworlder Humans entering her world. She claims she is opposed to the spread of new technology and determined to safeguard her home by defeating the Antinium once and for all, but few who know Magnolia trust her entirely. Those who don’t know her trust her not at all.

Magnolia Reinhart is powerful, but she has many enemies including the mysterious Circle of Thorns. On the other hand, Magnolia has a small army of servants, ties to the Assassin’s Guild, and a pink carriage which runs over bandits. Her enemies had better sleep with both eyes open.

Magnus Corpsus – A small cabal of [Necromancers] based in Izril. They have a small army of undead and mainly raid graveyards and commit minor crimes from their hidden base. They’re small fry.

Manticores – Half lion, half scorpion, half…thing with wings. Look, manticores are monsters, okay? They’ll sting you with your tail or bite you or hit you with a wing. Just stay away.

Maran – A [Barmaid] who works at the Frenzied Hare. She was briefly employed, then fired by Erin. She holds a grudge. So does Erin.

Maresar Crusand – An expert archer and the wife of Venith Crusland, Maresar was a [Bandit Lord] before she found love—ironically in the very man who’d set out to hunt her down. But that was years ago and it’s not an interesting story. Maresar pledged loyalty to the King of Destruction and survived to see his empire collapse. Staying with her husband, Maresar had one son and when Flos awoke from his slumber she returned to his side despite her husband’s resentment.

A strong warrior, Maresar’s true strength lies in her underhanded tricks. A bandit is always a bandit, after all. And she was a pretty good bandit.

Marian – A Centaur [Strategist] and one of Niers’ advanced students, Marian is a daring leader who fights in her people’s preferred style with rapid attacks and mobile armies. She is a good [Strategist] who could lead many of Baleros’ companies, but she has much to learn to obtain the Titan’s final approval. Marian is too set in her style, and it is the opinion of Niers Astoragon that predictability breeds weakness. Thus, Marian finds herself struggling as her teacher assigns her work that involves static defenses or slow-moving units. She has a rivalry with Venaz and is Umina’s good friend, although Marian privately fears that Umina is more talented than she.

Mars – A Human [Vanguard] and one of the King of Destruction’s Seven. Not much is known about Mars the Illusionist, save that she is Flos’ mightiest vassal in single combat and his champion. During his conquests, Mars would challenge the enemy army’s champion to a duel and after slaying her opponent, would charge into the army’s ranks. Her armor is practically indestructible and Mars is a veteran of many wars. She is known as the Illusionist because she always uses enchanted artifacts to appear as a beautiful woman, concealing her true appearance.

If Mars has a weakness, it is her inferiority complex. She does not believe she deserves to stand by her king without the mask of magic, the sole chink in her impenetrable armor.

Metalbite Slimes – A variety of slime made of liquid metal. Metalbite slimes are a terror for armored adventurers as they will attempt to consume armor and those wearing said armor. Hard to kill owing to their unique bodies, Metalbite slimes are nevertheless an easy target for magics which affect their mobility. Ice magic is extremely effective as a competent mage can freeze a Metalbite Slime solid.

Mihaela Godfrey – Mother of Valceif Godfrey, Mihaela is a famed Courier who lives in north Izril in semi-retirement. She was famed for being the only Courier who was able to escape the Antinium armies during the First Antinium War and participated in the Second Antinium War by outrunning enemy armies and scouts alike to relay information for Izril’s defenders. She recently learned of her son’s death. And of who is to blame for his death.

Minotaurs – A proud race of bull-people. Only don’t call them that. Minotaurs are honorable, touchy, and quick to anger. They enjoy the challenge of battle and very few become [Mages]. It is a sign of prestige in Minotaur culture to be a warrior—other classes are looked down upon. Minotaurs reside on the Isles of Minos, an archipelago that few visit. Minotaurs keep to themselves by and large, though some younger members of their species will travel abroad in search of fame and glory.

Minotaurs are known for being warlike, and have fought in several recent wars against other continents. However, each time they have been repulsed and Minotaurs have their own problems on their isles. They face an eternal foe with which they ceaselessly do battle. And when the Minotaurs fail to contain their foe, the world suffers…

Montressa du Valeross – Known as ‘Mons’ to her friends, Montressa is the daughter of a minor noble family of Terandria. She was a student at the same time as Pisces and Ceria and though she was a year younger, she quickly became part of their circle of friends. A bright student, Montressa was one of the few students who stuck by Pisces after his [Necromancer] class was revealed. However, following Pisces and Ceria’s expulsion from Wistram, she has fallen out of touch with both students.

Moore – A half-Giant [Green Mage] and a member of the Halfseekers. Despite being called half-Giant, Moore is in fact closer to quarter giant due to his mixed heritage. Nevertheless, he is a giant to all who meet him and the intimidation of his massive size is only tempered by his gentle nature.

Moore is a friend to most and his magic is suited to defense and aiding his companions. He is a danger in battle though, as this [Mage] is only too happy to break skulls with his quarterstaff rather than waste time casting spells. Moore is often asked why he became an adventurer given his kind nature. His response is that he has no problem killing monsters or his enemies. And it is perhaps telling that Moore has very few enemies in the world.

Mossbears – A slightly magical subspecies of bears known for their green fur, which is often covered in lichen. Mothbears are larger than the average black or brown bear, and some can even exceed polar bears in size. Voracious eaters, Mossbears sustain their massive bodies by eating magical lichens and plants, which they have learned to identify over countless years of evolution. They are generally peaceful unless disturbed. Or hungry.

Mothbears – Not to be confused with Mossbears. Mothbears are not, in fact, a subspecies of bears but an unholy fusion of moth and bear. Unable to fully fly, these gigantic monsters can still jump on their prey. Large, ferocious and attracted to bright lights, Mothbears are a dangerous threat for Bronze-rank adventurers, but considered to be a threat Silver-rank adventurers are generally capable of handling.

Mountain City Tribe – A tribe of Goblins living in Dwarfhalls Rest, a mountain located in the northern section of Izril. The Mountain City Tribe is notable for their vast numbers and extraordinarily high population of Hobs. This is due to a societal system implemented by their Chieftain, Tremborag. He styles himself the Great Chieftain of the mountain and appoints sub-lieutenants who have their own factions.

The Mountain City Tribe often raids nearby villages and cities but has kept such activities to occasional attacks to avoid attention. This has changed with the schism caused by the arrival of Rags and Garen Redfang, which saw a number of Goblins leave the Mountain City Tribe to join Rags’ tribe while Garen Redfang remained in the mountain. He is now second only to Tremborag, and the two Goblins have ramped up their attacks on Human lands in preparation for the upcoming conflict with the Goblin Lord.

Mrsha – The [Last Survivor] of the Stone Spears tribe, Mrsha is a young Gnoll cub incapable of speech. Mute since birth, she witnessed her entire tribe being slain by the Goblin Lord’s army. Saved only through the intervention of Ryoka Griffin and the fae, Mrsha’s fur was forever changed by her trauma and she now has pure white fur. This is regarded as an unlucky symbol by most Gnolls and those who are born or gain such fur are known as Doombringers, cursed ones who bring death upon all who associate with them.

Mrsha currently resides in Erin’s inn under the care of Erin and Lyonette. Though she has lost much, she lives happily most days and treats Lyonette like a mother and sometimes older sister. She’s also stopped stealing bras, although sometimes she steals food from Erin’s kitchen instead.

 

N

Nagas – A specific evolution of Lizardfolk. Nagas are one of the forms that Lizardfolk may turn into once they have fulfilled unknown criteria. Nagas are imposing half-serpent half-humanoids being who possess a superior level of strength and agility from their common kin. They are considered seductive as well, and are generally one of the more well-known types of Lizardfolk evolutions seen across Baleros.

Nalthaliarstrelous – The personal gardener of Magnolia Reinhart. Nathalistrelous is a [Druid] and considered to be one of the more dangerous servants in Magnolia’s employ. He resents taking orders even from Magnolia and his garden on her estate is fully overgrown and in places, dangerous. Why Nalthalistrelous consented to become Magnolia’s personal gardener is unknown. He resents personal contact, questions about personal life, and people stepping on grass.

Nekhret – A famous Archmage of Wistram, long deceased. Nekhret was a famous magic user who obtained the actual class of [Archmage], unlike her successors in recent years. She was known to be a powerful necromancer and her remains were interred in Wistram’s crypts after her death, an unusual choice for Archmages, who usually preferred to be buried elsewhere, or left no remains to be buried at all.

Nekhret’s tomb was left untouched for centuries until Pisces disturbed it and claimed her bones, unleashing a powerful spell of revenge upon the academy. He still possesses Nekhret’s bones, and used four of them in the creation of Toren, giving the skeleton far greater capabilities than her common kin.

Nereshal – A [Chronomancer] or time mage, Nereshal uses a branch of magic widely considered to be impossible or impractical to use by most of the world. As the steward of the Blighted King’s palace in Rhir and one of the personal confidants of the king, Nereshal possesses a wide range of power, both magical and social. He is capable of freezing his enemies in place, enhancing the speed of archers and arrows alike, but devotes most of his powers to extending the Blighted King’s life far beyond normal. It is rumored that Nereshal does the same for himself, and it is unknown how old he actually is. Nereshal has served the Blighted King for decades and if his magic continues to work, may serve him for many more decades still.

Nesor – A young, timid young man in the employment of Lady Rie Valerund. Nesor is a failed student of Wistram who left the academy after failing to meet their requirements. He is still capable of casting a number of spells, but his magical aptitude, like his confidence, is lacking. He is loyal to Lady Rie for giving him a place to work, and does his best, although his best is sometimes not enough.

Niers Astoragon – The Titan of Baleros and possibly the highest-level [Strategist] in the world. Niers Astoragon is a Fraerling, as tall as a cup of water, and in his late years. He was a successful adventurer before he became the second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing company. It was due to his efforts as well as Foliana’s that his company rose to become one of the Four Great Companies in his lifetime.

Niers is a strategic genius feared for his ability to play mind games with his foes and turn unwinnable battles into victories. He is also credited with inventing chess, and is an avid fan of the game. Recently, he has begun playing a mysterious opponent via magical chessboard, and speculation is rife who his opponent could be. Niers Astoragon knows his opponent is in Liscor but has not inquired further out of a desire to keep himself in suspense. Few things interest the Titan these days, but his new opponent and the new ideas and developments sweeping across the world have begun to rouse his interest.

Noears – One of the Goblins in the Flooded Waters Tribe, Noears is a [Mage], an unusual class for a Goblin to acquire. Extremely intelligent, Noears originally lived in Tremborag’s mountain where he masqueraded as a brain-dead idiot to avoid being drawn into the political struggles there. Having thrown his lot in with Rags when she fled the mountain, Noears is now a prominent figure in the Flooded Waters tribe and lends his lightning-based magic to his new tribe whenever necessary.

Numbtongue – One of the Redfang Warriors, Numbtongue is a Hobgoblin known for his ability to speak the common tongue. However, that knowledge does not mean he wishes to speak—after an unfortunate incident in his youth, Numbtongue is surly, preferring to keep his voice to himself unless needed. Like his fellows he is one of the survivors of the group sent to assassinate Erin Solstice. Now, living in her inn, Numbtongue is fascinated by songs and the spoken word. He can even read, although he keeps what he reads to himself. He understands more than he lets on, and he reveals very little of the true scope of his understanding.

 

O

Ocre – A small city neighboring the larger city of Remendia, Ocre is one of the cities just north of the High Passes. Not considered important in any respect, Ocre is best known for its proximity to the Ruins of Albez. The city is generally quiet as only a few adventurers go into the well-explored ruins hoping for a lucky break. However, the recent success of the Horns of Hammerad has sparked renewed interest in the ruins and Ocre has seem a small boom of visitors as a result. The Horns of Hammerad are local heroes in the city, due to their success in the dungeon.

Octavia – A Stitch-Girl [Alchemist] living in Celum. Octavia is a fast-talking, potion-slinging saleswoman whose only desire in life is to earn more money by selling her customers something. Anything. A small-time [Alchemist] in Celum, her fortunes have turned since meeting Erin. After a rocky start where Erin’s antics nearly destroyed Octavia’s kitchen multiple times, Octavia became Erin’s friend, and has even allowed Erin to install her magical portal to Liscor in her shop.

She now sells a variety of unique potions thanks to Ryoka’s help, and offers the world’s first version of matches, which has earned her a tidy profit. Octavia is hoping to expand her store soon, and she has a feeling that a certain [Innkeeper] might help her rise to even greater heights in the future.

Ogres – Even uglier than Trolls, if you can believe it. Ogres don’t get along with Trolls because they keep getting confused for each other. And while they are alike, Ogres are bigger and stronger than most Trolls, but lack the defensive toughness embodied in Troll skin. There are many exceptions among subspecies, but a general rule of thumb is that Ogres are stronger and Trolls are tougher and Ogres are really ugly. They smell, too.

Okasha – A Selphid [Rogue] that was saved by Geneva during battle. Okasha was a mercenary soldier who found herself saved by Geneva’s quick thinking. She repaid her savior by becoming a [Nurse] and aide to Geneva until the [Doctor] was hurt in an attack. Okasha entered Geneva’s body both to save her life and to help move her new host’s body. Without her, Geneva would be paralyzed owing to her spinal cord being irrevocably damaged.

However, Okasha’s actions are highly taboo among Selphid culture and throughout the rest of the world so she keeps her presence hidden. She is able to share her skills with Geneva and does whatever it takes to keep Geneva alive. Okasha believes Geneva might be the savior of the Selphid race, which is in peril for reasons yet unknown.

Oldblood Drakes – A subspecies or rather, genetic anomaly among Drakes. Those possessing the old blood manifest the traits of their ancestors, the Dragons. This can be anything from vestigial wings to the ability to breathe magical fire or fly. The intensity of such abilities varies, but those marked as Oldblood are honored in Drake society and often promoted more quickly than other Drakes. Occasionally the manifestation of their ancestry can be a negative thing indeed, and some Oldblood Drakes are born with deformities or worse. See Scorchlings for more detail.

Olesm Swifttail – The highest-level [Tactician] currently residing in Liscor, Olesm is no battlefield [Strategist] but a growing, if talented, young Drake with a passion for chess. First having met Erin after being completed defeated in a chess game, Olesm soon grew to be Erin’s friend. He admires the [Innkeeper] greatly and even loves her romantically—a feeling he has never expressed and which has never been returned.

Olesm has recently been involved with Ceria Springfield with whom he shared a one-night stand and is the subject of affection for many Drakes in Liscor, including Watch Captain Zevara. At the moment he is attempting to improve his strategic skills and runs a ‘chess magazine’ of sorts which has attracted attention from Niers Astoragon himself and earned him a small amount of fame. Olesm often considers himself a minor character in someone else’s story and largely unimportant. He may or may not be correct.

Oom – One of Az’kerash’s Chosen, deceased. Oom was an acid slime created by the Necromancer for one task: to assassinate high-level [Warriors] such as Zel Shivertail by immobilizing them in his body. Preferring to wear a trench coat and hat to conceal his true nature, Oom was a silent member of Az’kerash’s minions. The only creation that was not truly undead, Oom had only one friend in his short life, Bea. He was deployed to the battlefield to slay Zel Shivertail, but was killed by the Drake [General] instead.

Orthenon – Known as the Left Hand of the King of Destruction, Orthenon is Flos’ [Steward] and one of his most trusted vassals. Not one of the King’s Seven, Orthenon managed Flos’ kingdom as the King of Destruction rode to war and is considered on par with, if not more capable than many [Kings] in the world in terms of his ability to manage a nation.

Adept at combat owing to his [Blademaster] class, Orthenon is no stranger to the battlefield when necessary. He is steadfast, intelligent, and physically formidable, a perfect supporter of his [King]. Orthenon is a [Steward]. He is also a [Blademaster] and he was once a [Traitor] until Flos removed the class. But his sins have not been forgotten by those who cast him out…

Osthia Blackwing – An Oldblood Drake [Captain], Osthia Blackwing served under her uncle’s command in a battle against the Goblin Lord’s army until she was defeated and taken captive. Now she is the Goblin Lord’s prisoner and his source for information about the world and his master, Az’kerash. Osthia fiercely hates the Goblin Lord, but she hates the Necromancer more for slaying both Garusa Weatherfur and her uncle, Thrissiam Blackwing.

Osthia is a rare type of Oldblood who comes from a famous Drake family in Pallass. She is able to both fly and spit acid, and has risen rapidly in the ranks as a result of her abilities and her skill in battle. She is presumed dead by all who knew her, but she is still alive. Some days she wishes she wasn’t.

Othius the Fourth – Most commonly known as the Blighted King, Othius is the ruler of the Blighted Kingdom, a nation locked in eternal struggle with Demons and the monster hordes of Rhir. A powerful [King] and one of the most famous rulers in the world Othius’ true age is unknown, and he has ruled his kingdom for decades, all while battling the Demon King’s armies. He is a defensively-oriented [King] and his Skills allow his soldiers to survive their deadly encounters with their enemy. It is hoped by many that Othius will continue to live for many more decades, as his kingdom and his Skills are seen as the only thing that holds back the Demon King’s armies from swallowing Rhir whole.

 

P

Pallass – One of the six Walled Cities of the Drakes. Pallass is known as the City of Invention due to its large population of [Blacksmiths], [Alchemists], and other craft-related artisans. The northern-most Walled City, it has a strong military force to back up its technological achievements and is considered a stable force in the region.

Pallass is ruled by the Assembly of Crafts, a group of Senators elected by democratic vote from among the best and wealthiest of Pallass’ citizenry. Pallass’ citizens are also sort of somewhat dismissive of ‘uneducated’ or technologically inferior cities, leading to bad relationships with numerous Drake cities.

Parasol Stroll – A mercenary company who once followed the King of Destruction. Parasol Stroll is iconic for the enchanted parasols that each [Mage] carries. These lightweight parasols can deflect arrows, cast spells, and provide welcome shade from Chandrar’s hot sun. Magic can be stylish as well as practical.

Pawn – One of the five surviving original Workers to become Individual, Pawn leads a special unit of Soldiers and Workers in the Hive of the Free Antinium. He was the first Worker to ever talk to Erin and named himself after she helped him discover his soul. Pawn learned of religion from Erin and has since become determined to make a heaven for the Antinium who die, even if no god or higher power watches over his people.

He is an [Acolyte], an Antinium who prays to no one deity but to Antinium and the hope of salvation. Pawn has seen countless friends die, and his only hope is that their sacrifices were not meaningless and that a better place awaits them in the heaven he will try to build.

Peclir Im – A Human. The [Chamberlain] of the Forgotten Wing Company. He has a very prestigious position, but it is rare to find someone who can keep up with the whims of Niers Astoragon and Foliana. Peclir has served for four years. His predecessors all quit due to reasons of insanity. Let’s hope he has a longer tenure.

Pekona – A silent [Sword Dancer] from overseas. Pekona is a resident of the Drath Archipelago, a strange place from which she has brought little save for the katana she wields. She does not speak much about her home. She does not speak much, in fact. She joined Vuliel Drae for reasons no one knows save for Anith, their leader. She’s a good fighter. Everything else is pretty much a mystery. Or she’s just a grump. It’s probably both.

Periss – The former second-in-command to Wall Lord Ilvriss and his secret lover. Periss died at the hand of the Necromancer’s minions while pursuing Ryoka Griffin. Her death still haunts Ilvriss and has been the motivation behind all of his recent actions. Periss fell in love with Ilvriss quite by accident. They grew fonder of each other after she saved his life on the battlefield, and they continued their romance in private due to their relationship as commander and subordinate. Some nights Ilvriss still recalls his last order to Perris and wonders if she resented him for it at the end.

Persua – A sallow-faced girl, according to Ryoka. In fact, Persua’s face is attractive, if slightly pinched. That is probably the best that most people would say of her. Persua is manipulative, spiteful, and dangerous. She has threatened to murder Ryoka Griffin and was responsible for shattering the girl’s legs and trying to kill her at least once.

Persua is Ryoka’s enemy and hates her with a passion. The feeling is mutual. Recently, Persua qualified to become a Courier and has gone north, seeking greater fame and attention. If there’s not much positive about her here, well, that’s because no one’s heard her side of the story. And maybe that’s a good thing.

Peslas – A Drake [Innkeeper] in Liscor who runs the Tailless Thief. He is a big Drake and boasts the most prosperous inn…in Liscor’s walls. He is over Level 30 in the [Innkeeper] class and quite rich. He enjoys socializing with friends and often gives away free drinks, which doesn’t really matter too much because his inn is the most expensive bar none in the city. According to Erin, he’s sort of a jerk.

Pisces – A Human [Necromancer] and former student of Wistram. Pisces considers himself a genius, an expert with a rapier, and the one clear-headed thinker in a world full of idiots. The idiots for the most part, hate his guts. But beneath the layers of arrogance and cynicism lies a young man who was at one point a friend to Ceria, and a talented young mage. But he has ever been a [Necromancer] and the world will judge him on that alone.

Expelled from Wistram for his misdeeds, Pisces is wanted in many places for extortion, intimidation, theft—but never murder. He is by his own admission a graverobber and does not hesitate to pursue his interests of creating undead. And yet, he has been a hero as well. Of late Pisces has joined the Horns of Hammerad and contributed to their success in substantial ways.

Now he stands on the edge, teetering between the odd friendships he has forged with his companions and people like Erin and his distrust of the world. Whether he will be a better man for it or return to his own ways is a question for the future. All that is certain is that Pisces will probably have something sarcastic to say about it.

Pivr – The Revalantor of the Flying Antinium. Pivr is arrogant, convinced of his Hive and his Queen’s greatness, and he has wings. He is obnoxious company, especially to Xrn. Despite this, Pivr has empathy for his fellow Antinium and changed somewhat after visiting the Free Antinium in Liscor. Whether that really matters remains to be seen.

Poisonbite – A Goblin raid leader who used to be part of Tremborag’s tribe. She abandoned her former Chieftain to follow Rags and is now an officer in the Flooded Waters tribe. Poisonbite got her nickname from the two poisoned daggers she coats in a self-made poison before battle.

Prickly and devoted to proving that female Goblins can be better warriors than male ones, Poisonbite enjoys having a female Chieftain. She’s thought of taking the spot herself, but she’s acknowledged that Rags is far smarter than she is and is content to be second-in-command. Just as soon as she can figure out a way to be better than Pyrite. And Redscar. And maybe Noears. She thinks Noears is cute because of the missing ears. But she’d never tell him that.

Prost Surehand – Formerly a [Farmer], now a [Steward] serving Emperor Laken Godart, Prost first knew Laken as a stranger sharing an inappropriate relationship with the village pariah, Durene. Initially friendly, then hostile, Prost later became a devoted follower of Laken after his village was buried in an avalanche and Laken came to the rescue.

Now a competent [Steward], Prost regards Laken as a true leader and savior to his village. Though he knows little about being a [Steward] his class and his experience dealing with others has led him rise to the occasion. He is married and has several young children who are all alive thanks to Laken.

Purple Smile – An Antinium [Sergeant] of the Free Antinium, Purple Smile has a purple…smile painted over his mandibles and face. It’s very creepy. Easygoing and carefree, a rarity among Antinium, much less Soldiers, Purple Smile is a counterpoint to Yellow Splatters. A deadly fighter when he needs to be, Purple Smile usually takes the easiest route available, making him an excellent leader and a great relaxer. He still looks creepy, though.

Pyrite – The former Chieftain of the Goldstone Tribe, Pyrite is a placid Hob whose intelligence is belied by his looks. Always eating something and always thinking, Pyrite is Rags’ second-in-command. He is a strong fighter and often makes up for his Chieftain’s inexperience with his own. Pyrite enjoys mining at his leisure and has actually learned how to find gemstones with uncanny accuracy. He generally gives the precious gemstones and gold away since it’s just useless rock, after all.

 

Q

Quallet Marshhand – An experienced Human [Mercenary Captain], Quallet led a specialized company across Baleros offering a unique battlefield service: putting down the undead corpses that would spawn nightly from the dead soldiers on the battlefield. His company, Gravetender’s Fist was small if well-respected and generally comprised of a few veteran soldiers and many raw recruits.

During a battle between the Razorshard Armor and Roving Arrow companies, Gravetender’s fist found itself targeted as both sides began to break the rules of engagement and target third parties. Quallet escaped by banding together with the Red Cross company and other neutral parties, and has since joined the United Nations company as an experienced leader.

Queen of the Free Antinium – One of the six remaining Antinium Queens of Izril. The Queen of the Free Antinium has no name and is defined by her Hive. Unlike the other Antinium Queens, the Queen of the Free Antinium chose to pursue a stronger relationship with the Drakes and Gnolls of Liscor rather than specialize her Hive. As such her Hive contains only Soldiers and Workers and she is shunned by the other Queens for her radical stance.

The Queen of the Free Antinium is possessive of Klbkch, whom she regards as a true hero of the Antinium and her companion. She has begun experiments to create more Queens in secret, defying the will of the Grand Queen, whom she has lost faith in.

Queravia – One of the King of Destruction’s Seven, Queravia was a famed Stich-Woman and perhaps the greatest [Strategist] in the world—until her death. A gambler, Queravia’s strategies played with luck and she was dubbed the Gambler of Fates for her ability to turn unwinnable battles into complete victories. She led an invasion force into Baleros and successfully destroyed countless Balerosian companies until she met her match when Niers Astoragon led a massive coalition army against her and ended her life. She was romantically involved with Flos, and it is speculated that her death along with another of his Seven was the impetus for the King of Destruction’s slumber.

Quexa – A Lizardgirl from Baleros, Quexa was a low-level [Sorcerer] and new recruit to Gravetender’s Fist when the company began its ill-fated contract. Initially fascinated with the otherworlder Humans, Quexa fought with her company to defend itself when both companies began attacking their camp. She lost the lower half of her left leg in the fighting, but found support in Daly, who took it upon himself to help her in the day and weeks that followed. She is now a member of the United Nations company and romantically involved with a certain Australian man. Daly, in case you weren’t sure.

 

R

Rabbiteater – One of the Redfang Warriors. Rabbiteater’s first memory was of starving after being abandoned by his parents. Or perhaps his parents were killed. He never saw them again so he will never know. He learned to catch rabbits with unparalleled skill and thus obtained his name. Swift, deadly, and always a bit puckish, Rabbiteater lacks the unique qualities of his surviving comrades. He is not as good at fighting as Shorthilt, an archer like Badarrow, as gifted at words as Numbtongue, or as strong as Headscratcher. But he’s also not a jerk. And that matters because the other four Goblins can really get on each other’s nerves sometimes.

Rags – The Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. Rags was once a small Goblin. She watched her family being slaughtered by Relc. She was accepted into Erin’s inn. She was taught there. She learned kindness from Erin. She learned magic from Pisces. She left, and became Chieftain of her tribe. She faced down Garen Redfang. Her tribe grew larger. She entered Tremborag’s mountain after fleeing the Goblin Lord. She left there too, and her tribe grew larger.

Now she leads an army of powerful Goblins, hundreds of Hobs, and has survived many battles against the Humans that try to kill her people. And Rags only is still four years old. She is, quite simply, a genius and considered attractive by Goblin standards. She is a deadly shot with the dwarf-made crossbow she wields, knows a few spells, and is extremely good at strategy. She has a lot resting on her small shoulders.

Sometimes Rags dreams of going back to the inn and laying all her burdens aside. But she is far from home. And yet it is to home she will return. One day.

Raskghar – The ancient, primitive offshoots of the Gnoll species. Raskghar were Gnolls who dwelled deep in the underground and forsook their ability to level and gain classes for brutal strength and cunning. Bestial and drawn to savagery, Raskghar regain their intelligence only once every month when the moon shines brightest. That’s right. They’re reverse werewolves. And they live in Liscor’s dungeon. They can smell their ancient enemies, the Gnolls, above. And they howl in the darkness, waiting for the war to resume.

Razorbeaks – Also known as Dino Birds to Erin. Razorbeaks are pterodactyl-like birds that live in Izril. They have very sharp teeth and hunt smaller birds, rodents, and when they fly in number, sheep, goats, cows, and people. They are cowardly alone and dangerous together. Their eggs don’t taste half bad either.

Razorshard Armor Company – A Dullahan-led group that participated in a particularly nasty battle with the Roving Arrow company. The fighting abandoned all the rules of engagement normally honored in Baleros and both sides began targeting neutral parties. It is not known what the fate of the Razorshard Armor Company was, but the disgrace of their actions will certainly follow them. The Razorshard Armor Company is considered powerful due to the presence of several Dullahan [Juggernauts]—massive Dullahan giants capable of smashing enemy lines apart on their own.

Redfang Tribe – A famous tribe in Izril, the Redfang Tribe is considered dangerous to even a Gold-rank team and they are classified as so dangerous that multiple teams must attempt to subjugate them. The Redfang Tribe lives in the High Passes. Led by Garen Redfang, they boast the highest individual might of any Goblin Warriors although their tribe is somewhat small. Their Chieftain specializes in only one thing: combat, and as such the tribe is actually quite poor and has gone hungry in the past due to Garen’s lopsided skill set. Currently, the Redfang tribe follows Rags while only a core has stayed with their former Chieftain.

Redscar – The second-in-command of the Redfang tribe. Redscar is a normal Goblin rather than a Hob, perhaps due to his fondness for the Carn Wolf he rides. He is a deadly warrior second only to Garen himself and leads the Redfangs after abandoning his former leader to follow Rags. Redscar’s defining feature is the scar on his face. It’s not actually that red, but the nickname was too good to pass up. Redscar likes male Goblins. Female ones are fine too, of course. But still.

Regis Reinhart – An ancient ghost that haunts…guards…oversees the Reinhart family vault. Regis is bound by powerful spells to oversee the Reinhart collection of artifacts and is able to distribute them as he sees fit. He only allows those who have contributed something of worth to withdraw an item, although he will make an exception in times of great need.

This guardianship of the family treasure is one of the reasons the Reinharts have been unable to squander their wealth in previous generations and Regis intends to keep it that way. He still maintains an active presence in the real world through intermediaries and spies and sometimes even influences events. He has nothing but contempt for most of his living family, except for Magnolia whom he regards as one of the great Reinharts of history. He’s a doting grandparent too, although he usually doesn’t show it.

Regrika Blackpaw – The fake Named Adventurer alias used by Venitra when in disguise. Regrika Blackpaw was considered a hero of the Gnolls and greatly respected in Izril until she was exposed for murdering both Brunkr and Ulrien. Now she is a wanted criminal although no one has seen a trace of her since she disappeared. The Gnolls are especially keen to find their traitorous own and have put an internal bounty within the tribes on her. Alive.

Reim – The kingdom ruled by Flos, the King of Destruction. Reim was, at one point, an empire that stretched across nearly all of Chandrar. But when the King of Destruction fell into his slumber the empire collapsed and Reim became a tiny nation that crumbled away over the years as their [King] slumbered. Devastated by the passage of years and their absent monarch, Reim struggled to stay alive, waiting for the day Flos would return. Now the King of Destruction has returned, Reim has come to life and it returns to its former glory with each passing day.

Reinharts – One of the Five Families of Izril. The Reinharts are known as a group of plotters, schemers, rogues, and traitorous bastards with machinations and fingers in every underhanded plot in Izril—but those are just things people say about them. In truth, the Reinharts are, like all the Five Families, rich and powerful. It is true that more than a few of their heirs take to plots, poison, and intrigue than most, but they are hardly alone in that regard. They may be the best at what they do, though. Currently, the family is led by Magnolia Reinhart who does everything while the rest of the family lives in their ancestral estate, throwing lavish balls, parties, and living a hedonistic lifestyle free of worry. They do it with style, too.

Relc Grasstongue – A former [Sergeant] and a [Guardsman] of Liscor, Relc is quite possibly the strongest [Guardsman] in the world. A powerful spear fighter on par with a Gold-rank adventurer, Relc disguises his fearsome battle prowess with an authentic layer of laziness and sometimes, stupidity. As an actual member of the City Watch he doesn’t deserve his Senior Guardsman rank, but he is tolerated because when a monster pops out of the sewers or the bar fight gets bloody, there’s no one you’ll want backing you up. Assuming he didn’t start the bar fight, that is.

Remendia – A large city north of Liscor. It is situated near a smaller city, Ocre. And both cities are located near the Ruins of Albez. And that’s about it. Remendia, like Ocre, has little to distinguish it from other cities. No one’s ever destroyed it. No giants have ever smashed a building in. There’s not even been a widespread mass summoning of horrific monsters from the deep! And that’s the way Remendia likes it. Boring.

Ressa – The [Head Maid] in Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. That’s what she says, anyways. If she was the kind of person who answered stupid questions. Ressa has been by Magnolia’s side for as long as anyone can remember. She is dedicated, efficient, and expects nothing less out of the many servants she commands. She also has an enchanted poison dagger, three magic rings and—oops. I’ve said too much. She may be a ninja maid. That’s all I’m saying.

Revenants – A rare form of undead that appears when the actual soul of a person possesses an undead, rather than the crude intelligence most undead share. Revenants can think and possess some of the thoughts, skills, and memories of when they were alive, but such beings are inevitably twisted by death into insanity or a lust for vengeance. Extremely dangerous, even [Necromancers] hesitate to create such beings as Revenants are exceptionally hard to control.

Revi – A bad-tempered [Summoner] and Gold-rank adventurer. Revi is a new member of Griffon Hunt and joined the group to earn money and become famous. At least she’s honest about it. She has a sharp tongue and short temper and that drives many people away from her, but Revi has a heart of…well, a heart made of cloth. But it’s stitched together quite nicely! She’s a Stitch-Woman and she’ll hold together her team despite having lost Ulrien, their leader. Even if she has to drag the others kicking and screaming to do it.

Revivalist – A faction in Wistram dedicated to improving the lot of [Mages]. Which is what all the factions say. The Revivalists choose to pursue this goal by advocating for opening Wistram’s doors to all members of the public and doing away with the selectivity and need for expensive tuition fees. They dream of an era of magic where Wistram’s mages flow forth into the world. They clash sharply with elitist factions like the Isolationists.

Reynold Ferusdam – A [Combat Butler] in service to Magnolia Reinhart. You will see Reynold when you see Magnolia’s coach. He alone can properly pilot the pink, speeding deathtrap that Magnolia uses for transportation and he’s skilled enough with a sword to defend it too if need be. Reynold gets to see a lot of strange people in his job ferrying Magnolia or his guest about. He never complains though. He does his job well and efficiently and his worst nightmare is cleaning the stains off the carriage. You wouldn’t believe how many bandits he runs over in a week.

Rhir – The smallest of the five continents by far, Rhir has only one kingdom. The last bastion against the Demons and monsters that flow forth from deep within the continent. The Blighted Kingdom has held its ground for millennia, sometimes falling back, sometimes pushing back the monsters and Demon King’s forces. Little is known about the origin of the horrific, mutated monsters that will routinely attack the Blighted Kingdom, but little needs to be known in truth.

Only a few facts matter in Rhir. The Blighted Kingdom stands. The Demons must be held back. If the Blighted Kingdom calls, the nations of the world must answer or be drowned by the nightmares of Rhir. So long as the Blighted King rules from his lonely throne, the world is safe to squabble amongst itself. For now.

Richard Davenport – A Texan from Earth and a [Knight], Richard is the leader of the group of Americans who found themselves transported to Rhir. He never volunteered for the job, but as one of the few people who survived the first deadly encounters with monsters and kept leveling up, he is now a powerful [Knight] who often carries his friends on his back.

Responsible and caring, Richard is nevertheless quite aware how little influence he has on his fate in Rhir. A [Knight] he may be, but one [Knight] matters little to the Blighted King. On the other hand, his best friend, Tom, has attracted the attention of the kingdom. If Richard could convince Tom to assume a greater responsibility he and the others might have a chance of figuring out what is going on in this strange world he’s arrived in.

Rie Valerund – A minor [Lady] of Izril who was rescued from Goblin attack by Laken Godart. She has since pledged herself to his cause and employs her talents in building his kingdom. Lady Rie is hardly a powerful lady whether in level or influence and her family’s power has waned since the Second Antinium War where all of its members save for her were slain. Nevertheless, she has quite a few connections and she is currently employing all of them to be a useful supporter of Laken, in whom she sees quite a lot of potential for her own fortunes to rise.

Rievan Forstrom – A [Mage] of Wistram and a teacher, Rievan is a member of the Libertarian faction. He does not like Ceria. He does not like half-Elves, in fact. Beyond that there’s little else to say. He is not the main character of this story, in case you were wondering.

Riverfarm – A small village sheltered by a mountain and a river to the west of Invrisil, in the middle of northern Izril. Riverfarm was an ordinary village, poor and unremarkable save for the presence of a half-Troll outcast living away from the village. However, recent months has seen Riverfarm change completely. First visited by a strange Human from another world and then struck by an avalanche that buried most of the villagers alive, Riverfarm was saved by Laken Godart and claimed as his. Now it is the beginning of an empire as other villages, towns, and cities turn to Riverfarm as a beacon of safety and guidance in these dark times. Riverfarm is the start, but what fruits will grow from this village remain to be seen.

Rock Crabs – Also known as Hollowstone Deceivers, this breed of crab is a gigantic predator native to the area around Liscor. Hiding in massive stone shells, Rock Crabs wait patiently for their prey to pass by them before grabbing their victims and messily disemboweling them with a gigantic claw. Rock Crabs are a substantial threat because their shells are so tough, and even if you can get underneath their shells they remain quite deadly. They are afraid of poison, however, and flee if they sense any kind of dangerous substance in the air or on their shells. They have poor immune systems. Ever seen a crab with a cold?

Ruins of Albez – An area of rubble and buried passageways that is all that remains of a city. Located near Remendia and Ocre just north of the High Passes, Albez is known as a dangerous spot for adventurers that often offers little in the way of reward. Long ago picked clean by treasure hunters, Albez was thought to be an unprofitable, dangerous place to venture. Until, that was, a team of four Silver-rank adventurers returned from the dungeon with treasure. Now Albez is again a target for the hopeful. But whether it has any more secrets lost to time is anyone’s guess.

Runners – A term broadly used for messengers who deliver letters, secrets, and packages  in exchange for coin. Runners come in three varieties—Street Runners who move within a city and rarely venture beyond the walls, City Runners who deliver from city to city, and Couriers who may make journeys across the sea or through the most dangerous locations.

Runners are paid depending on the difficulty of their errand and the most famous of Runners can become as rich and famous as any adventurer. Indeed, the skillset needed to be a Runner often mirrors that of an adventurer, as bandits, monsters, and sometimes assassins will waylay Runners carrying the most valuable of cargo. Still, for most Runners their code is simple: deliver the package. Get paid. Don’t die.

Ryoka Griffin – A young woman from Earth. Ryoka Griffin is best described like a cat. Like a cat, she is opinionated. Like a cat, she likes to run around. Like a cat, she knows how to fight. But like a cat, she would most like for everyone to leave her alone. Having come to this strange world by accident, Ryoka Griffin made her living as a City Runner, surviving on her own until fate sent her to meet Erin Solstice. From there, Ryoka began to grow more involved in Erin’s tale, making friends with a Frost Faerie named Ivolethe, rescuing a young Gnoll cub named Mrsha, and attracting the attention of powerful and dangerous individuals.

After being targeted by the Necromancer, Ryoka lost her friend Ivolethe in a desperate battle with the undead servants sent after her. Heartbroken, she left Liscor, running north. She has not been seen since. No one knows where she has gone. Or if she will come back.

 

S

Sacra – You may know her as Odveig. You may know her as someone else. On the surface she is a [Maid] working in Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. But put on a Ring of Illusions and she could be a [Butcher] working down the street, an old man begging next door, a Silver-rank adventurer laughing while hunting monsters. Sacra is a spy. And she’s a good one. If Magnolia Reinhart wants to investigate something, she’ll send Sacra. And you’ll never know it. Sacra is the 007 of the medieval world. And she can also make some great tea.

Safry – A [Barmaid] employed at the Frenzied Hare. She was briefly employed, and then fired by Erin Solstice after meeting and becoming friends with the [Innkeeper]. They’re not friends any longer.

Salazsar – One of the Walled Cities of Izril. Salazsar is known for its gemstones, of which it has several profitable mines. It is in fact built on a gigantic vein which has yielded precious gemstones and ores for thousands of years. Some cities have all the luck.

Salvia – Bold, brash, and daring, Salvia is the relaxed [Captain] of Nonelmar, a city close to Vaunt. She has an amiable relationship with Gershal and is his opposite in many ways. Her unit of [Riders] is fairly strong and well-trained and Salvia herself is a good leader, if low-leveled compared to officers on the front lines. She’s obsessed with cheese from Vaunt.

Scorchling – A rare case of Dragon ancestry manifesting itself in Drake children in negative ways. Scorchlings are burnt the instant they are born and their scales burn away as long as they live. These offspring usually have short lives as Drakes consider them to be cursed by their blood rather than most Oldblood Drakes. Nevertheless, some do live to maturity and lead solitary, difficult lives as outcasts among their own people.

Sea Serpents – Giant water snakes. Their scales are tough as steel, and larger examples can wrap themselves around a warship and crack it like an egg. They are particularly nasty in clutches where they can attack by the dozens. They’re like…snakes. In the water. Look, that’s all you need to know. Oh, and some of them can do nasty things like spit venom. Or shoot lightning. Like snakes.

Seborn – A Drowned Man whose body is half-crab. Or half-lobster. Erin’s never managed to muster the courage to ask which it is. Seborn is a Gold-rank [Rogue] and a member of the Halfseekers. Drowned People rarely go ashore but Seborn abandoned the sea to become an adventurer on land with his companions. He lost over half his team when Garen Redfang betrayed them and has since journeyed with Jelaqua and Moore. He has sworn to kill Garen before doing anything else and while he has other commitments that weigh on him, vengeance comes first. Seborn does not forgive or forget. Aside from Garen, he’s pretty relaxed, though.

Selphids – A race of…parasites? Wait, are they parasites? Let’s see. They invade the bodies of the dead and use them as hosts. They can also do that to the living although that is considered taboo. They were once a world-spanning civilization that ruled other races by fear and terror until they were overthrown. Now the Selphids are a small species, distrusted and loathed in many places. That might make them parasites or it might not, but either way, Selphids can switch bodies at will and their lives are only threatened if their true selves—a squishy blob that is very vulnerable outside a body—are damaged.

Selphids are capable of performing superhuman feats (or superdrake feats, superdullahan feats, etc.) by pushing their bodies past their physical limits. Still, they try and take good care of their host forms most of the time. Freshly dead bodies ain’t cheap.

Selys Shivertail – A [Receptionist] in the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor, Selys was the first Drake to get to know Erin. Social, friendly, and opinionated, Selys is a good friend who puts up with Erin’s antics and often interjects a bit of sanity and her world’s perspective to help out her Human friend. She enjoys free time, shopping, and generally anything that doesn’t include work. She has a love-hate relationship with her grandmother, Tekshia Shivertail, who is also the Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild. Yes, it’s nepotism. So what? Drakes are okay with nepotism.

The Seven – A term used to refer to the King’s Seven, or the seven foremost vassals of Flos, the King of Destruction. The Seven were unmatched in their field and served their King until he fell into his slumber . Of the Seven, three are known to be dead. One of them, Drevish, was slain by the Emperor of Sands and the other two perished before Flos went into his slumber. The remaining four are Mars the Illusionist, Takhatres the Lord of the Skies, Gazi the Omniscient, and Amerys the Calm Flower of the Battlefield. Currently all but one has returned to Flos. Amerys has not left Wistram for reasons known only to her.

Shield Spiders – Armored spiders native to Izril. Shield Spiders’ carapaces are prized as an alternative form of armor by [Blacksmiths]. Good luck getting it off the spiders though; Shield Spiders live in nests underground and swarm over anything that walks over the pit traps they love to create. They’re dangerous in numbers, but you can stomp one to death if you’re angry enough. Ask Erin.

Shorthilt – A Redfang Warrior. Shorthilt is known for his love of sharp things. He can sharpen anything. Sticks, knives, swords…he takes good care of his weapons and is obsessed with finding better equipment. The other Goblins laugh at him for his attention to his blade, but do they laugh when he cuts straight through an opponent’s shield? Well, yes. If it’s funny.

Silverfang Tribe – A tribe of Gnolls known for being rich. Literally, it’s in their name. In truth, the Silverfangs are more of a mercantile tribe who prosper by trading goods. They are quite large and quite influential and have sent a number of their people to Liscor. Lead by Krshia Silverfang who is sister to the tribe’s current Chieftain, the Silverfangs have prospered in Liscor over the last decade. They do not have silver teeth, contrary to their name.

Silver Spears – A Silver-rank team that was led by Yvlon Byres before it was destroyed during the disastrous expedition into Liscor’s crypt. Slain at the hands of Skinner, the team was totally wiped out save for their Captain, Yvlon. The Silver Spears were a team dedicated to fighting evil and taking up causes, again until their destruction. And they weren’t a copy of a certain other team. No, not at all.

Silver Swords – The original, Gold-rank team dedicated to fighting evil monsters! Accept no substitutes. The Silver Swords are known for taking up missions of mercy and just causes even if there is no reward to be had. A righteous team, they are famous in northern Izril as a powerful group despite being comprised only of three members. The Silver Swords are courageous heroes to many. To the rest, they’re a bit, well, a bit pretentious. But don’t say that to their faces. They can be touchy.

Skeletons – What you find when you peel away the fleshy bits. Some of them get up and walk about if you don’t watch out. At least they’re fragile. Sort of.

Skinner – A monstrous guardian of Liscor’s crypts. Skinner was an ancient Flesh Worm armored in thousands of layers of skin torn from his prey. He commanded an undead horde and slew the Silver-rank teams that ventured into his lair before assaulting Liscor with the undead army. Skinner’s attack was only halted at great cost by the Antinium, the valient efforts of Liscor’s defenders, and a chance encounter with a certain [Innkeeper].

Unlike most Flesh Worms, Skinner benefitted from an incredible armor of dead skin, so much that he appeared to be a different creature entirely until the armor was destroyed. He also possessed two dangerous artifacts, twin gems capable of casting the [Terror] spell. With these abilities Skinner truly fit his role as a lesser guardian of Liscor’s dungeon.

Slimes – Weird blog-things. They roll about, eating stuff. Slimes come in all forms. Water slimes, mud slimes, poo slimes…yeah. Destroy the core inside of them and they die. But uh, maybe wash your hands afterwards. Also, there is no such thing as a Healing Potion slime. Absolutely not. That would be silly.

Snapjaw – One of the Goblin Lord’s lieutenants. Snapjaw is a formidable Goblin with metallic teeth and an oversized head. A [Biter] who kept gaining levels, her bite can now tear through steel. She’s ravenous, deadly, and likes chewing on rocks. She has no end of male and female Goblins in love with her.

Sserys – A famous Drake [General] who helped pushed back the Antinium during the First Antinium War. Sserys was slain in a final attack on the Hive of the Grand Queen of the Antinium. Not much is known about his final hours, but Sserys is remembered as one of the greatest Drake heroes to have ever lived. The [General] in command of Liscor’s army and their icon, Sserys coined the iconic Drake phrase: ‘Drakes do not run’. At the end, he stayed true to his word.

Stitchworks – Octavia’s shop in Celum. Once a small place often subjected to noise, smell, and occasionally sight complaints by the City Watch, it is now a prosperous business, having many unique items on sale including matches, stink potions, smoke bags, and pepper potions. It still smells weird inside, though.

Stone Spears Tribe – A tribe of Gnolls that lived adjacent to the High Passes in southern Izril. They were wiped out after the Goblin Lord assaulted their tribe, slaying all but a young Gnoll named Mrsha. Despite the best efforts of two Drake armies, the Goblin Lord slew the Stone Spears tribe to their last as both warriors and noncombatants alike died that one might live. That is what Ryoka and Mrsha believe. However, there may be other survivors…

String People – A people make of cloth and string, native to Chandrar. String People are very unique in that their body parts are detailed pieces of cloth. Once attached, these body parts become real flesh and blood. Stitch People can feel like us, smell like us, bleed like us…but if they think it’s a bother, they can remove their body parts until later use. That makes them formidable foes, although their species is deathly afraid of fire, which can mean a swift end. Stitch People’s bodies vary depending on the quality and craftsmanship of the cloth from which their parts are made. Poor-quality cloth means rough skin or deadened reflexes. On the other side of things, exceptional goods like silk can produce otherworldly results.

 

T

Tailless Thief – The most expensive in in Liscor. Probably one of the best too, but it only caters to Drakes. The owner’s a bit of a jerk. But the food is…well, it’s good if you like Drake cooking. And the liquor’s good, but good luck getting anything not made by a Drake. Again, they sort of have a theme going on.

Takhatres – The Lord of the Skies and one of the King of Destruction’s Seven. Takhatres is the fastest being on all of Chandrar. He is a Garuda, one of the flying people of the sands and his tribe is one of the largest. As a warrior, Takhatres is deadly to inexperienced or low-level foes. He wears practically no armor and his only weapons are enchanted daggers, but combined with his extreme speed he can slaughter a group of soldiers in minutes. He is loyal to his King, dedicated, and sort of single-minded. Like a bird.

Tallis – Known as Tallis the Stormbreaker, this Goblin Lord was a [Shaman] who followed Velan the Kind to Izril. Slain in the Second Antinium Wars, he was considered equal to or superior to an Archmage of Wistram. His magic was such that he could literally split the skies and drag an army into the air.

Tamaroth – Has a beard.

Tekshia Shivertail – The Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild of Liscor. In her youth, Tekshia was a famed Gold-rank adventurer known for her prowess with the spear. She has long since retired and was responsible for raising her granddaughter after both of Selys’ parents died during the attack on Liscor by the Necromancer. No-nonsense, Tekshia does not suffer fools. Or most other people.

Tenbault – A certain city in Izril. It is noted because it is home to a famous [Healer] who is so high-level that thousands of people flock to the city and camp there for months or even years hoping she will tend to their needs.

Terandria – The continent of Humans. And half-Elves. And yeah, Dwarves too. But mainly Humans! Terandria is a continent of kingdoms and boasts the oldest lineages, the most ancient of kingdoms…and the most politics too. It is considered to be the most peaceful of the five continents although wars, monsters, and other disasters can strike it just as any other place. But due to the overwhelming majority of Humans, the only wars that take place are between nations rather than species. Again, there are half-Elves and Dwarves, but they keep to their own small settlements. The Humans occupy Terandria now. And they will not relinquish it.

Teresa Atwood – Everyone calls her Teres. She is the twin sister of Trey and hails from England. More forthright and bolder than her brother, Teres is used to taking charge. Since coming to this new world she has followed the King of Destruction, slowly growing to admire parts of his reign. Teres is talented with a sword and has been taking lessons from Orthenon whom she admires. At the same time, a rift has opened up between her and Trey, one which troubles Teres differently. She sometimes feels as though she is a leaf caught up by Flos’ passing. It is an exhilarating, terrifying feeling. And despite it all, she wants to see where she will go next.

Teriarch A Dragon.

Termin – A [Wagon Driver]. He drives wagons. He knows Erin and the Horns of Hammarad. You will never see him again. Ever. I’m sure of that.

Tersk – The Prognugator of the Armored Antinium. Tersk was a simple Prognugator, believing in the supremacy of his position, his Hive, and his Queen. Then he journeyed to visit the Free Antinium and his thinking…changed. He returned to his Hive thoughtful, wondering what might be. He wishes to see Pawn, to see the Free Antinium again. But they are far from each other. And Tersk has his own duties. Someday though, he knows they will meet again.

Tessia – Gamel’s girlfriend. When the avalanche struck her village she was buried in the snow until Laken pulled her out. She will never forget that moment and works hard in Laken’s new empire.

The Krythien Sect – A small band of [Necromancers] and [Bandits] that Pisces had a brief relationship with in the past. Small-time thugs and mages controlling the undead. They probably won’t ever be mentioned again, so you should forget all about them.

Theofore – A luckless [Assassin] in Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. First forced to spy on Ryoka Griffin, Theofore was then caught in a war between Magnolia Reinhart and the Assassin’s Guild. Nearly killed by his own, he is now living in Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion and sent on increasingly difficult tasks. So far he’s survived, but it has to be said, he is starting to resent that fact.

The Putrid One – A mysterious Necromancer mentioned in old histories. He was the Necromancer before the Necromancer, if that makes sense. Look, the point is he was bad news. No guesses why. His name was well-deserved. Ew.

The Wandering Inn – An inn set just outside of Liscor. It sits on a hill, and it is run by an [Innkeeper] who hails from another world. Go up to the door. Knock on it. Wait and soon you may be greeted by a smiling face. Or by a fireball. An Antinium? A grinning skeleton. The inn might be under siege, or there may be a party going on. So visit it if you dare. Knock. And then think about ducking.

Thomas – Tom to his friends. Poor Tom has a voice in his head. He’s not sure if it wants him dead. It laughs and laughs and makes him dread. Poor little [Clown] with hands all red. You shouldn’t have stayed. You should have fled.

Thomast Veniral – Husband to Lady Bethal. [Chevalier]. Expert duelist. Okay dancer. Thomast is a silent man. His wife’s fiery temper and energy is a contrast to his stoic nature. People may wonder why he married her. But it would take a man like Thomast to compliment Bethal. One only wonders what he gets out of the relationship. Probably…an interesting life.

Thriss – A [Sergeant] enlisted in the 4th Battalion of the Raverian Fighter’s Company. Thriss first hired Geneva Scala while on recruitment for his company. A good fighter, he served his company faithfully until he attacked Geneva, believing she had conspired with the enemy to attack his camp. He paralyzed Geneva before being slain by Okasha. One wonders if anyone now remembers his name.

Thrissiam Blackwing – A [General] of Pallas sent to suppress the Goblin Lord, Thrissiam Blackwing was considered a strong defensive commander and was paired with Garusa Weatherfur in subjugating the Goblin Lord. Both [Generals] cornered the Goblin Lord after days of bloody fighting (finding battlefield romance in each other) before the Necromancer intervened. Thrissiam fell after slaying the undead Draug that Garusa had become and sent his niece for help. When he finally perished, he did not leave enough of himself behind to be reanimated.

Timbor Parithad – This [Innkeeper] dude in Celum. Has a red beard. Runs a decent inn. Erin doesn’t like him.

Timor du Havrington – A prime example of inbreeding between the nobility in Terandria. Timor is not an inspiring [Lord], but he does have the class. He is a [Mage] in Wistram and a personal enemy of Ceria and Pisces’, owing to his dislike of half-Elves. Arrogant, rich, and prone to holding grudges, it was Timor who purchased Pisces’ rapier after it was sold to allow Pisces to stay another year in Wistram. He now wears it proudly, though he has no right to either the silver bell or the blade.

Tkrn – A low-level [Guardsman] in Liscor. He is a member of the Silverfang tribe and as such, Krshia often gives him orders to pursue while he goes about his job. It’s not that he minds that much, but he sometimes wishes he didn’t have her constantly telling him what to do. Zevara gives him enough work as it is.

Toren – Once he was a skeleton. Then he became Toren. Something…happened in Toren’s creation that was unlike any other undead. He gained sentience. Created by Pisces as both an experiment and as a guard and servant for Erin’s inn, Toren quickly became more than a mindless undead. He gained feeling. He gained personality. And when he finally had enough of obeying orders he rebelled, abandoning Erin and becoming a murderous threat to anything living.

And yet, Toren thinks. He grows. From being a skeleton barely about to take one of Erin’s punches he is now a [Skeleton Knight] prowling in the dungeon of Liscor. Unknown to all, he has adopted a guise as a masked adventurer. He has…thoughts in his head. Some days he regrets leaving Erin. Some days he wishes she were still alive. Some days she wishes Erin were alive. Toren doesn’t know what he is. What she is. He only knows he is becoming something else. Something unique.

Traders of Roshal – Slavers. The Traders of Roshal are based in Chandrar. They have their own city. Roshal. This much was probably obvious. They are quite similar to Wistram in terms of power and influence, although they are considered far more distasteful to associate with than the mages due to what they trade in. Nevertheless, Roshal is a neutral party which brokers and oversees almost all slaves the world over. Few people cross them. The Traders have their own ways of settling things and they have dark secrets.

Tremborag – The Great Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe. Tremborag is a huge, fat, fat Goblin Chieftain who commands a huge tribe unlike any other. He promotes infighting among his lieutenants, and has adopted the worst of Human customs for his own. Formidable despite his size, Tremborag is able to transform his fat into muscle and destroy even Gold-rank adventurers by himself. Whether or not he is truly a Great Chieftain, he is powerful. He refused to march with the last Goblin King, Velan the Kind. And he refuses to bow to the new Goblin Lord. Or anyone else.

Trey Atwood – A young man from England and Teresa’s twin brother, Trey is less forward than his sister. Inclined to less sporty outlooks, Trey often lets his sister take charge and she sometimes does it even when he doesn’t want her to. He is a personal aide, or servant, or captive of Flos’ and was responsible for waking the King of Destruction with tales of Earth and lands unknown to Flos. Trey has a complicated relationship with Flos, having seen both the King’s strongest sides, his weaknesses, and his faults.

Since Trey learned of Flos’ acceptance of slavery his relationship with both Flos and his sister has been strained. Oddly, this has also led to a burgeoning friendship with Gazi who has taken it upon herself to teach Trey both magic and combat. Trey wishes she wouldn’t. Gazi is a painful teacher to have.

Tripartite Law – A three-mage mercenary company in Baleros. Tripartite Law is known for its rapid, aerial assaults as all three of its mages are capable of flight spells. Deadly, feared and hated for their area-wide attacks, Tripartite Law briefly encountered Geneva Scala and the people from Earth in a series of bloody battles. The [Mages] escaped unscathed. Those they encountered did not.

Typhenous – A [Mage] and Gold-rank adventurer, Typhenous joined the team of Griffon Hunt several years ago and has journeyed with them ever since. One of the oldest adventurers around, Typhenous’ grasp of magic is wide, if sometimes shallow. He has never attended Wistram and as such, lacks the raw firepower of some [Mages], but he uses his spells and his cunning to aid his group and himself where he can. He’s a sneaky old man, in short.

Tyrion Veltras A Human [Lord] of Izril. Tyrion Veltras is a powerful warrior, a commanding leader, and a jerk. He is scion to one of the Five Families of Izril, and as such, is considered exceptionally influential, perhaps second only to Magnolia Reinhart. He detests intrigue, plotting, and underhanded tricks of any kind and as such is one of Magnolia’s fiercest enemies. This rivalry stems back from when he and Magnolia were children. They have a history.

 

U

Ulia Ovena – An [Innkeeper] in Celum, Ulina is one of the highest-level [Innkeepers] in the city. She is extremely charming due to the Skills she uses to make her visitors feel welcome, and she works with other innkeepers in the city to earn a profit rather than compete. She is at odds with Erin Solstice over her hiring of two [Barmaids] from Celum, but too scared of Erin to confront her face-to-face a second time.

Ullim – The majordomo of the Veltras estate, Ullim’s family have served the Veltras’ for generations. Ullim’s burden is considerable under the current family scion, Tyrion Veltras as he is forced to manage both household and Tyrion’s two young sons in the [Lord]’s absence. While Tyrion is on campaign his household waits. Ullim would judge Tyrion more harshly, but the lord Veltras lost his wife less than a year ago and knows only war. His two sons grow up in his absence and Ullim strives to provide them with everything but what he can’t give them: their missing father’s presence.

Ulrien Sparson – The former leader of Griffon Hunt, Ulrien was a powerful Gold-rank [Warrior] who used a greatsword. He was a close friend of Halrac’s and the two of them were the original members of Griffon Hunt when the team hunted Griffins. A former [Soldier] and a silent and good soul, he was one of the adventurers who confronted Regrika Blackpaw at The Wandering Inn over the murder of Brunkr. He was slain by Regrika and his death has shattered his team.

Ulvama – A Hobgoblin [Shaman] of Tremborag’s Mountain City Tribe, Ulvama rose to her post by using her body and her abilities to gain influence in her tribe. She is a powerful spellcaster due to the size of Tremborag’s tribe and advises Tremborag on occasion. However, as Tremborag himself thinks of females as lesser to males in many respects, Ulvama lacks the influence of the other male Hob leaders and constantly plots to gain more authority among the tribe.

Ulva Terland – A scion of the Terland family, Ulva Terland and Petra Terland were the favored scions of their house. However, Petra Turland’s death during the second Antinium Wars shattered her twin sister and Ulva has let the Terland family fall into disrepair. For all of that, she is still a member of the Five Families and her influence is great.

Umbral – One of the survivors of Esthelm, Umbral has taken on a leadership role within the shattered city. Having first encountered Erin on her way to Liscor and then when she returned on a mission of mercy, Umbral is deeply grateful to both the Drakes and the Antinium for their support. The Humans who are his people on the other hand Umbral treats with more reserve, remembering how they failed to come to Esthelm’s aid until an [Innkeeper] and a Drake [General] plucked at their consciences.

Umina – A Lizardfolk [Strategist] and one of Niers’ advanced students, Umina is a creative spellcaster and tactician who often earns her teacher’s praise for her unique strategies. Despite this, she is insecure about her abilities and often defers to her classmates’ opinions. She admires Marian’s confidence and dreams of changing her form—perhaps into a Naga so she would be able to rapidly race across the ground like her Centaur friend.

Undead – A catchall phrase for the monsters that arise when bodies are left unburied en masse or in the presence of magic. Undead come in many forms and are considered a plague on the living by most nations in the world. Bodies are often buried in coffins or cremated for this reason; those disposed of without precautions can rise once more, and no one enjoys seeing their undead aunt lurching down the road late at night.

Unicorns – They exist. And they’re sort of jerks.

Urksh – The Gnoll [Chieftain] of the Stone Spears, Urksh saved Ryoka Griffin’s life after she was nearly frozen to death by the Frost Faeries. He was a capable leader who looked after the mute Mrsha until his death—he and his tribe stuck a bargain for her life in the face of death. The Stone Spears died, but a child was saved on that snowy night. One was better than none, or so Urksh hoped as he passed away.

 

V

Valceif Godfrey – A deceased Courier, Valceif Godfrey first met Ryoka when delivering a package to Erin on the way to Liscor. He was considered a very able Courier and could run at speeds no normal Runner could match. He was slain by a group of [Bandits] after being struck with a [Sleep] spell, due to having lent his protective charm to Ryoka. His death weighs on Ryoka’s conscience and she has informed his family that she is to blame for his death.

Vampires – Bloodsucking mosquitos, Vampires were once a threat that plagued Izril and the world until they were hunted to extinction. They now sparkle…in hell.

Velan – Known as Velan the Kind, most recent of the Goblin Kings and a pivotal figure in the Second Antinium Wars. Velan was known as a peaceful Goblin Lord who resided on Baleros and managed to even form a number of peace treaties with other races. His tribe traded with other nations and grew without incident until Velan became the Goblin King. For reasons unknown he broke all of his peace treaties, massacred his way across the seas and to Izril where he waged war on every side until he was slain at last by a coalition army formed by countless nations from across the world. He should have dodged.

Venaz – A Minotaur [Strategist] and one of Niers’ advanced students, Venaz is competitive and abrasive, often attempting to outdo his fellow students. He is considered a prodigy among his kind and outdid every one of his rivals in the Isles of Minos to be selected to come to Baleros to learn from the Titan himself. Despite this, Venaz often fails to understand some of Niers’ lessons, particularly the ones about subtlety. He conflates strategy with war—and little else. Thus he is always annoyed and upset to find another student has outdone him with lateral thinking, a concept with which he struggles.

Venith Crusand – A [Lord] and vassal of the King of Destruction, Venith accepted the truce of other nations after Flos entered his slumber and managed his lands for years after his [King] abandoned his dreams of conquest. Initially furious at Flos, Venith has rejoined his ruler and is now a steadfast vassal once more. A warrior who favors a sword and shield, Venith is an extremely capable defensive fighter though he is far from the level of the King’s Seven.

Venitra – One of Az’kerash’s Chosen, Venitra is a towering woman made entirely of bone. Created in the image of a female knight, her body is practically invulnerable to conventional attacks and she possesses a number of magical abilities innate to her creation. However, Venitra is also the youngest of the Chosen and is impulsive and thoughtless, lacking the control of the elder of the Chosen. She was once Az’kerash’s most favored creation until her failure at Liscor. Now she strives for her master’s favor once more, fearing that he will discard her as a useless creation.

Viceria Strongheart – A [Farmer] and [Green Mage], Viceria married Wailant Strongheart after being rescued by him decades ago. She happily abandoned her life as a mage of Wistram and settled down to a peaceful farming life. She is able to magically enhance the crops on her farm to grow faster and produce more plentiful harvests. Viceria does keep in touch with Wistram from time to time, and has a small amount of influence she occasionally uses. Once a mage of Wistram, always a mage of Wistram.

Village of the Dead – A unique landmark in the northern section of Izril, the Village of the Dead is a destroyed village where the souls of the undead constantly spawn and respawn, unable to be killed or commanded, even by [Necromancers]. It is thought that this is the result of some terrible spell or artifact, but no one has ever managed to uncover the secrets of the village. The undead rise moments after falling and while the threat is beyond that of even Gold-rank teams, it is contained as the spell has a small radius around the village. Thus, the Village of the Dead remains. Waiting.

Vincent – One of the summoned heroes of Baleros, Vincent is a [Thief] and a Human from Earth. A reluctant warrior who cannot throw himself into combat without reservation, Vincent obtained his class by accident when he was wandering around the Blighted King’s palace and picking up items that didn’t belong to him. Now he employs his skills to help his friends from his world sneak up on monsters and ‘acquire’ items they might need.

Vuliel Drae – A Silver-rank team currently based in Liscor. Vuliel Drae is attempting to explore Liscor’s dungeon. They have had extraordinary success once already, having recovered a Gold-rank weapon after venturing into the dungeon. This success was due in large part to a ‘mysterious swordswoman’ who guided them through the dungeon and saved them from a number of deadly traps. Vuliel Drae is not a particularly powerful Silver-rank team and their best attribute is their blind luck, of which they have a lot.

 

W

Wailant Strongheart – A Human [Farmer] and Garia Strongheart’s father. He was once a successful [Pirate] and retains his fighting ability and powerful build, but he lives happily on a farm with his wife, having given up the dangers of the sea for farming. He is strong enough to defend his farm by himself and often worries about his daughter, who he considers strong but untrained. He has a soft spot for the rabbits that eat his crops and sometimes feeds them on the sly. Until his wife finds out. He has mixed feelings about rabbit stew for this reason, which is a common dish in the Strongheart household.

Wais Rabbits – A magical breed of rabbit known for its ability to cast spells and teleport. Wais Rabbits are generally peaceful, but they remain one of the more dangerous rabbits to hunt, given their ability to fight back. Foxes, wolves, hawks, and other animals have learned to avoid attacking this breed of rabbit.

Wales – A Human city in Izril, it has no relationship to the country of Wales from Erin’s world. It is located two hours away from Celum and is relatively boring, except for one amusing event involving a runaway herd of pigs that will not be recounted here.

Walled Cities – Six Walled Cities exist on the southern half of Liscor, remnants of an age when Drakes and Dragons coexisted. These massive cities boast walls of at least three hundred feet in height and are nearly impervious to siege. They are the most prosperous and influential of the Drake Cities, and each is known for a different quality which defines it, whether economically, militarily, or culturally.

Welca Caveis – A Human [Knight] and a member of the Knights of the Petal, Lady Bethal’s personal elite fighting force. She is one of the youngest members of her order and hails from a noble family. However, her inexperience combined with her tendency to lose her cool in combat marks her as the youngest and possibly weakest of the Rose Knights, much to her displeasure.

Welsca Crimsonscale – Drake. One of Ilvriss’ aides, she was most notably thrown across a bathhouse by Ryoka, face-first into a pool of hot water. She has never gone back to the bathhouse due to the embarrassment.

Wernel Reinhart – One of the Reinhart family, he has an incestuous relationship with his half-sister, Damia Reinhart. Ew.

Wesle – A Human [Actor] and former [Guardsman], he found the stage calling him when Erin introduced it in Celum. Now he stars in theatrical productions alongside his co-star, Jasi. He has a fuzzy lip that does not merit the dignity of being called a mustache.

White Leeches – Even worse than black leeches.

Wights – An advanced form of undead, their touch is paralysis. These undead lack the raw physical ability of Ghouls and are more easily dispatched. Unfortunately, Wights make up for that issue with increased intelligence and often hide before ambushing their prey. They are considered a goldmine by [Alchemists] specializing in poisons.

Wil – A Human [Strategist] and one of Niers Astoragon’s students. He has a pen pal in Zeres, and he often corresponds with his friend, passing on lessons from Niers or trading rumors and gossip. Both he and his pen pal trade information in the hopes of furthering their respective ambitions, playing games of politics as well as strategy.

Wiskeria – A Human [Witch] and a low-level [General] recently appointed by Laken to lead his armies. She is an intelligent young woman who wears spectacles and was once a member of the Celestial Trackers until her group’s leader, Odveig, revealed herself as a spy of Lady Magnolia Reinhart. Now she is a citizen of the Unseen Empire and looks forward to a personal home that Laken has promised her, complete with her own garden of fungi and other alchemical ingredients.

Wistram Academy – The home of [Mages], Wistram sits on an isle in the middle of the ocean, protected by magics that create a bubble of calm around the citadel. The academy is vast, owing to the dimensional magics enchanting the structure and Wistram is known to produce spellcasters of unrivalled ability. However, the upper floors of Wistram are sealed due to the last will of Archmage Zelkyr and while the isle is maintained by the Golems who serve the [Mages], they also keep the mages of Wistram from reaching the higher levels of the academy unless they pass a trial by combat. No mage has ever managed to do so, or at least, done so and returned.

Wraiths – Like ghosts, but usually deformed and bestial. These spirits have forgotten much of whom they were in life and are summoned by [Necromancers] or magical phenomena to haunt the living. Nearly impossible to kill without magic, they attack from blind spots with chilling weapons or claws.

Wrymvr – Known as Wrymvr the Deathless, he is one of the Centenium. Not much is known about him, but his body is extremely tough and he is far larger than most Antinium. He can also fly, spit acid, and sing. He rarely sings.

Wurms – Not to be confused with worms. These ones are a lot bigger, a lot tougher, and bite. They live in squirming cells a few feet underground. Think about that the next time you lie on the grass.

Wuvren – A Human [Lady] of Izril, one of Magnolia’s personal friends and a member of her circle of noble allies. She dislikes her name, which her parents decided on when they were told by a [Soothsayer] that she would be a boy. She dislikes all kinds of fortune tellers as a result.

Wyverns – A nasty, predatory monster that hunts in Southern Izril. These distant relatives of Dragons are far less intelligent and smaller than their kin, but still pose a dangerous threat. They dive out of clouds and land on their prey and can carry off entire cows or people to devour in their nests.

 

X

Xalandrass – A Naga [Merchant] who specializes in selling arms and artifacts to companies on the battlefield in Baleros. He takes no sides in general, seeking the highest-profit margin by aiding anyone with enough coin, but has been shaken by recent events. After losing much of his merchandise he has decided to take up conventional trading across the continent, which, it has to be said, isn’t much safer than sitting on a warzone. Especially during trade wars, which are actual wars.

Xrn – The Small Queen of the Antinium. One of the original Centenium, she is perhaps the only Antinium magic-user in existence. Her body is azure and her eyes change color with her emotions, a byproduct of her creation and magical ability. She is able to create spells at will based on magics she already knows, and is extremely powerful. She has recently discovered the joys of gluten and eats too much bread with cheese.

 

Y

Yellow Shamblers – Often incorrectly assumed to be zombies. These are in fact a type of parasitic plant that has possessed a corpse or still-living body by invading its nervous system. They aren’t that dangerous unless the spores infect you, as the plants have a poor grasp of most of their host’s bodies and stumble or crawl towards their prey, giving them their name.

Yellow Splatters – The first Antinium [Sergeant] of the Free Antinium. He is a strong fighter but an inexperienced leader and often despairs at the deaths of his fellow Soldiers. He has a fondness for small spiders after being read a certain book by a certain [Innkeeper]. Large spiders he crushes with his foot.

Yerranola – A Selphid and one of Niers’ students, she tries to find the freshest bodies of Lizardfolk she can to inhabit, believing their corpses boost her mental capacities. This is in spite of her habit of eating the brains of each corpse she inhabits.

Ylawes Byres – The elder brother of Yvlon Byres, a male [Knight] and the leader of the Silver Swords. He is a powerful Gold-rank warrior and widely respected in the north as a hero of the people. Often pointed out as an almost stereotypical example of a knight in shining armor, he champions the innocent. Sometimes whether they like it or not.

Yvlon Byres – The former leader of the Silver Spears, this Human [Wounded Warrior] lost her entire party in the disastrous expedition into Liscor’s crypt-dungeon. She joined the Horns of Hammerad and was later wounded when fighting against a fire elemental. Part of her armor was fused with her arms, making her bones brittle. Nevertheless, she continues to adventure with her companions, having found a team with them. She is something of an older sister to Ksmvr, a unique experience for Yvlon, who is the second-youngest in her family, and to Ksmvr, who has never had family.

 

Z

Zalthia Werskiv – Human. Known as the Firebringer, she is a member of the Tripartite Law company, a three-person mercenary company in Baleros. She is exceptionally good at flying, casting fire spells, and not talking.

Zanthia – A Human [Lady] of Izril, one of Magnolia’s personal friends and a member of her circle of noble allies. She’s tough, old, and once spanked a young Lord Tyrion Veltras for being a noisy upstart. Neither one has forgetten the incident.

Zara Walker – An otherworlder Human, her alias is strider_479. She is a [Ranger] and hails from Australia. While she dislikes living in the wild, she survived a nasty encounter with several varieties of poisonous insects on her first adventure, mainly because she didn’t sit on their nest like the rest of her party.

Zel Shivertail – The famous hero of the First and Second Antinium Wars, known as the Tidebreaker. The highest-level Drake [General] in the world. He enjoys pancakes and relaxing when he’s not fighting. Recently slain by Az’kerash, his death was attributed to the Goblin Lord, Reiss.

Zelkyr – A Drake Archmage of Wistram who lived around 200 years ago. He is considered deceased, although his Golem creations still protect the academy in his death. He was a famous mage in life, and even damaged one of the Walled Cities of his homeland. It is a little known fact that this was not due to a dispute with the city itself, but rather the byproduct of a drunken bet.

Zevara – The Watch Captain of Izril. She is in charge of security and often finds herself vexed by Erin Solstice’s accidental troublemaking. She has a crush on Olesm and can breathe fire, although the effort taxes her greatly. She enjoys staring at cats, although she is highly allergic to them.

Zombies – Slow, strong, and generally rotting, they’re considered a Bronze-rank threat and a naturally-occurring nuisance. They rise from untended graveyards and in places of death. They’re not that dangerous unless they run. Or explode. Or carry the plague. Or there are thousands of them. Also, they smell bad.

 


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5.00

Zel Shivertail was dead.

Four words rocked the world in the first days of spring. Like wildfire, the news spread across Izril and then to every continent in the world at the speed of magic. Zel Shivertail had fallen. The Tidebreaker had been slain. The legendary Drake hero of both Antinium Wars had been killed in battle—and by a Goblin Lord, no less.

The world was vast. There were countless nations, hundreds of minor [Kings], any number of [Generals], self-proclaimed heroes and adventurers, figures of renown whose names were known only locally, in one country or a handful of cities. But there were also Named Adventurers, and world leaders, famous [Lords] and [Ladies] and Archmages whose names were known even in lands where they had never set foot. Zel Shivertail was known to the world. And his absence left a hole in the imagination.

He was dead. A Goblin Lord had slain him. In Izril, in the north, the Humans who heard the news were stunned. Not only had the mighty hero of the Drakes fallen, but the power of Magnolia Reinhart, one of the leaders of the realm had been shattered as well. Her army fled the field in disarray, striking a political blow whose effects would ripple from that event for months.

Yet, if the Humans were stunned, it was the Drakes, the people who had grown up associating Zel’s name with history who were truly devastated by the news. When his death was first announced there were riots across southern Izril, pandemonium in the streets. The next day there was only silence. And tears.

The Gnoll tribes were similarly affected by Shivertail’s death. However, instead of making their reactions public the majority of the tribes withdrew from sight. Massed Gnoll howls dominated the plains, and they too mourned. Zel Shivertail had been a friend to their kind, if not their hero.

The Human cities were relatively calm as they weren’t caught up in the loss of a national hero, but fear was the undercurrent that ran across the continent. A legend had fallen. The veil of safety had been torn, and now Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls alike feared what the Goblin Lord might do next.

That was Izril. Across the world the reactions of other species were muted. They did not know the Tidebreaker except as a name. However, those who understood strategy or had a grasp of world events felt the significance of his departure. That a Goblin Lord, a single Goblin Lord, however mighty, had felled a Drake [General] of that level was cause for alarm. To be that young and that mighty meant he might well be another Velan the Kind, or worse, a Curulac.

The leaders of other nations faced the very real possibility that a Goblin King might arise once more in their lifetimes, and the small Goblin conflict in Izril became a much more serious topic of conversation. Plans were hatched. Diplomacy begun. But such were the machinations of only a few.

After all, it was only politics. The rest of the world did not wait overlong after hearing of the fallen Drake [General]. A moment of shock, a pang of regret or fear, and the world kept moving. Zel Shivertail’s death was news, but to the common man…or Lizardman…or Drowned Woman…or Selphid, Zel Shivertail’s passing was just news, a change in the wind.

But return to his home continent and the reaction was far different. Zel had been known. He had been loved. And he would be missed.

Across Izril, there was mourning.

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice woke up at dawn because she was used to it. She stared at the ceiling of her kitchen and then turned over. There was no point to getting up. No one would be awake. Or if they were, they wouldn’t be hungry. Erin lay in the tangle of sheets that was her bed in the kitchen of her inn and just lay there for a while, not quite awake but unable to return to sleep.

In the end she got up. Erin wandered around her kitchen. She opened a drawer, pulled out a toothbrush, towel, and some of the simple toothpaste they used in this world. She brushed her teeth, gargled, realized there was nowhere to spit, and walked outside.

It was cold and wet and the mud and grass squished between her bare feet. Erin paused, stared at her feet, and then walked to one side into a pile of snow. It was dirty and mostly melted. Erin walked back in, scraping her feet against the welcoming mat she’d put there for this very occasion.

She washed her feet more thoroughly with some water from a bucket when she got back to the kitchen. Erin wandered back into the common room of her inn and sat at a table. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it.

After a few minutes she heard a faint shuffling sound from upstairs. She looked up and on cue a young woman holding a white ball of fur descended the stairs. Lyonette looked like a ghost. Erin immediately got up and went over to her. She hugged Lyonette silently. The two stood like that for a minute and then Lyonette went over to a table. She put the ball of fur on top of it.

“Mrsha?”

The small Gnoll didn’t move. She lay on the table, looking like a white ball of fluff. A large one. She’d grown a bit since she first came to the inn, as children did. But she was still so small. So young.

Erin patted the Gnoll cub on the head. Mrsha twitched, but made no other sound. There had to be a limit to how much despair, how much sadness someone could feel. Erin knew Mrsha had loved Zel.

And now he was gone. Unconsciously, Erin looked around. It felt like yesterday that the Drake [General] would be sitting at a table, eating pancakes, talking with Lyonette, teasing Mrsha and offering him some of her food.

And he was gone. Just like that. Dead, having fought the Goblin Lord hundreds of miles from here. It didn’t seem real.

It had been three days since the battle at Invrisil. Three days since Olesm had burst into the inn in tears and Erin had heard the Gnolls howling, heard the horns blaring from the walls of Liscor and Selys’ scream.

Three days. It still felt like she was dreaming. Erin busied herself by taking some food out of her pantry for Lyonette and Mrsha. Oatmeal, seasoned with honey. Mrsha refused to eat. Lyonette tried to feed her, but gave up when the Gnoll refused to move. She only ate half her bowl herself before pushing it away.

“I’ll give the rest to Mrsha when she’s hungry.”

“Right.”

Erin realized she hadn’t eaten either. She ate a bowl of porridge mechanically as more guests came down the stairs.

“Morning.”

Ceria waved tentatively at Erin, her face bleak. Erin waved back. The porridge was hot, filling, and some part of her craved the sweetness and warm food. But the rest of her felt sick from eating.

People walked down the stairs. A half-Elf. Ceria. A young man in white robes who was uncharacteristically silent. Pisces. A black-brown ant man with three arms. Ksmvr. A woman in silver armor. Yvlon.

The Horns of Hammerad. They accepted bowls of porridge as Lyonette got up to serve them and ate quietly. They left quietly, too. They were keeping busy with requests. Small hunts, extermination of small monster nests. Erin understood. It was keeping active that matters. Dwelling on things hurt more.

“Is that porridge I smell?”

Someone else came down the stairs after the Horns of Hammerad had left. Jelaqua Ivirith, pale-skinned, her body dead, slightly ravaged by combat and the damage she had taken, walked downstairs. The stitching around her forehead looked slightly…loose. The flesh appeared pallid. Rotting. She only smelled a bit and covered the scent with a strong lavender smell. Erin didn’t mention it.

“There’s porridge. Are Moore and Seborn…?”

“Coming. We’ll be in the dungeon today. Probably be back around noon, though. Don’t want to push too far and we haven’t seen Griffon Hunt for a while so…”

“Got it. I’ll make lunch.”

“Thanks.”

The Selphid smiled quietly, looking tired. Sure enough, Erin heard Moore’s heavy tread and turned her head to see Seborn, the Drowned Man, slipping downstairs. He was quiet as a shadow and his crustacean half—and his claw-hand—didn’t impede his progress at all. She served him porridge as well as a small bucket of water to keep him hydrated. Then she got out a huge bowl for Moore.

“Thank you, Miss Solstice. You’re too kind.”

Moore always said the same thing. Erin smiled up at him, for a second before her features flickered back to empty blankness. The half-Giant was huge as he sat around the table with his two teammates. He looked at Mrsha with concern as the Gnoll lay on her table. The half-Giant’s face twisted with tender concern. Then he noticed the large bee that flew across the room and landed on the Gnoll’s head.

Apista, the Ashfire Bee waggled her antennae as she walked over Mrsha’s head. It was her habit to rest on top of the Gnoll and she did so now, oblivious to the Gnoll’s grief. Erin eyed the bee, but forbade comment. Lyonette put out some honey in a small saucer and the bee crawled towards it.

This was the morning in The Wandering Inn, Erin’s home and place of business. It was subdued, quiet, and Erin had experienced the same morning for three days now. She finished her breakfast by taking a tray and heaping it with five large bowls. Not quite as large as the mixing bowl she’d used for Moore’s breakfast, but certainly oversized portions.

She filled each with porridge, added five tankards of weak ale, realized that was too much to carry, and let Lyonette take the drinks. Erin walked over to a hatch by the kitchen and opened it with one hand. She called down into the darkness, sensing rather than seeing the figures below.

“Breakfast’s here. Porridge. You want to come up?”

In the shadows, a Goblin shook his head. Erin nodded and passed the tray down. Green hands rose to take it. Sitting at their table, the three adventurers eyed Headscratcher as he took the tray carefully from Erin and walked back down the stairs. Lyonette handed the drinks to Shorthilt and the Goblins disappeared into the basement.

Goblins. Hobgoblins, to be exact. Erin was grateful they hadn’t come up. The Redfang Warriors had been tactful these last few days, barely going above when there were people around. They understood the mood in the inn, crazy as that might seem.

Crazy? Erin frowned as she sat back at a table. No. They were Goblins, but they were people too. They could understand grief. And they were smarter than they seemed.

“I’m going to the city, Lyonette. I’ll be back with food for lunch.”

“Okay.”

Erin walked silently to the door, finding her boots and putting them on. It was muddy outside and slippery. She walked out of her inn, tromping through slush and staring up at grey skies overhead. Winter had passed. Spring had yet to begin. The world was dark and grey and miserable. It was perfect weather for a day like today.

The walk to Liscor was short and uneventful. Erin didn’t think of much, but she amended her opinion of the Goblins as she entered the city. Even if they weren’t socially aware, they’d have to be idiots not to sense the mood in the city.

Black banners flew on the battlements as Erin walked through the western gates. She saw they were all at half-mast. The [Guardspeople] at the gates and on the walls made no sound as she entered. She thought the Drake [Guardswoman] at the gates was crying.

The streets weren’t silent as Erin entered. They never were. But there was a quiet nonetheless. No one laughed or shouted here. Erin walked past houses, seeing flashes of blue on each door.

Erin hadn’t known this, but Zel Shivertail’s crest or family symbol was a sprig of blue flowers, curled like a tail. As she walked through Liscor she saw blue flowers everywhere. There was so much demand that some [Traders] and [Shopkeepers] were ordering alchemical dyes to color other flowers. They were selling them for silver pieces on the street.

She had her own bouquet on her door. It was carefully arranged by Lyonette with Mrsha’s help, a splash of color in the muddy landscape and melting snow. It felt small and worthless to Erin. Everything did.

There was not silence in Liscor. But the sounds were worse than silence. Drakes, normally stoic and reserved, wept openly in the streets. Erin saw them standing in groups, talking quietly, touching each other, heads bowed. Some just stared blankly ahead. Others looked at her and then turned away.

Gnolls also walked the streets, in fewer numbers, but they were just as subdued. No tails wagged and they went about their business quietly. They had not lost an icon of their people, but they also grieved. Erin saw more than half of the shops that were normally open at this time were shut, their windows shuttered.

Three days, and Liscor had yet to recover. Erin could remember the days after Skinner and the undead had attacked the city. They had not been like this. During that time the city had been noisy. Full of grief and lamentation yes, but noisy. She remembered the people moving about, some weeping for the fallen, others trying to repair, rebuild. It was not like that this time.

The Goblin Lord had not killed a single citizen of Liscor. He had not damaged their city. But he had killed their hope. He had ripped away part of Liscor, part of the soul of the Drakes. Perhaps if Zel had fallen on Drake lands it would have been different. But no, he had died in the north, at the head of a Human army. And that mattered.

There were very, very few Humans on the streets. Erin walked quickly, head bowed. She was trying to get across the city without incident. She failed. She was walking down a large street when something hit her on the side. She jerked, turned, and ducked as a second clump of mud and snow flashed by her face.

“Goblin lover! Traitor!”

A Drake with light purple scales raised his fist and shouted at her. Erin raised her hands as he threw another clump, but his aim was bad. He missed and a splatter of mud hit her on the cheek.

“How dare you! You Humans are what caused all this! You and your damn cowardly kind! If it hadn’t been for you—”

He choked on the words. He was young, perhaps a year or two younger than Erin. She backed away from him as he advanced.

He was angry. And she was a target. Worse, Erin had Goblins in her inn. That was a known fact. Erin saw other Drakes turning their heads. Many gave her looks akin to the one the mud-throwing Drake had given her. Thankfully, none of them joined in the shouting, but neither did they stop the Drake.

“Your kind should be kicked out of the city! We should burn that damn inn to the ground with the Goblins inside! You race-traitor, you pathetic, damned—”

He was coming. Erin’s pulse accelerated and she braced herself. The Drake didn’t look like a [Warrior], but he was angry and Drakes had sharp claws. She didn’t want to hit him. If she did, the street might turn on her. But if she didn’t—she turned, ready to run.

“Come back here!”

The angry young Drake was quick. He ran at Erin, claws clenched into fists. Erin turned, realizing she wouldn’t get away. She braced herself, ready to take a hit first before she hit him back. The Drake was nearly on her when a hand yanked him off-balance. He stumbled, and Erin turned.

A Drake with light green scales and a huge, muscular body caught the purple-scaled Drake. He grinned at him, showing off his pointed teeth. He had a [Guardsman]’s armor on—a mixture of steel and leather, and carried a spear in one hand. He grinned at the smaller, younger Drake.

“Hi, I’m Relc.”

The Drake blinked at him. Erin blinked too. Relc waited a heartbeat, and then head-butted the other Drake. It was so fast that Erin didn’t have time to blink twice. The other Drake wobbled, and then fell over.

“[Relc Headbutt]!”

Relc raised both his hands over his head like he was a wrestling champion and then looked around. The street was staring at him. He waved at a group of Drakes.

“All taken care of! No need to worry! Senior Guardsman Relc is on the job! Hey, Erin, help me move this guy over here so a wagon doesn’t roll him over, huh?”

He lifted the Drake and with Erin’s help, dragged him to one side of the street. Erin stared at the Drake as Relc casually laid him down next to a building and then at Relc.

“Um. Aren’t you going to bring him somewhere?”

“What? Nah, here’s good enough. He’ll wake up in a bit with a sore head. It’s not worth bringing him to the barracks.”

Relc straightened, casually dusting his claws off. He grinned at Erin.

“Good thing I was here, right? Lots of Drakes are angry at you. But we can’t attack Humans randomly! That’s against the law. I think.”

He grinned cheerfully at her. It was such an alien expression that Erin didn’t know how to react to it. She stared at Relc and then at the Drake.

“Um. Thanks. I hope you don’t get in trouble for hitting him, though.”

“What? Nah, nah. I won’t get in trouble. Probably. I was doing my job. Defending the innocent and all that. Hey, what’s with the long face? How’s the inn going? You still have all those Goblins there, right?”

“I do.”

Weird.

Relc shook his head. He looked around, more animated than anyone Erin had seen all day. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one leg to another, and then scratched at his stomach. He eyed Erin furtively, with a surreptitious look he probably thought she didn’t notice.

“You doing good in that inn? Lots of inn-like things happening?”

“I guess?”

Erin stared blankly at him. Relc nodded. He bounced on the heels of his feet, looked around, and lowered his voice.

“Uh, got any plans for lunch? I’m kinda hungry and I thought I might drop by if you have something good to eat.”

He misinterpreted Erin’s blank stare.

“It’s just that, y’know, there’s a lot of restaurants closed right now and all the guys in the taverns tell me to shut up when I’m eating. And your place has good food, so…”

“You want to have lunch at my inn.”

Erin said it like it was a question. Relc stared at her.

“Well yeah, that’s what you do, right? Food? Inns? Have you stopped serving food? I’ve got money, I can pay—and I won’t cause trouble with the Goblins. Promise!”

The Goblins. Erin stirred. This wasn’t the first time her keeping Goblins in the inn had caused trouble. She hadn’t dared enter the city on the first day. A small crowd of Drakes had chased her away. She’d asked Bird to watch out for trouble for that reason. He’d had to chase away four Drakes already at night. She looked at Relc, remembering.

“You just want food?”

“Um. Yes?”

“And you’re not going to cause trouble? Really?”

She scrutinized his face. Relc stared at her, perplexed.

“Hey, I don’t cause that much trouble! There are plenty of taverns I’m still allowed to drink at!”

“I’m sure.”

Erin wasn’t convinced. She remembered how Relc had attacked Rags before. And that had been Rags, and that had been before Zel Shivertail had been killed by a Goblin. Her throat closed for a moment and Erin had to pause. Relc waited, uncomprehending, almost insultingly energetic. At last he frowned, sensing Erin’s hesitation.

“Why can’t I come over? Don’t you trust me? Hey—are you still mad at me? I thought I got a pass after Christmas! I got a present from Santa, didn’t I?”

Christmas. Erin nearly laughed at the memory. She controlled the impulse and glared at Relc.

“You did. But as I recall, you hate Goblins. And I have Goblins at my inn.”

“Right.”

Relc stared at Erin. She waited, and then gave up.

“So you’re not planning on attacking them?”

“Why would I do that?”

Erin bit her lip. Relc’s wide-eyed look of confusion was annoying her. She began to feel angry rather than numb. She snapped at the Drake.

“Because you did it last time! You hate Goblins!”

“And you kicked me out. I want lunch. I’m not going to cause trouble now. Duh.”

The Drake spoke as if it were obvious. Erin folded her arms. He sighed.

“Really? Fine. I won’t cause trouble, I promise.”

“Why?”

“I’m hu—”

Why?

The Drake grumbled. He fidgeted, spun the spear in his hand and nearly hit Erin on the head, twitched his tail back and forth, and then answered while avoiding Erin’s eyes.

“I miss the inn, okay? And I’m hungry. I can handle some damn G—I won’t cause trouble again. Okay?”

Erin stared at him. Relc looked away and the scales around his cheeks turned slightly red.

“What?”

“You really miss the inn?”

“‘Course I do! It’s got pasta and blue fruit drinks and fun stuff! It was fun to—look, I don’t have to go. It’s just that—it’s the Goblins, right? I can handle them. Really.”

“But I thought you’d be angry at them. You know, with Zel—”

Erin broke off. Relc’s tail drooped and for a second he lost his energy.

“General Shivertail? Yeah. You’re not wrong. I mean, the entire city’s depressed. I bet the other cities are all like this. Those Goblins…but that’s the thing, right? Those Goblins aren’t your Goblins.”

Erin blinked.

“What?”

Relc scratched the spines on his head, trying to explain.

“Well, I mean, they’re not the Goblins who killed General Shivertail, right? Those are probably the only Goblins that I’m sure didn’t do it. So…they’re innocent. Sort of. You keep saying not all Goblins are alike, right? I know those Goblins didn’t do anything. So I can handle being around them.”

It was possibly the most logical thing Relc had ever said. Erin gaped at him. Relc looked uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought you’d be angrier. At the Goblin Lord. But that’s—”

“Oh, the Goblin Lord? We’ll kill him. Don’t you worry about that. He killed General Shivertail so we’ll hunt his entire army down and cut his head off, put it on a pike and mount it over the General’s grave.”

Relc grinned, showing all his teeth at Erin. He didn’t loom, and he didn’t make any provocative gestures, but in a moment his eyes changed. He went from friendly Relc to someone who had killed and was imagining killing. Erin felt a slight chill, but she kept her face straight.

“You think the Drakes will really do that?”

“We’re already forming another army to deal with him. You think we’ll trust the Humans to do it? No—he’s dead. Him and his entire army.”

Relc’s gaze darkened. Then he caught himself and grinned at Erin again, trying to sound light.

“But like I said, your Goblins are uh, okay. I won’t pick a fight with them if they don’t bother me. Just get me a seat facing the wall maybe. So…what do you say?”

His tail wagged hopefully. Erin paused. She still felt like a ghost, a specter without feeling. But the sight of Relc made her feel grounded in a way she hadn’t felt like in days. He looked alive. Alive, and not gripped by despair. She couldn’t help but ask him about it.

“You’re really more energetic than everyone else, aren’t you? I thought you’d be angry or sad about Zel—I mean, General Shivertail.”

Again, Relc paused, and again, Erin saw his tail stiffen. But whatever sorrow possessed him had a fleeting presence. Relc smiled crookedly and yes, sadly, as he played with the long spear in his hands.

“Of course I’m upset about General Shivertail. He’s a war hero, a legend. He was, I mean. But he died in combat, y’know? It happens. I drank myself silly three days ago, and then the day after and today…well, I feel better. I know everyone else is still upset, but there’s not much I can do for the General. He’s gone.”

The Drake shrugged his broad shoulders, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. He edged a bit closer to Erin as he continued in a low voice.

“Besides, he was a warrior, a [Soldier]. That’s how most of us go out. We don’t die in bed. And even if your buddy dies, even if you lose a friend, a brother, a [General]…life goes on. You know? You can’t mourn forever. You march on and someday the pain goes away. Well, mostly.”

Relc paused and coughed, looking embarrassed. The ghost named Erin stared at the Drake, and she felt her body warm. She blinked. And then she smiled.

“Huh. That was sort of smart. Okay, let’s have lunch. My treat.”

“What—really?”

Relc did a double-take as he scratched his tail. Erin smiled at him, feeling her facial muscles strain slightly with the motion. But the smile stayed, and it felt—oh, it felt good to smile.

“I’m sure. Come on—I’ll treat you to a meal on the house. And I’ve got alcohol now. You want Firebreath Whiskey? I’ve got an entire keg of the stuff and it’s nasty.”

“Oho! Things do change for the better! And it’s on the house you said? Is that because I saved you from that Drake? You can kick him if you like. No? Where are we going?”

Relc followed Erin down the street. She walked with a spring in her step. Just a small one, but it was there. Erin felt like she was waking up and for once, Relc’s chatter helped. He followed her, tail wagging like a dog, pestering her with questions as his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Does that mean one plate, or two? Can I get a free refill? How about an extra helping?”

“You can have a few plates for free. And I’ll refill your drink if you don’t break anything.”

“Ooh, really?

She smiled. And that smile illuminated the street. Perhaps it didn’t stop the tears of a Drake child. Perhaps it made some of the passersby angry that she could be happy while they were not. But perhaps it did help in some way. It certainly helped her. She talked with Relc as they walked down the street, two living people in a city full of ghosts.

“Really. Do you like pork belly? I’m told Gnolls like it so I was going to pick up some from a [Butcher] Krshia knows for dinner.”

“Pork? Give me a belly, tail, liver, whatever! I’ll eat it raw! Wait. Don’t give me a tail or liver. And I’ll eat it cooked.”

“Okay. But I might need you to carry it.”

“I can carry a pig!”

“Awesome. And how do you feel about milkshakes?”

“Say what now?”

 

—-

 

The inn was quiet, like a wake, like a funeral. It was silent like the grave. It was a place of quietus, the silence of a passing soul hovering over it, casting a shadow on every action. Lyonette sat at the table, next to Mrsha, staring blankly ahead. She could hear the Gnoll’s belly rumbling, but Mrsha had refused all offers of food and Lyonette had given up trying after a while.

There was no one in the inn. Well, the Goblins were there, but they were staying in the basement. The adventurers had left and neither Drassi nor Ishkr were coming in. Erin had given them time off. It wasn’t like there was any business, anyways.

General Shivertail was gone. Zel was dead. Lyonette felt like someone had torn out her guts. She couldn’t believe it. She sat, remembering every time she’d talked to him, every time he’d made her laugh or she’d smiled or—the inn was like a crypt, like a mausoleum, like a sigh, a last goodbye—

The door slammed open. Lyonette jumped and the ball of fur and Ashfire Bee both jolted. Insect, Gnoll, and [Princess] looked up in alarm as Erin Solstice barged into the inn, arguing with a huge Drake carrying a huge package of meat wrapped in wax paper.

“I said, get rid of the spear! It’s dangerous and you always poke people with it!”

“I can’t go anywhere without it, Erin! I’m a [Guardsman]! A Senior Guardsman! And I get lonely without a spear. It’s my security spear! I need it to sleep!”

Relc protested as Erin took the meat from him. He clutched his spear possessively as he edged towards a table and saw Lyonette, Mrsha, and Apista.

“Oh hey! You’re that thief-girl! And there’s the weird Gnoll kid, and—is that a bee?”

He stared goggle-eyed at Apista, who fanned her wings warningly at him. Lyonette just stared. Mrsha did too. Then they saw Erin approaching. The [Innkeeper] smiled at them, looking strangely upbeat.

“Hey Lyonette, get some plates out! I’m making lunch and I could use some more water. Oh, and Mrsha honey, if you haven’t had anything to eat, get ready because I’m making pork belly! It’s going to be delicious, so you wait right there, okay?”

She gently touched Mrsha on the nose. The Gnoll stared at her. Lyonette did too. She rose, feeling her legs protest the sudden motion and hesitation before going over to Erin.

“Um, Erin. What’s going on?”

“Lunch!”

Erin beamed at her. She was already moving into the kitchen before Lyonette could ask another question. Erin spread the choice cuts of pork over the counter and whipped into action. Oil? Spices? She thought she’d make a pork belly sandwich. That sounded very lunch-like, and she had a lovely spread of condiments. Even some mayonnaise! Mrsha would love that, although it was a royal pain to make the stuff.

There was no sound in the inn except for Relc calling for a drink and Lyonette hurrying to get him one. Erin began to hum to fill the silence. Yes, that was what her inn needed now. Noise.

Relc was right. Strangely, he was. There was a time for sadness, and a time for not-sadness. Erin knew she’d continue being sad, so she made an effort to be happy, if only for a moment. There was always time to be sad, but happy? She was good at making people happy.

Noise. Erin clattered around with pots and pans, lighting fires, shouting at Lyonette that they might need more pepper, and felt the inn stir a bit. She began heating up the oven. Apparently, you needed to prepare pork belly ahead of time with spices and stuff. Erin had never made it before, but her [Advanced Cooking] Skill had warned her of the time requirement. Thankfully, there were Gnoll [Butchers] who sold pre-prepared pork belly. The spices looked good and Erin scraped them off before shoving the meat into the oven for some cooking.

“I’m hungry! How long until I get food?”

Fifty minutes!

Erin shouted at Relc from the kitchen. She heard an anguished cry.

Fifty!?

“Maybe more! It’s not even past morning yet! Hold on—I’ll get you some snacks!”

Erin finished setting up her kitchen and came out with some bread and soft brie cheese for him. It was a very nice and aromatic cheese from some place called Vaunt. Apparently, they made really high-quality cheeses and Erin had been lucky enough to get some when she’d been in Celum.

“Ooh! Cheese! Is this free too?”

“Yep! But if Mrsha asks you have to share!”

Erin winked at the Gnoll and saw Mrsha stir a bit. Relc eyed the Gnoll child and protectively encircled the bread and cheese with a claw. It was the worst thing he could have done. Mrsha got up, padded over, leapt onto his table and stared at the food. Relc looked at her, grumbled in his throat, and passed her a heel of bread. She began to eat.

There were ways to cure a broken heart, or make it stop bleeding. One of them was food. Food, and other people. Erin had learned this lesson long ago, and she put it into place now. Lyonette arrived with two buckets of water and hesitated before going over to Erin as she prepared lunch. The young woman had a saucepan full of sugar, cream, and milk on one of the stovetops and was grumbling about a lack of ice.

“Oh, Lyonette. Good timing! I need some ice. Can you get it? It’s about the only thing that doesn’t last in this inn. I might need to buy a freezing rune after all.”

“I can do that. But Erin—are you sure it’s time for such a big lunch? I mean, it’s so much and…”

Lyonette eyed the production on the counter. Erin paused, turned and saw the [Barmaid]’s face. Lyonette looked blank and lost, much like Erin had been. The young woman thought for only the merest fraction of a second before winking and nodding her head to the common room.

“I know it’s soon Lyonette, but…we’re cheering Mrsha up. She needs to eat, you know?”

“Oh!”

Lyonette’s gaze refocused. She blinked, and like Erin, woke up. She nodded at Erin and slapped herself lightly on the cheeks.

“Of course. She hasn’t eaten all day and she barely touched supper. You’re making that ice creamed thing again? I’ll get some ice.”

“If you see the Halfseekers, tell them we’re having food in an hour! And if you see that grumpy Drake, tell him he’s invited too!”

“Who?”

Lyonette paused at the door as Erin shouted after her. Relc was busy fighting over the last slice of bread with Mrsha. Erin poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Ilvriss!”

 

—-

 

“I am not a grumpy Drake.”

That was the first thing Ilvriss said upon entering Erin’s inn. The Lord of the Wall glanced around Erin’s inn with his customary sneer, but he didn’t insult her immediately on walking inn. Erin thought that was as close as a ‘hello, good morning’ as she’d get.

“Okay, you’re not grumpy. But you are stuck-up. Do you want a pork belly sandwich with mayonnaise or without?”

“With what?”

The Drake turned up his nose-holes at the sandwich Erin presented him, but she could see the way his eyes followed the glistening sandwich packed with pork belly, fresh veggies, and slathered generously with mayonnaise. He put on a long-suffering sigh as Erin served him the sandwich and only picked it up when her back was turned.

It was gone by the time Erin came back. She looked innocently at the empty plate with a few crumbs.

“Like it?”

“It was—acceptable.”

The Drake tried not to meet her eyes as he drummed his claws on the table. He instead frowned at Relc as the Drake lay in a mini food coma at his table. He’d eaten four huge sandwiches.

“I see your clientele is as unkempt as ever.”

“What, Relc? He’s a friend. And he cheered me up so don’t be mean. You’re like his boss or something, right?”

“Hah!”

Relc sat up slightly at the same time as Ilvriss’ brows wrinkled. The Wall Lord answered for both of them.

I would not have a soldier like that in my army. I am a Lord of the Wall of Salazsar. That [Guardsman] is a former [Soldier] of Liscor. I have no authority over him except in the most dire of situations. Thankfully.”

“Yeah, and I don’t take orders from—hold on, I think the fourth sandwich is coming up—”

Relc covered his mouth with a claw. Ilvriss looked away in disgust and Erin laughed.

“I told you not to scarf them down! Anyways, Ilvriss—”

Wall Lord.

“Ilvriss. I was so down and Relc cheered me up. After Zel—”

She broke off. Sitting at her table, eating a smaller sandwich, Mrsha’s ears suddenly flattened and the Gnoll dropped her food. Lyonette, who’d taken over the churning of ice cream, came out and Ilvriss looked at his claws. The Wall Lord didn’t weep, and his eyes didn’t glisten. They were hard as they stared at the table. But Erin saw the feeling buried beneath the gaze.

“Yes. Shivertail was…a fine [General]. I regret letting him leave the city. If he’d only taken a few Drake soldiers instead of that Human army he might have—he will be avenged, I promise you that.”

The Lord of the Wall turned his gaze towards Lyonette and Mrsha. The Gnoll stared at him. She looked at her food and pushed the plate away, but before she could curl up again Lyonette was there. She stroked Mrsha’s head comfortingly and whispered to her.

“I know, I know, Mrsha. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright. You heard the Wall Lord, didn’t you? Keep eating. You need to eat! Who’s a lovely thing? You are! Do you want Erin’s uh, special new food? I’m sure it’s sweet!”

“Very sweet! It’s liquid ice cream!”

What?

Relc shot up from his table. Erin made up for her slip by disappearing into the kitchen and coming out with some lumpy milkshakes in cups. Mrsha looked up, sorrows forgotten by the promise of something new.

“Want some?”

Erin teased Ilvriss. The Wall Lord sniffed. He took one gulp of the milkshake, put it down, and pushed it aside.

“There is a such a thing as too much sweet, you know.”

“Not in my book!”

Relc was downing his milkshake with record speed. He got halfway through his cup and clutched at his head.

“Gaah! The pain!”

Erin laughed at his brain freeze and then frowned at Ilvriss. She handed Relc the milkshake instead.

“You don’t like sweet stuff, huh? You liked the milk with honey.”

The Drake gave her an arch look as Mrsha lapped at the milkshake and her tail began to wag again. She had to fight with Apista to have the drink—the Ashfire Bee was buzzing excitedly around the milkshakes and Lyonette had to shoo her away.

“I am a connoisseur of food. I appreciate sweet food in moderation, Human. This has all the subtlety of a bag of sugar mixed with milk, which I highly suspect it is. Serve me another half a sandwich and a quality drink. Goat’s milk will do, I suppose.”

“Fine. Jerk.”

Erin grumbled into the kitchen and grumbled out just in time for the door to open. The Halfseekers walked in, looking dispirited and tired. Jelaqua had an arrow sticking out of her shoulder, but they all brightened as they saw and perhaps sensed the change in the inn.

“Hey, is that food I smell? Let me at it!”

Jelaqua waved and grinned at Erin. Erin stared at the arrow. The Selphid noticed and grimaced.

“What, this? Arrow trap, don’t mind me. It’s barbed so I don’t want to get it out yet. Poisoned too, probably. Seborn missed it.”

I did apologize. I told you something was off about the corridor.

The Drowned Man looked apologetic. Jelaqua rolled her eyes as she sat at a table and peered at the milkshake Relc was holding.

“Yeah, that’s why I went first instead of you two. ‘Always send a Selphid first’, remember? This body’s nearly done for anyways. Hey, what’s that stuff the Drake’s drinking?”

“It’s sugar. Sweet sugary cold stuff.”

Relc dreamily grinned at Jelaqua. Ilvriss snorted. The Selphid glanced at him and then raised a hand.

“One of those for me! Seborn, Moore?”

I’ll try it.

“None for me. But I will have whatever’s for lunch.”

The half-Giant and Drowned Man sat at the same table, and Erin was soon bustling around, asking how the dungeon trip had gone. Ilvriss sat, looking grumpy, chewing on his sandwich, but as Erin had observed, deliberately being here rather than elsewhere.

“Thisissogreat. I’llhavethiseveryday. Ilovethisstuff.”

Relc was vibrating in his seat after his second milkshake and Erin decided he’d had enough. Unlike Ilvriss, Relc couldn’t get enough of the drink, and only her finite amount of milkshake stopped him from racing into the kitchen and running off with the entire batch.

“I bet you could sell this on the streets and you’d earn a bit. It’s good—although it probably is the wrong season for it. I’d love this in the summer.”

Jelaqua commented as she sipped at her milkshake. Relc nodded rapidly and repeatedly.

“Why don’t you sell this stuff more often? It’s great! Beyond great! I’ll buy it all the time! I’ll buy it every day! Why isn’t this on the menu everywhere?”

Erin made a face at Relc as she handed Lyonette a handkerchief. The [Barmaid] cleaned Mrsha’s face as the Gnoll scarfed at her food, appetite restored.

“Because it’s expensive, Relc. I’d have to charge a lot for it—and the price of sugar keeps going up!”

“Right, right. Because it’s got to be shipped here and it’s winter. Sugar comes from Baleros and all that. Damn.”

Whatever sugar high Relc was on slowly subsided as the Drake stopped shaking. He had an amazingly quick metabolism. Ilvriss just snorted. When Erin looked at him he dismissively pushed his plate back.

“That drink is disgusting. It might sell well among Humans with no palate and a few Drakes with similar deficiencies—”

“Hey!”

“—But it is no drink for the people. You would do well to avoid selling it, except to children and the easily-satisfied. However, I will give you credit for your other creations. That condiment you used on the sandwich. What is it?”

“What, mayonnaise?”

“Is that a Human creation of some kind?”

“Sort of…I think only I make it. Why? Does it make my inferior Human cooking good?”

Erin smiled at Ilvriss. He stared haughtily at her.

“It is acceptable. I will collect the recipe from you before I leave the city. I’m sure my personal [Chef] will be able to adapt it more suitably into his cooking.”

“Sure, sure…but it’s a trade secret on how to make it! No one else knows. I think. So I could charge you!”

She’d meant to tease the Drake, but the Wall Lord didn’t blink twice.

“Only naturally. And if you would keep your mouth shut about the creation of this mayonnaise, I would offer an additional fee. It would be a suitable surprise for me to entertain my guests with when I return to Salazsar. I will have one of my aides discuss the matter with you.”

“Wait, really?”

The [Innkeeper] faltered. Jelaqua sat up and whistled.

“Ooh, [Lord] money. Nice!”

“It is customary to secure new inventions and developments ahead of time. You Humans might not grasp the idea of secrecy, but even small creations are a political tool to be employed at will. The difference between a successful banquet and an unsuccessful one can be worth a war’s gains in the realm of politics.”

Ilvriss informed the room at large with his haughty tone. Erin blinked at him and stared down at the pot of mayonnaise in her hands.

“Whoa. Mayonnaise diplomacy. I’ve seen everything.”

Lyonette giggled and Mrsha smiled as Erin lifted the mayonnaise high overhead theatrically. Jelaqua snorted, Seborn ate quietly, and Moore smiled. Ilvriss just scowled while Relc laughed and asked for a fifth sandwich.

This was The Wandering Inn. It wasn’t perfect. Some of its guests were missing, but in that moment it was whole again. The shadow of Zel’s passing lingered, but for a brief second there was sunlight peeking out behind the clouds. And then someone opened the door.

Not the door to the rest of the world, to the floodplains of Liscor. No, it was the door on the far wall, the magical door. Erin turned her head, wondering if Octavia was hungry or if a guest had come in from Celum. However, instead of seeing the [Alchemist]’s shop she instead was blinded by a sudden flash of bright sunlight. Loud horns and drums suddenly echoed in the confines of the inn, and she saw a tall figure standing in the doorway. Half-blinded, Erin shielded her eyes and then exclaimed as she recognized the door opener.

Hawk?

The Courier stood in the daylight, his vest stained with sweat. He looked windblown, covered in dirt, but he seemed alive, burning on a runner’s high. The Rabbit Beastkin’s fur was dark and he was still breathing heavily. There were tears in his eyes. He stood in the daylight, on a stone ground, and the sky was blue and bright behind him.

He was somewhere else. Somewhere hundreds of miles away, yet he was connected with the inn through the magic of the door. Erin stared as she heard the distant drums beating and horns blowing. It sounded like there was some kind of celebration or—Hawk stared at her through the doorway.

“It worked. Dead gods.”

His voice was rusty and he coughed as he spoke. Breaking out of her reverie, Erin went to the door. She spoke through it, peering through the other side. She could see houses behind Hawk. He was in a city. No—if he had opened the door that meant—

“Hawk, is this…a Walled City?”

The Courier blinked at Erin. He nodded slowly.

“That’s right. I arrived in Pallass this morning. I didn’t know—I hadn’t heard about the General until then. After that…I found this spot and set up the door like you said. It took a while to figure out how to activate the stone that Pisces gave me. But it worked.”

“Dead gods.”

Someone whispered the words behind Erin. She stared at Hawk, not quite sure she was hearing him right.

“So this is a Walled City? I mean—”

Just like that. Erin stared through the door. It had opened, and suddenly—it was another city. Hawk nodded. He looked tired, but he still seemed surprised as Erin.

“I can barely believe it. I knew that was what you wanted, but—Erin, I ran for the last four days to get here. It wasn’t my fastest run, but I’m a Courier. And now I’m staring at you—that’s one major magical artifact you’ve got here.”

“Wow. I mean—yeah. I knew that, but—a Walled City? Pallass, you said?”

“Pallass! So your door works as you claimed, Human. This is excellent. Extraordinary, even.”

Ilvriss strode towards the door, inspecting it, staring at the place where Erin’s inn stopped and the other city began. Erin stared at the sky. It was the same sky, the same time as far as she could tell, but the sky was bright and blue here. There was no threat of rain around Pallass. It was stunning to see.

“Mind if I come through? I could use a place to sit and rest.”

Hawk gestured to the door. He would have stepped through if Ilvriss and Erin weren’t crowding through. Erin moved aside and them remembered and hopped back in place.

“Hold on! The inn doesn’t have enough mana or whatever to let the door transport more than one person at a time! I think that’s what Pisces said. If you come through, we have to wait twenty four hours.”

“Really? Damn. I suppose there had to be a catch.”

Hawk sighed. Erin hesitated and raised a finger.

“Well, you can come through. I just meant that if you want to go back you have to wait—”

“Oh. In that case—”

I will be using this door first. I commissioned this new portal, after all.”

Before either Erin or Hawk could react, Ilvriss strode through the door. He walked into the streets of Pallass and looked around.

“Incredible.”

“Hey!”

Erin shouted after him. She raised a fist and shook it at Ilvriss.

“You can’t do that! You jerk! What if Hawk wanted to come back?”

The Wall Lord turned back to look at Erin. Hawk stared at the Human, askance.

“Um, Miss Erin—”

“I hardly need your permission to use the door I paid access for, Human.”

“That was a deal to let you go through, not monopolize the door!”

“Erin, did you just—”

“I required a route back to my home city of Salazsar. The conditions I specified were quite generous. You gave me access to this magical door of yours and I would not only pay you for the use of it, but hire the Courier to install your doorway in Pallass. Which, I might add, is still a long distance away from Salazsar itself.”

“Yeah, I get that, but Hawk could have had a break! Now we have to wait for the door to recharge! And what are you going to do without your aides?”

“About that. Miss Erin, Wall Lord Ilvriss, have you noticed—”

“I will survive on my own for a day. And I am not used to being addressed like a fool. Understand me, Human. You may have satisfied some of my requirements with my inn, but the needs of a Lord of the Wall take far more precedence than—”

Excuse me!

Both Erin and Ilvriss turned. Hawk stared at both of them and cleared his throat.

“I appreciate the two of you are arguing, but have either of you noticed where you are?”

“What?”

Erin looked at Ilvriss, confused. He looked back at her and then at Hawk, looking irritated at the delay. Then he paused. He stared at Erin. Erin stared at her feet.

“Um.”

Her feet. They were on stone. Not wooden floorboards. Erin stared down at the smooth, paved stone at her feet. She was standing on a massive block of stone—rather like sidewalk, actually, but smooth-cut. It was cream-colored, only slightly grey and dirty from the passage of many feet and years. Nice stone, in other words.

Definitely not part of her inn. Slowly, Erin looked around. She saw blue skies, tall stone buildings and other, newer buildings of wood. She heard the pounding of drums, trumpets sounding some kind of marching music. And then she turned and looked back at the doorway.

The empty, plain doorway that was set into a stone wall. There was a wood door there, with a gem set in the center of the door, the same mana stone that Pisces had attuned to the door back in Liscor. And in theory, the doorway should be showing Erin’s inn, ready to let someone step through to the other side.

In theory. That theory fell apart if the door was out of mana, however. It only had enough to carry one person across from Liscor to Pallass. Or…perhaps Pisces had been wrong and it was two. And perhaps, just perhaps, Erin had stepped through the doorway to harangue Ilvriss.

“Ah.”

Erin stared at the blank doorway. She stared at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall had a very, very curious expression on his face as he stared at the blank stone wall and at Erin. She thought he was trying with all his might not to laugh in her face. She looked past Ilvriss and up at Hawk. The tall rabbit man stared at her and at the blank doorway with chagrin written all over his face.

“That recharges, right? Tell me that recharges.”

“It does! It does! I just takes a, uh, day.”

Erin hastily reassured him. Hawk nodded slowly. He looked at Erin and at Ilvriss, and squared his shoulders. Then he coughed.

“Right. Well. Miss Solstice, Wall Lord, welcome to Pallass, north-most of the Walled Cities.”

He gestured helplessly around the city made of stone. Erin scuffed at the ground. There wasn’t much to see here—Hawk had set the door in an alley. But she heard the drums, heard the horns, and in the distance, the sounds of many voices cheering. She stared at the blank doorway leading back to her home, chewed her lip, and then shrugged.

“Aw, what the heck. I like new places. You said this place is called Pallass? I always wanted to see a Walled City. Let’s go exploring!”

She walked out of the alley. Hawk choked as he stared at Erin, and then back at her door. Ilvriss stared at Erin’s back in shock for a second and then stomped after her.

“Hold on! I go first! Are you completely unaware of protocol? And why did you follow me through—”

“Shut up, shut up! It was an accident, okay?”

Hawk heard the two arguing as they walked out into Pallass. He stared longingly at the door and poked the wall through the doorway as if hoping it would restore power to the magical artifact. Then he shook his head and hurried after the Drake and Human.

“No one pays me enough for this job.”

And then Erin was there, in a Walled City. Just like that. It was sudden, unexpected, but it was real. It had happened. And there was no going back. The world was slightly different for what had passed. She could be shocked about it, but only for so long. This was how things were. It had happened.

Just like that.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.01

A Human, a Drake, and a Rabbitman walked through a city. Not just any city, but Pallass, one of the six Walled Cities of Izril. If the premise of their sudden adventure sounded like a joke, well, it was fairly funny. To Erin, at least. Her companions were less amused.

“I’m just saying, it sounds like a joke! A Human, a Rabbit-dude and a Lord of the Wall walk into a bar. Or through a magical portal. There’s a joke there somewhere!”

“The only thing remotely amusing is your simplicity.”

Ilvriss growled at Erin as he walked down the wide, stone street, glancing from side to side at the rows of apartment buildings. The Drake looked north, down the street and turned his head as he followed the sound of the echoing drums and trumpets. Erin and Hawk followed him, mainly because they didn’t have anything better to do.

“Look, okay, maybe we’re stuck here for a day, but that’s not a bad thing, right?”

“I don’t know. I’d love to be lying down in Liscor right now, or having a hot meal and a drink. You do know I’ve been running for four days straight, don’t you?”

Hawk glanced down at Erin and she winced. The Human [Innkeeper] was shorter than both Ilvriss and Hawk, and noticeably smaller, too. The Lord of the Wall wore his fancy metal breastplate over his clothing and walked with a swagger; Hawk strode along with long, languid strides as his runner’s jacket shifted to reveal his stunning physique underneath his clothing. Erin just walked.

“Oops. Sorry Hawk. That was my bad. But since we’re here, we might as well make the best of it, right? Just think about it! We’re all here, in Pallass, about to meet all kinds of new people! In theory.”

Erin looked around. The streets were empty. The buildings were there, and they were quite grand—she thought she was walking through some kind of housing area, because all the apartments looked alike. They were…well, apartments. You could go up six floors and find yourself in what was probably a decently-sized home. But there was no one in said homes, at least as far as Erin could tell.

“It’s really deserted, isn’t it? I wonder why that is? Hey, Ilvriss. Where’s everyone?”

The Lord of the Wall turned his head as he strode forwards, looking peeved.

“I have told you before, Human. I am a Lord of the Wall, one of the few Drake nobility on this continent! I am not to be addressed so casually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Refer to me by my title and with proper respect if you wish to converse with me and I may deign to reply. If not, keep silent. I did not come here on a whim and I have pressing business to attend to.”

With that, Ilvriss turned his head and kept walking. Erin stared at his back as Hawk eyed her oddly. She took a deep breath.

“Hey Ilvriss. Hey. Hey, are you listening? Ilvriss? Drake guy? Hey Ilvriss! Ilvriss! I’m calling your name! I can see you listening! Hey! Hey, listen! Heeeeey. Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey—”

There was no response, although the Drake’s tail lashed the stones behind him a bit harder than before. Erin stared at the paving stones for a second. They were lovely flat blocks of smooth stone, widely cut and smooth from countless years of use. It actually felt nicer to walk on this stone street than the concrete sidewalk back home. Better to look at, too; the walls, streets, and other buildings of Pallass had been made with a sandy-cream colored stone that was easy on the eyes.

“The streets in Celum aren’t this nice. Liscor either. They have paving stones and stuff. I wonder how this Walled City was made. With magic? It’s three hundred feet high, but are we high up or on the ground? Actually, wait, we’re high up. I can tell because there’s no wall, right?”

Erin pointed past the roofs of the apartments. There was a clear blue sky behind them, but no wall. Hawk nodded.

“We’re high up. I thought that might be the best place to put the magic door. I have to admit, I chose the first empty spot—I thought you could move it later.”

“Right, good idea. Hey Ilvriss where do you think—”

Shut up!

The Wall Lord turned and shouted at Erin. Hawk backed up a step. Erin just wiped her face.

“Don’t spit. Hey, do you think the city’s been abandoned?”

Ilvriss stared at Erin for a second. He looked incredulous, and then resigned. He turned and Erin went on, keeping pace with him.

“I’m just saying, maybe something awful’s happened, you know? We haven’t seen anyone.”

“We’ve walked down one street, Human.”

“Yeah, but it’s a long street, isn’t it? And I know we can hear those drums and horns, but what if they’re like…an illusion? But for our ears? What if the city’s empty and something awful has happened? Like—everyone’s turned into zombies!”

“That is the most idiotic—”

Ilvriss paused. Hawk coughed as he caught up with the Human and Drake on Erin’s side.

“It’s not empty, Erin. I saw people not five minutes ago when I was climbing to the top. They’re here.”

“Right, but did you see them or was it all an illusion? Or maybe it was in your head? That’s how they get you! Illusion Zombies! We’ll walk around the corner and then bam! Zombies in your face! We have to survive for an entire day before we get back to Liscor and raise the alarm! It’s a classic scenario!”

Erin waved her hands over her head. Ilvriss and Hawk stared at her and then exchanged a glance that said it all. Erin saw Ilvriss rub at his temples and lowered her arms.

“Okay, I’ll stop being silly.”

“Wait, that was an act?

Hawk stared at Erin. Ilvriss shook his head.

“Impossible. No one can pretend to be that stupid—”

He broke off, eying Erin hard. She grinned at him and Hawk and shrugged innocently.

“Maybe? I’m just a stupid Human, aren’t I? Oh look, I think we’ve found people.”

She walked ahead as both males halted in their tracks and stared at her back. Ilvriss made a fist with one clawed hand, and then stopped. Because they’d found the citizens of Pallass at last.

The residential street opened up onto a much larger thoroughfare ahead of them. Erin stared. She’d seen streets, and she’d seen roads. This was a mega road, so broad that it could have probably been compared to the six-lane highways of Erin’s world. And it was filled with people.

Drakes, hundreds of them, filled the road, their backs to Erin, Ilvriss, and Hawk. And as they walked closer they saw that the Drakes were lined up down both sides of the street in either direction. They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, some standing on stairs for a better view, others holding small Drake children up to see.

They were waving flags, and many were armed. But this wasn’t a mob scene—rather, Erin could hear thunderous cheering! She stared and the pieces fell into place. A Drake waving a flag emblazoned with a city and potion and hammer on it? It had to be Pallass’ symbol. And the drums and trumpets? Now Erin was close enough she could hear they were playing a tune.

The Drakes were cheering, their voices one huge mass ahead of her. Erin nodded to herself, seeing a Drake child eating some roasted nuts out of a small hemp bag he was holding. There was only one thing this could be in her mind.

“It’s a celebration.”

She stared at the banners flying from the tops of buildings, as she walked to the back of the line of waving Drakes. Ilvriss shook his head as he eyed the crowds of cheering pedestrians. He gritted his teeth and his tail lashed the stone walkway.

“No. It’s a military parade.”

“What?”

Erin turned to him in surprise. Then she listened and realized he was right. Erin had never done well in music class, but she could tell the drums in the distance weren’t the huge booming drums but a marching drum, playing a very familiar military rhythm. And the trumpets and other horns just added to the similarities. Erin was reminded of the 4th of July back in her home. The music was different, but the effect was the same.

Erin had grown up seeing parade floats going down the street, gotten used to gathering candy thrown from the backs of cars and seeing the American flag waved on those national holidays in her homeland. So as she reached the back of the crowd and stood on the tips of her toes she expected to see something similar. She was wrong, of course.

To start with, there was no candy. And there were no cars. There was a Drake on a horse, though. He was riding with his tail tucked over the left side of the horse, curled around its belly. He was holding a flag with Pallass’ insignia on it and lifted it into the air. The Drakes around Erin roared and waved their flags, cheering him as he rode down the street.

Erin turned her head and saw a rank of Drake soldiers, six abreast, marching down the street after him. She saw a battalion of Drakes pass by her position. The Drake [Soldiers] proceeded down the street, each one armored and carrying weapons. They marched forwards in perfect lock-step, their heads held high.

“The 3rd Infantry Regiment of Pallass!”

A huge, magnified voice suddenly roared in Erin’s ears surprising her.

“Whoa! That’s loud!

Erin shouted, although her voice was lost in the crowd. The Drakes around her cheered louder. She saw the Drakes marching past her salute as the voice continued, setting off another wave of loud cheers.

“The Linebreakers recently served on the Vellir Fields outside of Rheist! Following them is the 4th Cavalry, which heroically fought in the same engagement!”

As the Linebreakers or rather, 3rd Infantry marched past, Erin saw more mounted Drakes pass by. She saw four mounted Drakes, one of whom was missing an arm, and two more that had scars over their arms. She saw nine more file past and then…nothing.

“Wait, where’s the rest of—”

Erin turned her head and saw more Drakes following. But they were on foot. She looked back towards the mounted Drakes and saw them saluting as well. All eleven of them.

“Hmf. They’ve pulled up every regiment in the city, by the looks of it.”

Ilvriss stood by Erin’s side, staring across the parade. She stared at him, and then at the soldiers. And then it hit her.

They were active soldiers, not just military personnel. When the voice shouted that they’d seen action recently, it meant they’d fought in a war. And the eleven remaining Drakes in the 4th Cavalry were all that had survived of their battalion. The sight was enough to make Erin’s heart twist, but the Drakes around her clapped and cheered the eleven riders with all their might.

And why not? Yes, this was an army that fought, an army that actively defended the city. Of course the citizens of Pallass would cheer them. Some regiments would pass by with only a handful of soldiers in their number. Sometimes they were injured, Drakes with missing eyes, lost limbs—the crowd cheered louder when they passed by. Erin stared at a group of old Drakes marching in polished armor, and saw the tears in their eyes as they saluted.

She felt alone in the crowd of Drakes. There were no Humans she could see, and few Gnolls. She did not applaud or cheer as the soldiers marched past. But then, neither did Ilvriss. Hawk clapped along with the crowd, but the Human and Lord of the Wall stood silent. And then Erin heard the invisible announcer shout as the last group of armed Drakes passed her position.

“And now, the hero of the First and Second Antinium Wars, the legendary Tidebreaker, [General] Shivertail!”

A hush fell over the crowd. Erin’s heart stopped. She looked down the street and saw a small group moving down the street. In the silence she heard Ilvriss mutter an oath and saw Hawk cover his eyes. But all of Erin’s attention was on the next group.

She saw a group of eight Drakes marching down the street holding a…coffin. They bore it together, two of the Drakes in front holding flags. Erin put her hands over her mouth as she saw the Drakes marching forwards with the casket. It couldn’t be. Zel was—he had died in Invrisil! It couldn’t be.

“It’s empty.”

She hadn’t heard Ilvriss move up next to her. Erin jumped and turned. The Wall Lord was staring at the coffin-bearers. His eyes blazed and his claws were tightened into fists. Erin looked back at the coffin. The empty coffin.

A blue wreath of flowers had been placed on the top of the coffin. As it passed by her position, Erin saw the Drakes around her go silent, staring at the flowers. And then as it passed they screamed louder, waving their flags, shouting Zel’s name.

Shivertail! Shivertail!

If they knew the coffin was empty, it didn’t seem to matter. Erin heard ringing in her ears and dimly heard the voice again, roaring with emotion.

“Zel Shivertail was a hero who went north to fight for the peace of our continent! He fought against the Goblin Lord to protect our borders! He fought and the Humans failed him! Their army fled and broke as he fought the Goblin Lord’s army alone! They abandoned General Shivertail! They were too weak, too cowardly! But he did not run!”

The crowd roared. Erin turned her head wildly, trying to find the announcer. She felt like she’d been slapped.

“He went north for us! Shivertail died for us! Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain! Zel Shivertail was a hero of the continent, a hero of the Drakes!”

“That’s not right. Zel didn’t—it wasn’t like—”

Erin’s words were lost in the next wave of cheers. She could only listen, helplessly, as the announcer kept shouting to the frenzied crowd.

“Never forget General Shivertail’s sacrifice! Vengeance on the Goblins! Vengeance! Vengeance!

They roared the word with him. Vengeance. Erin saw the Drake child with the bag of nuts who had been so happily now snarling, shouting with the rest of the Drakes. Their anger was a physical thing and Erin shuddered to feel it.

The parade ended. Erin saw the marching band move past last, and then the Drakes began to break up. She stood back, letting the Drakes move in a huge swarm out of the street as they went back to their normal lives. So many Drakes. She turned and saw Ilvriss and Hawk behind her. They were standing, watching the crowd. Hawk was in tears. He hadn’t known about Zel Shivertail’s passing until today. And Ilvriss—

He stood with folded arms, looking around the city. He had neither cheered the Drake parade nor shouted. He was an outsider, for all he was a Drake. He wasn’t from Pallass, but from another Walled City. Salazsar. And as he looked at Erin and their eyes met, he nodded.

“Welcome to Pallass.”

He paused, looked around, and sniffed haughtily.

“Salazsar is better. Come on, let’s find some figures of authority.”

He turned and Erin slowly walked after him. She walked three steps, saw someone waving, turned, and saw Jelaqua striding towards her through the crowd. She raised her hand and was tackled to the ground as sixteen armed Drakes appeared out of the crowd and charged towards her, Ilvriss, and Hawk with their swords drawn.

 

—-

 

About ten minutes ago, Jelaqua Ivirith was standing in Pallass right outside of the door in the alleyway, looking around and talking through the portal to Lyonette on the other side. The [Barmaid] was anxious and Jelaqua was trying to reassure her.

“Relax! I don’t see them around, but they can’t have gotten far. I’ll go ahead with Seborn and uh, Relc.”

She nodded to the other two figures beside her. Relc was looking around with clear interest in his eyes and Seborn had already stepped out of the alleyway to look around. Lyonette looked anxious as she replied.

“I’ll stay here in case Erin comes back. But what happens if you find her and we’re all stuck here?”

Jelaqua shrugged, unconcerned.

“We’ll find a place to sleep. There’s bound to be plenty of inns in a Walled City if we can’t bring everyone back at once. And Moore managed to juice this door up once already—he can at least bring Erin back.”

Lyonette turned and looked up at Moore. The half-Giant was leaning on his staff, looking winded. He nodded at Jelaqua.

“I can recharge the door again. It takes a lot of mana, though. I’m nearly tapped out myself. I could come through if I used a mana potion, though.”

Jelaqua looked around and then shouted back through the doorway at Moore.

“Nah, don’t sweat it. Stay there, Moore! I don’t know if the door’s got enough mana to transport you and you’re beat. If you need to charge it up, use a mana potion but don’t kill yourself until we know what we’re doing for sure. We’ll find Erin.”

The half-Giant nodded tiredly. Jelaqua waved to Lyonette and turned away from the door. Her two companions had already reached the mouth of the alleyway. Relc looked around, jaw gaping slightly as he peered at the buildings around him and stared around, goggle-eyed.

“It is Pallass! I can’t believe it!”

Jelaqua laughed a bit as she walked over to join him. The Selphid had kept her two-handed flail, but she wasn’t wearing armor at the moment. She didn’t think she needed the flail either in truth, but no Gold-rank adventurer would walk around without at least one weapon at all times. She eyed Relc, who had both spear and armor on. She didn’t know the Drake, but she could sense he was no ordinary [Guardsman]. She gestured at the stone buildings as Relc exclaimed.

“What did you expect? You know Erin’s magical door can teleport people far away.”

“Yeah, but Pallass? That’s…far! And this is a Walled City, not Celum. It’s not like you can just walk in here! Normally you have to wait at the gates and they get really mad at you if your city is at war with theirs. And now we’re here!

Relc indicated the city as a whole, his tail wagging excitedly. Jelaqua nodded.

“And so’s Miss Erin. Let’s start walking and find her first. Seborn, thoughts?”

I see some fresh fur this way. Looks like the Courier went this way, and I’d assume that the Wall Lord and Erin went with him.

Seborn stood up and let a miniscule pinch of fur drift to the ground. Jelaqua nodded. She set off at a steady pace with Seborn ranging ahead and Relc caught up after another few seconds of staring.

“Hey, why aren’t you more impressed? We’re in a Walled City! Isn’t that amazing?”

“Sure is. But I’ve been travelling back between Celum and Liscor for over a month now. This is special, but not as surprising as the first time it happened.”

Jelaqua replied casually. The truth was that Erin’s magical door had been incredible the first time the Selphid had laid eyes on it. Even now she was impressed by its capabilities, and not a little bit jealous of Erin’s good fortune in obtaining it. It was like a free [Teleport] spell! And the Horns of Hammerad had given it to Erin as thanks for funding their group? Jelaqua wondered if that was friendship or folly.

As for being in a Walled City…she could only shrug in response to Relc’s indignation.

“I’ve been in large cities in Baleros before. Liscor’s small compared to some of the cities owned by the Four Great Companies. I know this is one of the Drake capital cities, but surely Liscor’s comparable to Pallass?”

“Comparable? Are you joking? I mean, our army’s good, but Pallass is at least three times the size of Liscor! And it’s a major military power. The army here is seriously bad news—I hear it was deployed a month ago at Rheist. They tore up a bunch of other armies in a big battle there.”

“Wait, there was a war between the Drakes? I didn’t hear anything about that!”

Jelaqua frowned. A civil war was huge news! But Relc just shook his head.

“What, that? That’s normal. That’s politics and stuff for you. It’s not a war, war, right? It’s more like an argument.”

“An argument that ends up in a pitched battle?”

“Yup!”

Relc twirled his spear happily. Jelaqua stared. He tried to explain.

“Well, the Walled Cities fight all the time. You know, some Lady of the Wall calls a Watch Captain an ‘eggsucking lizard’ and there’s a big war. Obviously no one conquers the Walled Cities, but lesser cities get stormed now and then, and sieges can go on for months sometimes. I think there’s a siege going on around one of the other Walled Cities right now. Liscor’s army is fighting there.”

Jelaqua shook her head at Relc’s description of Drake politics.

“You make it sound so casual. One Drake insults another and you go to war over it? In Baleros, it’s all about gain. We fight over land, over precious resources, magical artifacts, fishing waters…”

“Oh, we do that too. It’s just that we fight each other even if we don’t need those other things.”

Relc happily assured the two adventurers. Seborn grunted as he looked around. There were very few people about and the Drowned Man was looking wary.

Pretty empty for the middle of the day. Aren’t the Walled Cities supposed to be full of people?

“Eh, this is a residential district. They’re probably all having fun somewhere else. Hear the horns and drums? That’s a military parade going on. Everyone’s probably watching. Hey, I bet that’s the way Erin and the others went!”

Relc pointed down the street and Jelaqua heard the parade in the distance. She nodded and strode towards the noise, talking to Relc as she went.

“So what’s this you were saying about not being able to walk into the Walled Cities? Are we going to be stopped because we’re not Drakes?”

“Nah.”

Relc waved one hand, looking unconcerned. He strode along, light on his feet, chattering away as he looked around.

“It’s more likely they’d stop me because I’m a famous [Sergeant] and I fought against Pallass in two…no, three wars. Small wars, but they really hold a grudge. Adventurers of all kinds are welcome in the Walled Cities so long as you don’t cause trouble. Selphids, Humans…they’ll let anyone in if they’re not known criminals.”

He pointed to his chest with his thumb, looking proud. Jelaqua exchanged a glance with Seborn, but didn’t comment. Relc nodded as if they’d agreed wholeheartedly with everything he’d said.

“Yeah, the last thing you want is to have the Pallass Watch on your tail. Those guys do not play around. Walled Cities have really, really strong City Watches, better than Liscor’s. They—oh hey, there’s Erin!”

He pointed. Erin was standing at the back of a crowd of Drakes. The parade had just ended and the Drakes were moving in a huge mass down the street. Jelaqua walked to one side to avoid the flow of bodies and waved to Erin. She did stand out. The Drakes of Pallass had green scales, red scales, blue scales, yellow scales…some very vibrant colors, others muted, but none of them had the fleshy pale tones of Human skin. Erin was standing with Ilvriss and Hawk and hadn’t spotted Jelaqua yet.

“Erin, hey, Erin!”

Jelaqua shouted, waving at the Human girl. She saw a lot of the Drakes looking at her, surprised to see a Selphid walking about. Jelaqua ignored the attention. She was used to it. Selphids weren’t a common sight in many parts of the world. She could see a few groups of armed [Guardsmen] or perhaps Drake [Soldiers] marching down the street to Erin. She hoped that the girl wouldn’t walk off and waved her arms furiously.

“Hey Erin!

At last, the [Innkeeper] noticed her. Jelaqua took a step towards her and felt someone grab her arm. She turned and saw Seborn. The Drowned Man looked suddenly wary.

Jelaqua! Those soldiers are headed right for Erin and the Wall Lord. And there are more behind us!

“What?”

The Selphid spun. She saw armed Drakes step out of alleyways and a whole platoon marching down the street. She turned and was about to shout at Erin when she saw a Drake in yellow and silver armor hurtle out of the crowd. He tackled Erin to the ground as four other Drakes charged Ilvriss and Hawk. Jelaqua’s eyes widened and then she felt an impact in her side as a Drake charged into her.

The world slowed. Jelaqua stumbled with the impact, and then felt the muscles in her body tense. The Selphid pushed at her body, ignoring the straining tendons, forcing her damaged Human form to push past her limits. She heaved and the Drake who’d charged into her went flying. He crashed into a group of Drake civilians who screamed. Jelaqua saw Seborn’s daggers flash and another Drake staggered back, shouting in pain.

And then there was chaos. Drake [Soldiers] charged down the street as the citizens screamed and ran. Jelaqua’s flail was in her hand and she whirled it in a fast arc. The Drake [Guardsman] who’d charged towards her grunted as the spike flails caught him in the chest. The impact dented his armor and sent him stumbling back. Jelaqua struck low—the flail’s heads struck the Drake in the shins and he dropped.

“Seborn!”

She backed up and the Drowned Man was at her back. The [Rogue] had his enchanted daggers at the ready and there was already blood on the blades, but like Jelaqua he’d struck to wound, not kill. The Selphid had no idea why the Drakes were attacking, but she was acting on instinct. Jelaqua began spinning her flail in dangerous arcs, gritting her teeth. Of all the times to forget her armor! The Drakes charged and she moved into them, lashing exposed arms, chests, backs—

But why were they attacking?

 

—-

 

Don’t move! You are under arrest!

The Drake on top of Erin was screaming in her ears. She was screaming back.

“What? What? Get off of me!”

He had her arm up behind her back and was pushing Erin’s face into the cobblestones. She tried to move, but the Drake was holding her in place. Erin could see running feet around her, and then felt an impact. Someone kicked the Drake off of her and Erin felt a wrenching pain in her arm.

“Ow!”

“Get up!”

Ilvriss strode over to her, his blade bared. Erin staggered upright and saw he was standing over two fallen Drakes. They were rolling on the ground and clutching at deep cuts in their sides. Ilvriss’ sword had gone straight through their armor.

“Erin!”

Hawk turned to them. He hadn’t been knocked down by the sudden attack either. The two Drakes who’d gone for him were lying on the ground, their chest plates dented. The Rabbit Beastkin hadn’t bothered with a weapon—he’d just kicked both Drakes.

“What’s happening?”

Erin shouted at Ilvriss, but the Wall Lord was busy. He was turning as more Drakes charged down the street. They were armed with halberds, pikes, swords—and they were very, very angry.

Evacuate the streets! Get the civilians out of here and surround the intruders!

A Drake [Guardsman] in bright yellow armor was shouting orders. Erin saw Jelaqua, Seborn, and Relc fighting other Drakes to the side. The street was suddenly full of soldiers! She backed up as she saw more Drakes coming towards her.

Throw down your weapons! You are under arrest!

One of the Drakes shouted at him as Ilvriss slashed a halberd in half. Only now did his words reach Erin’s brain. She was being arrested! She wavered, but the sight of a dozen pointy blades aimed at her chest convinced her. She threw up her hands and saw Hawk doing likewise.

The Drakes hesitated. They stared at Hawk, but their attention was grabbed in a dramatic way by Ilvriss. He’d charged into a group of three Drakes and with three cuts of his sword, brought them all down.

“Get that Drake!”

Most of the soldiers rushed past Erin and Hawk while several kept their weapons trained on her. Erin felt her heart beating wildly and she could hear Hawk groaning aloud.

“Oh, no, no, no! I’m a Courier! Look, I have a seal—”

He tried to reach for his belt pouch but the Drakes screamed at him and he raised his hands again. Erin turned her head, searching for Jelaqua and the others.

There they were! Jelaqua was spinning her flail, keeping Drakes back as they attacked from every side. Erin saw a pike thrust at her from the side and the Selphid turned. Her flail whirled, smashed the pike down. Instantly, Jelaqua turned and caught another weapon, knocking it aside before slamming a flail into a Drake’s shoulders. The [Guardswoman] fell, but several more were there to take her place. Seborn was fighting with his daggers, but both Gold-rank adventurers were outnumbered.

“Archers! Stop that Selphid!”

There was a shout and Erin saw more Drakes rushing forwards. With bows. Her eyes widened and she cried out.

Jelaqua!

The pale woman turned and her eyes widened. Jelaqua turned her Human body to dodge, but too late. Erin heard a thud and saw two arrows sprout from Jelaqua’s chest and shoulder. She screamed. The Selphid staggered back, eyes wide, and then roared as she smacked a Drake on the head with her flail.

“That hurt, damnit!”

She whirled, and another arrow flashed past her towards Seborn. The Drowned Man ducked incredibly fast and a Drake cried out as the arrow struck him instead.

“What’s happening?”

Erin shouted at Hawk, but he had no answer. She heard a roar as the Drakes pushed Jelaqua and Seborn back. They were screaming at them to put down their weapons, but neither Gold-rank adventurer was complying. Erin saw a Drake with a sword rush at Jelaqua to the side as her flail got tangled around another Drake’s shield. The Selphid turned, raising one hand to block the sword and—

[Relc Punch]!

A fist shot out and knocked the charging Drake flat. Erin gaped as Relc charged forwards, spear whirling. The Drake [Guardsman] struck two Drakes on the heads through their helmets, incredibly fast. Erin’s heart stopped as the Drakes fell, but then she saw Relc had hit them with the butt of his spear. They fell, unconscious, and Relc whirled.

“[Triple Thrust]!”

His spear shot out, appearing to strike three Drakes simultaneously for one dizzying second. Then Relc was spinning his spear, knocking an arrow down and bashing a Drake on the head. Pallass’ [Soldiers] drew back for a second, unprepared for Relc’s sudden attack. There was a moment of confused shouting, and then another voice rose once more.

“Hold! I said hold, burn your tails!”

The [Soldiers] drew back. Jelaqua, Seborn, and Relc paused and Erin saw Ilvriss standing unharmed in the center of a circle of Drakes with weapons. The Drake in yellow armor strode forwards. He pointed at Relc.

“There’s only one Drake in the world stupid enough to shout his own name. You there, the Drake with the spear! Are you from Liscor by any chance?”

“Hey, do we know each other?”

Relc was holding his spear warily, but he brightened as he stared at the Drake in yellow armor. The Drake snorted.

“We’ve never met, but I know your name. Relc Grasstongue, [Sergeant] of Liscor’s army, is that right?”

“That’s right!”

Relc grinned. He turned his head to Jelaqua, who was staring at him as she stood with her back against a wall.

“Told you I’m famous.”

The [Commander] seemed to agree. He nodded at the guards, and then raised his voice.

“You heard him! That’s Relc Grasstongue, the damned Gecko of Liscor! Make sure he doesn’t break the encirclement and watch him—he’s fast! Someone get me some more battlemages and more [Guardsmen]!”

“Aw. Crap.”

Relc backed up as the soldiers on the street moved towards him. He raised his spear and Jelaqua shouted.

“Why are you lot attacking us? We haven’t broken any laws! I’m a Gold-rank adventurer—”

“You teleported in with an unauthorized spell!”

The [Commander] roared at Jelaqua. Her eyes widened and Erin’s heart skipped a beat. She turned her head to Hawk and saw him closing his eyes.

“Oh, dead gods.”

“We tracked your position! Put down your weapons. You are all under arrest for unauthorized entry to the city, assault on the City Watch and illicit magical activity within the confines of a Walled City!”

“Oh shit.

Jelaqua covered her face. She took one agonizing look around, and then threw down her flail. At the same time, Seborn tossed his daggers to the ground and put up his hand and claw. Relc looked around and groaned.

“Aw! Every time I go to a Walled City I get arrested! Fine, fine! Stop aiming those arrows at me!”

He threw down his spear as the City Watch surrounded them. Now there was only Ilvriss left. He stood with his sword bared. Over half a dozen [Guardsmen] lay on the ground, bleeding or being treated with potions by their comrades. The [Commander] shouted at him.

“Drop the weapon, Drake! Drop it I said, or—”

Silence.

Ilvriss’ eyes flashed. Erin felt a weight on her shoulders and stumbled. The Lord of the Wall’s aura made the Drakes around him flinch, and one actually fell. Ilvriss raised his blood-stained blade, staring at the Drakes in front of him with the same haughty arrogance he always had.

“I am Ilvriss Gemscale, Wall Lord Ilvriss of Salazsar! Lower your weapons now!”

The [Guardsmen] around Ilvriss reacted to his name and title. They hesitated, and the [Commander] in the yellow armor hesitated. He called cautiously at Ilvriss.

“Wall Lord or not, your intrusion here breaks the laws! Put down your blade, Wall Lord, and surrender peacefully!”

Ilvriss’ scorching gaze made the [Commander] flinch. The Wall Lord turned, his blade drawn. He stared down the street filled with [Guardsmen], daring them to attack. His voice rang across the street.

“Unacceptable! I, surrender? Put up your blades, soldiers of Pallass! Or if you intend to strike, strike true, because you won’t have a second chance. If it is war your city wants, mine will happily paint your walls red over my death!”

He brandished his blade and the Drakes nearest to him backed up. Erin’s arms were tired so she lowered them and massaged her shoulders as she waited to see what the Drake [Commander] would do. There was a moment where he hesitated, then he gave the order.

“Blades down. Someone get a Street Runner and find me a representative of the Assembly of Crafts!”

“Oh, I can go—”

Hawk took one step and put his hands up as the Drakes around him raised their weapons. He stared glumly at his feet as the soldiers in the street milled about and several took off at a run. Hawk didn’t quite avoid Erin and everyone else’s gaze as they stared at him. He coughed.

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that was against the law?”

Erin looked at him and then around. She grinned helplessly as the Drakes eyed her.

“Um. Oops. Sorry?”

The Drakes of Pallass’ City Watch stared at her, their expressions hostile. Erin looked at one of the Drakes lying on the ground and moaning from where Ilvriss had cut him. She looked about, and raised her hands again.

 

—-

 

Zevara was the Captain of Liscor’s City Watch. She was a hardworking Drake who didn’t deserve half the news she got. Particularly any of the news involving Erin. For the first five seconds after the Gnoll [Guardsmen] delivered his report about Erin’s new portal to Pallass, Zevara just sat at her desk with her mouth open. Then she began shouting.

“She did what? You’re telling me that there’s an unregulated portal to Pallass open and no one’s informed the security there?”

“I think so, Captain. We didn’t hear about it until just now. The Human [Barmaid] at her inn—the former thief—went to the city to let us know that Wall Lord Ilvriss and the [Innkeeper] had gone through the door about twenty minutes ago.”

The Gnoll [Guardsman] saw the scales on Zevara’s face turn dead white. She leapt up, sending her chair clattering.

“Get me a [Mage] and send a [Message] spell to Pallass right now! Tell them I want to talk to the Watch Captain on duty now! This is an emergency!”

Zevara didn’t wait for the Gnoll to start moving. She ran out of her office, shouting for the [Mage] on-duty in the barracks to send a message at once. She was swearing, cursing Erin’s name with every bad word she knew—and that was before she learned that Relc, a [Guardsman] from Liscor, had been arrested after attacking several members of Pallass’ City Watch. If there was one bright spot, it was that the prisoners in The Wandering Inn hadn’t been hurt.

 

—-

 

The door to Pallass had been open for about twenty minutes when Lyonette noticed a few shadows around the doorway. She was busy keeping Mrsha from chasing Erin through the doorway and feeding Moore a bracing snack so she didn’t have time to investigate it. The Redfang Warriors were all peering at the doorway, and it was only when Lyonette heard the Drake [Captain] right outside the doorway that she realized there was trouble.

Now!

Lyonette heard a roar from the door and turned in time to see a Drake’s hand tossing a potion into the room. The bottle smashed onto the floorboards and erupted into a plume of bright purple and white flames. They shot towards the ceiling and vanished in in instant. But the eruption of smoke billowed upwards. Lyonette shouted, and heard the voice from outside roar again.

Charge in! Take down the half-Giant and Hobs first!”

A Drake in bright yellow armor, a [Captain], charged through the doorway. He was followed by another Drake with plain steel or maybe iron armor, holding an axe. The two Drakes ran through the doorway as the rest streamed forwards—

And the portal went dead behind the second Drake. The Drake [Captain] faltered as four hundred miles south of his location, twenty armed soldiers thudded into the stone wall with commendable force. He slowed and the Drake behind him paused and stared behind him. The two [Guardsmen] looked around the inn at the five Hobs and coughing half-Giant. Lyonette had dived to cover Mrsha. The two got up slowly, coughing, and stared at the pair of Drakes. Neither Gnoll nor Human looked happy as the smoke began to clear.

The five Redfang Warriors traded a glance. All of the Hobs were on their feet with swords in hand and they casually spread out to surround the two Drakes. Moore raised his staff, looking annoyed by the smoke that was making his eyes water. The Drake [Guardsman] behind his commander gulped as Apista buzzed around his head, agitated by the smoke and fire.

Faced with a sudden lack of bodies and cut off, the Drake [Captain] did the most sensible thing he could. He hesitated, and slowly sheathed his sword and raised his hands.

“We surrender.”

 

—-

 

“Okay, so we didn’t mean to illegally enter your city. It’s just that I have a magical door, and we thought, y’know, it’d be cool to have a portal between Liscor and Pallass. Okay? I mean, Ilvriss—Wall Lord Ilvriss, that’s what he likes to be called—said it was okay to do. And if he didn’t know it was illegal, well…it’s not like anyone died, right?”

Erin grinned hopefully at the Watch Captain across the table from her. An hour had passed. In that time she’d first been searched, and then, at Ilvriss’ insistence, left untouched. The Lord of the Wall had demanded both the Gold-rank adventurers and Relc be unshackled and treated as guests rather than prisoners City Watch had been unable to refuse his request.

After that, there had been some awkward standing around, many questions asked, and Jelaqua had asked someone to pull the arrows out of her chest. Then had come the urgent messages from Zevara, a bit too late, and also a notification of the prisoners that Lyonette had taken in The Wandering Inn.

Now Erin sat across a table from the Captain of the Watch on active duty. The Drake was wearing bright yellow armor and massaging his temples with one clawed hand as he listened to her convoluted explanation of what had happened.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly, Miss, ah, Erin. Your inn has a magical doorway capable of teleporting a user over four hundred miles.”

“Yup!”

“And you happen to know a Lord of the Wall who is seeking passage to his home city. And so you and Wall Lord Ilvriss hired a Courier to install this…portal doorway…in my city.”

“That’s sort of how it happened.”

“And—and I can’t believe this is a detail—your inn also has five Hobgoblin warriors and hosts a Gold-rank team of adventurers.”

“And a Silver-rank team. The Horns of Hammerad. They’re nice people, but they weren’t around.”

“I see.”

The [Captain] stared at Erin’s desperate smile and then looked back at the report in front of him. He massaged his temples again. Erin felt rather bad for him, actually.

“So…are we in trouble?”

“Let me see here. Thirteen wounded members of the City Watch, illegal entry, illegal use of a high-grade magical artifact, resisting arrest—”

“Hey, I surrendered! My hands were up the entire time! Mostly the entire time.”

“—resisting arrest, taking two members of the City Watch prisoner, sheltering Goblins—”

“Sheltering and feeding.”

Erin helpfully interjected. The [Captain] buried his face in his claws. Erin reached across the desk and patted him on the shoulder.

“Please don’t do that.”

“Sorry. But are we in trouble?”

The Watch Captain looked glum.

“I should arrest you. I would arrest you, but Wall Lord Ilvriss has asserted his rights. He is in the wrong, but as you were all acting on his orders…I could arrest the others for assaulting [Guardsmen], but he would object.”

“And that’s a bad—”

“That would cause a diplomatic incident that I am not qualified to handle. For now, you’re not under arrest, but we’re keeping the Selphid, guardsman Relc, and the Drowned Man here. Their weapons are being impounded until we sort this out with Liscor.”

“Oh. That’s uh, okay, I guess. But what about Hawk and me?”

The Drake shook his head gloomily. Hawk had already left the barracks after showing them his Courier’s seal.

“The Courier? He fulfilled his request to the letter. That he was unaware of Pallass’ laws is a matter for the Runner’s Guild. We’ll send a formal complaint to them. As for you—”

Erin gave him her most winning smile. The [Captain]’s eye twitched a bit.

“—You’re free to go. But given that your uh, magical door is in use right now for the purpose of communication, I must insist you stay in the city’s limits.”

“Okay, I can wander around—”

No.

The [Captain] shot out of his chair. He eyed Erin, and then sat.

“You are part of Wall Lord Ilvriss’ entourage so I am bound to assure your safety—”

“I am? He said that? Wow, that’s so nice of him!”

The Watch Captain ground his teeth together.

“That is what he claims. Thus, I cannot detain you against your will. But I must insist you be accompanied during your stay here. I will arrange for a guide to show you around the city. Is that acceptable?”

“Oh, totally. Um, does this mean I can—”

Go.

Erin nodded. She got up and tiptoed to the door. She opened it, slipped out, and then peeked back into the Watch Captain’s room.

“Uh, sorry for all the trouble.”

He stared at her until she backed away. When she was gone the Watch Captain buried his head in his hands. He’d been Captain of the Day Watch for over eight years and he’d weathered sieges, monster attacks, and political strife without flinching. Now he was close to tears. It was a feeling Watch Captain Zevara would have sympathized with very well.

 

—-

 

Erin left the Watch Captain’s barracks and looked around. A lot had happened. A lot of important stuff. She felt quite bad for the Watch Captain, but relieved that she wasn’t in trouble and no one had died. A lot of people had gotten hurt—mainly by Ilvriss. But the Wall Lord’s strutting around and acting arrogant had helped, for once. He really was a big shot, so much so that he could stab someone in the middle of a street and then boss people about as if he was the injured party.

“Wow. Wall Lords are important. I guess I should be more respectful after all. Too bad I won’t be.”

Erin murmured to herself as she stared around the street. The City Watch’s barracks had only been a street or two away, so she hadn’t seen much of the city. She yearned to look about, but the Watch Captain had said she’d have a guide. Now where was—

“You there! Are you the Human I’m supposed to be showing around?”

Erin’s head turned. She heard a young male voice and saw a Drake with light orange scales striding up to her across the street. She smiled and went to greet him.

“Hi! That’s me! I’m Erin Solstice. Who are you?”

“I’m Nelliam Hailwing, your guide. Technically I’m a [Greeter], but we don’t have many actual [Guides] and I was the only one nearby. I hear you’re some kind of troublemaker. Did you have something to do with that fight an hour ago?”

“No…what gave you that impression?”

Erin tried to look innocent as Nelliam scrutinized her from head to toe. He was a young Drake, and Erin would have said he was in his mid-teens if he was a Human. He stared at her curiously.

“Well, the rumor is that a crazy Human [Mage] teleported a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers into the city to cause trouble. Apparently she’d been hired by a Lord of the Wall to do it! A Wall Lord from Salazsar if you can believe that.”

“Whoa. I have no idea about that. That’s crazy. And not me. I’m just a visitor to the city.”

Erin lied as convincingly as she could. Nelliam looked skeptical, but then he shook his head.

“I guess you don’t look like a [Mage]. Okay then, you want a tour, right? Where should we start?”

“How about from the beginning? I mean, this is a Walled City and I’ve never been here so…I guess my first question is where the walls are.”

“The walls?”

Nelliam looked blankly at Erin. She pointed to the blue sky.

“Yeah, I mean, where are the walls? Aren’t they like, three hundred feet high? Shouldn’t I be able to see them?”

The young Drake stared at Erin and she knew she’d said something stupid. He coughed.

“Um. This is the highest residential level. You can’t see the walls because we’re so high up.”

“We are? I mean—we are?”

The Drake stared at Erin.

“You did climb all the stairs to get to the top of the city, didn’t you? You do remember going up all this way, right?”

“Uh…no.”

Nelliam stared at Erin. Erin stared back. The Drake blinked and scratched at the back of his head.

“Okaaay then. Let’s show you the city as a whole first! This way, Miss Erin.”

He led her down the street. Erin walked past groups of Drakes, seeing a few Gnolls and other species in the crowd, but mainly scaly bodies. Nelliam kept her moving at a quick pace, talking rapidly and steering her clear of knots of people in the crowd.

“Mind your step, Miss Human! People walk fast in Pallass and if you aren’t careful you’ll be run over! There’s not really many wagons this high up of course, but you have to learn how to walk with the traffic!”

“Where are we going?”

“To see the city! There’s a nice overlook just ahead—are you sure you haven’t seen Pallass before? How did you get up here?”

“Uh…I guess I just wasn’t paying attention!”

“Huh.”

Nelliam shook his head, but he at least seemed used to guiding odd people about. He launched into a prepared speech as the traffic thinned and Erin sensed them heading towards the end of a street.

“Well, if you’ve never been here before you’re in for a treat! Pallass is one of the Walled Cities, one of the jewels of the Drake lands! It’s a massive city—far larger than almost all the Human cities, and much better defended! These walls have never fallen to invasion, and Pallass is the most important northern Drake city!”

“It is? I thought that was Liscor!”

Erin exclaimed. Nelliam snorted and his tail swished across the paving stones.

“Liscor? They’re just a small city that occupies a trade route between the north and south. We’re the real gateway to the north. Our armies are close to both the Antinium and the Blood Fields—if the Humans send their armies we’re the first city to respond. And we manufacture more arms and potions than any other city on the continent! Our [Alchemists] and [Blacksmiths] are second to none! That’s why Pallass is famous across the world!”

“Really?”

Erin stared round-eyed at Nelliam. He faltered. He was guiding Erin towards the end of the street, which didn’t end with a wall so much as a vertical drop. Erin could see a huge wall beyond the edge of the drop. A city lay ahead of her, and she found herself speeding up to see.

“Well, yes. We’re famous. You have heard of us, haven’t you? Pallassian steel? Our potions? You’ve never heard of our latest technological developments?”

“No…but I don’t get out much. You make stuff?”

“Not just stuff!”

Nelliam tried to rally. He raised his voice again as he strode towards the drop ahead of them. Erin was glad to see there were stone guardrails, placed at chest level so no one could accidentally trip over the edge. Closer now. She could see a huge wall stretching across the gap, and what looked like levels with houses on them. They were still a ways away and now Nelliam was chattering to her about Pallass’ many inventions.

“Just the other month one of our [Craftswomen] figured out a way to harness the power of the wind to crank our siege weapons! We invented the smock mill!”

“The what?”

“The—it’s a more lightweight version of the tower mill. It’s designed so you can build it with wood and metal rather than out of stone. It was a huge achievement! You can use it to drain swamps, build them near farms in a tenth of the time since you don’t have to wait for mortar to dry—”

“Oh, right. I bet that takes a long time, even if you blow on the concrete. Or do you heat it with fire magic to make it dry faster? Is there a special fan you use? Wind magic?”

The Drake turned his head and gave Erin the fish-eye. She stared back innocently. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“Humans. Look, we’re inventors! It’s in our blood. That’s what Pallass is known for! The other Walled Cities might have our specialties, but we stand on the cutting-edge at all times. Our city creates wonders for the rest of the world. And here we are! Look!”

They reached the end of the street. Erin approached the stone railing and Nelliam threw a hand out. He shouted in triumph as Erin got her first true glimpse of the Walled City.

“This is Pallass, the City of Invention!”

Erin stared over the balcony. Out, and down. She stared thousands of feet, perhaps miles across the balcony, to a huge wall in the distance. It was high and long, and was one of four walls in each of the cardinal directions. North, south, east, and west, the walls of Pallass rose, impenetrable stone towering in the sky. But it wasn’t the walls that took Erin’s breath away. It was what had been built in the city.

She was standing on the highest level of Pallass save for the battlements. Erin hadn’t realized that before. That was why she hadn’t seen the walls, because she was too high up. But now, staring into the heart of the city, Erin could look down and see the city below her.

She saw thousands of tiny houses built on ledges that protruded from the walls. Water, actual water being pumped up some odd conveyor belt to tiny gardens hanging below her! Crisscrossing streets filled with minuscule people, a sea of rooftops, four giant stairwells descending into center of the city from each of the walls—Erin’s eyes strained at the enormity of it all. Nelliam grinned in pride as he gestured.

“Welcome to Pallass. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Behind Nelliam, Pallass stretched outwards and downwards, a sprawling city made of multiple levels. Yes, that was the word for it. Levels. Erin was standing on one of the highest points of the city and she could look down into other streets, plazas, and buildings far below.

Pallass had been built so that the urban center of the city was at the lowest point, or ground level. That looked much like a normal city, but where the Walled City had changed was in the four massive staircases that rose upwards towards the walls. It was possible to ascend higher and reach an entirely new ‘floor’ where more buildings had been constructed.

Each new level was progressively smaller and circled the interior of the walls, so that Erin felt like she was looking at an inverted pyramid. Or a bowl. The effect was hypnotic as well as grand, but what struck Erin most was the organization of it all. She could instantly plot a route from her position to the lowest part of the city or anywhere she wanted to travel. Ramps were neatly placed at intervals to allow someone access to a higher or lower floor, and the four central staircases made getting lost impossible. Walk far enough in one direction and you’d get to one of the four staircases.

“Wow. It’s so organized.

“Of course it is! Did you think we’d build a disorganized city?”

Nelliam looked insulted. Erin shrugged, thinking of cities like Venice or London.

“I guess not. But we Humans build weird cities all the time. I guess I didn’t expect it to look so neat.”

“You Humans. So messy.”

The Drake shook his head and pointed down into the city.

“Any new construction has to be approved by an [Architect] and an official who understands the layout of the city. We build in expectation of usage, and our craftspeople move in. See—we constructed the new Blacksmith’s Quarters two years ago in response to complaints about the smoke and noise. They occupy the second-highest level, there, you see?”

Erin looked where he was pointing and saw a plume of smoke rising from a series of buildings. It was very far away but she thought she could see tiny figures hammering industriously on pieces of metal. Or was that her imagination? The Walled City might not have had the horizontal landmass of a megacity like, say, Chicago, but Erin was still breathtaken by the size of Pallass.

Breathtaken, and a little queasy. Erin backed up from the edge of the wall.

“I think I’d like to not look down so much.”

“Visitors always say that. You’ll get used to the heights soon enough if you stay here. Now, let’s head down, shall we?”

“Down? How? You mean the stairs?”

Erin pointed towards one of the four grand stairwells. The nearest one was to their left and looked a good walk away. But Nelliam only laughed.

“No! I told you, Pallass is the city of inventors! We’ve come up with a much faster way to travel between floors! Look, over there, see?”

He pointed and Erin stared over at a place where the stone balcony ended and an odd contraption had been built into the stone. She stared at an…elevator.

Yes, it was an elevator. It was a wood and metal platform with guardrails, controlled by a pulley and system of gears. Nelliam walked Erin over to it and she stood on the wood platform as he fiddled with the hand crank. Then he nodded to her with a huge grin on his face.

“Ready? Don’t be scared—this isn’t magic, but its close! We’re going down, nice and easy!”

He turned something, and Erin felt the elevator begin to descend. She expected them to drop, but to her surprise she saw a gear turning as the elevator slowly descended, regulating the speed at which they went down. Nelliam smiled broadly at Erin, expecting her to be amazed.

And she was, just not for the reasons the Drake expected. Erin stared at the elevator and then put her hand on a lever that was turning slowly. The elevator stopped with a jolt.

“Whoa! This is an elevator!”

“Hey, stop that!”

Looking alarmed, Nelliam made Erin let go of the crank. They continued their descent, and the Drake edged Erin back from the controls.

“Please don’t fiddle with the gears! This is a new piece of technology—it’s a platform which raises and lowers itself without magic!”

“Right, with gears!”

“Exactly—wait, how did you know?”

Nelliam looked shocked and then suspicious. He frowned at Erin.

“You have gone on one of these before, haven’t you? Well, we’re headed down—we’ll take the scenic route. Look, you can see the entire city!”

He pointed and Erin saw that he was right. The elevator was going down level after level, passing by Drakes who were walking down a street with trees planted at intervals, down another level where Drakes were marching in formation, and all the while Erin could see the grand staircase closest to them and Drakes moving up and down the stairs.

“Wow, look at those stairs!”

They ran from the bottom of the Walled City to the top. Erin had to guess there were thousands of steps, and although few Drakes seemed willing to make the entire journey, thousands of them were using the stairway to go up or down a level. It was one of four stairwells and each one had a side for Drakes moving up the stairs and a side if you wanted to descend.

Organization. Nelliam smiled proudly but a bit condescendingly as he pointed to the Drakes heading down the stairs. They were close enough so that Erin could catch fragments of conversation and see the Drakes carrying baskets, goods, and so on with them.

“That’s the old way of moving through the city of course. You’ll have to use the stairs to go up—it’s too much work to crank the platforms up when you’re standing on them. But this is a lot faster and easier than walking down the stairs. It’s only the old-timers who refuse to use this method these days.”

His raised voice carried to a group of Drakes that was descending the stairs near the elevator. Erin saw a few of them look up in annoyance. One of them, an older Drake woman, raised her fist and shouted at Nelliam and Erin.

Real Drakes use steps!

Nelliam’s tail twitched and he bellowed back at her.

Shut up, you old hag!

The Drake made a rude gesture and Nelliam nearly copied her until he remembered that Erin was watching. He turned his back on the Drake as they descended past her and coughed, his cheeks flushed.

“Sorry about that.”

Erin stared at the Drake lady who was descending much slower than her elevator.

“Who was that?”

“My aunt.”

Nelliam shifted, clearly embarrassed and pointed out something else to Erin as they went.

“See those Drakes running down the middle of the staircase?”

Erin turned her head and saw that there were figures running down the center ramp that separated the streams of people going up and down the stairs. The middle of the staircase was wide enough that they could race or slide down the middle several people at a time. The Drakes and Gnolls wore armbands and carried packages. Erin gasped as one leapt from the middle and landed on a level below him, taking off running as soon as he hit the ground. Nelliam smiled.

“Those are Street Runners and City Runners. They use the middle because it’s faster and they don’t run people over. Some of them jump from level to level, although that’s dangerous. But if you need something delivered across the city quick, all you have to do is find one of the drop-off points and write down your address!”

“Wow. I’ve seen Runners before, but I didn’t know it was so different here!”

Erin exclaimed as the elevator descended to what was nearly the bottom level. Nelliam stopped it before they could get to the ground floor and pointed.

“Pallass is a lot different from most Drake cities. Humans ones too, I bet. We’re at the bottom now, and you can see the walls, right?”

He glanced at her somewhat mockingly. Erin looked up. From the ground, the four walls towered over her, casting huge shadows. She stared up towards the sun and shaded her eyes as she peered at the different floors built into the walls.

“Yep, I can see them now. That’s a lot of floors. And a long way up. Hey, does this mean I have to climb all those stairs if I want to get back up again?”

The thought was dismaying, but again Nelliam laughed at her.

“No! Okay, for the small elevators there’s no way up and you have to crank them back up if you want to get down. That’s a pain in the tail, though, so we’ll take one of the magic-powered elevators up.”

“The what now?”

Nelliam pointed and Erin saw another elevator, far larger than the platform she was standing on, shoot upwards. The gears moving the elevator were blurring with speed—but not from any mechanical force she could see. Nelliam smiled.

“Those elevators are powered by mana stones. They’re expensive, but the city has a number of them to let people go from the bottom floors to the top ones when they need to. We’ll take it back up so you can stand on the battlements. Unless you want to look around the bottom levels first?”

“I want to ride that thing.”

Erin stared at the elevator as it went up at dizzying speeds. It looked like fun to her, a girl for whom roller coasters were an attraction rather than a nightmare come to life. Nelliam grinned, sensing her anticipation.

“Okay then! We’ll join the queue.”

He led her at a brisk walk over to the elevator. Erin stared at the line of Drakes and Gnolls, most of whom looked older and thus were in need of the elevator’s convenience. She fidgeted, feeling a bit guilty.

“Is it okay to use this? I can walk if we’re in the way.”

“You’re a tourist. It’s okay, especially if you haven’t ridden one before. Just please don’t be sick. People throwing up over the sides is awful, especially because it gets everywhere.”

Nelliam reassured her as they stepped onto the elevator. Erin saw a Drake conductor standing at the side, waiting for everyone to file in. When he’d judged the elevator was full, he touched a glowing red stone to another stone embedded in the elevator.

The gears began to turn. Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed they propelled the elevator up. Erin felt her stomach drop and clung to the guardrail as Nelliam grinned wildly. She looked around and saw the older Drakes and Gnolls holding on for dear life. It looked like they had fought a battle between the exhaustion of climbing the stairs or the fear of riding the elevator and only barely won.

“Isn’t this amazing? We’re trying to get all the elevators to do this, but without the magic!”

Nelliam shouted to Erin around the rushing air. She looked at the city falling below them and felt a strange sense of familiarity. This was so much like an elevator from her world! Only, it was going a lot faster than most elevators she knew, and she’d never been in an elevator that was exposed like this. Only the guardrails kept her from tumbling off.

“How would you make all elevators like this?”

“With wind! We’re trying to attach a windmill to the elevator gears, but it’s not working! We think we can make them wind themselves up eventually, though! Then we’ll be able to ascend and descend anywhere we want!”

The Drake hollered back just in time for the elevator to slow as they reached the top floor. Erin wobbled out with Nelliam helping her and an elderly Drake. He grinned, used to the sudden ascent.

“Wasn’t that amazing? Just think, someday none of us might have to use the stairs again!”

“I hope I die before that day comes.”

The old Drake muttered as he walked unsteadily out of the elevator. Erin felt he had a point, but then she was on top of Pallass’ walls. She stared around and realized that while she’d been near the top of the city she’d never looked out over the walls.

She did so now. The walls of Pallass were exceptionally wide. So wide in fact, that there were emplacements where trebuchets, catapults, and other siege weapons had been installed and room enough for armed [Guardsmen] to patrol and citizens to walk along the wall. It was so wide that Erin could have had a tennis game on top of the walls with room to spare if she hadn’t been worried about the ball falling off. Because if anything did get knocked off the top of the walls, there was a long way to drop.

“Oh my god we’re high up.”

Erin stood at the battlements of the Walled City, grateful for the guardrail. She looked down, down, and down some more. Below her, muddy ground stretched out, hills, and forests, brown and white in some places as the last of the winter’s frost melted. Nelliam smiled as he pointed to a series of exceptionally high mountains towering over the Walled City in the distance.

“See that? That’s the High Passes, north of here. And if you look left, you can see the roads heading west. And over there—see it? There a village down there, and if you look really close you can see people! You can pay for an enchanted spyglass. Lots of people rent them and sit up here watching. Just mind the wind. It doesn’t usually blow people off, but it can get really strong up here!”

There was indeed a terrific wind blowing at Erin’s hair. It was colder than she would have liked, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the magnificent view. Nelliam grinned smugly as he saw Erin gaping.

“This is three hundred feet high?”

It felt higher, or maybe Erin had been away from home for too long. She’d been far higher—in airplanes and skyscrapers, but standing on the top of Pallass’ walls felt more immediate. Nelliam shrugged.

“It’s actually taller in places. We say its three hundred feet high just because it’s exactly that short in some spots. Impressive though, isn’t it? Have you ever been this high in your life?”

He was clearly expecting Erin to say no. She nodded absently.

“Yes. Higher, actually.”

What?

She could look down and see people entering and exiting Pallass’ gates far below. She could look straight down, in fact. Erin did and felt vertigo nudge her stomach at last. She thought she might faint or trip and hastily backed away from the edge. She had to take a few steadying breaths until she was feeling better.

“The height huh? It gets most people the first time. Some people who’ve lived here their entire lives won’t look over the edge. My mother won’t, and she was born here, same as the rest of my family.”

Nelliam leaned over the railing, completely at ease. Erin swallowed and looked around. It seemed the City Watch was fine with letting civilians on the walls so long as there wasn’t trouble. More than a few Drakes and Gnolls were standing at the balcony, looking through spyglasses. Some were more daring, leaning over the battlements or standing on top of them—

Erin blinked. There was a Gnoll standing on top of the battlements, on one of the stone blocks that archers could use for cover during battles. He had a pair of feathery wings strapped to each arm and as Erin watched he flapped them encouragingly in the breeze. But he wasn’t going to jump, right? That would be—

He leapt from the top of the battlements. Erin shouted in horror as she raced towards the spot he’d dove from. She screamed at Nelliam who hadn’t seen.

“Hey, that Gnoll just jumped!

“Where?”

Nelliam’s head turned, as did several of the [Guardsmen] on patrol. They instantly relaxed when they saw the plummeting figure.

“Oh. You had me scared for a second.”

“What? He jumped—someone do something!”

Erin was in a panic. What could they do? The Gnoll was dead the instant he hit the ground! But Nelliam looked unconcerned.

“Relax. That Gnoll always comes up here. He won’t get hurt. He’s trying to fly.”

“Fly?”

Erin remembered the wings. They’d looked silly, as silly as those old movies of people riding off cliffs with bicycles with wings. She stared at the falling shape, wondering if the wings were magical. The [Guardsmen] behind her were laughing and pointing, making bets on whether or not the Gnoll would fly.

“Looks like—he might make it—aw, no!”

The Gnoll was flapping wildly with his makeshift wings to no avail. They dragged at the air and eventually the left wing snapped off his arm. He plummeted and Erin covered her eyes as he neared the ground. She peeked at the last second, though.

Before the Gnoll could splatter messily onto the ground, his body suddenly slowed in midair. He fell the last fifty or so feet, flapping with his one good arm and looking quite upset. Nelliam shook his head as the Drakes on duty laughed and tossed a few coins towards the bet maker.

“He always does that. That’s the second time this month. I don’t know where he finds the coin for those Featherfall Potions, but he’s wasting them trying to fly. He’s not an Oldblood Drake and his wings break half the time. And when they don’t he just wobbles in the air before he lands.”

Erin stared as the Gnoll landed on the ground and tore the last wing off his arms. He began to stomp on them and she looked at Nelliam.

“Do a lot of people do that?”

“No, just him. He’s weird, isn’t he? But you were lucky to see him—he doesn’t jump often and people like to watch when he does. Too bad he’ll never succeed. A few of the Oldblood Drakes with wings sometimes fly from the walls, but a Gnoll won’t ever fly. Not without a powerful magical artifact or spell, anyways.”

“Oh really?”

Erin cocked her head, a bit surprised by Nelliam’s dismissiveness. She knew Humans couldn’t fly by themselves in her world even with technology, but what about gliders and wing suits?

“I thought Pallass was the ‘city of inventions’. Why don’t you think a Gnoll can learn to fly?”

Nelliam scoffed.

“There’s a difference between invention and things that are just impossible. Everyone knows that. If you want to fly, hire a [Mage]. We’re making things that everyone can use, not wasting our time trying to do ridiculous things like that.”

“Hmm.”

Erin didn’t immediately reply to the young Drake. She stared at the Gnoll who was trudging back to the city with his tail literally between his legs. She smiled.

“Maybe it’s impossible. But I bet all the great inventors did impossible things.”

Nelliam snorted.

“Yeah, but none of them strapped wings to their arms and jumped off walls. That Gnoll’s broken more bones than anyone in the city! If you’re done with the walls, do you want to continue the tour? I can show you our gardens next. Or how about we visit the Blacksmith’s Quarter? Or—”

He was turning Erin away when she saw a familiar Drake in yellow armor striding up to them. The Watch Captain looked harried, and he stopped abruptly in front of Erin and Nelliam.

“Miss Solstice, we’re going to have to cut your tour short. You’re needed back at your magic…portal thing. The Assembly of Crafts, our ruling body, has met with some of your city’s leaders and come to a decision.”

“The Assembly of Crafts? Wait a second, you mean the Human who caused all that trouble is her?

Nelliam stared wide-eyed at Erin and the Watch Captain. She winced as the [Captain] took her arm. The Drake [Greeter] wanted to hurry after them, but a [Guardsman] blocked his way.

“Wait, you’re the Human [Mage]? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The Watch Captain ignored Nelliam as he steered Erin away. She waved at the young Drake apoplectically.

“Sorry! I didn’t teleport anyone! It was my door!”

“What?”

“My door!

The Drake and Human walked off as Nelliam disappeared behind them. The [Captain] was silent, but Erin was curious so she began to pester him with questions.

“What’s so important about the door? Is there more trouble?”

“Not exactly. A few members of our Assembly—that’s ah, like Liscor’s Council only we elect numerous representatives from all of the major Guilds to vote on issues—a few members met with Liscor’s council. They used the door to communicate. I gather that Wall Lord Ilvriss will be fined, but there will be no criminal charges.”

“Oh. Good. So why do they want me?”

The [Captain] avoided Erin’s gaze. He coughed.

“I think the existence of such a powerful artifact that can transport people between locations is the issue at stake. The convenience and possible security risk means you, as the owner, need to be present in case the artifact is subject to fines or confiscation.”

“Confiscation? Hey, wait a minute…that’s not right!”

“I’m just doing my duty.”

“Oh yeah, well what if I have a problem with people taking my door?”

“It is a possible security risk to Pallass. If necessary we may be forced to seize it—”

“Seize it? If you do, I’ll shove this fist so far up—no, wait, that’s gross. I’ll shove the door so far up—”

“It’s not decided yet. Please, follow me.”

The Watch Captain edged away from Erin as he led her back towards the doorway. Erin stomped after him, muttering.

“Some city this is. First they arrest me, and then they try to take my door? We’ll see about that.”

She narrowed her eyes. Erin stomped through the streets after the nervous Watch Captain and found a crowd around the alleyway with the magic door. There were a lot of Drakes in expensive clothing forced to stand elbow-to-elbow in the cramped alleyway. A few Gnolls too, which was surprising. The Assembly of Crafts looked at Erin as she stormed up and she saw Ilvriss, Relc, Jelaqua, and Seborn all standing outside the door. Hawk was there too, sheepishly hiding behind a tall Gnoll.

“Hey! Are you jerks trying to steal my door?”

The important-looking Drakes and Gnolls stared blankly at Erin and then one of them, a Gnoll with a paunch and bright reddish-brown fur, spoke.

“We are considering impounding this magical artifact due to the potential security risk it poses as well as the economic advantages it confers. You are the [Innkeeper] and owner of this artifact, correct?”

“That’s right. I’m Erin Solstice. Who are you?”

The Gnoll blinked down at Erin. He was wearing an expensive vest and had a skullcap on his head—the first time Erin had seen a Gnoll wearing any kind of hat.

“I am Errif Jealwind, a [Merchant] and the current head of the Merchant’s Guild in Pallass. I am one of the Head Speakers for the Assembly of Crafts. We have reviewed the incident involving Wall Lord Ilvriss’s intrusion into this city and are debating what punitive measures may be taken.”

“Okay. And you think you can take my door, huh? Why? Because it’s a threat?”

The Gnoll blinked as Erin glared at him. She wasn’t impressed by his titles. He nodded.

“And because it can open up trade between any city we want. Imagine the possibilities!”

“But it’s my door.”

This fact didn’t seem to impress Errif. He flicked a furry paw.

“We will of course, compensate you for the artifact. However, this is a matter of security. We cannot just have visitors entering the city magically. Wall Lord Ilvriss’ intrusion was highly illegal and his noble status does not render him immune to the laws. Once he is fined we will require his return to Liscor.”

“Wait, what? You’re making him go back to Liscor?”

Erin looked at Ilvriss. He was standing with both arms folded, practically smoldering with anger. The Wall Lord snapped at Errif.

“And it seems Pallass intends to make off with your artifact as well, Solstice. I underestimated how shameless a Walled City could become, but I should have expected nothing less from a city ruled by a democracy.

Errif and the other Drakes and Gnolls didn’t appear bothered by the insult. He gestured, and Erin saw the [Guardsmen] surrounding Ilvriss, Jelaqua, Relc, and Seborn move a hair closer. The Gnoll didn’t quite smile as he stroked at the hair on his chin.

“Laws are meant to be enforced, Wall Lord Ilvriss. You broke our laws first, and so long as this door exists as a gateway outside our city, it is a threat to the security of Pallass. Thus, we are free to confiscate it. Your ejection is simply another matter of course. We are well within our liberties to deny you access.”

“I see. And here I thought Ilvriss was a jerk. But you guys are double jerks!”

Erin narrowed her eyes. Errif blinked as she took a step forwards. He seemed surprised that Erin was taking part in the conversation at all and glanced meaningfully at the Watch Captain.

“I think there is little need for more debate, Captain. Now that the owner of the, ah, door is here, we may inform her of the confiscation and arrange due compensation.”

“Hold up! Don’t I get a say?”

Erin protested. Errif ignored her.

“Escort the Wall Lord through the door. And the other intruders please. I trust the door has enough mana for the trip?”

A [Mage] Drake standing by the door raised his head and wiped sweat from his brow.

“We have charged it as far as we can, Senator Jealwind. We’re maintaining the connection with our mana reserves. It should be more than enough to send a group through, but I advise moderation.”

“Good. In that case—proceed.”

Errif motioned and Erin saw Ilvriss herded through the door with Jelaqua, Seborn, and Relc following after at spear point. She heard Relc complaining loudly.

“This always happens. Every time! I get arrested, I get kicked out. It’s not like I cause trouble each time, either! I—oh, hey Captain.”

“Now then. We will send a battalion through to secure the door and transport it back. It will take some time no doubt, but I am confident that once we have the artifact in our possession we will be able to open up new trade routes between Pallass and the north. Or perhaps between this city and another Walled City. The possibilities are endless, and I’m sure you’ll agree that it will be a powerful incentive when negotiating—”

Errif was animatedly talking with the other senators, ignoring Erin. She stared at him, thought about kicking his stupid wagging tail, and realized that was the stupidest thing she could do. The Watch Captain was apologetic but he would definitely arrest her again if she caused trouble.

They were going to march into Liscor and take her door! Just like that! Erin wondered if Zevara had agreed to this. Either way it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop them. They would take the door and bring it back with him! Her magic door! And there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t fight and her door was wide open for all the big Drakes with swords to march through.

Wide open. Doorway. Erin stared at the door and then edged towards it. The Watch Captain immediately grabbed her arm, but she glared at him.

“I’m going back through the door, alright? Jeez! I thought you wanted to get rid of me!”

Errif turned. He saw Erin going to the door and nodded.

“Let the [Innkeeper] go, Captain. I am relieved that she is open to reason, unlike Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

A few of the Drakes around Errif laughed. One of them spoke up, playing with a pendant at her neck.

“I thought he might draw his sword on us. Wall Lords from Salazsar are so…temperamental.”

“Hotheaded. Quite unable to negotiate. It’s one thing to bargain from a position of strength, and yet another to stride into our city and begin making demands. Especially given that he was the one responsible for General Shivertail’s…”

Erin gritted her teeth as she walked through her doorway. She was back in her inn in a moment. She saw Zevara and a group of Liscor’s [Guardsmen] standing anxiously in front of the doorway. The Watch Captain looked upset, and Ilvriss did indeed look like he was considering going back through the doorway and stabbing Errif. Erin saw Lyonette wringing her hands anxiously.

“Erin, I’m so sorry—”

Erin cut her off with a hand. She stared back at Errif and raised her voice.

“Hey you! Mr. Gnoll! Yes, you, the fat, ugly one!”

The Senators of Pallass looked around. Errif’s jaw dropped in shock. Erin stepped back through the doorway.

“You may be a big shot in Pallass, but you can’t just take my door! It’s mine! And all your stupid stuff about security? That’s a lie, isn’t it? You just want my door because it’s cool. Well, you can’t have it.”

Errif stared at Erin for a second, and then turned back to his fellow senators and laughed lightly, dismissing Erin with a wave.

“Humans, they’re so…Watch Captain Venim, please deal with her, won’t you?”

The Watch Captain apprehensively raised his hand, but Erin wasn’t done. She pointed at Errif as she edged back into her inn.

“Not so fast, jerk! I’m not letting you have my door! And I’m going to make sure you guys can’t steal it!”

Errif’s brow furrowed.

“What is she talking about?”

Erin stepped forwards again, into Pallass.

“You think you’re so smart. Well, guess what? I can just change whether or not this door opens in Pallass. I’ll cut you off! How about them apples? Then there won’t be a security breach! So you can’t have my door!”

The Gnoll hesitated. One of the Drake senators, the female one, looked concerned.

“Can she do that? That would mean legally—”

Errif eyed Erin apprehensively. The young woman stared challengingly at him. He stared at the door set into the wall and spoke with forced confidence.

“The door is open. It’s a clear threat.”

“Oh yeah? Well, send your City Watch through this door and it’ll be a lot more threat. Anyone puts a claw through my door and I’ll hit them with a pan! And I bet Ilvriss will totally stab them! And I have a bunch of Goblins who’ll beat you up! And an Antinium guard!”

Erin backed up through the doorway, fists raised threateningly. The Assembly of Crafts stared and saw a black hand waving from the back of the crowd in Liscor.

“I believe that is me. Hello, Erin.”

“Antinium.”

Several of the Drakes paled and Errif backed up. He looked at the Watch Captain.

“Those are the Antinium of Liscor? Dead gods, I thought those Drakes were insane, but in an inn? Watch Captain, move your soldiers—”

“Not yet!”

Erin leapt through the doorway. Errif blinked at her, but Erin hopped back through to Liscor. She ran back through to Pallass again, feeling slightly stupid. But then there was a groan from the Drake [Mage] by the doorway.

“Senator Jealwind, the Human is draining the magic—”

“She’s what?”

Too late, Errif and the others realized what Erin was doing. Erin ran back into Liscor, hopped through into Pallass, hopped back into Liscor, hopped through to Pallass—she did three more side-hops and then leapt into Liscor as one of the Drakes grabbed for her. Erin panted.

“Wow, that’s a lot of mana. I didn’t know you could charge it up this much.”

“Keep the portal open! Watch Captain, send your men in now!

Errif shouted as the [Guardsmen] barred the door. He strode forwards, as if he meant to go through himself. He got right up to the portal’s edge and then ducked. A chair sailed over his head and smacked two Pallassian senators in the faces. They cried out and Errif scrambled to his feet.

He rose just in time to see Erin grabbing another chair to throw, and then the portal winked out. Errif stared at the blank brick wall in shock and then looked around. There was a nasty silence in the alleyway except for Watch Captain Venim, who breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

 

—-

 

On the other side of the portal, Erin stared at the wall of her inn. She had never been more relieved to see blank wood in her life. She turned and smiled. The rest of the inn stared at her. Ilvriss, the Halfseekers, Bird, the Redfang Warriors, and Zevara, Relc and several [Guardsmen] of Liscor. Erin smiled, edged over to Lyonette and hugged Mrsha. Then she looked cheerfully around the room.

“Well, that’s that. Hey Ilvriss, those Pallass guys are jerks! Why don’t we undo the connection to Pallass and forget this all happened, okay?”

Everyone stared at her. Erin grinned sheepishly.

“No? Yes? We can always put it back later, right?”

It was Moore who broke the tableau. He carefully reached out and pried loose the colored mana stone that Typhenous and Pisces had attuned to the door. Four hundred miles south, the [Mages] in Pallass reported the link between the doors was broken. Errif and the other senators stormed off, their plans ruined. Ilvriss looked thoughtfully at Erin and smiled.

“That was quite cleverly done. For a Human.”

“Thanks! I guess you’re one of the cooler Wall Lords around too. At least, by comparison with those guys.”

She grinned back at him. For once they were in accord.

All was well. Pallass, the City of Inventions, could wait. Erin smiled as she began to talk excitedly about all that had happened with the others. She couldn’t help but feel as though she’d forgotten something, though. Something rather important…

 

—-

 

Hawk the Courier stared at the blank wall as the [Guardsmen] set up a cordon around the alleyway and the Assembly of Crafts dispersed. He wasn’t angry. He was just footsore, hungry, and a bit hurt. Just a bit. He looked at the blank wall and shook his head.

“Screw the Runner’s Guild regulations. I’m charging them triple for this.”

Then he turned away and glumly found somewhere to sleep for the night. He had a feeling the door between Liscor and Pallass would be staying closed, at least for today. The Rabbitman muttered to himself as his stomach growled. This was why he hated visiting the Walled Cities.

“Politics.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.02

Four days after the battle at Invrisil and the death of Zel Shivertail, the Goblin Lord’s army marched. Four days was enough time for the Goblins to finish looting the Human [Soldiers] who had died on the battlefield, to finish eating and for the wounded Goblins to begin healing—or to die.

There had not been enough potions for the Goblin Lord’s army, not nearly enough. However, those Hobs who had been gravely injured had lived thanks to the precious healing liquids, as had the Goblin Lord’s commanders. The injuries that the Goblin Lord himself had taken during his now-infamous duel against Zel Shivertail had been healed within minutes of his victory.

The Goblin Lord. Rumors spread faster than birds could fly of this new and extraordinarily powerful Goblin Lord. He had slain Zel Shivertail, defeated an army backed by Lady Magnolia Reinhart, and managed to destroy a pair of War Golems by himself. He was both [Necromancer] and Goblin Lord. And now he had a name.

Reiss. It was an odd name, a strange name. But then, few Goblins had names at all. Velan had been named in the style of Baleros, and others, such as Greydath and Tremborag, took their names from places they had grown up in, or been given those names for their infamy. Names were names.

But it was a sword that cut doubly deep in Reiss’ case, because his was a Drake name. Not a common one, and perhaps it could have been a Human name as well, but it was close enough to sting, especially in the wake of Zel Shivertail’s death. Some speculated that the Goblin Lord had chosen it to mock the Drakes, or perhaps in recognition of a worthy foe.

Magnolia Reinhart had no time to speculate. She stood on Invrisil’s ramparts four days after her retreat from the battlefield and stared at the approaching Goblin army through an enchanted spyglass. Next to her, the Watch Commander of Invrisil, the [Mayor], and several low-level [Lords] and [Ladies] shifted uneasily, but said nothing.

“It seems the Goblin Lord is coming after all. Watch Captain, hold back your soldiers until he begins attacking the city. I fear it will be a battle in the suburbs after all, unless you mean to cede a third of the city to his forces without issue?”

The Lady Reinhart’s voice was cold and crisp in the morning air. The Watch Captain made no response. His face was pale and green at the same time and he’d disappeared three times already to vomit. Magnolia eyed him and then turned her attention back to the Goblin Lord’s army.

She was in command of the defense of Invrisil, because there was no high-level commander ready or able to accept the burden and because she was the [Lady] of the land. Magnolia was no [General], but she had done all she could. Invrisil’s population had been evacuated behind the walls of the inner city and the army that Zel Shivertail had once led was stationed on the walls and in the suburbs, ready to repel the Goblin Lord’s army.

The army. Magnolia cast her gaze downwards, seeing the dispirited Human troops below her. Their morale was nearly shattered by their retreat from the Goblin Lord’s army. Zel Shivertail’s death had broken their will. But, ironically, there was still over two thirds of the army left intact. They had managed to withdraw quickly and the Goblin Lord’s army had not pursued them at all.

“Still, an army without a [General] is a body without a head. It will be ugly, Ressa.”

Behind Magnolia, the tall [Maid] nodded. She had her enchanted dagger in one hand and the [Mayor] of Invrisil kept glancing at it nervously. Magnolia sighed and refocused on the Goblin Lord’s army.

It would be close if it came to a battle in the city. The Humans had the lay of the land and the streets and buildings could restrict the Goblins. But buildings could be climbed and burned, and Invrisil was not a Drake city. It had been built with walls, but those walls only protected the innermost part of the city—the suburbs had long since grown up around Invrisil, and if the Goblins overran the Humans, it would be a quick siege.

So it would not come to that. Magnolia saw Gold and Silver-rank adventurers in the forces below her. Unlike the battle with the Goblin Lord’s army, adventurers were required by law to aid in the defense of a city against monsters. They could not refuse, and their contributions might well turn the tide of the battle, even if it meant their deaths.

Of course, adventurers were by and large not keen to fight dangerous battles for scant pay, and several groups had tried to slip out the gates in secret in the days prior. They had been caught by the guards and turned back two nights in a row until Magnolia Reinhart issued a public promise. She would personally see to it that any adventurer that fled Invrisil would be found and punished.

She did not specify what that punishment would be, or if it would be survivable. Or short. The adventurers, after a night of debate, stayed put.

So they were ready. Magnolia waited on the walls, her heart pounding. She felt little fear in this moment though; it was almost all fury. The city leaders drew back from her slightly as the cold air heated up around Lady Magnolia. Steam rose around the Lady Reinhart, until it began to obscure her spyglass. She wiped the lens with a cloth, muttering, and then snapped her gaze back at the army.

“They’ve stopped.”

 

—-

 

The Goblin Lord’s army paused before Invrisil. Reiss the Goblin Lord looked out across the vast city, seeing places where Humans in armor had been stationed. He could see the guards on the walls, and also spot the single Human in a pink dress at a distance. He could feel her ire, like a physical thing.

Reiss shifted. He was sitting on a smaller Shield Spider, his former mount having been slain by Zel. His Goblins looked up at him, watching his every move. Waiting. Humans and Goblins held their breaths as Reiss considered Invrisil.

He looked around. The landscape was mud and wetness, and the snow was mostly gone. Winter had ended. And with it, the world was beginning to warm. It was a dark, dismal day. The Goblin Lord stared at the city again and then made up his mind.

He raised his hand. The world grew still for a second, and the Goblin Lord spoke one word.

“Left.”

He pointed, and the Goblins moved. The Humans stirred, but the Goblin Lord’s army marched left, past the city, around it, skirting the Humans as they scrambled to reposition without incident. The Goblin Lord marched past Invrisil, towards a mountain in the distance, deeper into the Human lands. His army left Invrisil in peace.

It was said later that the Goblins were too wary of Invrisil, that they had been too badly damaged by Zel Shivertail’s army. The Drakes laid the credit at their fallen hero’s feet, the Humans declared it was their unflinching resilience in the face of the enemy. But all agreed that the Goblin Lord would have attacked if his army had not been so battered by the recent conflicts.

Goblins were, after all, savage monsters who preyed on anyone they could. They couldn’t think and they had no sense of honor or mercy.

Or so it was said.

 

—-

 

In Izril, war was a mixture of politics and self-interest, a product of countless factions and individuals plotting against each other. In Chandrar, those who served in military positions knew better. War was war. You killed your opponent and left them to the sands, and sold off prisoners as slaves. It was simple in that regard.

Unless you had bad orders. Or a bad commander. For Brigadier General Khal of the Empire of Sands, he was experiencing both unfortunate events at the same time. His force of eight thousand men had been sent across the border of the great desert to hunt down an enemy force that had been harassing the empire for the last few months. A force that had eluded pursuit, destroyed small villages and towns, looted, instilled havoc among the empire’s citizens…and routed six other armies sent against them.

The Garuda. It was a tribe of flying bird-people native to Chandrar that was doing the raiding, but that wasn’t what had Khal’s stomach in knots. He’d fought the Garuda before, learned how to combat their kind in the innumerable tribal conflicts that arose as the bird-people migrated and sometimes raided civilized nations. No, what made him afraid was this particular tribe that was led by one famous member of their species.

Takhatres, Lord of the Skies. One of the King of Destruction’s vassals and a sworn enemy of the Empire of Sands, which had declared war with Flos Reimarch not four months ago. His name would make men greater than Khal tremble. And yet here he was, leading an army of eight thousand against Takhatres’ tribe.

It would be a mistake to attempt this even if he outnumbered the Lord of the Skies’ forces with his own. But no matter how many times Khal explained this to his superior he was ignored. But then, his superior was young.

And noble. The Emir Riefel sat astride his camel with obvious experience, but his skin was lighter than Khal’s, not having been tanned by months outdoors. He had a flashy magic scimitar at his belt that the Brigadier General doubted he knew how to use and he wore light cloth, not armor. It was infinitely more preferable in the heat, but not if you were about to go into battle.

And he was an emir, a rich lord of the Empire of Sands. His family had enough influence to appoint him as the head of an army and so he had organized this latest force to fight the Garuda. And it seemed that Brigadier General Khal was the sacrifice being sent to die with him.

If, that was, Khal couldn’t get him to turn around. The man urged his mount closer to the head of the line, bowing his head as he approached Riefel’s guard. There were but five of them and they weren’t so much guards as the man’s drinking buddies. Riefel had a flask in his hand that Khal strongly suspected contained not water but wine, and he waved at Khal as the armored man approached.

“General Khal! Given up your naysaying to ride with us? It is a fine morning for it—if the sun does not scorch my skin off, this plodding camel will grind my family’s heirlooms to dust!”

“What, you haven’t sold them already, Riefel?”

Another man on horseback joked. Riefel laughed and drank from his flask.

“There’s not a [Merchant] with enough coin to buy them in the world! Kfaw! There’s no shade here at all! I’d sooner be at an oasis than riding. Do you think we’ll find the twice-cursed Garuda this morning, Khal? I’d say they’re running scared of us!”

He laughed and drank again. Khal lowered his head as he drew up beside Riefel.

“No sighting of the Garuda yet, highness. If we do see them, it will be when they are on top of us with no time for warnings. But I beg you once again to reconsider this attempt.”

“Agh! Once more, Khal? I am no weak woman to be swayed by hearing the same words over and over!”

Riefel grimaced. Khal bowed again in the saddle. The lordling was drunk! And while on campaign! Still, he went on with his plea, taking a different angle today than he had in the past.

“I do not mean to question your judgment highness, or the worthiness of this expedition. However, I fear your army and my humble self might let you down. We hunt Garuda, but we are few in number and ill-prepared for the task, though it pains me to say it. Sir, with due respect, I am a [Sand Brigadier].”

“Yes, and?”

Riefel’s blank look was as insulting as it was embarrassing. Any proper commander worth his salt would know what that meant! Khal ground his teeth together. But he kept his voice level and as placating as possible as he replied.

“I am specialized in sand combat. Close, infantry fighting, highness. I can hide my armies in the dunes, fight in sandstorms if need be—but my Skills are not specialized towards fighting aerial foes.”

The arrogant young emir cast his head from left to right, taking in the dry, cracked ground and sparse vegetation.

“There seems to be enough sand for you, General Khal. So what if you haven’t the experience to fight the Garuda? I specifically brought along twice as many archers as infantry for that reason.”

“Yes sir. And I advised against it. The Garuda cannot simply be shot from the skies like hunting fowl. They will sweep through our formations after the first volley and cut our archers to bits!”

“Hah! Those birds? They have wings General Khal, and precious little armor! What could they do against warriors wearing steel?”

More than you could imagine, you sun-blasted fool. Khal bit back his retort. A sharp tongue against a superior could see his head removed. Or worse. Why did Riefel have to be a Human?

Khal was Human. A majority of Chandrar was Human, as befitted a race that had spread to all five continents in the world. But in the Empire of Sands another species held predominance. And while their appearance was like Humans, they were far better desert fighters than most Humans. One of them would never make this mistake fighting the Garuda; they would know all too well the danger. But Riefel just laughed again, drunk on youth and alcohol.

“You worry too much, Khal. We shall see the Garuda, vanquish them, and be celebrating with a comely woman in bed by the end of the week!”

He tossed his head, laughing at one of his female companions who made a rude gesture beneath her sand veil. As he did, he tilted his head up just a fraction too high and something caught Khal’s eye. A tiny flesh-colored line of stitching around the base of his neck, covered by the scarf that Riefel wore to protect his face when the sand was blowing.

Stitches? Riefel noticed Khal’s gaze and tilted his head the other way inquisitively. The faint line around his neck was gone so fast that Khal thought he had imagined it. The Brigadier General jerked his gaze away and laughed politely in response to a question. But his mind was whirling. Stitches? But that would mean—

Garuda! Garuda in the skies to the west!

Someone screamed. At the same time the horns blew, a wailing siren that echoed across the flat arid ground. Khal cursed and turned, his heart plummeting in his chest. It was too late now. Too late.

They’re in the skies! The sun devils are coming!

A panicked voice rose from Khal’s left, and then a scream. The [Brigadier General] looked up and saw a shape. He wrenched his camel left, but the beast fought him. Khal didn’t try to fight—he dove from his saddle in the nick of time. He heard a thump, a gristly impact on flesh, the dull crack of bones and the camel’s death scream. When he rose he saw the camel was lying on the ground.

Its back was caved in, the animal’s bones and flesh torn and ripped from a terrific impact. Khal saw the culprit lying on the ground a few feet away. It was a stone.

Just a stone. Jagged, covered in blood. It couldn’t have been more than ten pounds in weight. But it had been dropped hundreds of feet from overhead. Khal heard more impacts and shouted.

Spread out! Archers, target the fliers! Everyone else prepare for combat! [Quick Arrows]! Loose, loose damn your hides!

He heard his army scrambling to react. Khal could see flying shapes above him but knew not to look up. The Garuda were attacking with the sun at their backs, dropping stones on the army, flying out of the skies. But this wasn’t their real attack, not yet. The archers around him began to loose arrows upwards and Khal saw two Garuda fall to the ground with sickening thuds, struck by the quarrels. The rest dispersed as his forces began to counterattack.

“What—what happened?”

A quavering voice spoke behind him. Khal saw Riefel getting to his feet, his face white and pale. Miracle of miracles or perhaps, curse of curses, he and his five companions had survived the Garuda’s rock dropping. Khal grunted at him.

“Garuda. They have found us, highness. I would advise you to armor yourself, but it is too late now. They are coming.”

“But those impacts—one took my mount. How—? Rocks?”

Riefel looked confused. Khal turned, shouting.

“Form into a box! Infantry in front, archers, prepare to loose! Box formation! Protect his highness Riefel! The Garuda are going to charge!”

He turned, his sword already up. Khal was scanning the flat horizon, looking for what must come next. The Garuda fought like this, attacking and retreating, but this tribe was known for launching terrible assaults with their leader. Where was he?

“I see. So it’s to be a fight is it? Well then, the Garuda will taste my steel!”

Riefel unsheathed his sword and took an awkward stance and his five companions did likewise. Khal spared only a grimace for them. Two women and four men, and they looked like they had never killed another person before. They spread out in the center of the box Khal’s army had created, looking around warily. And then Khal saw it.

“There!”

He roared and all heads turned. Khal had spotted a flash of blue and green, speeding across the ground. It moved unbelievably fast, leaving a trail of dust behind it. Khal’s blood ran cold, though the sun was scorching. A soldier next to him whispered.

“The Lord of the Skies.”

“Takhatres. One of the King’s Seven.”

He was coming. The Garuda raced across the ground towards Khal’s army, and at the same time as he approached Khal heard a cry.

“To our rear! More Garuda!”

He turned and saw hundreds, thousands of flying shapes approaching through the sky. They were spread out at any angle and flying in—but slower than Takahatres. He called out as the soldiers wavered.

“Do not move position! The east flank will prepare to fire! Prepare! The west will fire when the Garuda are in range!”

“It’s just one Garuda. What can he do?”

Riefel’s voice was too loud in the silence as the soldiers turned their attention to their respective fronts. Khal’s hand was slippery on his sword’s hilt. He waited as the blur approached, trying to gauge the timing. As if it mattered.

“The eastern flank will loose!”

Thousands of bows hummed as arrows left the string. The air was filled with a rain of black death that shot towards the Garuda. Khal saw the lone figure turn and run left. The first volley missed him easily as he sped away from them. The second missed too.

“So fast!”

Someone groaned. Khal was silent. He hadn’t expected to hit Takhatres, but seeing the speed the Garuda possessed was terrifying in itself. He raised a hand and roared an order as the archers fumbled with a third volley. They wouldn’t have time to fire, he knew.

“Brace yourselves! The fastest warrior on the continent is about to attack!”

The blue and green blur was nearly upon them. Now a shape was visible—a Garuda, wings outstretched, running towards them. His face was a bird’s with a large beak, and his wings were that of a bird’s too, ending with talon-like hands. Yet he stood as a man, and ran like one. He did not fly. He could not fly.

And he was fast! One second he was running, then he was here! The front row of swordsmen cut at him—too slow. The Lord of the Skies turned and ran down the line of warriors, ducking, cutting, a blur, and Khal heard the screams begin. He braced himself, hoping the Garuda would retreat or get tangled up by the press of bodies. He couldn’t fight so many even with his speed! Takhatres turned as the archers trained on him. He ran towards them as arrows flew and leapt.

Khal looked up and saw death land in the center of his formation. Takhatres was lightly armored. He wore cloth, over his body, padded, but nothing more. He had a dagger in each hand and he cut down a soldier with a bow as he landed. Khal’s heart raced, but it was slow compared to the Garuda. There was a moment, just a moment as the Garuda landed that he couldn’t touch the ground, that he was slow. In that moment Khal lunged.

Lord of the Skies!

He cut at the Garuda’s chest. Takhatres’ clawed feet touched the ground. Khal’s sword was a foot away from his chest, half a foot, three inches—then the Garuda disappeared. He took five steps back and ran around Khal’s sword, and it was he who cut at Khal as the man stumbled and tried to pull his sword back.

He had small blades in his feathered wings, and daggers on his claws! Khal tried to cut at Takhatres’ unprotected arms, but the Garuda blurred past him. The Brigadier General stumbled, feeling an impact on his side. He raised a hand and felt at the spot and yanked his hand away as something sliced his hand open.

“Blood?”

It was from his armor! His armor had cut him! The Garuda’s attack had cut straight through Khal’s steel armor, opening it into a dangerous gash. But the blades had gone further into Khal’s side. He stared into layers of white flesh, only now reddening with blood as it flowed from his body.

The [Sand Brigadier] stared at the bloodless cut for a second and cursed. He grabbed for a healing potion and smashed it over the wound before his body could realize it needed to bleed. Then he turned.

Takhatres was fighting in the center of Khal’s formations, slaughtering the archers while the infantry stood at the outside of the formation, helpless to fight back. And while they were thrown into confusion the rest of his tribe had attacked from the west! The bird people flew down, dropping stones, cutting at Khal’s soldiers from overhead, screeching and sowing fear among his warriors.

It was a disaster. Khal saw the Lord of the Skies cutting his men down like wheat. The Garuda was too fast to catch, too agile to stop! He danced around blades and arrows as if he were the one normal person in a world full of snails. He dashed into a group of soldiers and again and again his arms shot out, cutting here, slashing there, never stopping until he burst out of the group from the other side.

He left a trail of fallen soldiers behind him, bleeding from deep cuts on their bodies. Only a few of the wounds were fatal—the rest left soldiers wounded, demoralized, and in need of healing potions or medical aid.

“What a monster!”

A loud voice made Khal’s head turn. He saw Riefel turning to follow Takhatres, his blade held in his clumsy hands. He did not run as the Garuda rushed towards him. Instead the foolish young man cried out.

“I am here! Come bird man! I will cut your wings off!”

Did Khal see a smile cross Takhatres’ face just for a moment? Perhaps, because the Garuda turned and sped towards him. Riefel paused, surprised, as he realized his taunt had worked. It was a stupid expression to die with on his face. And then Takhatres was charging him—Khal wanted to turn away.

Riefel stared as the Garuda flashed towards him. Still looking dumbfounded, he changed his grip on his sword and slashed.

“[Flash Cut]!”

Khal gaped as the young man’s sword flashed through the air and he saw the blue blur that was Takhatres shift out of the way. The Garuda leapt back and Khal stared, dumbfounded.

[Flash Cut]? A Skill? Yes, Riefel had used it! And his form, his technique! That was no unseasoned nobleman’s cut, but an experienced warrior’s attack. Now Emir Riefel abandoned his awkward posture and stalked towards Takhatres on the balls of his feet, the scimitar held out from his body as he gripped the scabbard in his other hand. Riefel spoke in the sudden hush.

“Lord of the Skies. The Emperor of Sands desires your death.”

His voice was suddenly lower, and his tone calmer. The Garuda stared at him warily, mocking smile gone, and Khal saw five more shapes appear out of the chaos of wounded and fighting soldiers. Five men and women, the same indolent companions that Riefel had been drinking with moved forwards, fast and light on their feet, their weapons held at the ready. They did not wait but attacked at the same time.

A pair of daggers here, a scimitar lashing out here! A pike, tip coated green, and a thrown dagger! The five warriors were a blur of blades as they attacked Takhatres from either side. They charged him as the Garuda blurred. And they missed.

Khal didn’t see the Garuda move. He didn’t see Takhatres weave through the storm of death, parrying blades and dodging the rest. He only saw the end of it, the Garuda moving away, leaping out from the formation, racing across the sands as [Archers] futilely fired at where he had been. Khal saw the six warriors standing where Takhatres had been moments ago, weapons lowered.

One of the six assassins dropped to her knees and Khal saw her clutching at her throat where blood was already spilling to the ground. Emir Riefel grimaced, and Khal saw he’d been cut along the side of his neck. An inch to the left and it would have severed an artery. He ignored it and turned to Khal, his expression suddenly rueful.

“Ah. It seems we are too slow. Humiliating, is it not? All this preparation and waste.”

He indicated the battle, where the Garuda were pulling back, having cut Khal’s western flanks to ribbons. The [Brigadier General] could only stare. He pointed at Riefel, at the man’s bare neck. His scarf had come loose and now Khal could see it.

A faint ring of stitches colored like flesh around his neck. The Stitch-Man bowed to Khal, confirming the man’s suspicions. He spoke casually, his eyes on the Garuda as they retreated, winging into the skies and flying in a huge formation around the skies, like vultures.

“General, sound the retreat. Our assassination attempt has failed. We will hold our ground with some of your men and buy time for the rest of your people to retreat. I doubt the Lord of the Skies will follow for fear of a second attempt on his life.”

“Emir Riefel—you are not coming?”

Khal saw the fake emir grin at him and press one hand to the blood dripping from his neck. By his side the female assassin had bled out. He bowed to Khal once more as a distant shape began running towards the army.

“Tell the Emperor of Sands that Takhatres cannot be slain by any number of [Assassins] of my caliber. Also, tender his Majesty my sincerest apologies that I cannot report in person.”

His Majesty. He had sent the assassins? Khal hesitated, countless questions in his mind. But there was no time. Riefel’s voice was harsh as he turned, scimitar in hand.

“Go. He is coming back.”

Khal turned and shouted the retreat. Horns blared and he fled, finding another camel and riding it as he heard Riefel make his last stand. He heard the Garuda descending, felt one descend behind him and cut it down with his sword. He fled with his shattered army, completely defeated as the Garuda landed to loot their prey.

Defeat. Khal’s heart was filled with fear as he remembered the Lord of the Skies, imagined the Garuda coming after him. He was a nightmare given flesh. And he served the King of Destruction? Khal’s nightmares would be filled with the image of the Garuda. And yet, he dreaded telling the Emperor of Sands the dire news even more.

 

—-

 

“Dead?”

The voice was loud in the silent room. Too loud for such a spacious chamber, for it echoed. It was masculine, imperious, the voice of youth, but also tinged with a command beyond the speaker’s years. And it was filled with wrath.

“Dead, your Majesty. All, as well as the bulk of my army. The Garuda cut many of us down as we retreated.”

Khal’s voice quavered in the audience hall. He knelt on the cold, cool stone, usually a comfort and respite from the heat of the desert sun. Now he sweated despite the chill and saw a bead of sweat splash onto the black marble beneath him. He prayed the Emperor of Sands would not notice.

“Raise your head. Did Riefel say anything to you before his death, Brigadier General Khal?”

Slowly, Khal looked up. He saw a young man, sitting on a silver throne. His posture was poor, one leg idly hanging over the arm of his throne. He was a young man in the prime of his existence, almost unable to sit still with the burning energy within him. Though his clothes were royal he disdained much of the garments of his station, preferring the light and easy to wear cloth that allowed free movement. And he was angry.

It was in his eyes. They flashed emerald as the Emperor of Sands leaned forwards on his throne. His voice was rough with impatience. Khal could see the stitch-marks around his fingers as the Emperor of Sands made a fist.

“Speak, man. Did Riefel say why the assassination failed? Or did you see it yourself? Did he have time to attack Takhatres or not?”

“He said—he told me, your Majesty—”

Khal licked his lips, trying to recall the exact words. His throat was parched from days and nights of ceaseless riding to return to the capital. The Emperor of Sands saw the movement and motioned impatiently.

“Get him some water or wine! And speak!”

A veiled attendant instantly approached. Whether the servant was man or woman Khal didn’t see—he gratefully accepted a cup and drank a mouthful, feeling it wash down his throat.

“Pardons, Majesty. Emir Riefel said this to me in the moments before his death. ‘The Lord of the Skies cannot be slain by any number of [Assassins] of my caliber.’ He also wished to give his Majesty his apologies that he could not report this in person.”

Khal bowed his head, the cup trembling in his grasp. He heard a faint grunt, dared to look up, and saw the Emperor splayed across his throne. His face was thunderous, bitter.

“So. That is what Riefel believed?”

He eyed Khal but did not give the man the order to speak. The Emperor of Sands shifted position and then stood up. He paced across the dais of his throne and Khal dared to peek around the grand throne room.

This was the audience hall of the Emperor of Sands. One of the lesser audience halls, a more private setting where his court was not expected to gather. Veiled attendants stood around the room, silent, dressed in dark fabrics, but besides them and the shadows that Khal had spotted behind the throne—and on the ceiling—he was alone.

With the Emperor of Sands. The ruler in charge of the largest nation in Chandrar, a monarch who had built his empire in the years after the King of Destruction’s fall. His armies were legion and his reach stretched across much of Chandrar. Though his armies had yet to conquer the great desert that separated east from west, he was poised to sweep across the south and Khal was but one small officer in his armies. He could have Khal beheaded in a second and for that and the rumors Khal had heard of the Emperor, he trembled.

However, the Emperor seemed to have lost all interest in Khal. He paced back and forth on the dais, brushing back his short hair, muttering to himself. His voice was loud in the throne room, too loud, as if the Emperor was used to addressing crowds of thousands and had forgotten what silence was like.

“So my [Assassins] fail. And Riefel was a good one, if not the most capable. None of his caliber would succeed? Does that mean an army would fail to catch the Garuda? Agh! Of all of the King of Destruction’s vassals, why was that the one sent to harry me? How did they cross the desert so quickly? The Garuda are quick, but this mighty in battle? I did not credit it. Now they are destroying villages and looting. Must I recall my armies, chase them down? Must I?”

Khal dared not move as his Emperor paced back and forth. He saw a drop of sweat drip into his cup of wine. Then the Emperor spun.

“Fine then! If the bird flies and screams defiance, let it be so! Send forth my armies! Recall the fourth legion and the fifth! And the eighth! Make war on the Garuda, hunt them down and crush them to dust! While my empire stands no bandit or raider shall know peace! If it is war the Lord of the Skies wants, it will be war and war unrelenting he shall have!”

His eyes blazed, and Khal felt his heart leap as the Emperor of Sands strode down the dais. He seemed ready to go to war at once—until a voice interrupted him from above.

“The Garuda cannot be chased, Emperor. They are like sand flies, disappearing into the desert with every chance footstep and breeze. To hunt them down requires more than just numbers and brute force.”

Khal jumped. He had thought they were alone! He stared up, forgetting himself, but saw no ledges, no place where a person might stand in the audience hall. Yet—someone had spoken. The Emperor of Sands halted and scowled upwards.

“What then? Am I to let this provocation by the King of Destruction go unchecked?”

“No.”

The voice came from above—yet from a different place. Khal craned his head to see before remembering and lowering it. There was no one up there! They had to be speaking from the walls! Through the walls? He shivered as the disembodied voice continued.

“You are hasty where you should consider. The Garuda are a pest, nipping, hoping to provoke. Tread slowly, deliberate. Rush in and you will jeopardize your plans elsewhere, give the King of Destruction and your enemies time to prepare themselves.”

The Emperor of Sands lowered his head, his youthful features frowning, contemplating the words. When he raised his head it was with resignation.

“Perhaps you are right. I am…impatient. Angry. Things move too slowly! I should not have slain the Architect, provoked Flos so soon. But I am tired of waiting! I am—”

He raised his voice, frustrated, and then paused. Slowly, the Emperor of Sands lowered his hands.

“So then. I require a different perspective. It has been too long.”

“Yes.”

“Too long. Too set in your ways.”

“War is not the only tool of empire.”

Voices from overhead. Khal shuddered and the Emperor of Sands closed his eyes. He gestured.

“Let it be so. To me, my attendants. Open the second box. Let it be done now. Khal, you will wait. I suspect I shall have words for you shortly.”

Khal, frozen, confused, stared up at the Emperor of Sands as he walked slowly back to his throne. The veiled servants rushed around him, holding sheets up, creating a wall of cloth between him and his Emperor. Khal saw a male attendant move forwards with a pair of scissors, saw the Emperor of Sands bare his neck. There were black stitches around his neck, like the ones that Riefel had had, but more noticeable. The scissors opened. Khal’s heart raced. He couldn’t be—

Snip. The scissors cut through the stiches around the Emperor of Sands’ neck. His head came loose, the body crumpled. Khal uttered an oath and nearly rose, but his was the only exclamation in the room. The attendants covered the Emperor of Sands’s body with a cloth and spirited it away. More surrounded the head. And the scissors snipped again.

Hair came loose. The Emperor of Sands stared ahead, his head now bald. His eyes stared down at Khal and the Brigadier General was transfixed with awe and horror. And shame. He saw the Emperor of Sands, his head removed from its body, an attendant threading a needle with black string as a second covered body was rushed towards the throne. Yet in that moment before he had a new body the head stared at Khal. He was not the young brash man he had been before. Nor was that face that of a man.

His face was—neither male nor female in that moment, but something that contained elements of both sexes. Or perhaps it was a gender unto itself? The [General] looked away and saw the attendants move forwards, holding bundles wrapped in cloth. He heard rustling for a minute, and then dared look again.

A woman sat on the throne. She was bald, but her hair was already being carefully stitched to her head. Her body was tall, elegant. Each limb looked as though it had been made of flesh far superior to the crude and dirty skin that Khal wore. The Empress was sculpted, perfect in every line. And very naked.

Khal jerked his eyes away, his face flushing with heat. But his eyes strayed back towards the woman sitting on the throne. No command could have stopped him from looking twice. And the veiled attendants made no attempt to block his view. They moved around the woman, clothing her, stitching closed the gap between neck and head. And when they moved back the Emperor of Sands rose. Only it was not he, but she who looked down and touched at the stitches around her neck, on the joints of her fingers and her arms, flexing them. Then she smiled and her voice was low and soft.

“A new perspective. A new line of thought. Khal, stand.”

He did, fighting arousal and shame and fear at the same time. The Emperor of Sands descended her throne. Was it the Empress of Sands now? No—she was still the Emperor. She had always been the Emperor. But now she was different.

The Emperor of Sands in her feminine aspect gazed down at General Khal. Her eyes were as brilliant as sapphires gleaming in the night sand. Just as cold, too. She raised a hand as she descended the dais. Khal stared at it as she stopped in front of him. The Emperor of Sands raised her eyebrows.

“Will you not give your Emperor your assistance, Brigadier General Khal?”

He realized she was waiting for him to offer her his arm. Flushing, Khal did so. The Emperor of Sands took his arm gently and smiled at him. It was a bewitching smile, deep with experience and meaning. Khal turned bright red and stammered.

“Where to, your Majesty?”

“Outside. A chariot will take us through the city. I have it in mind to visit the northeastern section of the capital. Water runs low there and I must attend in person to see the issue rectified. You will accompany me.”

Khal lowered his head and both he and the Emperor walked towards the doors of the audience chamber. They swung open and they left the palace. Perhaps a chariot had not been there before the Emperor had spoken, but since she had spoken it was there and ready to go by the time they left the palace.

“Go.”

The Emperor spoke one word and the chariot driver took off. Khal stood next to her, uneasy, and yet with no desire to be anywhere else in the world. He couldn’t stop staring at her. The Emperor noticed his gaze and smiled. She touched around the black stitches of her neck.

“Surprised, Khal? Surely you knew your Emperor wore many faces.”

“I had heard rumors your Majesty, but—words do not do it justice.”

Khal wrenched his gaze away from the Emperor’s face, remembering etiquette too late. He heard a light laugh.

“So Humans always say. But you have lived in the Empire of Sands and on Chandrar all your life. Surely you know my people now.”

She waved across her city as her chariot sped down the streets. Khal looked out and saw faces rushing by, people turning. There was only one chariot for whom the roads were cleared and they began shouting, cheering on their ruler as she passed. Khal saw Human faces, the faces of a few Garuda in the crowd, some other species, but mainly dark-skinned people. They looked like Humans, but they were not.

“Only partly, your Majesty. We are alike in appearance, but in nature—”

“Ah, in nature we are different. That is true. I cannot fathom what it is like to be Human, to never change your form. If your bones shatter you must heal slowly. If you lose an arm it is gone for good. Whereas I can but unravel the strings of my arm and attach a new one.”

She touched at the black stitches around the joints of her right arm. Khal stared at it, stared at the way the slightest sheen of sweat coated her skin, glistening—he turned his head, shuddering. The people were waving, cheering her—and him. Khal was no [General] in command of one of the Empire of Sand’s legions, but they cheered him nonetheless. Human faces, other species, and those faces that were Human but for the stiches that held their bodies together.

The String People. They who create themselves. This was their continent, and this was one of their greatest empires. The Empire of Sands, whose people were born of cloth, who could replace limbs, eyes, and yes, apparently even bodies at will. Khal had never heard of any Stitch-Person doing so before, but the Emperor of Sands was an exception.

“Yes, my people change. Quicker than any other species, like thought. One day my body may be made of cotton, the next, hemp or other fabrics. For war we change ourselves. For pleasure too. Utility. You see Khal, each body I have grants me different perspective. Male and female, warlike and peaceful. This body was made of silk. You see?”

She raised a hand as the sun lowered. Khal saw her skin, practically luminescent in the sun’s rays. Elegant. Silk. He remembered touching her arm and shuddered again.

“Your Majesty, I throw myself on your mercy. I failed to keep your servants safe and the Garuda—”

“That was not your fault, General. I sent you to do battle against them in ignorance, unprepared, thinking you were the subject of foolish orders to lay a trap. That trap failed. So it falls to me to decide what must come next. But I do not blame you for fulfilling your orders.”

Her voice was soft, lilting. It drew him in—Khal shifted, hoping his arousal was not being made clear. He thought the Emperor knew and grew more embarrassed as she laughed again. She looked free and calm in the breeze, waving to her people, hearing their adoration and returning it with a smile. You could love an Emperor like this with all your heart, just as you could follow the young man she had been into battle in an instant.

The capital of the Empire of Sands was vast, but eventually the chariot did slow. The Empress descended, Khal once again holding her arm. She even smelled different. Khal tried not to breathe as they walked down the street.

“Here.”

The Emperor of Sands stopped and pointed to a spot on the ground. He saw veiled attendants and soldiers rush forwards. The Emperor tilted her head and nodded.

This area of the capital city was far from any wells. As such, it had failed to grow at the same pace as the rest, as people struggled to make the commute of miles for their daily water. The Emperor of Sands spoke to the small crowd of people who flocked around her, drawn by her presence, held back by her guards.

“This spot shall be dug and water will fill the ground two days hence. An oasis shall begin here, and water pure enough to drink from will flow forth without fail. On the eve of the second day, return and break ground. This is my proclamation to you all.”

Her words were greeted with cheers. Khal stared at the Emperor of Sands, but he did not doubt her for a second. She was the ruler of the Empire of Sands, a empire set in one of the driest parts of the world. But she had managed to make her people flourish despite that thanks to her Skill.

[Sanctuary of the Desert]. An empire-wide skill that allowed her to draw from deep aquifers and springs, literally drawing water into dry soil and bringing life to the merciless desert. The Emperor of Sands smiled, waving as her people cheered her and blessed her for the water. Then she turned to Khal.

“Sometimes I forget myself, General. There is more to an [Emperor]’s duties than war. And yet, it is war that Chandrar thrives on, is it not?”

“So it seems, your Majesty.”

Khal ducked his head. The Emperor of Sands smiled.

“And so empire rises and turns to dust, on the weight of the battlefield. Blood is worth less than water here, and so I must be warrior as well as ruler. But perhaps I can be wiser than my younger male self. A good [Emperor] acts, but a better one listens to her subordinates.”

“Emperor?”

Khal stared at her. The Emperor was looking at him, right at him. She moved closer and whispered in his ears.

“Come to my chambers tonight, General. We shall discuss what your thoughts on the King of Destruction are then. I would hear your insights and—counsel.”

She moved away from him, stepping back to her chariot. Dumbfounded, Khal saw her step up, wave to the cheering crowd, and then depart. Only after she’d left and was no longer in sight did he realize she’d left him there.

As the crowd dispersed, talking eagerly about the new oasis, Khal stumbled back in the direction of his lodgings. His mind was whirling. Tonight? She wanted his input? But she had [Strategists], [Generals] of her own! Did she really think his encounter with Takhatres would give him any insights? Wait—how would he fight the Garuda? Well, if he had the Empire’s resources he might—

My chambers. Tonight. Khal turned beet red and a passing Stitch-Woman eyed him with interest and amusement. He was overthinking things. Wasn’t he? Only, the Emperor of Sands’ conquests in bed as well as in war were legendary. But that had been him, not her. Or were the rumors mixed up?

The Emperor of Sands. Ever-changing, ever shifting like the dunes she reigned over. At once sexual, commanding, frightening—as General Khal thought about tonight, he wondered if she would have changed back into one of her male aspects then, or whether she would remain as she was. He wondered which would be worse. Then he wondered if it made a difference.

Such was Chandrar. Such was the Empire of Sands and its strange ruler. Feared for her—his—their ambitions, yes, but hated and despised too. Not for their policies, or the way they made war and peace as their personalities changed, no. Simply for one reason. A petty one? An important one to some.

Yes, the Empire of Sands was hated. Because they were different. But as the Goblins might have observed if anyone thought to ask them, different did not mean evil. It just meant you were a target.

 

—-

 

So then. In Chandrar, war. In Izril, war. It seemed like the world was at war sometimes and the [Kings] and [Queens] and [Lords] and [Ladies] plotted endlessly against each other. And that wasn’t even counting [Emirs] and [Sultans] and [Emperors] of varying sexuality and [Quarasses] and [Sultanas]…

The point was that grand schemes were afoot. And while it might have been entertaining to return to the Emperor of Sands’ private bedchambers that night (and perhaps instructive), such grand schemes were a distant remove from the rest of the world. The schemes of empires moved slowly and impacted the world a bit at a time. Chandrar had its King of Destruction and the Emperor of Sands. They would clash in time.

But some things were more immediate. Some things were above politics. Literally above.

Erin heard a tap on the glass pane of her window as she was polishing a table. She peered at it and saw a streak of water running down the glass. She blinked, and heard another tap.

“Hey, I think it’s going to rain!”

“Really?”

Across the inn, Lyonette and Mrsha looked up. Mrsha was gnawing at a piece of hardtack Erin had cooked up this morning. She had done a good job; such a good job that the hardtack would probably last for years without her inn’s magical preservation field. It would also probably last that long despite or in spite of any attempts to eat it. Mrsha had been gnawing at it for the last fifteen minutes and her sharp teeth hadn’t made any real dent in it.

“Mrsha honey, stop trying to eat that. Erin made it with magic ingredients; you’ll just break your teeth trying to bite it.”

Lyonette absently spoke to Mrsha who rolled away from her with a growl, possessively gnawing the hardtack. The [Princess] gave up and walked over to Erin.

“I think you’re right. It’s going to rain.”

“Yup. Grey skies. I guess that mean’s winter’s over!”

Erin brightened up. There were still a few pockets of very melty snow, but that was only in the deepest valleys where the snow had really fallen. She was looking forwards to some rain and spring—the plains had turned to mud of late and she had stepped in deep puddles that turned out to go up to her thighs more than once.

“Do you think we’ll get a lot of rain? I’d hate to have to walk to Liscor like this. Or in the city, come to think of it.”

Lyonette looked up at the dark clouds a bit apprehensively. Erin shrugged.

“Eh, it’ll be fine. If it’s too wet tomorrow you can go to Celum if you need to shop. If you paid Octavia I bet she’d get you the stuff you wanted herself. And hey, look at it like this! If it rains we can just put some buckets outside! No need for water!”

“True. Speaking of Celum, have you heard anything about…the door?”

Lyonette looked at the door and Erin glanced at it. It was still set against the wall and still technically active. The only difference was that it wasn’t attuned to Pallass’ doorway. Pisces had worked a long time with Moore and Typhenous to figure out a way to make it so Erin could switch the door’s magical portal by tapping a mana stone against it. He’d been really, really upset to learn she’d cut the door off from Pallass, possibly for good.

“Nope. Not a peep. They can’t get in without me reactivating the connection anyways. And I hid it in a special place—far away from where Mrsha can get it.”

Erin smiled proudly. Lyonette nodded dubiously. She glanced at Erin.

“You never did tell me all about what happened in Pallass. Was it really that bad?”

“What, Pallass? Nah. It looked really cool, actually! It’s just…those jerks at the end were really something, weren’t they? Trying to take the magical door on trumped up charges—I’m glad I managed to cut the connection!”

Erin nodded to herself. Lyonette peered at her, choosing her words cautiously.

“So you don’t think there will be trouble? I mean, you did break the laws of the city. And didn’t you get hauled into the Watch Captain’s office? How’d you get out of that?”

“Oh, I talked my way out of it. Don’t worry, it’s cool.”

The [Innkeeper] waved a hand airily. She paused when she saw Mrsha’s head raise to stare at her and Lyonette’s flat look.

“What? Don’t you believe me?”

“Um…no.”

“Come on! I’m not stupid enough to cause trouble!”

“That’s not what Wall Lord Ilvriss said. He said—”

“That I acted like an idiot?”

Erin folded her arms, smiling slightly. Lyonette paused.

“Uh, well, he was a bit ruder than that. But yes. Erin, you can be a bit aimless. I just think that—”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Lyonette, that was the point.

“What?”

The [Barmaid] stared at Erin. The young woman grinned, spreading her arms out wide.

“Of course I acted like an idiot! We were in huge trouble and there I was, in another city getting yelled at by some very angry—and very heavy—Drakes! I bet you they would have thrown the book at me, but I pretended everything was Ilvriss’ idea and that I had no idea what was going on!”

Erin tapped the side of her nose knowingly.

“You see Lyonette, there’s one good way to make angry people less angry at you and that’s to pretend to be as stupid as they think you are. Like a dumb Human tourist.”

She grinned as Lyonette gaped at her. Then she pitched her voice higher and made her eyes widen innocently.

“Oh, I just happen to have a magical door, [Captain]! What’s that? It’s illegal? Well, no one told me. And hey, you can’t take my door!”

She grinned, abandoning the fake voice.

“And then, while they’re all laughing at you behind your back, you move your knight to F7 and wipe the smug looks off their faces! Hah!”

She punched her fist into her hand and smiled. Erin looked around the inn. Mrsha and Lyonette were staring at her.

“What? I do it all the time. You’re telling me you’ve never seen me acting stupid? Like I did with Ylawes the other day? No? I thought it was obvious!”

Erin looked from face to face. She frowned.

“Wait, don’t tell me you thought I was just being stupid. You don’t think I’m actually dumb enough to do all those things on purpose, right? Right?”

Lyonette avoided her gaze. Mrsha turned around and pretended to be interested in her hardtack. Erin covered her face.

“Aw. Really? Come on!”

“It’s a really good act, Erin. I had no idea.”

It was hard to meet Erin’s eyes, so Lyonette compromised by pretending to be interested in Mrsha’ hardtack. The innkeeper glared in mock outrage at both Lyonette and Mrsha.

“Everyone thinks I’m an idiot, is that it? Well in that case, I guess I’ll pretend to be even dumber!”

She struck a silly pose and waved around, giving Lyonette and Mrsha her most vacant expression. Mrsha started giggling and Lyonette managed to grab the saliva-covered hardtack out of her jaws at last. Erin began walking around, pointing at things and exclaiming.

“Look at me, I’m a stupid Human! I don’t know what things are! Is that a wall? Wow? And hey look, a table! I bet you could eat your dinner off that! Wow, walking is fun. Too bad I’m so dumb I can’t even walk straight. Dum dee dum dee dum—”

She stumbled across the room acting like a drunken zombie. Mrsha was rolling around on the ground laughing silently and Lyonette was grinning. Then the door opened.

Zevara strode through the doorway. Erin froze. The Watch Captain eyed her and sighed.

“Human, we need to talk.”

She stopped in place and eyed Erin as the girl froze with both arms waving. Mrsha sat up and Lyonette turned with the wet sticky mess in her hands. Zevara coughed.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Erin lowered her hands and sighed.

“Just fun. Come on in Watch Captain. Is this the part where you yell at me and call me a stupid Human?”

She ushered Zevara over to a table. The Watch Captain sat, looking serious.

“I’m not here to reprimand you, Miss Solstice. That incident with Pallass was a disaster, but Wall Lord Ilvriss instigated the mess and I can’t hold you responsible for the rest of it. With that said—”

“I know it was bad. I’m sorry.”

Zevara blinked. Erin sighed and she waved at Lyonette.

“Lyon—can you get us some drinks? When you’ve gotten rid of that stuff and washed your hands obviously. Mrsha, no, don’t chase after it. Just let it—I’ll get the drinks.”

She got up and disappeared behind her counter. Zevara blinked as Erin came back with a mug of ale for her and milk for herself.

“You don’t drink?”

“Eh, I have [Alcohol Immunity] or something like that. There’s no point and milk tastes better. Is this good? You want something stronger?”

Zevara peered into her mug and shook her head.

“This is fine…thank you. I’m ah, here today because of the incident in Pallass. Have you heard of the fallout from that encounter?”

“Let me guess. I’m in trouble for throwing a chair at the senators? Or…Hawk’s been arrested? Or is it worse than that?”

Erin looked glum. Zevara shook her head.

“None of that, actually. In fact, we’ve had several exchanges with Pallass. The Assembly of Crafts is not happy at all about what you did, but they’re prepared to let the matter rest…”

“…In exchange for the door.”

“Correct. They say they’d drop all charges and offer you compensation if you agree to sell it to them.”

The Watch Captain saw Erin groan and massage at her head. She coughed.

“I understand that you had reason to defend yourself, and I am on your side in this matter, Miss Solstice.”

“You are? Even though I tried to throw a chair at—”

Zevara nodded. She looked annoyed as she took a draft from her mug.

“I was negotiating with Pallass right up until you arrived. They were prepared to march their troops through the doorway and seize the door regardless of Liscor’s laws. And they told me—and Liscor’s council—that if we didn’t comply with their demands there would be consequences. They began making good on their promise this morning.”

“Wait, what? How?”

The Watch Captain took another drink from her mug.

“So long as the door is not returned to them, we will be subject to a trade embargo. No goods from our city will enter Pallass—which isn’t such a huge loss—but they will cease all exports to our city until their demands are met.”

Erin gulped.

“That sounds…bad. Is it?”

Zevara nodded grimly.

“Over half of the arms our City Watch uses are made in Pallass. Have you heard of Pallassian steel? You have?”

She blinked, shook her head and went on.

“Well, Pallass exports both weaponry and alchemical goods. We don’t have more than one or two low-level [Alchemists] in Liscor, and if they decide to cut off supplies we suffer. Not to mention, Pallass is on the trading route north to Liscor. They can easily create a trade blockade with their military.”

“Ah. And uh, this is all over the door.”

“The door which you own and which violated their laws once. But they’re claiming that since the doorway can be activated at any time it represents a current and pressing security risk, never mind that they could toss their side of the portal off their walls anytime they choose. It’s become a political matter I’m afraid.”

Zevara finished her mug and Erin went to get her another. She looked tired and frustrated, and Erin could understand the problem. She spread her hands on the table as she sat, thinking hard.

“Okay, so Pallass is making a fuss for no good reason. If they don’t get the door, Liscor suffers. Which isn’t fair.”

“No. You’re not a citizen of the city. They’re essentially telling us to take the door from you and give it to them. And they know they can threaten us because we need their supplies!”

Zevara ground her teeth together.

“Cold-tailed bastards. I always thought we had an amicable relationship with their city, but it turns out that they’re willing to cut us off in an instant for a single magical artifact.”

“To be fair, my door’s really cool.”

The Drake woman glared at Erin and the [Innkeeper] raised a hand.

“Sorry, but that’s sort of how it is, right?”

Zevara sighed.

“You’re not wrong. Moving anyone four hundred miles in an instant is magic on par with something Magnolia Reinhart might own, or, well, another Walled City. It’s a powerful artifact even if it does have limits. They want it and Liscor’s council might cave in rather than suffer a trade war. Our economy can’t handle it.”

Erin was silent for a moment. She could see what was coming. She looked at Zevara.

“So is this the part where you ask me to hand over the door before you have to take it?”

She thought she might give it to the Drake if it came to that. If it came to that—Erin’s heart ached. What could she do? Fight?  Let Pallass bully Liscor? Or could she give it away, maybe, get rid of it? But to her surprise the Watch Captain looked incredulous.

“Me? Give in to those thugs? You have my intentions all wrong, Solstice. I’m not here to comply with Pallass’ demands. I’m here to resolve the situation.”

She stood up. Erin stared at her for a second and then stood up too.

“Okay, you have my attention. What’s the plan?”

Zevara walked over to the magical door, the source of all the strife. She tapped it curiously.

“I need you to activate it and open the portal…magic teleportation…whatever, to Pallass. Not Celum.”

“To Pallass? But isn’t that the problem?”

The Watch Captain nodded.

“It is. But I’m only asking you to keep it open for a few seconds. Then someone will come through. You’ll have to let them back out, but if it’s only uh, active for a few moments no one should detect it.”

She waited, her eyes on Erin. The Human hesitated, but then she nodded.

“Okay, I can do that. For a few seconds. Lyonette! Take Mrsha upstairs!”

She went into her kitchen to grab the mana stone. She also carefully put two kitchen knives on the counter and made sure her frying pan was within easy reach. Alchemist’s potions over there…Bird was on the roof. Well then.

Erin walked back out, smiling innocently with mana stone in hand. Zevara stood well back of the door, her eyes on the stone. It was green and glowed in the light. It had been cut from an emerald—gemstones were the basis of mana stones, apparently.

“Do you need to cast a spell or do some sort of—”

Erin stuck the stone on the door. It latched onto place, as if held by a magnet. She turned to Zevara.

“There. All done.”

Zevara stared at the door. She stared at Erin. The young woman smiled.

“Well?”

Slowly, Zevara opened the door. Another wall appeared, the wall of a building in another city. Zevara stared into the alleyway of Pallass, and then looked to one side. Erin saw a shadow in the alleyway, heard a voice. She tensed.

“—hold your positions. I will be back shortly.”

Someone walked towards the door and into view. He hesitated in front of the portal and then stepped through as Zevara stood to one side. Erin stared in shock.

It was Watch Captain Venim! The Drake was wearing his bright yellow armor that made him look like a giant dandelion. Erin gaped for five whole seconds and then swatted at Apista before the Ashfire Bee could fly over. Zevara stood back as Watch Captain Venim stood in Erin’s inn, looking around and touching himself in bemusement. Then he turned to face her. The two Watch Captains sized each other up for a second, and then Venim lowered his head in a nod.

“Watch Captain.”

“Watch Captain.”

Zevara grasped Venim’s forearms with her gauntleted claws as he did the same to her. It looked like some kind of military greeting, and it seemed to break the ice in a second because the two relaxed and turned to Erin.

“Well then. If you could deactivate this door Miss Erin, we’ll get to it.”

He was carrying a small rucksack over one shoulder. As Erin pried loose the mana stone the Watch Captain set his burden on a table and began taking out pieces of parchment and a quill and ink from the rucksack. She stared at him and Zevara.

“Okay, someone explain this to me. Because I feel like an actual idiot right now. Why is he here?”

She pointed at Venim. Zevara coughed.

“Watch Captain Venim and I have been talking and we’ve come to an understanding, Erin. Or rather, the three Watch Captains of Pallass have all agreed that a trade war and the possibility of an actual war between Liscor and Pallass is unacceptable and we’re attempting to resolve the situation in everyone’s best interests.”

“You’re working together? But how? Does the Assembly of Crafts know about this? What about Liscor’s Council?”

Erin looked from Drake to Drake. Venim coughed as he spread the pieces of parchment out and organized them.

“We have our own means of communication between the cities. Watch Captains keep in touch, and we sometimes act in the best interests of our cities, even if that means bypassing the usual chain of command.”

“Whoa.”

“This is unusual, but the circumstances demand it. Neither Venim or I are here, and any rumors to the contrary will not be spread. We will deny ever meeting. Is that clear?”

Zevara fixed Erin with a steely gaze. The young woman raised her hands.

“Totally. I get it. No one’s here. Just me and Apista.”

She pointed at the bee, which flew away from her. Venim eyed the Ashfire Bee, opened his mouth, saw Zevara’s resigned shake of the head and didn’t ask. Erin looked at him, her head cocked to one side.

“Okay, war’s bad, but tell me something Watch Captain Venim. Why are you here if you care about your city? It seems like Pallass would win any kind of trade war or actual war with Liscor, am I right? Why would inconveniencing Liscor be a bad thing?”

He looked surprised at her question and peered at her. Erin returned his gaze steadily. The silly [Innkeeper] of yesterday was gone and she looked serious. Well, as serious as a young woman shooing away a giant bee every few seconds could be. Venim cleared his throat.

“Politics are one thing, Miss Erin. But military action—especially against a city as strategically important as Liscor—is another. A war between Liscor and Pallass is not in our people’s best interests, and as for the door, it could be more dangerous for Pallass to possess it than not.”

Erin frowned.

“I don’t follow.”

Venim nodded to Zevara.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss and his home city of Salazsar have made it quite clear that if Pallass takes this door, there will be a war. And I can’t help but suspect that more Drake cities and other Walled Cities might take Salazsar’s side in the conflict.”

Erin whistled as a few pieces fell into place.

“Ilvriss said that? And his city would go to war because he said so?”

The Watch Captain of Liscor nodded gravely.

“Pallass and Salazsar do not historically get along. The threat of a doorway that could teleport armies about would be serious enough.”

Venim nodded as well. He looked from Zevara to Erin.

“Watch Captains do not want conflict. That is why I’m here. To resolve this issue…quietly.”

He looked at Erin, serious, and she saw his claws were tight on the parchment. She looked at Zevara and Venim. Both of them were taking a risk by being here. Erin took a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, how are we going to do this then?”

Both Watch Captains visibly relaxed in relief. Venim offered Erin a sheet of parchment with complex writing on it. Erin blinked at it and went slightly cross eyed at the tight writing. She had learned the Drake written language, but this was incomprehensible. She looked at Venim for an explanation.

“The easiest way to resolve the situation is to remove the Assembly of Crafts’ justification to confiscate your door. They claim it’s a security risk and an unsanctioned magical portal, which is highly illegal…and unique. There’s no real precedent for a magical portal being established and the crux of their argument stems from the teleportation spell. Pallass has a law against unauthorized teleportation into its city.”

Erin frowned.

“Yeah, that’s what you said. So why didn’t Hawk or Ilvriss know that when they entered the city? Well I guess Hawk doesn’t know all the laws, but Ilvriss should have known that! Doesn’t his Walled City have the same laws or do people teleport in and out of that place all the time?”

Venim shook his head.

“It is impossible to teleport into Salazsar. The city has more ward-stones and counter spells than I can count. I imagine that’s part of the reason why they are so alarmed at the idea of Pallass obtaining this doorway. Its magics would probably be countered by the anti-teleportation wards, but if not…”

Zevara rested her claws on the table, nodding to the doorway.

“I imagine Lord Ilvriss intended to conceal the portal’s existence and pretend he had slipped through one of the gates unnoticed. It might have worked too—if we hadn’t been on full alert after General Shivertail’s death, we might have missed it too. It’s not nearly as obvious as a traditional teleportation spell.”

“Okay. That makes sense. And that’s pretty smart of Ilvriss. So how does this thing fix everything?”

Erin waved the parchment at Venim. He smiled.

“Simple. Your doorway is an unauthorized artifact. However, it turns out that in your brief visit to Pallass you had the presence of mind to file all the paperwork needed to authorize your portal and inn as a legal residence in Pallass.”

“Wait, what?”

Erin stared at him. She stared at the parchment. She could pick out a few words from the top. Application…residence…no wait, that read residency…it was a housing permit! She looked back at Venim skeptically.

“You’re telling me that will solve everything? What if the paperwork gets denied?”

Zevara picked up a piece of parchment, studying it, and Venim shook his head.

“Unfortunately a few [Clerks] were processing requests this morning. They ‘accidentally’ signed everything without knowing the current situation. All I have to do is file this and you’re approved. Too late for the Assembly of Crafts to do anything about it.”

He indicated some signatures on the parchment. Zevara nodded as she handed the parchment to Erin.

“It’s not perfect, but it takes away the Assembly’s excuse for pressuring Liscor. Now you’re their problem and technically they’d be breaking the law themselves if they tried to confiscate your door. They might come up with more charges, but it’s an issue between you and them, and Watch Captain Venim assures me that he can talk the senators around given half the chance.”

The two Watch Captains looked at Erin. She studied the documents, a frown on her face. When she looked up it wasn’t with whole-hearted willingness.

“It sounds like I’m a convenient pawn in this situation. I’m the Human with the magic door—so that means Liscor doesn’t get pressured because I’m just a Human who doesn’t know what’s what, and Pallass focuses on me instead.”

Zevara fiddled with her claws and Venim coughed.

“We can’t avoid that. But it stops Liscor from entering the picture and I’ll do my best to convince the senators. Just the idea of trying to transport a magical artifact all the way on foot to Pallass without another force intercepting it is ludicrous. It’s a burden we don’t need and both our cities could benefit from having access to each other, not to mention Celum. I’m sorry Miss Erin, but this is the best we can come up with at the moment.”

Erin stared from face to face and then sighed.

“I get it. With great door teleportation must come great responsibility, huh?”

Zevara and Venim looked blank. Erin scowled.

“No one gets my jokes. I miss home.”

She reached for the quill.

“Okay, where do I sign? And why are there so many pieces of parchment?”

Venim smiled in relief. He stood up and began handing pieces of parchment to Erin as Zevara sat back in her chair.

“There’s no precedent for this, which is why you have these forms here—I’ve filled them out so you’re claiming your doorway as part of your inn. And your inn will be a place of business with a magical artifact that has both a presence in Pallass and outside of it—sign on both these leasing permits, please.”

“Okay. Here and here…whoops, the ink’s getting everywhere. Sorry about that.”

“No—problem.”

Venim snatched the parchment up and blew on it hurriedly before the ink could blotch some of the writing. He waited until Erin had signed all the pieces of paper and then gathered them up.

“I’ll process them the instant I return. Miss Solstice, you’ve done my city a favor, whether the Assembly of Crafts thinks so or not. We’ll work with your city—take it from me, politicians are one thing but Watch Captains support our own. You won’t regret this.”

Erin massaged her hand. That had been a lot of signatures for so few pieces of parchment. She got up, smiling at Zevara and Venim.

“Well, I did cause some of the mess. And I guess it’s worth it to have a doorway to Pallass, right? Your city is beautiful, Watch Captain Venim.”

He flushed with pride. Then the Watch Captain hesitated, and shifted.

“Unfortunately we have one last issue to resolve, Miss Solstice. I hate to ask it of you, but—”

“What?”

Venim looked embarrassed.

“There is a fee—twenty gold coins for both leases, not to mention a six gold coin fee for inspection of a premise containing both monsters and magical artifacts. I’d cover it if I could, but our annual salaries are…and neither Watch Captain Zevara nor I can afford to take it out of our city’s pockets. It will appear in the paperwork, you see.”

Watch Captain Zevara shuffled her feet and coughed. She looked the other way as Erin glanced at her, and Venim’s cheeks turned red.

“We can cover some of the costs ourselves, but we’ll have to account for the rest of the coin somewhere. If you need the coin we can cover it installments…”

Erin covered her face.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.03

A light rain pattered down on the roof of The Wandering Inn. Rain, after so many weeks of snow. It was a pleasant sound, and reminded Erin of her world. After all, rain was rain. Some things were the same.

More than a few things, actually. Erin was in another world. A world full of monsters and magic, terrors and wonders. And yet, somehow Erin still found herself filling out forms. It was reassuring and slightly depressing to know that bureaucracy didn’t change across species.

And paying fines. That seemed weirdly familiar too. Not that Erin caused trouble when she’d been back in her world. Okay, maybe she’d gotten a few lectures about setting up lemonade stands inside a school cafeteria, but this?

Twenty six gold coins. In truth, Erin paid only eighteen gold coins as both Watch Captains had added in four gold coins from their pockets, but that was still a lot. The coins disappeared into a pouch at Watch Captain Venim’s side as he stood up.

“Paperwork’s done. I have the coins and I’ll slip this into the approved files tonight. We should see progress tomorrow morning. Watch Captain Zevara, I’ll leave things to you over here. Miss Solstice, I’d expect to receive a [Message] spell by way of Liscor within the week—two or three days from now if I’m a judge.”

Watch Captain Venim headed for the door and Erin got up. She replaced the mana stone attuned to Pallass and the Drake paused before stepping through.

“Thank you again for doing this, Miss Solstice. I apologize for the inconvenience and the fees.”

“Eh. I caused you a lot of trouble so there’s no hard feelings. It’s got to be hard running a Walled City, right?”

She smiled wearily. It was late—going to Pallass and her adventures there felt like a lifetime ago. Venim nodded with a rueful expression on his face.

“You have no idea. And your inn isn’t even the worst of the problems I have to deal with if you’ll believe that. At least it seems well-defended. I can tell the Assembly of Crafts that having a Gold-rank team present most of the time will deter anyone taking the door, including our own forces.”

“Don’t forget the five Hobs in my basement.”

Erin grinned. Venim’s smile slipped and vanished. He stopped, one hand on the door handle.

“Scale rot, I forgot. The Goblins.”

He covered his face with his claws. Erin’s smile disappeared as Venim walked back to confer with Zevara. The sense of relief in the inn trembled under the weight of this new complication.

“There is no precedent for having monsters within Pallass, authorized or not. There are strict laws about allowing monsters to enter the city or keeping non-sentient ones as tamed animals, though. We could argue that the Goblins won’t enter the city, but they pose a risk the council might not ignore…I’m not keen on the idea either.”

Venim glanced at Erin and Zevara as he spoke. Erin hesitated, and it was Zevara who answered with a grimace.

“Don’t bother trying to talk her out of it, Venim. I’ve had the same arguments and she won’t budge. This is technically an autonomous holding within Liscor’s radius of authority, but we’re not pushing the issue and I doubt Pallass will get any further.”

“But this is highly—you’re telling me she has Goblins in the inn before and you haven’t considered—can’t they just be—”

Zevara kept shaking her head and eying Erin. Erin eyed her right back, her arms crossed.

“Those Goblins are innocent. They don’t cause trouble, and they have yet to hurt anyone. They saved me from goats.”

Venim stared at her.

“Goats.”

“Eater Goats.”

Zevara nodded. The Watch Captain from Pallass blanched a bit.

“Ancestors, the things you lot have to deal with over here—those are the same ones that bite even when you behead them, right? Well be that as it may Miss Solstice…”

“No, Captain Venim.”

He glared at Erin, vexed. She glared back, ready to fight on this issue. The air around Erin heated up and Venim edged back in his chair. He looked at Zevara and she gave him a complicated shake of the head and impatient gesture with her chin. This time the Watch Captain’s sigh was loud and unhappy.

Fine. Stop using your aura Miss Solstice. I’ll try to gloss over that fact with the Assembly of Crafts. The Gold-rank team here does help. If I can claim them as security—I don’t suppose you pay them to guard your inn? Even a copper coin or two would help justify it as…”

He gestured helplessly at the paperwork. Erin shook her head.

“Nope, sorry. But I do have an Antinium Worker with a bow on the roof of my inn. That’s good security, isn’t it?”

Venim covered his face with his claws. Zevara patted him on the back.

“Antinium. Oh, that’s just what I need to convince them. Well, I’ll do my best. I’m leaving before you tell me you breed Shield Spiders as well.”

“Hey!”

Erin watched the Watch Captain go through the doorway. It was dark in Pallass too, although there was no rain in the Walled City. She saw Venim talk to a few figures down the alleyway, nod at her, and close the door. She plucked the mana stone from the door as soon as it was closed.

There was silence in the inn. Erin turned and saw Watch Captain Zevara stretching out her arms and rubbing at the spines on her neck. She looked tired.

“Think it’ll work?”

The Watch Captain looked up. Zevara shrugged, looking tired but slightly hopeful.

“It should. Pallass’ Assembly of Crafts may be arrogant, but they’re not fools if they’re in charge of a Walled City. I think. Those Goblins throw a bit of a problem into the mix, though. If you’d just…”

She trailed off, shaking her head in resignation. Erin looked around her inn. Yes, her Goblins. The reason why her inn was deserted rather than filled with bodies. And it would have had some business even this late at night if Erin had been open. Her inn had been—had begun to be—known as a place with good cooking, interesting events, friendly service, and magic dishes. It had been popular.

But she’d opened her doors to Goblins and so she was a monster. Maybe it was because of the Goblin Lord. Or because they were Hobs. Probably it was both. Either way, her Goblins had driven away business.

Her Goblins. As if she owned them. And Venim thought they might be a security risk? Erin shook her head. The Redfang Warriors stayed out of sight, living in the basement, rarely using the outhouse—being as unobtrusive as possible. They were trying. Even now they were below, and Erin wondered how long they’d been cooped up in the basement.

She looked towards the trap door leading to the basement. It was dark in her inn with the fire burning low. Still, Erin could spot the trap door shift a tiny bit downwards as she stared. Her eyes narrowed and her lips quirked upwards.

Zevara hadn’t noticed. The Watch Captain was staring at her empty mug. When Erin turned to her she stood up.

“Thank you for the drinks. Here—”

She fished around in her money bag but Erin waved it away.

“You already spent four gold coins. That’s a lot. Drinks are on the house.”

“My thanks.”

Awkwardly, the female Drake nodded at Erin. She stood in the inn and Erin fidgeted. It was funny, well, sort of. Erin and Zevara had only ever really met when Erin was in trouble, and their encounters had generally been one or both sides shouting at the other.

“Lots of rain today.”

Erin coughed and commented weakly. Zevara blinked and seemed to take in the rain for the first time. She scowled, her expression sharpening unexpectedly.

“Rain? Damn, I hadn’t noticed. Did it start after I arrived here?”

“Yeah. Oops, you don’t have an umbrella, do you?”

“A what? Oh, you mean a parasol? Why would I need one of those? I’m hardly a [Lady] or pampered noble—I have an oiled cloak or I would if I’d thought ahead. I’ll run for it. It’s just water.”

Zevara grimaced. She cocked her head, listening to the sound of the rain drumming on the inn’s roof.

“It always sneaks up so quickly. Between the dungeon and the Goblin Lord we haven’t been preparing at all. I’ll have to rouse the Watch and check the walls…couldn’t this have waited another week?”

She groused. Erin didn’t really understand.

“What’s the problem? It’s just rain?”

Zevara turned, clearly annoyed, and paused as she considered Erin.

“You’ve never been here during the spring, have you, Solstice?”

“Um…no. Why?”

Bemused, Erin watched as Zevara groaned and covered her forehead.

“No one told you what happens during the rainy season? Ever? Ancestors, well, at least you’re in the right place. If you were living in one of the valleys it would be a disaster. And your inn is Antinium-built. They know what needs to be done.”

She nodded at the walls of the inn. Erin stared at the walls. Had the Antinium done something to them? What happened when it rained?

“Look, I need to be up with the dawn and I can’t explain it now. Ask Klbkch or Relc or anyone from Liscor what the rains mean. And keep your Goblins in the basement. They haven’t caused trouble so far which means I haven’t had to do more than warn people not to go to your inn and cause trouble. So long as they’re hidden people should tolerate them.”

The Watch Captain strode to the door, adjusting her armor and peering out at the rain and cursing. Erin, who had been still wondering about this mysterious rain phenomenon, frowned suddenly.

“What do you mean, keep them out of sight?”

“Exactly what I said, Human. Out of sight, in the basement. That’s sensible of you. No one wants to see Goblins right now. Not after General Shivertail. The last thing I need is a mob attacking your inn to get rid of the monsters.”

Monsters. Erin frowned at Zevara. It was late, she knew, and she was grumpy. But she looked over her shoulder at the trap door to her basement and knew she couldn’t let that go.

“They’re not monsters. They’re people who think. That’s the point.”

The Watch Captain stopped, her back towards Erin. Her posture said she didn’t want to have this conversation, but she replied anyways.

“If you say so. Just keep them out of sight. If not—”

“What? You’ll be leading the mob?”

Zevara turned, her eyes flashing. She stared hard at Erin. Did a bit of smoke escape her mouth? It was quickly lost in the rain.

“No. But I won’t be able to protect you.”

She turned and strode out of the inn, disappearing into the rain before Erin could reply. Disgruntled, Erin mumbled into the sudden silence.

“You never did.”

Annoyed, Erin cleared the table of mugs and scrubbed at a beer stain. Keep her Goblins below? The nerve of Zevara! Never mind that her words made sense. But they only made sense if you thought of Goblins as monsters or animals. People shouldn’t be confined! They shouldn’t be—

Erin passed by her basement and paused. They shouldn’t be locked up. But then, was she the problem to begin with?

Slowly, she set down the mugs in the kitchen and walked back to the trap door. It was shut, but that didn’t fool Erin. She lifted the handle up and peered into the basement.

It was dark below. Nearly pitch-black. Erin knew there was a lantern down there—four, actually, but the Goblins appeared to be asleep. She heard a few loud snores. Erin rolled her eyes.

“I know you heard all that. You were listening, weren’t you?”

The snores paused and then went on, a tad unconvincingly. Erin sighed.

“I know you’re awake. Look, I think Zevara’s right and wrong. It is dangerous, but I didn’t say you should stay below. I just thought—hey, you are awake, aren’t you?”

She stopped uncertainly. The snoring stopped and a head appeared out of the darkness, alarmingly close. Headscratcher had been standing on the ladder this entire time! Erin yelped in surprise and instinctively slapped him on the face with an open palm.

Gah! Wait, sorry!”

Headscratcher yelped and tumbled backwards. Erin heard Goblins exclaiming in alarm, the sound of a thud and annoyed Goblins voices. She winced and peered into the darkness below.

“Oops. You surprised me. I’m really sorry about that. It was an accident, I swear!”

In the darkness, five pairs of crimson eyes stared up at her. Erin shivered just a bit.

“Sorry. Look, I know I told you to stay in the basement but—come up tomorrow, okay? This is where I wanted you to sleep. It’s not a prison.”

She paused, that thought striking her as important. The Redfang Goblins stared up at Erin, their faces unreadable in the darkness. Erin crouched on the top of the ladder, wondering if she should go down. In the end she spoke into the darkness as the rain fell overhead.

“You’re not prisoners. I mean that. If you want to leave, to find Rags or do something else…you can go. I’ll give you food if you need it. But I think it might be safer here. And if it is—if you think you want to stay despite the risk, I will shelter you. I promise. And tomorrow…tomorrow we’ll see about getting you rooms on the third floor.”

The Hobs started slightly in surprise. Erin nodded. Keep them below? That was such a wrong concept to her.

“I should have done this from the start. It was fine to keep Pisces in the basement, but you? I have tons of rooms. And if you’re going to stay here, it’s going to be as guests, not as hidden monsters. I’m not ashamed that you’re here and you shouldn’t be either.”

Five sets of crimson eyes. One blinked. Erin saw a Hob move his head, do something in the darkness. Wipe his eyes? The rest just looked at her. The [Innkeeper]’s voice was low as she spoke to the Hobs, her back framed by the dim firelight.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a Goblin. I told you that didn’t I? You’re people. Not monsters. Humans can be monsters and Goblins can too. But we’re not all monsters. We’re people. And people don’t live underground or in caves.”

She paused.

“Unless they’re Hobbits. Um. Talk to you tomorrow!”

She waved at the Goblins. Two waved back. Erin shut the door and turned away, feeling embarrassed. She had the distinct impression the Goblins had begun talking amongst themselves the instant she closed the trapdoor.

She hoped they weren’t laughing at her. But she had said what she believed. That was important. Erin stumbled back to her bed, tired, knowing she’d have to get up soon. She pulled some blankets over her body, punched a pillow, and tossed and turned as the rain fell.

“Let’s see. Pallass jerks…Jelaqua…Calruz and the Horns of Hammerad…Goblins…and no money. That’s enough for one plate. Maybe two. Now how do I make everything fit together?”

Erin thrashed about for a while, her mind racing, running into obstacles, backtracking. So many problems. There were always problems, but there were always solutions too. She thought about money and her friends and the Goblins until something clicked. Erin sat up suddenly and snapped her fingers.

“Hmm. That might work!”

Then she immediately fell backwards, pulled the blankets over her head and went to sleep in relief.

 

—-

 

Rain fell across Liscor and the grasslands. Rain, a shimmering, endless downpour of droplets, hitting the ground millions of times each second. It was a hypnotic sight if you weren’t out in the middle of it, a beautiful display of nature to be seen by all.

Bird sat in his watch tower and felt a spray of wet, cold droplets smack him in the face. He wiped at the wetness but then the wind shifted and blew a squall of rain right over him. He hunched his shoulders as the rain blew diagonally, pattering off the roof of his watch tower and his body.

It was wet. He was cold. But Bird was still happy. True, it was raining, and true he had been rained on for the last four hours. But he wasn’t dead. It was important to keep things in perspective. Bird felt lucky and privileged to be here, and he tried to be grateful. He wasn’t dead, he was allowed to hunt birds and sit up in his own personal watch tower—he even had his own private quarters!

Bird had the room closest to the staircase leading up to the watch tower. It was a nice room. And it was his. He used to have a bed, but he’d never slept on it so Miss Erin had taken it away.

Antinium couldn’t sleep on beds. The round shells on their backs made it too difficult since they would rock back and forth or just lie uncomfortably. Perhaps Revalantor Klbkch could do it with his altered, slimmer form, but Bird had given up after five minutes of lying on the bed and wondering what was supposed to happen.

When it became apparent that Bird couldn’t sleep on his bed like most other species Erin had come up with a solution. She’d created a stack of blankets and pillows that formed what she called a ‘cubbyhole’ similar to the alcoves Bird used to sleep in in the Worker’s barracks.

However, this sleeping space was so soft and luxurious that Bird was afraid to sleep in it and spent most nights with his back against a wall. It still got a good deal of use; Mrsha had been captivated by the idea of pillow forts and often curled up inside Bird’s bed for naps.

And Bird didn’t need to sleep much. He liked being up at nights. It was his duty of course—he’d chased off a few Drakes yesterday by shooting arrows at their feet when they approached the inn just past midnight. But Bird didn’t mind the late hours. Owls came out at night, and if he waited long enough it would be dawn and birds would be singing and flying about. Perfect targets for an alert Antinium [Hunter].

Of course, it was raining so there would be no birds. The Antinium Worker thought about this and still felt happy. Birds might not fly in the rain because it was wet, but only if they had feathers. What if there were other types of birds he had yet to hunt? His mind raced with the possibilities as the rain pelted him from all angles. Bird was oblivious to it as he thought.

Were there fish birds? Birds that could fly in the rain? Maybe birds above the clouds? Bird looked up and felt happy. The world was a wonderful place! When you didn’t know what it contained, everything was new and fresh. And Bird was completely ignorant. Thus, he sat in his small watch tower as water sprayed him and the rain pounded down. He ignored it all, his crude hand-made bow in hand. It wouldn’t do to get the lovely bow Erin had given him wet, after all. He sang a tiny tune as he searched the pouring landscape.

“I am Bird. I am wet. It is raining. I am wet. Drip, drip, I am Bird…”

Bird!

The Antinium turned as someone shouted his name. He looked down the stairs and saw a young Human woman shielding her face as the rain pelted her from above.

“Oh, hello Miss Lyonette.”

The [Barmaid] shouted something at Bird, looking upset. He was alert instantly, wondering if a monster or other danger had come through the door. Erin had told him to watch for threats outside the inn, but Bird was aware that having a magic portal door was a security risk. He did take his job seriously. But that didn’t seem to be the problem here!

…door! Come…drenched…here!”

He could only hear a few words over the pounding of the rain. But Lyonette was waving so Bird followed her down the slippery steps into the inn. It was very wet. He observed the floorboards were quite wet and the wet had gone into several rooms and down much of the third floor. Hm. He turned to Lyonette as she wiped her face with a towel.

“What is the problem, Miss Lyonette? It is quite wet outside. And in here.”

“Yes, Bird. It is! That’s a problem. And do you know why it’s so wet?”

Lyonette glared at Bird. The Worker tilted his head. A problem. He had never been good at solving problems. He had liked chess well enough, but he had never taken to it as a [Tactician] like Anand and Belgrade had. Erin had called his games the ‘weirdest games she’d ever played’ though, which Bird had taken as a compliment.

“It is wet because it is raining, Miss Lyonette.”

“Yes. It is. But why is it wet inside, Bird?”

Bird looked around. Wet, wet…why was it wet inside? Because there was a hole? No, the inn was sturdy and waterproof. So why was there wet on the third floor? He noticed the water moving slightly and looked behind him. Water was running down the steps leading up to the tower. His tower. Bird’s mandibles opened wide as he realized the issue.

“I forgot to close the door.”

“You forgot to close the door.”

Rainwater had spilled into the inn from Bird’s watch tower above. The Antinium stared at the flooded third floor with interest. Mrsha galloped through the giant puddle, splattering water everywhere. Above her, Apista flew away from the water droplets in alarm. Lyonette sighed.

“Okay, I guess I was waking up in an hour anyways. Let’s get to work.”

“I am deeply sorry. I will assist you with cleaning and return to guarding above.”

Bird lowered his mandibles, ashamed. Lyonette shook her head, looking only slightly put out.

“It’s fine, Bird, really. Just don’t forget again. And you don’t have to go above. I’m sure Erin would want you inside and out of the rain.”

Bird protested mildly as Lyonette ordered Mrsha to grab more towels.

“But I must guard. And I have permission to hunt. I am waiting for fish-birds to come out.”

“Fish birds? Bird, there are no fish birds.”

“There…aren’t?”

Lyonette paused, staring into the Worker’s downcast face. She hesitated.

“Um, well, I’m not certain. Why not? I’m sure there are birds that go out in the rain. Actually, I lied. There are most definitely fish birds, Bird.”

The Worker nodded happily, faith restored in the world.

“I knew it.”

Life was good for Bird. He was especially happy Revalantor Klbkch had ordered him not to kill the Hobs just yet. Bird had kept an eye on them every night under strict orders from his Hive and he wasn’t sure he could kill them, even if he ambushed them. It was good to be peaceful. No one should die.

Except birds, of course.

 

—-

 

Erin woke up to the sound of rain. She woke up slightly later than usual, which meant dawn was just breaking as she got up and blearily stumbled around the kitchen.

“Ghrmph. Rain, raining all the time. Gonna be a pain going to Liscor. Where’s breakfast? Right, right…gotta find Lyonette. Lyonette?”

She walked out into the common room but Lyonette was uncharacteristically not already awake. Erin hesitated, not wanting to wake her up and then she heard the sounds from above. They were faint, but as Erin ascended to the second floor and stared past the rooms reserved for the Horns of Hammerad and the Halfseekers she heard the noises coming from the second stairwell heading to the third floor.

“Singing?”

Erin tiptoed up and saw a strange sight. It was Lyonette kneeling on the ground, mopping up water with a towel as Bird did the same. Mrsha and Apista were frolicking around, getting water everywhere as they played catch. They were making the mess worse, but Lyonette wasn’t scolding Mrsha. Instead, she and Bird were singing!

It’s raining, it’s raining, water’s on the floor, Mrsha at the door, it’s raining, it’s raining—

“Drip, drip, drip.”

Lyonette was singing a silly made-up song as Mrsha rolled past her, her fur dripping. Bird, wiping the floor with a towel, softly sang as well. He was just singing ‘drip’, but it melded together with Lyonette’s singing in a wonderful way.

Erin stood watching Lyonette and Bird singing the silly song as Mrsha rolled about, a smile on her face. Only when the Worker and [Barmaid] had cleaned up most of the water did she cough.

“Erin!”

Lyonette spun around looking embarrassed. Erin smiled at her and at Mrsha as the Gnoll galloped up to her. She caught Mrsha before she could shake herself.

“Ah! No shaking, Mrsha. You get a nice warm towel instead. Lyonette, thanks for doing that. How’d the rain get in? Bird’s door?”

“It was my fault. I am entirely to blame. I will accept all punishments necessary or my termination.”

Bird stood to attention. Erin frowned at him.

“You’re not getting fired, Bird. It was a mistake! I’d never fire you for that.”

Bird visibly relaxed.

“Oh. Does that mean I can do it again?”

No.

Lyonette and Erin spoke at once. Bird nodded agreeably and stared at Apista as the Ashfire Bee hid behind Mrsha. Erin beckoned Lyonette over.

“Sorry I didn’t start getting breakfast ready, Erin. It was just—”

“No, you’re cool. It was better you did this, actually. I’m going to move the Redfang Goblins up here today.”

“The Goblins? But—well, okay. If you think so.”

Lyonette looked dubious but she nodded anyways. She had changed so much! The fact that she was willing to let the Goblins stay under the same roof as her was more than most Humans were willing to do. Erin intended to change that. She shifted, aware her second piece of news for the day wasn’t going to be taken with the same level of grace.

“I uh, had Watch Captain Zevara and that Drake guy from Pallass over last night, Lyonette. Looks like we might get to open the portal to Pallass after all. There’s a lot of political stuff going on, but I think I managed to get it sorted. So there won’t be Drake [Soldiers] from Liscor marching in to take the door away.”

“That was going to happen? I mean, I’d believe it but—good job.”

The runaway [Princess] looked relieved. Erin chewed her lip.

Tiny problem, though…I had to pay to register the inn and the price was eighteen gold coins.”

Eighteen?

Lyonette looked horrified. Erin nodded.

“I took them out of the safe. It’s uh…well, I took a look at what we had left. What do you think? How long do we have?”

Erin was hoping that Lyonette had put some of the inn’s coin somewhere else or had more on her. The young woman’s face said it all. Lyonette counted in her head, doing the same math that Erin had agonized over last night. When she was done she shook her head gloomily.

“Enough coin for a week. Not much more even if we cut back on buying food and supplies…”

“I’ll get us more.”

Erin rested a hand on Lyonette’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly. The [Barmaid] looked uncertain, but Erin grinned at her.

“Money’s not a problem, Lyonette. I have a few tricks up my sleeves. And more in my pockets. And one under my pillow.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Okay, I have two good ideas. Three if I use my backup plan. I think they’ll all work. I just need to go into the city and uh, make a few deals. If I help serve breakfast, can you manage…?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll get the Goblins settled. Drassi and Ishkr aren’t coming today and I think the Horns of Hammerad are going out on a long trip today. So are the Halfseekers, so it’ll just be Bird, Mrsha, and the Goblins to feed for lunch. Do what you need to do Erin.”

Erin smiled in relief.

“You’re the best. Alright, breakfast is waffles! Hey Mrsha, don’t run down the stairs! Oh well.”

She grinned as the white Gnoll raced down to the common room. Then she paused and both she and Lyonette turned. The sound of rainfall, muted but always present had intensified suddenly.

They stared towards the stairs leading up. Bird paused as the rain pelted him, about to climb back up to the tower. He stared at the water already trickling down the stairs.

“Ah. Oops.”

He closed the door swiftly. Erin shook her head.

That’s a design flaw. But I guess we can put a towel rack there and get Bird to clean up every time he goes in and out. Speaking of which…”

She looked out one of her glass windows at the rain. It was coming down hard, obscuring the landscape. Already it had washed the last of the snow away so all Erin saw was green grass and brown mud, both dark as the rain drummed on her windows. She turned to Lyonette, looking rueful.

“I don’t suppose you know where I could get an umbrella?”

Lyonette looked blank.

“A what?”

“Darn.”

 

—-

 

Umbrellas. Umbrellas were an invention that did not exist in the medieval era, or at least, not in this one. True, it was good to keep rain off one’s face, but with an umbrella? They required a lot of careful stitching, long flexible joints that required delicate wood or metalworking, and were in general a tool for the nobility to use. A [Lady] might have a parasol or rather, have a servant follow her around with one, but everyone else just used cloaks. After all, they were warm, didn’t need to be carried in either hand and didn’t break.

Erin ran with an oiled cloak over her head towards Liscor, screaming as rainwater trickled onto her clothing and mud splashed around her boots.

I hate cloaks! I hate cloaks! I hate cloaks!

Not that an umbrella would have helped much either. The rain was coming down fiercely and the guards on the walls looked miserable to Erin. The one at the western gate was at least sheltered from the rain. She waved Erin though and the young woman dashed into the streets of Liscor.

And slipped. The wet cobblestones were slippery and Erin had been running to get to Liscor in time. Erin fell, got tangled up in her cloak, and after a brief moment where she just sat in the middle of the wet street with water pouring over her head, got up and marched through the streets, grumbling about ceilings.

“How hard would it be to put a ceiling over a city? It’s got walls, just put a dome over it! Okay, you can’t see if that happens—how about a glass dome? That’s a lot of glass. A magic dome? I bet Pallass has a fancy magic dome. What about a subway? Now that’s useful technology!”

The streets were mostly empty despite the usual morning press. No one wanted to be out in the rain. The Drakes looked gloomy and ill-tempered, if not quite so depressed as the days before. The Gnolls looked perfectly miserable. Erin splashed down the streets, appreciating that Liscor at least had sewers to carry away the runoff as she marched further into Liscor. It was a wet, miserable day.

But only if you let it be. Erin was determined to make today work. She’d left the inn with Lyonette already showing the Redfang Warriors their new rooms. Now Erin headed towards one spot in the city devoid of rain.

The Antinium Hive. The passage down into the Hive was exposed to the surface, but there was some kind of water flow system in place such that as Erin descended into the darkness, the water coming down from above was sucked into the earth. A few steps out of the rain and the Hive’s walls were wonderfully dry underfoot. Erin let herself drip for a while as she stared around the entrance.

It wasn’t hard to enter the Hive of the Free Antinium. Just go down a few steps into the darkness and you were in a tunnel. Now, Erin had never actually gone into the Hive by herself, but she had gotten permission from Klbkch to enter a week ago for the story time with the Antinium. So she could enter. Right?

There didn’t seem to be any guards, just a long tunnel sloping downwards. It was large enough for eight Erins to walk abreast and made Erin feel small as she marched into the Hive.

“Just gonna see a few friends. Nothing wrong about that, right? No one mind me, just a Human coming in out of the rain. Just gonna—”

Erin got five steps when her [Dangersense] went off like a siren in her head. She froze as the empty tunnel suddenly filled. Sixteen Soldiers stepped out of hidden alcoves, fists raised, bodies tense and lowered, ready to charge. The young woman froze, eyes wide, staring at the Soldiers on every side.

“Uh oh. Um. Hi?”

The Soldiers said nothing. These weren’t the Painted Soldiers that Pawn led but regular Soldiers. On guard duty. Erin was afraid to breathe, seeing the Soldiers clenching their fists, imagining what would happen if one of them punched her. She squeaked, trying to both speak fast and not do anything as provocative as breathing.

“I’m uh, Erin! Erin Solstice! I have permission from your boss to be here! Klbkch? He said it was alright! Okay, he said I could enter this one time and so I thought I could do it again. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll totally leave if you’re all uh, busy.”

The Soldiers made no move. One of them, the one in front of Erin hesitated just a fraction. He stepped closer to her and she shrank as she stared up at him. He had very long mandibles, perfect for tearing flesh. Not that she thought of the Antinium like that! They were people too, just like Goblins!

And people killed people quite often. The Soldier studied Erin, fists still raised. She tried to smile up at him.

“No, this is a bad time? Okay then, I don’t want to bother you. I can see when I’m getting in the way, so I’ll just…”

She was about to edge away when the Soldier suddenly nodded and turned away abruptly. He didn’t signal, but the other Soldiers instantly lowered their fists and stepped back towards their alcoves. Erin stared at the Soldier as he walked away from her, no longer paying any attention to her whatsoever.

She had the distinct impression he’d just recognized her as Erin Solstice, not some random Human who’d wandered down here by accident. She wondered what would have happened if he’d decided she was someone else and resolved never to enter the Hive without Pawn, Klbkch, or another Antinium with her.

But now she was in the Hive, it was too late to go back. Or at least so Erin told herself as she walked down the wide tunnel into the darkness. She’d been here once, after all! She’d just find one of the Workers she knew, have a quick word, and be off. She could have sent Bird of course, but she was worried he might miscommunicate. He was a silly Worker sometimes. And how hard could it be? It wasn’t like—

Whatever ironic thought Erin was about to have was cut off as she entered into the Hive’s main corridors. The tunnel around Erin turned abruptly and there they were. Antinium. Hundreds of them, marching down a huge tunnel, turning into side passages that sloped upwards or downwards, huge currents of Workers and Soldiers moving in every direction.

The Antinium had no railing to divide the flow of traffic, but the brown-black shapes moved smoothly and without pause, following an invisible line such that the Antinium were able to all move through the massive corridor at once, not having to pause or wait in line at all. They moved in complete silence, so that the only sound in the massive room was the shuffling of feet.

It was hypnotic, terrifying, and completely alien. Erin stared for one entire second and then sneezed. It was unintentional. The noise cut through the room like a gun shot.

The Antinium stopped as one. Every head in the vast corridor turned to Erin immediately. She froze and then raised a hand. The Antinium stared at her in complete silence. The [Innkeeper] gulped and then put on her best smile.

“Hey.”

The Workers and Soldiers stared at her. Erin waved weakly. Her voice quavered a bit.

“Uh, sorry to intrude. I’m just uh—I uh—do any of you know where um, Pawn is? Anand? Belgrade? Klbkch?”

The Antinium stared at her. Erin hesitated. Then as one they turned and pointed. Erin stared at the tunnel they’d indicated and saw the nearest Workers to her make way.

“Oh? Am I supposed to—”

They stared at her. Erin gingerly edged forwards and walked through the gap the Workers had created. The Antinium watched her go, silent, staring at the Human in their tunnels. Vibrant, colorful, alive. They heard her voice as she navigated down the tunnels, echoing back at them.

“Sorry, sorry. Oops—this way, right? Thank you. Okay, I’m going—wow, it’s dark in here. Sorry, I know you’re probably in a hurry, right? I don’t want to get in the way, you can keep walking or doing whatever you—oh boy, Klbkch is going to be so mad at me.”

 

—-

 

“So uh, hi.”

Erin stood in front of Anand and Belgrade. They’d met her in one of the tunnels, well, practically run her over in point of fact. They’d swiftly escorted her into a side room, mainly to end the Hive-wide traffic jam. Now they sat around a small table with a chess board on top of it.

This was Anand and Belgrade’s personal strategy room. It had some maps of the Hive, a real chess board and one of Erin’s improvised Go boards, and some pieces of parchment and a quill and ink. Erin stared around the small room, seeing the spot where Belgrade had hurriedly rolled up all the maps of the Hive and stuffed them away. Military secrets, she supposed. She glanced at the Workers again. They hadn’t responded to her greeting.

“It’s not like I meant to cause a holdup. I kept telling the other Antinium to keep going without me. And I uh, thought I could just sort of wander about and find one of you guys. You know, casually?”

She peered hopefully at them. Belgrade and Anand shared a look. Belgrade was the first to speak.

“You are lucky you were not killed within seconds of entering the Hive.”

“Oh.”

Erin stared at Belgrade.

“But I wasn’t. I thought I had permission.”

The Worker nodded slowly.

“Yes. But your exact description was not passed to the Soldiers on duty. It is extremely fortunate they either recognized you from previous encounters or believed your self-identification.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good. I uh—killed?”

Belgrade nodded. Erin gulped.

“Okay, well, I’m not doing that again. I thought—did you guys know I was looking for you?”

Anand shook his head.

“We were investigating the disturbance. When you entered the Hive all flows of traffic halted, which immediately warranted our attention. I have never seen the Hive simply—stop like that before.”

Erin winced. She fiddled with a bishop on the chess board. Anand stared at her for another beat and then seemed to become more alert.

“This incident was surprising to say the least, but minor. Miss Erin, I believe your intrusion has resulted in the best results possible especially given all the outcomes. The Hive was not unduly affected by your presence, and I must believe it is warranted by some need. How can Belgrade and I help you? Or is it Pawn or Revalantor Klbkch you seek?”

He waited expectantly. By his side Belgrade folded his hands—all four of them. Erin looked relieved and pondered how best to start.

“Alright, okay. To begin with…did you know it’s raining?”

The two Workers exchanged a glance. Anand shook his head.

“We did not, Miss Erin.”

“Oh. Well, it is. Just thought you should know. You see, Zevara—you know, the angry Drake Watch Captain lady? She said it’s the beginning of the rainy season in Liscor and I thought—”

Erin got no further because at her words Belgrade suddenly tensed up. His mandibles opened and he shuddered.

“Rainy season? It has begun already? Oh no. Oh no.

Belgrade’s arms folded around himself. He began to rock back and forth in his seat. Two of his arms gripped the table and he started repeating the words anxiously.

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no—”

“Belgrade?”

Erin looked at him, alarmed. Anand put a hand on Belgrade’s shoulders and the Worker stopped rocking, although he kept repeating the same words. Anand looked apologetic as he clicked his mandibles together gently.

“You will have to forgive Belgrade, Miss Erin. He does not do well during this time of the year. He nearly drowned two years ago.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry Belgrade. That’s terrib—wait, how can you drown underground?”

“The water, the rushing water. The walls breaking, the water—”

Belgrade shivered. Anand raised one hand as the other three patted his friend on the shoulder. He pointed to the dirt walls of the Hive around them.

“This season is problematic for the Antinium, Miss Erin. We do our best to ensure the integrity of the Hive, but accidents happen. Water can burst through the tunnels and it is particularly dangerous to us when it does, given our inability to swim. Belgrade only survived by holding his breath until the water could be drained from the tunnel he was trapped in.”

“That makes sense. But all that water comes from above? It’s just rain. There’s not that much water. Unless the rivers overflow?”

Erin stared blankly at the two Workers. They exchanged a look.

“I believe your knowledge of what occurs during this part of the year is…incomplete, Miss Erin. I would elaborate, but I fear that I do not know what occurs aboveground during this period of time. The Antinium do not go above the surface in the first two months of spring.”

“Why?”

“The water.”

Belgrade whispered the words. Erin stared at him, leaned back in her table, and shook her head.

“Okay, I think I’ll have to ask Klbkch about this. Or Selys. I’m going to see her next.”

Anand nodded.

“That would be wise. They no doubt have a more coherent explanation than we. But did you need to see us specifically, Miss Erin? Revalantor Klbkch will doubtless be busy with his duties.”

Erin paused. Why was she down here again?

“Oh, right. I have a proposition for you two. Look, my inn’s in a tight place but I have this idea, see—”

She explained briefly to Anand and Belgrade. Both Workers nodded, intrigued by her idea. Belgrade stopped rocking long enough to give his opinion.

“We can do this for a few more days. At least before the water rises. Tonight we will come.”

“Good!”

Erin smiled, relieved. She got up and the two Workers did likewise.

“I’d love to play a few games, but I have to see Selys next. You said Klbkch is busy, right? Well, I’ll ask Selys about this rain thing.”

“Good. We shall escort you to the surface to reduce delays.”

Anand and Belgrade got up. The Workers flanked Erin as she exited the tunnels. Anand shook his head.

“I do apologize that we could not inform you of the events surrounding the rainfall, Miss Erin. But most Antinium understand little of the world around us. Belgrade and I are privy to some of the Hive’s knowledge, but…”

Erin smiled at him as they walked. This time the Workers and Soldiers kept moving, although she sensed them peeking at her.

“No problem Anand. I totally get it. Your experience is different than mine. But Liscor changes a lot this month, huh?”

The Worker nodded.

“Indeed. Travel is almost virtually eliminated, the city stockpiles what resources it has, the price of food goes up, the price of wood rises—and of course the Antinium earn a small income as we help construct some of the maritime industry’s fishing craft. We could sell you a boat quite cheaply, I think.”

“Really? Cool! I always wanted a—wait, what did you say?”

 

—-

 

Water. It was such a simple thing. A necessity to survive, and yet, for some, the idea of water was terrifying. The Antinium could not swim. It was one of their critical weaknesses and as such, the Hive of the Free Antinium was filled with activity as the rain fell on the ground above.

Klbkch, Revalantor of the Free Antinium, strode through the tunnels of his Hive, teams of Workers following him by the hundred. He walked through each tunnel, Workers breaking off to check each part of the walls, tapping and listening to make sure that there were no faults or other weaknesses a thousand tonnes of water might exploit. Any cracks were sealed, any suspect tunnels sealed off. There were many, many drainage tunnels within the Hive designed to carry off water should it flood the Hive, but if it came to that Antinium would die.

And Klbkch found himself caring more about the loss of a Worker or Soldiers’ lives than he had in the past. Perhaps it was because some of them were Individual and thus a precious resource that could not be so easily reacquired. Or perhaps it was the shorter Worker following behind him, anxiously watching as Klbkch directed flows of Workers.

“That tunnel is faulty. Seal it off completely. Fill it with dirt and pack it—I will return later to inspect the area. Forty Workers will go to inspect the dungeon entrances with the others. We must not allow those areas to flood.”

Workers moved as ordered. Pawn moved to one side as they marched past him. He stared at Klbkch as the Revalantor looked around the tunnel.

“Revalantor, how can my Painted Antinium assist with this process?”

Klbkch paused. He had to think of the Painted Antinium and Pawn, as a separate force within the Hive. One that needed orders, could not simply be ordered to wait indefinitely. He nodded to Pawn after a moment’s delay.

“Take the Soldiers not wounded or on combat rotation and assist with filling in the tunnels I have specified. If you finish with that task, report to Anand or Belgrade. They will take over the inspection of the Hive while I return to my duties in Liscor.”

The Revalantor clicked his mandibles impatiently. He had no watch, but his internal clock was flawless.

“I have Watch duty in fifteen minutes. Anand and Belgrade have my permission to act with all the authority required to reinforce the Hive. If they have doubts I will return tonight to inspect the Hive once more.”

“I will tell them that, Revalantor.”

Klbkch nodded and strode through the tunnels, towards the surface. It was a relief to have Anand and Belgrade in the Hive. He hadn’t realized it, but having the two [Tacticians] present meant he could delegate much of the responsibility that usually fell to him or his Queen. And she had kept to her quarters recently, working on some private project, leaving the Hive entirely to him. It felt harder, some years. He hadn’t expected the rain to come so soon, but he should have predicted it…

Was he getting old? Was this the degradation that came with age that Xrn had told him about? Dementia did not affect the Antinium, but perhaps Klbkch, who had lived and been reborn countless times was an exception. Maybe he was getting old, because sometimes he felt tired…

Klbkch sighed as he strode out of the Hive and marched down the streets. He moved quickly as the rain pelted him, nodding to Drakes and Gnolls on the streets. Within five minutes he was at the Watch barracks and putting on his [Guardsman]’s armor. He was ready for duty within two minutes and marching out the door after having signed the roster sheets in the next minute.

Yes, he was getting old. But there was hope. Klbkch clung to that thought. There was hope. He just had to hang on a little bit longer. And then the world would change. The Grand Queen would change it, or Xrn, or perhaps…

Klbkch’s eyes caught a young woman he recognized hurrying down the street. She’d just come out of a tunnel in the ground. He stared. Had Erin been in the Hive? No, surely she had just been…he watched her go, his mind blanking for a second. His mandibles opened unconsciously as he stood in the rain, going about his duties as a member of Liscor’s City Watch. They were surprisingly similar to his duties as Revelator. Klbkch whispered the word into the rain.

“Perhaps.”

 

—-

 

“What was that, Klbkch?”

Watch Captain Zevara turned. The Antinium [Guardsman] shook his head as she stomped down the street, the City Watch spread out along the walls.

“Nothing, Captain! My apologies.”

“Don’t be! You’re the only damn guardsman I have who turns up on time, even in the wet!”

Zevara shouted back at Klbkch. She strode down the road leading around the walls of Liscor, shouting at the [Guardsmen] she passed.

“Check for cracks, fractures, or anything out of place! I want all four walls checked by the end of today! Inside, outside—hurry up and I’ll buy you all a round at Furry Wing’s tonight!”

The wet Gnolls and Drakes in uniform cheered as Zevara passed. The Furry Wing tavern was a popular one for the City Watch because it served drinks in huge mugs. Zevara grinned but then added a snap to her voice.

“But don’t miss a spot! I’ll be going over parts of the wall myself, and if I find any spots you’ve missed you’ll all be drinking water tonight!”

She heard a good-natured shout from her guards and nodded to Klbkch. The Senior Guardsman took a section of wall in front of him and Zevara turned away. She knew he could be trusted to check every inch of Liscor’s walls. The Antinium understood the dangers of the rainy season more than most. It was amazing they’d wanted to put a Hive here, knowing what happened…but they were vigilant, and that was everything.

The other Drakes and Gnolls were too complacent. Zevara strode down the walls, repeating her message. She had to push them. They thought that just because Liscor’s walls were enchanted, they would hold. Zevara knew that enchantments could fray and develop weaknesses, just like stone. So she checked and double-checked the walls for any fracture, any weak spots where water might slip through.

“Hey Captain!”

A cheerful voice interrupted Zevara as she went on a circuit of the walls from the outside. Zevara rolled her eyes and turned.

“What is it, Relc?”

The huge Drake [Guardsman] grinned, ignoring the rain which made the other guards cover their bodies more securely with their cloaks. He grinned and pointed to his section of the wall.

“I found a broken part of the wall! Look!”

He indicated a micro fracture at the base of the wall. Zevara eyed it and nodded.

“Good work, Relc. We’ll have a [Mason] take a look at it.”

She turned away, wishing she were indoors with a good stiff drink in her claws. She’d settle for a drink in Erin Solstice’s inn. She had some good ales and her food was excellent, even if weird things happened far too often over there. But before Zevara could continue her patrol she heard Relc call out again.

“Hey Captain, I found another one!”

Reluctantly she turned back and looked. There was another tiny fracture at head height. Zevara sighed.

“…Good work, Relc.”

Relc grinned at her, tail wagging like a dog’s. He cupped a claw to one earhole.

“What’s that, Captain? I think I must have missed that. Lots of rain!”

“I said, good work, Relc.”

Zevara gritted her teeth. Relc pretended not to hear.

“What? Sorry, I must have gotten water in my earhole! One more time?”

The Watch Captain eyed Relc murderously, hating every inch of the wide grin on his face. She turned around and her tail slapped Relc across the face.

“Ow!”

“Good work, Relc. Now get back to checking the damn wall!”

 

—-

 

Water. It changed many things about Liscor, but one thing at least was the same. The Adventurer’s Guild was busy as always as adventurers stood in lines, arguing, picking fights, talking about the dungeon and grumbling about the rain. From her desk, Selys Shivertail grinned balefully at the adventurers who’d never been to Liscor before. They thought this was bad? Just wait until they were here a week. Then they’d realize what a spring in Liscor meant. Rain was only the start of what would come next.

There was a reason why armies didn’t bother sieging Liscor. In the winter they froze their tails off. In the summer and fall, well, they had a good window but that also meant Drake armies could march north and break the siege whenever they pleased. And in the spring—

She was already worrying about the dungeon. What if it flooded? What would happen in the spring? Would the adventurers not be able to access it? She didn’t know if she could handle a bunch of angry cooped-up adventurers for two months.

Then again, she didn’t know if she could handle them now. Selys sighed, relieved to have a break for a moment. She eyed the dripping young woman in front of her and silently passed one of the towels behind the desk to her.

“Here.”

“Thanks!”

Erin wiped her face off but didn’t bother with the rest of her body. She’d have to go out in the rain soon enough and she’d given up on her stupid cloak that kept tangling around her feet. Selys eyed her.

“Had fun outside?”

“Oh, tons! It’s raining, you know? Really hard!”

Selys gave Erin a look. It simultaneously invited more obvious information and promised an equal or greater amount of ridicule. She gestured out the window of the Adventurer’s Guild where it was pouring.

“No, really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hey, I was in the Antinium Hive and that was big news!”

Erin made a face at Selys. The Drake sighed.

“The Ants—I mean, the Antinium live underground, Erin. I can look out a window. Sorry, I don’t mean to snap, but I’ve been busy telling adventurers all day why going outside is a bad idea. Sure, you think you’re hunting Shield Spiders or slimes or something, but that’s when a Hollowstone Deceiver sneaks up on you. They’re silent in the rain and they hunt aggressively during this season. You should watch out too.”

“What, Rock Crabs? Jeeze! I’d better keep an eye out. I don’t have any more seed cores so I guess I’ll have to find another way to scare them off! Thanks for the warning.”

Erin toweled her hair and handed it back. She stared at Selys as the Drake held the towel with one claw and looked around for a place to put it.

“So look, Selys, about what I was saying—”

Selys sighed. Why was she friends with Erin again? Oh, right. She had a good heart. But she could be incredibly, incredibly strange sometimes. And what she’d asked Selys to do? That was madness.

“I heard you. I think you’re insane, but I can do the paperwork. It will never work, mind you. My grandmother—”

“Just try?”

Erin stared pleadingly at the Drake. Selys raised her claws.

“Okay, I will. It’s not going to work, but I will.”

“Thanks! I know you’re busy—you should come to the inn more often! It’s been ages since we last hung out!”

The young woman beamed at Selys. The Drake nodded.

“I’d like that. I’d like to see Mrsha and chat—but you know how it is. Adventurers keep coming to Liscor and we’re understaffed and in the rain…”

She flicked her tail at the adventurers milling about the Guild. Erin nodded sympathetically.

“Yeah, I hear you. I wish they’d come to my inn, but I guess that’s not going to happen with the—”

She mimed saying the word ‘Goblins’ silently. Selys nodded. She’d already had to tell a number of adventurers that the Hobs in Erin’s inn weren’t threats and that they would receive no bounties on their heads.

“If you think it’s bad now, just wait a week. I’m afraid you’ll get no business from Liscor until the rains stop. Well, maybe some people will come but I really wouldn’t count on it. I hope you have coin saved.”

“Uh—”

Selys sighed at Erin’s chagrin.

“Well, at least you have the door to Celum. I envy you, actually. I’d love to be able to pop over to Celum anytime I wanted. I feel like a prisoner during the spring, you know?”

“No…say Selys, what does happen during the spring?”

The Drake paused, leaning on her desk. She stared at Erin, searching the young woman’s face for any signs of humor.

“Erin, tell me you’re joking. You’ve never, ever heard of what happens to Liscor in the spring?”

“Nope.”

“No one’s mentioned it to you. Not once?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“We’re famous for this! Every year—oh, you haven’t been here that long. Huh. It feels like longer.”

Selys shook her head, amazed at how time seemed to fly and simultaneously drag out. She felt like she’d known Erin for years, but it had only been half a year at most. She sighed. Erin looked around curiously. It was still pouring.

“Anand and Belgrade told me there’s a lot of water and…drowning? Or is that just underground? They said you could explain. If it’s a long story I can come back later—I have to be in Celum now so—”

“I can give you the short version.”

Selys smiled as she took a seat on her high stool behind her counter. She liked Erin, she really did, but she was going to enjoy Erin’s reaction more. The [Innkeeper] looked curiously at her.

“Okay, what’s the short version?”

“In Liscor, it starts raining hard each year after winter. For about two months it’s non-stop rainfall, and the city’s practically closed off during that time. When the summer begins it all dries out, but…think of it like this, Erin. We’re caught between the High Passes on either side. There’s an entrance to the north, and an entrance to the south, but Liscor is one big bowl. The only high elevation are the hills which Liscor and your inn and a few villages sit on top of. And it rains a lot. What do you think happens?”

The Drake waited. Erin looked blank.

“Bowl, rain, lots of mountains and valleys. Wait, you don’t mean—”

Her eyes widened. Selys grinned. She leaned over the counter and raised her voice so the adventurers behind Erin could here.

“That’s right. It floods.

Erin stared. She gave Selys the blankest, most surprised look that the Drake had ever seen. Then she looked out the window at the pouring rain. She stared at Selys, at the rain, and then grinned.

“Hey, good one Selys! I nearly bought that for a second!”

The Drake stared at her. Erin stared back, her smile faltering. Selys sighed and slowly covered her face. Erin’s eyes widened.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.04

The Floodplains of Liscor. So named because of the valley that had been formed between the High Passes, one of the two routes between northern Izril and southern Izril. At least, for most of the year. For two months out of the twelve, the floodplains would fill up with water as the spring rains poured down. All but the highest hills would be engulfed in water until the rains stopped and the water drained. It was an annual process, a well-known feature of Liscor.

“I had no idea. I mean, I know they’re called the Floodplains, but I guess I just assumed it was a weird name. I didn’t know that this happened, you know?”

Erin was still in a state of shock. She stared hopefully at the young woman across the counter. Octavia looked up as she painstakingly made a bunch of matches. She was leaning over a bowl filled with red liquid, dipping wooden sticks into the bowl and attaching the wet matches to a small device she was rotating with her other hand.

“I knew that. Even I know what happens in Liscor.”

“Even you?”

Erin stared in shock at Octavia. The dark-skinned Stitch-Girl shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s common knowledge. It rains in Liscor and trade ceases for two months out of the year. Big deal. So what?”

Erin was speechless. It seemed like a big deal to her, but then, Octavia had lived here her entire life.

“You don’t think that’s cool or weird or—I dunno, special?”

“Eh, it’s water, Erin. I never planned on going to Liscor in my life. Maybe past it, but—look, would you move back? This mixture is flammable and I don’t feel safe with you hovering about.”

The [Alchemist] shooed Erin back a step or two as she continued dipping the set of match sticks into the bowl. Erin watched, keeping a respectful distance although she resented the implication that she could make the matches catch fire by breathing on them. For a few minutes she just watched Octavia make matches.

It was a fascinating process. Octavia had created a red liquid she was dipping a series of uniform sticks into. This was the liquid form of the match heads and the [Alchemist] had to rotate the matches to prevent the matches from dripping. She’d managed to create a turnable ‘wheel’ of sorts she used to dry the match heads but as she’d explained to Erin, it was an involved process.

“I’m trying to figure out how to air-dry them without the match heads dripping. That way I’ll be able to triple my output if I don’t have to manage them. I can get up to fifty boxes done each day if I work at it with my other projects, but I’d like to be able to do up to three hundred without any effort eventually.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of work.”

Erin stared at the neat little wooden boxes that Octavia had filled with the matches. She’d wrapped each bundle of matches in wax paper to avoid the heads rubbing against each other or the box and igniting. Octavia nodded proudly, showing Erin a line of boxes ready to be sold.

“I’m making money hand over stitch thanks to these things! True, anyone with a fire spell can light something, but how many people don’t know fire magic? And this is so much easier to carry about than a flint and steel—and a lot more fun, too! I’ve got [Traders] and [Merchants] asking how many I can make.”

She paused and pursed her lips.

“A lot of [Alchemists] want to know my recipe as well. I’ve tried to make sure they can’t get their hands on my formula, but it’s only a matter of time before someone figures out my secrets! I want to flood the market before that. And of course I have a lot of potions I’m making with all the gold! Take a look at this!”

She showed Erin a crate of bottles, each one labeled and filled to the brim with glowing, or sparkling liquids. Erin whistled.

“Ooh. That’s so cool.”

“And don’t touch! Some of those are dangerous!”

Octavia slapped Erin’s hand away. She protectively edged in front of Erin, guarding her precious wares. It wasn’t often that Erin hung out in Octavia’s shop these days, but the [Alchemist] clearly didn’t trust her any more than she had when Erin was experimenting with her magical cooking.

“I have to deliver this to that scary Gnoll [Shopkeeper] of yours and I don’t want my first delivery to be delayed! Thanks for telling me about the rain, though. I’ll have to cover my matches so they don’t get wet.”

Erin blinked at the crate and the bag that Octavia was busy stuffing her wares into.

“Wait, are you going to Liscor? You never leave your shop!”

The Stitch-Girl snorted.

“I leave sometimes. For food and ingredients and…stuff. And I’m not going into Liscor, what, do you think I’m crazy? I’m not ducking those giant Crab Rocks or whatever you call them. No, I’ll leave my potions and matches in your inn. That Gnoll lady said she’ll send a Street Runner to pick them up. Just show them where it is, okay? And no touching!”

She waved a match stick at Erin. The [Innkeeper] frowned as she studied Octavia.

“Wait, so you’re going to bring your goods to Liscor through my inn.”

Octavia didn’t look up as she dipped more matches.

“That’s right.”

“And you’re going to sell them through Krshia, who I introduced you to.”

“Yep. She gets a cut and I get a cut. Apparently Liscor imports most of its potions from Pallass. Hah! I can beat the [Alchemists] with my prices since I don’t have to ship them a few hundred miles! Plus, my matches haven’t been seen in Liscor yet. Even with that damned Gnoll’s cut I bet I’ll turn more of a profit this week!”

“Uh huh. And the matches were my idea. Mine and Ryoka’s since she told you how they were made.”

“Well yeah, but I had to figure out the exact formula. Phosphorous? Heh, that’s not nearly as combustive as powdered Corusdeer Horns and some Fire Beetle shells…”

Octavia smiled to herself as she plucked a dried match from her drying wheel and poked at the head. Satisfied, she transferred it to a box of completed matches. Erin nodded, watching the [Alchemist] work. Then she dropped her bomb.

“Shouldn’t I get paid for all this then?”

The Stich-Girl dropped one of the matches into her bowl. Cursing, she grabbed at it, tossed it into a bin at her feet, and then gave Erin a fish-eye. Erin smiled sweetly as she leaned over Octavia’s counter. The [Alchemist] stared at her and then gave her a big and not-entirely-genuine smile.

“Erin, Erin, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I guess.”

The [Alchemist] sidled up to Erin, putting her arm around Erin’s shoulder. She squeezed tightly, smiling like a used car salesman selling her most corroded piece of junk.

“Of course we are! You and me, we go way back. We’re practically sisters! Well, I think of you that way. You’re an [Innkeeper], I’m an [Alchemist]—but we do the same things! Remember when you made all those magical dishes in my shop? Great times! And remember how I was encouraging you the entire time?”

“Nope.”

“Erin, it’s all in the past now. I know we had our differences, but I am so grateful—did I mention how grateful I am?—so grateful that you are helping me grow my business. And I know it’s a small imposition that you let me work through your magical door—which I’ve installed in my shop by the way, just because you asked. I still haven’t fixed my front wall, you know. It gets drafty at night…”

“I paid for that.”

“And so you did! But Erin, business is one thing and I’m a small-time [Alchemist]—I hardly have my head above water most days. Hah, water, it’s a heck of a thing isn’t it? Imagine Liscor flooding all the time? Well, I’m sure you see my predicament, but I want you to know that I care, and so I can give you uh, these potions as a sign of friendship.”

Octavia eyed her shelves and grabbed a few bottles. She pushed them into Erin’s hands.

“I insist, a token of our friendship!”

She was smiling desperately and a slight sheen of sweat covered her forehead. Erin, smiling as well, looked at the bottles.

“As much as I’d like a stamina potion, hair-regrowth tonic and…ooh, one of Ryoka’s stink potions, I think I want an actual deal, Octavia.”

“Okay? Okay…we can deal.”

Octavia looked wary, but she immediately grabbed a seat and dusted it off for Erin. She gave the young woman another big smile.

“What were you thinking? A monthly convenience fee? How about we talk about it over dinner? My treat? We could go for a, uh, a deal where I give you six—no, twelve match boxes each week? And a potion?”

Erin declined to sit. Instead she loomed—just a tiny bit—and gave Octavia one of the scary grins she’d seen Ryoka give other people.

“That’s one idea. But how about this? A non-negotiable surcharge on every match box made and a copyright fee as well as a fee for using my door and a finder’s charge for introducing you to Krshia and storing your goods in my inn, which also adds a protection fee, a delivery fee, a storage fee, and city taxes, since Liscor is importing the goods from Celum.”

Erin was no businessperson and she had no idea what she’d actually said, just that it sounded complicated and expensive. Anyways, it didn’t matter. Erin could say something entirely stupid so long as she delivered her lines with the right attitude. And the result was impressive—Octavia went dead white. She gaped at Erin for a moment and began speaking rapidly.

“Look, Erin, let’s not be hasty! I mean, you’re a businesswoman and I—we don’t have to do this! We’re friends! Why, I’m sure we can strike a deal that’s not this harsh! Did I insult you with the potions? Let me take them back! Forgotten! Let’s try again, and why don’t I buy you a drink and dinner? Five drinks? Come on Erin, don’t throw me under the wagon, have a heart—”

She looked so desperate that Erin couldn’t help but laugh. She spread her arms as Octavia stared at her.

“Kidding! I’m not that much of a jerk.”

The [Alchemist] sagged against her counter, weak-kneed with relief.

“Dead gods, Erin, don’t do that! Do you know how worried I was?”

“Well, now you know how I feel every time you try to con me. Besides, I have a point which is why you got nervous.”

Erin smiled triumphantly. Octavia grumbled and kicked at an empty bottle lying on the floor. It sailed across the shop and shattered loudly. The [Alchemist] winced.

“Okay, point. I guess I owe you something. But Erin, this is my livelihood!”

“Which is doing better thanks to me. I’m not asking for much, Octavia. And remember, I’ve got all kinds of cool ideas. But my inn needs money since I have Goblins in it and apparently that’s a bad thing. We can deal, but equally, okay?”

Octavia sighed.

“Goblins. I forgot about them. No wonder no one’s asked to go to your inn for a week now. I did wonder, but they must have slipped my mind. Fine, we can talk gold.”

“I don’t need much. And I won’t charge you for doing business, but some money for my ideas each week would be nice. Say two coppers for every gold coin?”

Erin saw Octavia brighten and waggled a finger.

“But I do want some matches for myself! For free, Octavia. I’ll give you new ideas, too. That’s worth all the gold you can bargain for. When you finally figure out that penicillin stuff you’ll be really rich, trust me!”

“That will take a while. Those molds are hard to figure out. And Erin, some of your ideas are good, but there is no way I can make an anti-gravity potion because you thought it would be ‘cool’. I need ideas that are real, not imaginary.”

Octavia grumbled as she went behind her counter. For all she moaned about coin, she was surprisingly good-natured and Erin pocketed a handful of gold and silver coins and came away with several matchboxes and two potions. She let the [Alchemist] complain about unfair business practices as she lugged her crate of potions and matches into her inn and then opened the door to Octavia’s shop.

“I’m going into the city, Octavia! Don’t be scared if you see Goblins and tell Lyonette to keep Mrsha away from your stuff!”

“Wait, they’re wandering about? Where are—aaah!

The Stitch-Girl spotted one of the Redfang Goblins heading down the stairs and ran screaming for the doorway. Erin shook her head as Rabbiteater stared at Octavia brandishing a potion at him. It would be fine—Lyonette could sort it out, Erin was sure. Probably.

She turned and strode out the doorway, confident that Octavia would either bargain for her life or start selling matches to Goblins. Octavia was all very well, but a deal with her was small potatoes compared to what Erin had in mind. The [Innkeeper] walked through Celum, staring at the Humans walking past her.

“It’s not raining! Huh, I guess the storm’s only around Liscor.”

It really was amazing. If Erin turned her head she could see dark clouds in the horizon to the south, right where Liscor was. But she’d come a hundred miles north to Celum in a single bound. And she could go to Pallass, which was five hundred miles south of here from her inn! The possibilities of her door were endless. As were the dangers. But that wasn’t what mattered now. What mattered was…

“Goblins.”

Erin sighed as she walked down the street. Several of the people around her gave her strange looks. Celum had heard about Erin’s Hobgoblin population and they had likewise boycotted her inn. Erin hadn’t cared about that as much as Liscor, but now she did. Her Goblins were a problem? Well, they’d be an even bigger problem after this! She was nearly at the Runner’s Guild when she heard a voice shouting angrily behind her.

Turn, hellhound, turn!

The voice was male, authoritative, and echoed down the street. Erin whirled around, grinning. She saw a man dressed in bright clothing pointing at her as all the pedestrians on the street turned to see who had shouted.

The man lowered his hand and strode down the street towards her, a broad smile set on his face. Wesle had changed markedly since Erin had first met him. Where he had once been a competent if slightly resigned low-level [Guardsman] in service to Celum he was now a confident [Actor]. He now led the troupe of actors in Celum the first of their kind with his leading co-star, Jasi.

“Wesle! Just the guy I was looking for!”

Erin walked over and hugged Wesle. He smiled down at her, and his voice was deeper and more resonant than she remembered when he replied.

“It seems I have impeccable timing, then! I was just walking down the street for a bite to eat when I saw you leaving Miss Octavia’s shop! What brings you into Celum? And do you have time to talk with a humble [Actor] such as myself?”

“Of course! You’re one of the reasons why I’m here! I want your help and I have a cool offer for you and Jasi and all the other [Actors]—I was going to the Runner’s Guild first, but now that I think of it, you’re better. Let’s get to one side and chat, okay?”

They were in the middle of the street and Erin was wary of rogue wagons, especially after what had happened to Ryoka on these same streets months ago. Wesle stroked at his clean-shaved lips and chin.

“We can certainly do that, but it ah, might be better to step inside somewhere. I think we’ll attract a crowd if we linger outside.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Erin turned and saw to her amazement that a crowd of onlookers had already gathered around Wesle. She saw a young woman push forwards, a [Baker] or a baker’s apprentice by the looks of her. She had eyes only for Wesle.

“Mister Salkis, I’m such a huge fan. I know you must be busy, but could you possibly spare the time to…?”

She blushed and pushed back her sleeve. Wesle gave Erin an apologetic glance and then gave her and the crowd a huge smile.

“Of course! What is your name, mistress?”

“Colina, sir.”

The young woman blushed. Wesle pulled something out of his pocket with a flourish and Erin blinked as she saw a piece of black chalk or—was it charcoal? The tip looked almost wet as Wesle unwrapped it from some waxy paper. He gently pressed it to the young [Baker]’s arm and to Erin’s astonishment, began to sign his name!

“Well then Miss Colina, I am delighted to meet you. What play do you enjoy the most, pray tell?”

“Oh, Hamlet, sir! When I saw you on stage, calling your uncle a false [King], well, I—it was incredible. And that line you delivered just now! I know Sir Macduff always performs it and it’s Mister Pralcem who plays the part, but I would so love to see you play his role as well!”

“An intriguing idea! Perhaps we’ll mix up the roles next time. Thank you for your support, Miss Colina.”

Wesle smiled and the young woman nearly fainted with embarrassment and pleasure. He turned, the charcoal in his hands.

“Anyone else?”

There was a chorus of voice. Erin saw the people line up and Wesle went from person to person, signing arms, hands, and a cheek! The people beamed as he spoke with them. When it was done Wesle walked towards Erin, looking pleased and slightly apologetic.

“Let’s hurry inside somewhere before another group finds us. It’s not always I get stopped, but once someone asks…the Runner’s Guild will keep them away.”

He hurried with Erin towards the Runner’s Guild. There too Wesle’s face instantly drew attention. A [Receptionist] hurried forwards, beaming at him, and when Wesle requested a private room he immediately got it—despite not being a Runner and much faster than Ryoka had when she’d asked.

There was even the cheese platter. Erin sat across from Wesle as he signed the [Receptionist]’s palm. He smiled at her, embarrassed, and she shook her head when they were alone.

“Wesle, you’re a star! When did this happen?”

Wesle flushed and stroked his lips where his mustache used to be.

“I don’t know about a star, Miss Erin. I feel like I’m a [King] in his court sometimes, but it’s all flash and show, it really is. As for when it started happening, well, it began about a month ago. We’d been putting on plays each night when we started getting requests to go to other cities and put on a performance for the [Mayor] and well, people started coming up to us on the streets after that and saying how moving they thought our acting was.”

He looked happy, red-faced, and excited all at the same time. Erin just grinned at him.

“Wow. Look at you! I knew the plays were cool, but—just wow!”

“We owe it all to you.”

Wesle bowed his head slightly. Erin waved it away, feeling embarrassed herself. She had been the one to come up with the idea and then teach Wesle and the others a play, but she could never have dreamed it would turn into something like this! He was an actual celebrity, and somehow, without her involvement he had already begun signing autographs and having groupies follow him around.

Some things were the same across worlds. Erin sat forwards in her seat and talked around a piece of gooey brie cheese on a cracker.

“Okay, tell me. What’s with the charcoal? You sign your name with that? On people’s bodies, not paper?”

“Paper? Most folk can’t afford paper. Although I have signed parchment for some of them. They keep it as mementoes. And we can’t walk around with a quill and inkpot, so one of the [Alchemists] in the city made this up for us. It’s sticky and makes a mess, but it shows up well.”

Wesle offered the bit of charcoal to Erin. She touched it and found it was more like an oil-based marker than actual charcoal. She drew a smiley face on her arm and Wesle raised his eyebrows.

“What’s that?”

“A smiley. You should draw one on the next person! I bet it’s easier than a signature. And you could have your own special symbol, you know?”

Erin showed Wesle a few more symbols from her world and he was stunned.

“Once again you have new ideas Miss Erin that…well, it’s always something wondrous with you. We—the Players of Celum we’re calling ourselves for now—owe you a huge debt. Jasi and Grev talk of you all the time and if you could spare the time we’d love to have you meet our troupe. We’ve taken on a lot of new [Actors] since we started and we now have our own warehouse to practice in. Hah, we’ve had to hire [Guards] and [Mercenaries] to keep people from watching us practice! It would mean the world if you visited.”

It was amazing to hear that the [Actors] had already become this successful. Erin shook her head again.

“Of course I’ll come! But I’m just a humble [Innkeeper]—”

“Nonsense!”

Wesle’s ringing denial was far grander than the acoustics of the room should have allowed. His pose was equally impressive—his body radiated a fierce refutation of Erin’s modesty. Was it one of his new Skills? He leaned over, giving Erin a look that was both genuine and serious.

“You, Miss Erin, are our patron and muse! We would never have started this without you and as I say, we owe you a great debt. We’ve put on plays in Ocre, Remendia, and Wales because of you and we’re thinking of travelling further abroad once we have enough [Actors] for two groups to perform at once. Not to mention, we’d love to know if you have more plays you could teach us.”

He coughed and winked at Erin. It was such a theatrical move that she burst out laughing.

“Not that there’s any shortage of [Writers] clamoring to have us perform plays they’ve come up with. Not just [Writers]—we’ve gotten submissions from countless members of the public already! None of it holds a candle to the stuff you’ve given us, mind, but we’ve been paid good coin to put on some performances other people want to see.”

“Amazing. And you’ll probably get more. I bet [Lords] and [Ladies] will want you to perform. Oh, Wesle, I’m so glad this is working out for you!”

Erin rose and hugged the man. He smiled at her.

“And to think it all started with a [Washer] and a [Guardsman] in an inn. That’s a play in itself and we may have to perform it sometime. But I talk too much now, don’t I? Why did you want to see me, Miss Erin? Anything we can do, anything at all…”

“Well, I was actually hoping you’d say that! I’m in a bit of a pickle you see. I haven’t been in Celum for a long time because I’ve had so much to do. Have you heard about it?”

Wesle grew serious and once again reached for his shaved mustache. That habit hadn’t changed at least.

“I did, Miss Erin. I saw some of it, or pieces at least. That business with the false Named Adventurer, the tragic death of that Gold-rank adventurer and Gnoll…Zel Shivertail himself coming north and falling in battle…and now I hear your inn is hosting Goblins.”

Erin shook her head, her joy fading as she recalled all the trials of the last few months.

“It’s always hosted Goblins, Wesle. Only now people are scared and my inn’s suffering. I’m actually in a bad spot financially. So I was going to ask—this is really difficult, but—”

“Say no more.”

A finger raised towards Erin’s lips. Wesle shook his head as he leaned across the table.

“We’d be the most wretched of ingrates if we didn’t offer you what we’ve earned, Miss Erin. You never asked for a cut of our profits and you deserve it for teaching us the plays, let alone giving us our classes! We can offer you quite a lot of gold—I’d have to ask Jasi how much we earn per week, but we could give you at least—”

“Wesle, I don’t need donations!”

Erin cut him off, laughing with relief. Wesle blinked.

“You don’t? But see here, Miss Erin—”

“If you want to give me some money that’s great and I’ll accept. I’m not going to say I can’t use it. But I don’t need you to give me money for nothing. Actually, I wanted something a bit more from you that I really hope you’ll agree to. Listen—”

The young woman sat forwards on the edge of her seat and Wesle did likewise. His eyes widened as Erin explained her idea and he frowned, but within minutes he was nodding and pacing around the room excitedly.

“That can work! Of course it can! Just the other day Kilkran—he’s one of our new [Actors], a man you haven’t met. A former [Blacksmith], but a voice that could shake the rafters of a barn, I’ll swear! He was saying that we needed to think about the long-term. And this idea is perfect!”

“You don’t think it’ll drive away business? It’s a risk, Wesle.”

Erin warned the man, wanting him to be clear on what he was agreeing to. Wesle dismissed her concerns with one shake of the head.

“Business? We could divide our troupe and still earn enough for all of us to live on. Besides, this is better. This is right. And if you think this will stop people from watching us—hah! The power of the stage will draw them in, Miss Erin. Just you wait! I don’t want to speak for everyone of course, but I can’t think that any of the original cast will say no, and the new [Actors] will come round once they know all you’ve done for us!”

“Well, I’m relieved. If you want to tell them, I can settle things in the Runner’s Guild. Or maybe you can help me? I think they’d believe it if you said it.”

“Of course. And we must have a drink at your inn as well, Erin. That is to say Miss—”

“Erin!”

She laughed and Wesle laughed too.

“You kept telling me that before as well. All this business about your magical door and the Goblins sound incredibly difficult. I wish you’d come to us months ago, or that we’d known you needed help!”

Erin shook her head.

“You guys had to do your own thing! You’re stars; and I didn’t have as much trouble until Zel and…well, and Pallass. Those jerks are making stuff difficult but I’ll win in the end! And think of this, Wesle! With my door you guys don’t have to just go to Human cities! You could put on a show in Liscor and even Pallass!”

She looked at Wesle. His eyes widened.

“A Walled City? But that would be—dead gods, could we do it?”

“First Liscor, then the world! I bet the Drakes and Gnolls would love you! But let’s do this first. Okay?”

Erin headed down the stairs with Wesle and the [Receptionists] and Runners in the Guild looked up.

“Mister Salkis!”

One of the [Receptionists] hurried forwards and Erin smiled. Wesle’s last name was Salkis apparently, and it seemed like everyone was too shy to call him by his first name. Wesle greeted the woman and explained Erin’s idea. The [Receptionist]’s eyes went wide and she took a step back.

“But—well, of course we can spread the word, Mister Salkis. But you’re sure? You’re going to—I mean, there are rumors—”

She stared at Erin who folded her arms.

“Hey! I’m standing right here, you know!”

The older woman blushed and Wesle bowed slightly. His voice could be heard at the back of the room as he replied.

“Miss Bellia, I can assure you we will be perfectly safe. Safer, in fact, which is the point of this little announcement. Now, I have to get to my troupe, but please send the bill to us. And if Miss Erin has anything else she needs done…”

He looked at Erin expectantly. She hesitated.

“Is Fals here? Or Garia? Has anyone seen Ryoka?”

The [Receptionist] shook her head, her brow creasing when Erin mentioned Ryoka’s name. The Runner’s Guild in Celum still hadn’t forgotten the incident with the Frost Faeries.

“They’re all out on deliveries in other cities, Miss Solstice. Well, I can’t speak for Miss Griffin. Shall I ask them to call on you when they arrive in Celum next?”

“Please. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

The woman nodded and Erin strolled out of the front door with Wesle. He was smiling at her. She peered at him suspiciously?

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that life is never dull when you’re around, Erin. I think I’ve had enough excitement and then you turn up.”

“Well, I do like interesting stuff. I’ll go back to the inn, Wesle. Meet you later?”

His eyes twinkled. Wesle took a step back in the street and swept Erin a dramatic bow that drew all eyes to him once again.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll be there.”

He strode off. Erin watched him go, shaking her head and smiling.

“What a showoff.”

She thought it suited him perfectly. Humming, Erin walked back to Octavia’s shop, a spring in her step. Everything was going according to plan! Now, there was just one last step.

 

—-

 

“It’s perfect.”

Erin breathed the words that night. She stared around her inn, stared at the Humans crowding around one side of it where the tables had been shoved aside, stared at the Redfang Goblins, and stared at the bit of cloth she’d been writing on all day. Lyonette peered at Headscratcher.

“It’s insane, Erin. Even for you, this idea is crazy. It’ll never work!”

“It’ll totally work! It has to work! It’s already working! It’s the most amazing idea I’ve come up with yet! Lyonette, this is going to blow people’s minds!”

Erin waved her hands over her head excitedly. Lyonette shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling in amazement.

“It’s something alright. But do you really think Watch Captain Zevara and that guy from Pallass will like it?”

The [Innkeeper] didn’t hear her. Erin looked around her inn and strode over to the group of Humans at the far wall. The Players of Celum turned to greet her. They were all dressed up, some wearing face paint or other cosmetics, others dressed as [Guards], the nobility, wearing swords at their hilts or practicing fencing with dulled blades. Two, a Drake and a young boy, turned as Erin approached and exclaimed.

“Erin!”

“Jasi! Grev!”

Erin hugged first the young Drake woman and then the boy. Jasi and Grev had both changed as well. Gone was the young timid Drake that Erin had met in Liscor. Jasi had been bit by the acting bug and if she wasn’t as flamboyant as Wesle, she had an inner poise of her own. She dominated space despite her small frame.

Grev looked better too. His thin frame had filled out and he was wearing good, new clothes. He was also helping set up props at the far wall.

“Erin, it’s been so long! I’m so glad to see you again! When Wesle ran in and told us you want us to perform here, I was overjoyed!”

Jasi gushed as she held up her arms to let one of the other actors attach shimmering crystal bracelets around her. They were magical and radiated a chill, but Jasi seemed used to the cold. Erin smiled at her.

“Thanks for doing this, really.”

“We should be thanking you! This is the least we can do. And we’ll be happy to perform here as many nights as you want! It’s so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t think of it—here we are trying to find the best place to perform and you have your own inn! After we left Miss Agnes’ inn on bad terms we kept bouncing from place to place without remembering you!”

Jasi gestured around The Wandering Inn, her bracelets catching the light and glittering. Erin laughed.

“I didn’t either! But isn’t this a good idea?”

“The best.”

Wesle strode up to them, dressed in a woodcutter’s outfit. He looked entirely like a rustic outdoorsman, sinking in to his role with ease. He gestured around Erin’s inn, at the tables she’d pushed to one side to give the actors room.

“This is a big inn as well. We need all the space we can get—I wager we’ll fill this inn every night after this first one. My word on it!”

Erin nodded, hoping that would be the case. She looked at the other actors as they bustled about. This was her big plan. Her inn was starved for coin and company, so why not bring the most successful and popular show in Celum here? She hadn’t known if Wesle and the others would agree despite his promises, but they had shown up enthusiastic and early. Now the stage manager, a heavy, short woman, bustled up.

“Miss Solstice? We’d like to attach some [Light] spells to the rafters. They’ll fade away soon, but for the snow it’s all about lighting you see.”

“Oh, go ahead! Just watch out when you cast the spells—my inn’s charged with mana so things will get really bright! Other spells too—they get bigger, apparently.”

“Really? That’s—wonderful!”

The woman brightened. She turned and shouted at a [Mage] and two [Actors] fussing in one corner of the room. As she hurried to them waving her arms and explaining, Wesle leaned over.

“That’s Emme, our stage manager. She loves the stage though there’s fewer parts for someone of her height. She’s often the lower half of an animal or a moving prop—she likes this play because she can have a leading role. She’s got a bit of Dwarf blood in her.”

“Oh.”

Erin watched Emme gesturing at the ceiling and saw a bright ball of light appear. It shone, illuminating the entire stage and the [Actors] cried out in surprise. Grev shook his head as he popped up next to her.

“Magic inn, good food, and you know more plays. If Wesle wasn’t in makeup he’d kiss you, Miss Erin.”

Wesle turned red and Erin laughed as the man raised a mock-threatening fist and Grev skipped around Jasi. He turned back to Erin.

“We’ll bring you coin, have no fear, Erin! But that’s only half of your plan, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

Erin smiled slyly and looked back to where Headscratcher was standing awkwardly with Lyonette. Business and coin for her inn was one thing, but the real masterstroke of Erin’s plan was actually in the Redfang Warriors, or rather, the fact that they were standing in her inn with Humans about.

The Players of Celum walked warily around the five Hobs, but were too consumed by their tasks to stare. Much. They looked nervous, but Wesle, Erin, and Jasi had reassured them again and again that the Hobgoblins were no threat. But perhaps it was the special addition Erin had given each of the Hobgoblins that helped.

Each Hob was wearing an armband, nothing more than a white bit of cloth tied around their arm. It was nothing special, save for the single word emblazoned on each one. ‘Security’ had been written on each amband in big black letters. The Redfang Goblins poked at their armbands and stood around trying to look menacing, which wasn’t very hard given their natural aptitude in the field.

“Goblin bouncers. Or rather, Goblin guards for an inn. Break my legs, I never thought I’d see the like.”

Wesle shook his head as he saw Badarrow standing next to the door. The Hob looked grumpy, but also interested as he followed the Humans around with his eyes. He was clearly trying not to show it. Erin smiled.

“I offered them the job and you know what? They took it! I think they’re bored and I need more protection. And this way no one can say the Goblins are a threat because they’ll deal with any threats!”

It was the perfect plan. Erin had hit on it when Venim had suggested paying the Halfseekers to guard her inn. The Redfang Warriors would be out in the open, allowed to walk around as proud employees of her inn! And if people didn’t like it they could sit on five pins, because Erin was doing this. She turned back to Wesle.

“Are you sure you want to perform every night over here?”

He nodded.

“Absolutely. We had an ongoing contract with the inns in Celum to perform in each one night to night, but having a permanent place to perform is just as good. Better. We can store some of our props in the basement and this way half of our members won’t walk to the wrong inn on the other side of the city!”

“Not to mention, you have [Advanced Cooking]. Your inn serves better food than most of the ones in Celum and we do like good food after we perform.”

Jasi interjected. Grev was nodding as well.

“You have a big enough inn for us to perform in, and no one’s gonna interrupt the stage with them scary Goblins hanging out.”

He pointed to the Hobgoblins, clearly more at ease with them than the adults. Grev turned as a small white shape moved in the corner of his eye. He saw Mrsha staring at him until the Gnoll fled upstairs.

“And even if people don’t come right away, I have an audience for you. That way you’ll earn money, guaranteed.”

Erin was speaking to Wesle and Jasi. She’d actually made tonight’s show private, despite the news going up around Celum and Liscor at the moment. Despite this, the inn was packed. Erin pointed to the quiet audience of black and brown bodies. The Painted Soldiers and Workers sat quietly around their tables, eating from bowls and eying the popcorn in the middle of the tables. The Antinium had readily agreed to send enough guests to fill Erin’s inn. All the pieces had lined up as Erin had gone about her day.

Her only fear had been the Players of Celum balking from either the Hobs or the Antinium. It had seemed like they might at first, but Wesle had reassured them. However, they were eying the mass of silent watchers nervously. An older man or rather, an [Actor] dressed up as an older man wearing a [Lord]’s costume sidled up to Wesle and Jasi.

“We’re nearly ready to go, Wesle. But are you sure—?”

His eyes flicked to the Antinium silently. Wesle didn’t glance at Erin. He put his arm around the other [Actor] and gestured dismissively at the Antinium watching them. Erin resolved to buy some curtains tomorrow as soon as she could. For now they were using bed sheets for the scene changes.

“Relax, Esbell. They’re an audience, same as any other! They might not clap or gasp, but Erin tells me that’s normal. We do our show—our best performance! If you don’t have the guts to stand on stage in front of the Antinium, what will you do when you have a crowd of folk booing you and demanding their coin back?”

“Exactly. We’ll give them a show, and we’ll all level. There’s nothing like a new audience for that. Cheer up Esbell, you might get that [Loud Voice] Skill you wanted tonight!”

Jasi stepped forwards, her dress radiant. The [Actor] nodded and squared his shoulders. Erin saw the Players of Celum congregating around the backstage they’d set up, and then the bright [Light] spell dimmed overhead.

The play was beginning. Erin rubbed her hands, looking at the Antinium, the [Actors], at Lyonette and Ishkr serving tables, at Mrsha, stealing popcorn from a bowl, at the Redfang Warriors keeping an eye out but watching with interest, and at Octavia, sitting at a table at the front of the room and looking very confused.

It was all so wonderful Erin wanted to cry. This was it! This was it. She muttered to herself as she watched Wesle stride out on stage.

“You can stay away from the inn if you want, but if you want to see an amazing play every night you’d better get over yourselves and come here! And I have the best security! Hobgoblins! You make trouble and they’ll toss you out, even if you’re a Silver-rank team! I uh, think I’ll let Gold-rank teams cause trouble.”

She saw Wesle raise his hands and went silent. The man looked around the room, pausing a second for dramatic effect. Then he spoke.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Antinium! Gnolls and Drakes, please, allow me to introduce the performance for tonight. We are the Players of Celum, here to bring you all a performance of the tale of Frozen. What follows is a tale of family and loss, magic and secrets, love and betrayal. We ask that you remain seated and do not speak during the performance. All that passes on this stage is an act—please do not attempt to interfere with the play. At this time, please put away any wands or magical artifacts that may interrupt the viewing experience for other watchers—”

Wesle stood on stage, his voice ringing, the lights shining on him, larger than life. Erin smiled as she saw Emme the part-Dwarf woman waddling around in what was meant to be an Olaf costume. Only in this world, the people’s idea of a Snow Golem was a lot less friendly looking!

It would be a great play. And the first of many. Erin turned her head and saw Bird peeking down the stairs.

“Bird, you don’t want to watch?”

“I will watch. But I like high places so I will sit here, Miss Erin.”

Bird perched on a higher step as the curtains drew back and a young girl appeared on stage. Not all of the Players of Celum were old, and the children took to acting with as much, if not more passion than the adults. Erin took a seat next to Bird.

“You’re not mad at me for hiring more guards?”

“Should I be? They are guards. That is important. They can guard the ground. I will guard us against birds and other threats from above.”

Bird replied calmly. Erin smiled at him. Jealousy didn’t seem to be an Antinium trait. She looked around, got up, and came back with a bowl of popcorn. She offered it to Bird.

“Popcorn?”

“Ah, bird bait. Yes, I will have some.”

The Antinium took a handful and crunched it down. Erin laughed as the play began and a model of a ship appeared on a blue background meant to be the sea. She wondered if Jasi’s magical bracelets actually shot snow or would just do magic tricks. And she wondered if her inn’s magical supply would make the effects more spectacular. Bird looked appreciatively at the play.

“I quite enjoy this. Is it over now that everyone has died at sea?”

Erin grinned.

“Oh, Bird. You’re so sweet. No, you haven’t seen anything yet. This is just the opening act. There’s more to come, I promise you. Lots more.”

Bird paused. He turned and looked at Erin. Then he smiled.

“Good.”

 

—-

 

“She did what?”

There wasn’t any surprise left in Zevara’s voice. She stared at the report Olesm had given her on Celum and then the more formal report from Klbkch. Olesm couldn’t help but smile as he showed Zevara the written details.

“She’s apparently hired the Hobgoblins as guards for her inn. And—get this, she’s invited a group of [Actors] from Celum to perform in her inn. Apparently they put on these wonderful, uh—”

“Plays. And she’s gotten the Antinium to watch them, and—oh yes, told everyone about it. Loudly.”

That was in the Olesm’s report. Celum’s Runner’s Guild had spread the word to Liscor and other local cities as well as told Runners to pass on this latest news: the Players of Celum would now perform exclusively at The Wandering Inn where they would be guarded by Hobgoblins and an Antinium no less. The inn was open to all species and prohibited violence against all guests. Admission was free but there was already talk of obtaining tickets to prevent overcrowding the limited space…Zevara paged through the report and shook her head.

“She’s insane, Olesm. Completely insane.”

“Well if she is, it’s a good kind of insane. If Erin gets support from Celum and Liscor, then even Pallass will have to acknowledge those Hobs aren’t a threat.”

The Drake pointed that out. Zevara shook her head.

“If only I believed that. But that’s not the only thing she’s done.”

“Oh?”

Olesm looked surprised. He hadn’t heard about the second point of news, which had been imparted to Zevara just minutes ago. She stared glumly at a second report. It was short, barely half a page, but it had a lot of underlined words.

“You’ll never guess what she did in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“What?”

 

—-

 

There were some things Selys would do for friends, and then, there were things she’d only do for Erin, and only because she’d been talked into it. She stood on the second floor of the Adventurer’s Guild, holding a piece of parchment between her trembling claws. She whispered a few words before she knocked on the door.

“Oh, Ancestors.”

“Selys? Come in.”

Selys walked into the office of the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild. Or rather, Guildmistress. Tekshia Shivertail, Selys’ grandmother, looked up from her desk. She and Selys were the only two people left in the guild at this hour.

“Hi Grandma, I just wanted to give this to you before I went home.”

The young Drake [Receptionist] nervously approached the desk. Tekshia sighed.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, I just got done writing it up so…here. I’ll see you tomorrow, grandma! Love you!”

The Drake put the piece of parchment on the desk. Tekshia frowned up at her, sensing Selys’ odd behavior.

“What’s this about, you scamp?”

Selys grinned and ran for it. Tekshia Shivertail stared at the application on her desk. It was a simple one, a standard request to form an authorized Bronze-rank team. The only curious thing was the name of the group and the five members applying for it.

“The Redfang Goblins. Members are Headscratcher, Badarrow, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue and Shorthilt. Exact levels unknown. Classes unknown. Four [Warriors] and an [Archer]. Species: Hobgoblin.”

The old Drake stared at the form. She stared at the doorway and listened to the sound of Selys’ running feet. Then she took a deep breath.

Selys!

 

—-

 

And then it was night. The [Actors] left in good spirits. The Antinium, who had given them a standing ovation for five minutes straight had gone, happily, if somewhat bloated on the popcorn they couldn’t quite digest. Erin understood it was a special snack given the Hive’s recent lack of conflict.

Lyonette was asleep. Mrsha was already passed out. Bird was upstairs…probably not asleep but happily sitting in the rain. The Redfang Goblins were in their rooms, pondering their new state of existence.

And Erin was happy. She knew she had caused a lot of trouble, not least for Zevara, but she felt it was worth it. Her inn had been filled tonight, and the Goblins were walking about in the open. It was a first step. An important step. It was what she could do so she lay in her mess of blankets and pillows in the corner of the kitchen and smiled to herself.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Zevara. The Goblins will do that.”

Her eyes closed. Erin listened to the drumming of the rain overhead. It was still raining, pouring, rather. She wondered if the Floodplains would fill up tomorrow or the day after. Or maybe…?

Her breathing slowed. Erin’s mind drifted off. She felt darkness, warm and soothing engulf her—

 

[Magical Innkeeper Level 34!]

[Skill – Inn: Grand Theatre obtained!]

 

Gah!

Erin shot out of bed. She banged her head on the kitchen counter, stumbled out of the kitchen, swearing loudly and stopped. The common room of her inn was in front of her, empty, deserted as it should be. But it was not as it had been.

The common room. It had been large before, capable of holding a crowd. Now it stretched out in front of Erin, impossibly large for the dimensions of the inn. It was twice—no, perhaps three times as large as it had been? Erin couldn’t tell in the darkness. But it was vast, and at one end she could see the stage that the Players of Celum had set up. Erin stared around the common room, at the theatre hall ready for crowds. She blinked, raised her hands into the air and screamed.

“Whoo! Alright!

She danced about, shouting, until she heard a thump from overhead. Jelaqua shouted through the floorboards.

“Hey, we’re trying to sleep!

It was the first time Erin had ever heard the Selphid in a bad mood. Erin lay down in the middle of her common room, feeling small in the vast chamber. She grinned at the ceiling and listened to the rain fall for a while before she fell asleep.

 

—-

 

Drip.

There was one last thing. The rain fell across Liscor in unending droves, but it did not patter down in all places. In some locations there was simply no space for the rain to fall, and so it trickled down as water from above, landing on an invisible barrier overhead.

Drip.

The sound was loud. The water fell, splashing down and filling the underground chambers with sound. It was not nearly as loud as the screams or shrieks or sounds or combat that sometimes filled this place, but it had its own insistent, persistent ability to get in the head.

Drip, drip.

It was just noise, and it should have bothered very few people in this hour when almost all were asleep. And yet, it did bother one person. One being sat up, unable to ignore the sound. He could not sleep. And as the sound repeated itself, two purple flames brightened with annoyance in the empty chambers of his skull.

Drip.

Toren the skeleton looked up as he sat below the chasm leading up and out of Liscor’s dungeon. He stared at the invisible barrier keeping the water from crashing down over his head and gnashed his jaw furiously. He was getting really tired of hearing that sound. Yet the rain continued to fall and the skeleton moved.

Drip, drip, drip.

He reached down and picked up a mask lying next to him, regarded it once. Toren hesitated and then put it over his face. As she lowered her hand, Toren turned and drew her sword. The water dripped but didn’t bother her any longer. She grinned behind her mask.

It was her turn now.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.05

Beneath Liscor was the dungeon. It had always been there. Waiting. In a time long before the city of Liscor had been built, before the foundations had been laid, the dungeon had been buried beneath the earth. Perhaps an earthquake had concealed the entrance, or the natural shifting of lands buried it. Or maybe it had always been so deep.

A city had been built there, once. Far underground. A nation long forgotten by the living. It had fallen and the dungeon had been built out of its ruins. A legacy, a challenge to those who might seek the treasures of the past, an invitation.

Bait.

The dungeon was filled with monsters and traps. It was vicious, a living, shifting labyrinth that contained every nightmare its inventors could contrive. Dark things waited in the passageways, waiting to be awakened.

The dungeon was a grave concern to Liscor, and not just because of its alarming proximity to the city. It was a massive threat and Watch Captain Zevara had lost sleep and scales worrying about how to combat the dangers of the dungeon. She had already called for aid against the Goblin Lord and Liscor’s army had sent back some of their own to guard the city.

But that might not be enough. Zevara had not told Erin Solstice this, but making peace with Pallass had served the interest of Liscor in more than one way. Zevara hoped to appeal to a Walled City to aid her city against what she perceived to be a real and pressing threat. That the dungeon had only disgorged a few groups of monsters yet was luck in her mind. She did not know of the Antinium’s silent war beneath the city that had lasted for a decade.

So the Watch Captain waited and worried, praying the dungeon would not send any truly dangerous foes her way. But she had no idea of the true horrors that stalked the halls. If she had, she wouldn’t have slept at all. There were things that dreamed of the surface, things that thought and had every reason to hate the living.

Monsters. And one of them walked through the dungeon now. She walked away from the entrance to the dungeon, the chasm that led all the way to the surface. It was a rift in the earth, an abyss that you could fall into. Rainwater poured down overhead, but strangely, did not enter the dungeon. Instead it pooled a few meters overhead, a wall of water suspended in midair. Toren stared curiously at the water.

Drip.

Interesting. The dungeon wouldn’t allow itself to be flooded. Well, that was something. The skeleton stared up at the water falling from the sky. She wondered what the land above looked like now. Probably wet. She longed to go see, but she couldn’t.

She was a prisoner down here. Toren stared at her hands. They looked like hands, or rather, hands covered by wrapped, dirty cloth. They looked like there was flesh beneath the wrappings, if you were to remove the covering. But that was an illusion. A lie. The skeleton felt at her mask, securely attached to her face.

Mask, clothing, sword. To look at her, Toren was a thin, masked warrior, her body covered entirely in cloth. She was definitely a she to judge by the slight bulges around her chest, and it would not be inaccurate to think she was an adventurer hunting by herself in Liscor’s dungeon. But that was a lie.

Beneath her clothes, Toren’s body was bone. Just that. Bone. No flesh or other organs made up Toren’s body. She was a skeleton, an undead being. But for all that she was unique.

She had a class. She was a Level 24 [Skeleton Knight], a Level 2 [Barmaid], a Level 4 [Leader], a Level 5 [Tactician] and now, a Level 3 [Sword Dancer]. Those classes defined her. No other undead could level, but Toren could. And she could think. Truly think, not just hunt the living as the other undead did. She was special, but also a prisoner of this dungeon.

She could not go above. Toren stared at the grey sky, obscured by the layer of water overhead. Her body was too weak. She was too weak. As a skeleton, Toren lived on the mana in her surroundings. If she ran out of magical power, her body would fall to pieces and she would die. She could survive anything short of that—crushing blows, cracked bones, even disintegration if she had enough mana. But if she did not, she would be gone.

In the dungeon the mana gave her enough strength to live on. Above…no. Toren’s body consumed more mana than she could absorb from most locations, thus her entrapment. If she had had a master, a [Mage] or other being to provide her with mana, she would have been able to go above as she pleased. And she had had a master, or rather, mistress, once. Once upon a time she had served someone. Until she rebelled and left her master to die. So long ago it seemed now…

She turned away. The skeleton walked away from the light that shone down into the dungeon and into one of the many tunnels around her. The dungeon was dark, but she could see in pitch black. Toren walked through the dungeon, glided, rather, walking with her sword at the ready. Her movements were smooth, graceful, as if any second she could transition from walking into the deadly dance of swords. She was deadly, graceful, and hauntingly alone.

After a few steps Toren abruptly halted. Her hand rose against her will and plucked the mask from her face. Toren fought, trying to put it back, but her hand threw the mask aside. The skeleton halted, and the purple flames in her eyes dimmed for a second. Then they flared and he looked around, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for the shield at his side.

Toren the skeleton looked around the dungeon. Much better! He hated it when she was melancholy. It wasn’t a word that had ever applied to Toren. Why be sad that she—that was to say—he was alone? That was what he wanted! He had been a slave, and now he was free.

Yes, a slave. The skeleton’s jaw clattered as he looked around the dungeon. He had served Erin Solstice in her inn when he had first been created, when he had been weak. But he had escaped! He had tricked her, broken her command over him, left her to die in the snow and been freed to kill whomever he wanted, do whatever he pleased!

And she had died. The skeleton paused. Erin had died and her supply of mana, her connection to him had ended. Just like that. He hadn’t expected that, in truth.

The skeleton realized he was bending over, picking something off the ground. The mask was halfway back to his face when he realized what he was doing. The skeleton angrily clattered his teeth together.

No! The mask couldn’t go on his face! When it did, she came out. He had no idea why she’d appeared, but the clothing he wore, his new [Sword Dancer] class, all that was a result of the new personality that had appeared in him. When he wore the mask he was no longer he, but her. And he hated her.

So Toren tossed the mask into a wall. After a second his hand came up and punched himself in the skull. Toren stomped over to the mask, grabbed it, hung it from his waist, and walked into the dungeon. He was in charge, thank you very much. He’d been here first, and it was his time!

This was Toren. A skeleton, a killer. He marched, the incendiary purple hellfire in his eyes shining in the darkness. He did not glide. Gliding was what birds did. He walked, his posture perfect, his stance set. He had a sword and a wooden buckler in hand. He fought with shield and sword, loving the brutal arithmetic of blocking and parrying, the feeling of cutting into his enemies’ flesh and hacking them apart.

Though he was still wearing the clothing, Toren felt better. It was too much work to remove the clothing every time he changed personalities. If he took off his clothes, she would put them back on painstakingly each time. And if he tried to get rid of the clothing—

It wasn’t worth the effort. Toren irritably poked at his chest. He could understand the clothing in truth. It was a good disguise and the cloth did add some protection to his bones. But why these things? Erin had them, and so did other females. But what was the point?

He rearranged the balled-up cloth on his chest, removing the impression that he had breasts and gave himself some nice shoulder pads instead. There, much better. Toren marched on, feeling ready for a fight. After all, he was the greatest skeleton in the world! He could kill many things. He was strong, he was mighty! He was—

Clang. Clang.

Toren heard a rhythmic metallic thumping. Instantly he went still. The skeleton listened, and then, realizing the sound was getting closer, immediately panicked. He turned around, hesitated, and then dropped to the ground. They were coming.

It was a curious thing that happened. The skeleton, full of life a second ago, instantly crumpled to the ground. The purple flames in his eyes went out and his skull rolled away from the rest of his body. He looked like a pile of rags and bones, lifeless. Just in time too. The thumping grew louder and in seconds a tall shape passed by him, a giant metal knight in armor.

Only, it was just armor. A suit of armor, rather. The visor glowed red as the enchanted suit of armor looked around the passageway. It spotted Toren and studied the bones for a second, but kept moving. It was followed by three others of its kind.

The scattered bones lay lifeless on the ground as the patrol of the armored suits marched past, helmets swiveling. Toren didn’t breathe but if he did he would have held his breath. Only when the sounds of the armored patrol had faded into the distance did he dare reassemble himself and stand up.

Close. That was far too close! Toren had nearly died, and if the armored suits crushed his bones he might have died in truth. They were close to impossible to kill with a sword and shield, Toren knew. The stupid metal things had no hearts or convenient weak spots—you had to bash them into pieces until the enchantment faded.

It was lucky he’d learned how to disassemble himself on purpose. That fooled most of the monsters Toren encountered in the dungeon. It was playing dead in the truest sense of the word. Toren didn’t like doing it, but…

He was mighty. He was strong. Toren grumped along the corridors, kicking at the ground. He was! He was very strong, the strongest. It was just that he couldn’t fight most of the dungeon’s denizens. It was…tactically suicidal.

The monsters. Toren had never seen so many dangerous monsters before! Back above when he’d been around Erin’s inn, the most dangerous creatures he couldn’t kill were the giant Rock Crabs who lived in their armored shells. And that was only because their bodies were too hard. Down here the Rock Crabs would have been prey to over half the things that moved through the dungeon.

Flesh Worms, Crypt Lords, enchanted armor, Golems, oh my! It was a carnival of things that Toren’s instincts told him to avoid in no uncertain terms. The strong monsters he ran from. Of course, there were plenty of lesser monsters too. Worms, oozy things, squiggly things, bats, Goblins, even a Minotaur for some reason. But Toren couldn’t fight them either.

Any monster pack he ran from. He might be able to slay them, the glowing worms that hunted in groups of six, or perhaps the Cave Goblins scurrying about—the lesser monsters he could kill, but the noise of battle would attract their friends or larger monsters. And if they came—

There were things in the dungeon that Toren knew, knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could not defeat or harm. There was no bravado to give the skeleton false hope. He was weak.

Or his body was. Toren thought of himself as strong, but his body? Not so much. The skeleton walked silently down the corridors, thinking over the problem as he saw it.

His bones were…bad, if that made sense. Toren hadn’t really realized it before, but he was a very fragile monster, even by undead standards. That was the lot of a skeleton. Zombies had all kinds of wonderful flesh they could afford to use, fat and tissue to weather heavy impacts. But Toren? Punch him hard enough and his head would fly clean off his body. How fair was that?

There was a limit to how strong he could be. Toren had no muscle, no flesh to train. He had only his classes, his level, and his Skills to compensate for his frail body. There was only so much force he could put into his arm before the bones snapped or broke. That didn’t matter if he could slay his enemies first with a sneak attack obviously. A fleshy Human? One good sword through the face and they died and that was that. But the monsters down here…

He couldn’t fight. Instead, Toren ran or hid from everything he encountered these days, which was very annoying. Of course, he could ambush foes or lure them into the dungeon’s many traps, but the monsters around here had memorized the dungeon’s layout as well. It was easy to pop a few Shield Spiders now and then, but that wasn’t fighting.

He wanted to kill things. He wanted to get stronger. Toren had thought about how to take down the larger monsters time and time again. The problem was that while he had only two good options and neither worked. The first was to charge at the enemy and hack at them until they died. That didn’t work down here. The second was to use his newfound ability, his Skill that allowed him to reanimate dead bodies and control them.

[Command Lesser Undead]. It was a wonderful Skill. Toren had envisioned creating an undead army to overwhelm the stupid monsters in the dungeon. However, he’d realized the flaw in his plans very early on.

There were no bodies to reanimate down here. None!

Okay, there were a few. Things died all the time in the dungeon. But precious few were suitable to be zombies, ghouls or skeletons. Toren couldn’t reanimate large bodies or things that weren’t alive—he could command lesser undead, and that was a problem since there were few enough bodies to go round as it was.

Monsters ate bodies. And since they were hungry, they usually ate or at least gnawed on the bones as well. Toren had scoured the labyrinth at first for corpses, and found precious little to work with. True, adventurers had come down in groups to begin with, but they were looted, swallowed whole, or turned into undead by someone else.

It really wasn’t fair. All he wanted was one or two zombies or a nice ghoul to keep him company! Toren kicked at a wall, feeling down. He hadn’t been able to find or hold onto any zombies in weeks. Sure, he could reanimate a Goblin, but what then? It got eaten by the next giant thing with ten sets of teeth that came along. Toren had watched more than one of his creations get devoured while he played dead.

He’d gloomily reanimated the corpse of a mouse with poisonous fangs and watched it shamble-scurry about just the other day. It had bitten a Cave Goblin’s toes for a good minute before the Goblin finally stepped on it.

Life wasn’t fair. All he wanted was to kill things. Was that too much to ask? But no, monsters actually defended themselves. Toren kicked along, turning left and right, following a route he’d memorized a long time ago. It wasn’t fair! It was all someone else’s fault. Toren was hazy on the details, but he blamed Lyonette. Or Mrsha. Yes, it was that stupid white Gnoll’s fault he was down here! Or Erin’s—

The undead paused. As he did, his left hand moved suddenly and grabbed the mask. Before Toren could react, he’d jammed the mask back on his head. The skeleton rearranged her body and replaced her breasts, dusting off her clothing and adjusting the mask on her face.

She couldn’t stand his whining. It was all someone else’s fault? He’d killed Erin. He’d left her to die and now he was trapped. She was trapped. This was…fitting.

The skeleton had no notion of karma, but if she had, she would have agreed with it. Erin Solstice was dead. Despite her many faults, she had been Toren’s master. And the skeleton had let her down. Because of that she had lost her freedom, her purpose. She was alone and that was fitting. Now all Toren could do was remember. She couldn’t forget. She could never forget. But though memory haunted her, at least Toren could use her memory to make something in the dark hell to which she’d been exiled.

Down a small corridor barely wide enough to let Toren edge through sideways. Up a flight of stairs, left down a corridor that had spikes on the ceiling. Toren tiptoed around the numerous pressure plates. She was nearly back home.

Home. Yes, incredibly, Toren did have a home. Though the dungeon was dangerous, the skeleton had noticed several features about it from the time she’d been down here. There were secrets to the dungeon, she was sure. The first one that she’d observed was that there were…flows to the dungeon.

Was that the right word? The skeleton pondered as she carefully crawled underneath a swinging axe blade. Of course, the axe was an illusion and the real axe was swinging a few feet in front of the illusion. The skeleton straightened.

Yes, flows. The corridors she was going down were filled with traps and thus not populated by most monsters. Whereas some corridors led directly into nests, where monsters had occupied the area by the tens of thousands. Like the massive Shield Spider infestation. Toren had realized that the monsters were deliberately organized such that they didn’t crowd each other. Thus, they could prey on each other and keep their populations flourishing while any adventurer would run into one group of monsters no matter which direction they went.

And as such, there were places where monsters almost never went. Safe spots. Toren was approaching one she’d claimed now. She walked down a tunnel and entered a large, circular room with four entrances. It was a big space and had contained a single fountain from which clear water flowed—until Toren had altered it.

There was a door in front of her. It was barely a door in truth—a collection of wood held together with rope, a glue made from Shield Spider webs and luck, but Toren carefully opened it and stepped inside. She looked around approvingly.

It was a strange room that Toren had created. Gone was the empty room. Instead, rocks and wood had been piled up into crude seats around the wood and ‘tables’ were likewise set about. It had been the work of weeks to push or shove the heavy stones that Toren had found around the dungeon to this spot. But it had been worth it.

Her home had a bar, a small storage area, doors on all four entrances—and cups and plates! They were the remains of armor that Toren had hammered into vague approximations of what they should be, and were ready to be served. Toren had a few daggers for cutlery, and best of all, food.

She checked on a barrel standing next to her bar. It was filled with a soupy orange-green mess that was liquefied maggot guts and fungi. Toren stirred it with one finger, and checked on the fungi growing from the top. Good! She could probably harvest that as an alternate food if it kept growing.

Food and drink. Toren turned to the fountain in the center of the room. She strongly suspected the clear ‘water’ flowing forth was in fact a deadly poison, but it looked like water and that was good enough for her. She sat at her bar and polished the rough surface with her hands. Yes, this was her home, her safe place in the dungeon. It was hers. She had built it.

Her inn.

Toren’s hand shifted as she polished the bar. Her other hand rose and nudged the mask aside for a second. Toren grumpily looked around the room. It was her project. Hers, not his. He, the male Toren, hated it.

An inn. Why an inn? What was the point? Toren replaced the mask and slapped the side of her head. The point was that Erin had done it! The point was that they needed Erin, need her guidance.

Needed her? The mask landed on the bar as Toren scowled, his jaw clattering together nosily. Erin had never helped them! She’d never cared about Toren.

That was untrue. The mask on Toren’s face slipped slightly as she shook her head. Erin had cared. She was just—even if she hadn’t known that Toren could think, she had given them orders, given them a place to be. They needed her more than she needed them.

Again the hand tore the mask loose, this time breaking the strap that held it in place. Toren nearly broke the mask on the counter, but knew that if he did there would be trouble. He trembled in place, his anger rising.

Need? Erin? She was a fool! Erin had given them nothing! Nothing but bad orders and boredom! She’d ignored them, made them do trivial things, given them the bells. There was no point to this!

He nearly kicked over the barrel of monster guts, nearly smashed the bar he was standing at. Toren had picked up a ‘chair’ that was just a large rock when he hesitated. He put the rock down, sat at the table.

Erin was dead. She had never needed him, and he was better off without her. That was what Toren told himself. And yet, he sat at the inn, staring at the piled up stones and bits of moldy wood and saw a different inn in his mind. He heard singing, saw a young woman smiling as she played chess and sat at a table. For a second Toren heard her calling his name.

He turned away. He stood up and gently picked up the mask and hung it from his belt once more. Toren left the inn. There was nothing for him here anyways. Nothing but memory.

And regret.

 

—-

 

She needed a new name. That was what Toren concluded after walking about the dungeon. He did that most days, when she wasn’t in charge. He hunted for monsters he could kill or interesting places in the dungeon. Many spots were too dangerous to enter, but Toren was mapping out the dungeon room by room. Someday he’d kill everything living down here, and until that day he made notes.

But she needed a name. Something to separate her from him in his head. Toren wasn’t good with names, but he thought that she should have one. Obviously he had a name. Toren was his name because he was first. She could be someone else.

Torina, perhaps. Torena? Toren walked along, thinking of names. How about Torene? That was appropriate?

Toreya? Torin? Tofu? He’d heard Erin say that word once. To…Torere? Torren? Taren? Talene? Tirian? Torenscialicus? Torja? Torka? Maybe he was being too hung up on the name being like his. A name could be anything, after all.

Toyan? Rebecca? Towai? Westrica Emerset the Fifth? Tohen? Tohan? Tuhill? Clarencia Valtross? Zanzibar? Manifood? Food? Lieutenant Bones? Papyrus? Toiren? Nekhret? Bonesy? Laya? Seredifany? Tofu? Sans? T…Timothy?

None of these names worked. Toren sighed, predicting another fight. Why was she here, anyways? Why did she exist? Why had she appeared when he’d put on the clothes? It had just been a thought, and yet here she was. She controlled his body, argued with him, and had her own goals. She even fought differently from him. Maybe she was—

A light in the darkness ahead of him. Toren froze and hurried backwards. He’d come around the corner of a very long tunnel filled with arrow traps. He peeked ahead into the darkness. What was that he’d spotted? Toren’s eyes pieced through the darkness. He saw, far in the distance, a figure moving slowly down the corridor. There was a light, a bright blue crackle of magic in the darkness. The flames in Toren’s eyes grew bright as he recognized the figure.

Him!

The hunter had come again today. He was prowling the corridors, a shimmering, distant speck of light. Toren quickly pulled back his head before the hunter looked his way.

Dangerous. Oh, so dangerous. The hunter would kill him if he looked at Toren, even if it was at the end of a distant corridor. He couldn’t be ambushed, not him. He was clever; he avoided traps and noticed groups of monsters coming his way. And he was strong. He could kill the strong monsters roaming the dungeon. Not all of them, not the truly terrifying things, but far more than Toren.

And he wasn’t alone, was he? He had the other two with him. Together they could help the hunter kill so much. Toren was jealous, but he hid, creeping in the opposite direction, ready to collapse into a pile of bones. The hunter would kill him forever if Toren revealed himself. He’d killed Toren once, so long ago…what was his name? He had been there, in the inn. What was his name? Toren tried to remember as he hurried away. Ah yes, how could he forget? He couldn’t. Not really. The hunter’s name was—

Halrac.

 

—-

 

“Halrac?”

The [Scout] stared down the long tunnel and didn’t acknowledge the voice. He stared intently at the place where the corridor turned right. He didn’t quite draw the enchanted arrow he held in his left hand, but it was resting against his bow. He could have it in the air in a fraction of a second if he needed to.

But the question was, had he seen something. The [Scout] waited in the darkness, searching for signs of movement. His eyes were superior to an owl’s in the pitch blackness thanks to the Skills that enhanced his vision. He waited.

Nothing. Whatever he’d seen was gone. Halrac didn’t relax, but shifted his attention away from the corridor. If whatever it was reappeared he’d hit it from afar.

“Halrac!”

The voice called out impatiently behind him. Halrac turned. The glow of a lantern made him squint. Revi lowered the lantern.

“Sorry. But you have to respond when I call your name.”

“Keep back.”

Halrac’s tone was brusque and his voice was rusty from disuse. Revi halted before entering the corridor. She sniffed.

“I’m not an idiot. Have you swept it for traps?”

“Too many. I’m heading back.”

The Gold-rank adventurer turned abruptly. He walked back down the tunnel the way Revi had came, his footsteps making no noise. Halrac was dressed in dark clothing and leather armor. His face was set, focused, devoid of any hint of laughter or a smile. He was a Gold-rank adventurer and a member of Griffon Hunt, a well-respected Gold-rank team.

He looked grim. That was appropriate, given that his unofficial nickname was Halrac the Grim. But those who knew him well would have agreed that his mood today was troubling. One such person followed Halrac. Revi was hardly as quiet as he was although she did try. The Stitch-Woman was in her late twenties and sighed impatiently.

“Okay, we’re going back. What’s the problem? Too many? Too many what? Too many traps? Too many tripwires?”

“Too many arrows.”

Halrac grunted. His eyes roamed the tunnel constantly as he walked towards a second source of light. Typhenous, an old man with a white beard and a glowing staff, raised his head warily as they approached, but relaxed as Halrac made a gesture. He returned it and stood.

“It has been quiet. Did Revi convince you to come back, Halrac?”

Revi rolled her eyes. She and Typhenous were also Gold-rank adventurers and also members of Griffon Hunt. Both were [Mages] although they were widely different in specialization. Revi was a [Summoner] who could conjure spectral warriors and animals to do her bidding. Typhenous was a generalist mage, specializing in defensive magic and wards.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask him. He’s not talking to me.”

“Ah.”

Typhenous shifted his grip on his staff as he looked at Halrac. There was sympathy in his eyes, as well as resignation. Halrac ignored both mages as he walked down the tunnel. Revi glared at his back but followed him after Halrac had gotten a head start of about forty paces. She and Typhenous walked together, talking quietly. Halrac heard them as they talked behind him.

“He’s not said more than two sentences today. Which is progress, I suppose.”

The Stitch-Woman’s tone was acidic and though she kept her voice low her words were aimed at Halrac. Typhenous sighed and stroked his beard.

“Do you expect more of him, Revi? The man is doing his job.”

“That’s not what I’m complaining about and you know it, Typhenous! Halrac shouldn’t be down here. He should be above, not scouting the dungeon! You know that it’s risky for him, especially after—”

“And what should he do above, pray? Sit about and do nothing? He is mourning in his own way.”

“It’s not healthy. I know he’s grieving, but he hasn’t said a word to me. We’re his teammates! It’s not like we don’t understand. We knew Ulrien too—”

Halrac closed his ears, or tried to. He walked further ahead, eyes scanning every inch of the tunnel. There was a junction ahead. They’d come from the left, so Halrac turned right. Typhenous’ voice was low as he replied.

“I know. But Revi, they were comrades who knew each other for decades. We joined the party not two years ago.”

“That’s enough! Does he think we didn’t care? I was there, and so were you! How could we not be affected? But we can’t just go down here day after day—”

Revi’s voice had risen beyond a whisper. Halrac stopped and turned his head back.

“Quiet.”

The Stitch-Woman fell silent at once. Halrac waited a beat and then turned back to the corridor. It was too still. Halrac’s [Dangersense] was ringing silently in his head. He knew from experience that monsters like to lie in ambush, and this corridor had opened up to a very high ceiling. The [Scout] stared up silently as the two adventurers waited far behind him.

This was Halrac’s job. As a [Scout] he was both guide and trap finder, capable of analyzing threats and leading his groups away from ambushes. In the dungeon his role was essential. Halrac peered up.

It was dark at the ceiling of the tunnel. Too dark, even for the shadows up there. The [Scout] noticed something shift and reacted immediately. His bow came up and the crackling blue arrow sped upwards. It struck the creature hanging there and Halrac heard a scream and the crackle of lightning.

Halrac!

Revi’s voice was a shout now as whatever was on the ceiling dropped to the ground. Halrac heard her and Typhenous running forwards. His hands were already moving towards his quiver.

“Bagrhaven!”

He shouted the word and put an arrow to his bowstring, drew, and loosed in one movement. This arrow was plain wood, though tipped with steel and it sped towards the giant raven woman. The Bagrhaven, a deformed Human woman with long arms and razor sharp talons and teeth, stumbled as the second arrow struck her in the chest.

She regained her footing and charged as Halrac sent another arrow into her stomach. Bagrhavens were very tough and didn’t register pain or damage until after a battle was over. Undeterred, Halrac loosed another arrow and another as the Bagrhaven charged him down the narrow tunnel. He could hear more screams behind her.

“There’s a nest!”

“I hear it! Give us a second!”

Halrac did just that. His hands were a blur as he plucked more arrows out of the quiver and loosed them, keeping two in his fingers as he did. Three, two, one, grab more arrows. Three, two one…

The Bagrhaven screamed as she charged down the tunnel. The noise was terrific in the enclosed space and magical, designed to spread fear into the hearts of her opponents. Halrac’s heart jumped wildly, but he overrode the trembling that threatened to affect his aim.

The fear effect must have struck Revi and Typhenous too, but they were seasoned adventurers and had their own ways of coping with lesser fear effects. Halrac saw Typhenous come to a halt next to him. The mage’s robes swirled about him as he raised his staff and aimed it at the other Bagrhavens coming out of the shadows.

“[Sticky Webs]. [Barrier of Air].”

A sticky thread shot across the gap, tangling the Bagrhavens’ claws and at the same time a whirling barrier of air appeared. Behind the Bagrhavens. They fought to get free of the webs, turning and realizing they were trapped as Halrac’s arrows finally downed the first Bagrhaven. She stumbled and fell, her chest scorched by his arrow of shocks, the rest of her body pincushioned by his arrows. Halrac switched targets and his next arrow struck one of the Bagrhavens in the eye, eliciting a scream.

As Typhenous webbed more Bagrhavens, Revi completed her preparations. She had in her hands a bit of calcified horn and both it and her hands glowed as she raised into the air.

“Burn them to ash and dust! Corusdeer, heed my call!”

Revi pointed and a flaming apparition cantered into life. Halrac felt the incredible heat as the Corusdeer charged the other Bagrhavens. Caught between Typhenous’ barriers and Halrac’s arrows, the raven women fell to the Corusdeer’s blazing horns as it impaled one and trampled the other.

It was over. Halrac put several arrows into each corpse and saw one twitch as Revi’s flaming Corusdeer disappeared. Still, he was the only one to go over at first. Halrac knelt, stabbed each Bagrhaven around their throat and then got to work.

 

—-

 

It was a gristly task, dismembering corpses. Bagrhavens resembled Humans enough to look like naked feathered women under a certain light. Halrac ignored their filthy, scorched bodies as he sawed at their arms and plucked feathers. Revi, wrinkling her nose at the smell, did likewise. She had put on gloves for the task. Typhenous, who had not, stood back, his staff glowing, keeping an eye out in both directions.

“See, it was good we were here, wasn’t it, Halrac? If you’d had to tackle that nest by yourself, what would you have done?”

“Poison arrows.”

Halrac grunted as he put the feathers into a bag. The Bagrhaven’s talons he stowed in the same spot. His personal bag of holding couldn’t hold much, but the only valuable parts of a Bagrhaven were their claws and feathers. Revi scowled at him as she dropped a pile of feathers in front of him.

“Ass. You’d waste more money using enchanted arrows – or good poisons – hunting Bagrhavens than you’d earn.”

“Not the point .They were guarding something. Up ahead.”

Halrac stood, pushing the rest of the feathers into his bag of holding. Revi glared.

“You can’t keep going down here solo! Halrac, you need to talk to us!”

The [Scout]’s silence was a reply in itself. Revi stomped back to Typhenous as Halrac cautiously entered the room at the far end of the hall. He was wary, expecting a nest and eggs perhaps, but what he found was far better. A glittering mound of jewelry was piled up around a feathery nest, the hoard of the greedy Bagrhavens.

For a few seconds Halrac just stared at the glittering gems in the darkness. He didn’t feel happy to see the treasure. A month ago he might have been excited. Wary of course. He would have signaled his group and Ulrien would have cautioned everyone not to touch the rings and broaches and necklaces until they’d been analyzed. Needlessly of course, but the warning would have been reassuring. He would have given Halrac a nod and a slow smile—

The [Scout] closed his eyes, taking just a moment to think of his friend. Ulrien. He had died weeks ago, in an inn battling a traitorous Named Adventurer, Regrika Blackpaw. He had died and Halrac had lived. That was all there was to it. Ulrien had died and his team had broken, just as Halrac’s heart had broken as he sent his friend off.

Now Halrac was alive and that was all. Nothing mattered anymore. He raised his voice and called back towards Revi and Typhenous.

“Come on in.”

He didn’t mention the treasure, but Revi’s gasp and Typhenous’ murmur proved they could see. Neither [Mage] took a step towards the nest, though. They scrutinized the room warily. Revi looked at Typhenous and Halrac.

“Traps?”

“None that I can see.”

“Nor I. What are the chances the rings are cursed, though?”

“Certain. Look.”

Halrac pointed with an arrow at one ring. He’d spotted a bit of rotten flesh still stuck to the inside of a ring. Revi wrinkled her nose.

“Great. The Bagrhavens probably plundered some other part of the dungeon. Okay, who wants to pick it up? I’ve got an empty bag of holding—”

“Give it to me.”

Halrac took the bag and approached the treasure pile. He didn’t touch any of the jewelry but carefully shifted it into the bag, using an arrow to pick up the items one at a time. He was ready to jump back but nothing happened. Halrac closed the bag and handed it back to Revi.

“Any good [Enchanters] in Liscor?”

“None worth mentioning. We’ll have to send this to Invrisil by Runner to get it analyzed I bet. There’d better be at least one good ring in there or I’m going to be upset.”

Revi shook her head as the adventurers retraced their steps. She eyed Halrac as they came back to the passageway with the one remaining unexplored passageway.

“Going to continue?”

“Are you?”

He looked at her. Revi folded her arms.

“If you stay, we stay.”

Halrac stared at her, grunted, and then walked back the way they had come. Revi sighed but followed.

It was a quiet walk back to the chasm where they’d come in. Halrac stared up towards the sky, noting how the layer of water between sky and dungeon had grown since he’d passed through via rope. This wasn’t the official entrance to the dungeon—that way led through a maze of trapped rooms. It had yet to be cleared and though Griffon Hunt had been working with the Halfseekers to go through the more cautious way, of late Halrac had been coming into the dungeon through the rift in the ground. It was far more dangerous because the escape route was perilous, a long climb back upwards, but Halrac didn’t care.

“Dead gods, I hate climbing back up. Revi my dear, would you be so kind as to lend me one of your spirits?”

Revi sighed as she summoned two spectral warriors.

“Fine. Just wait until they climb up. You can hold onto the rope, can’t you?”

Halrac grunted impatiently as Typhenous nodded. The summoned warriors reached the top, climbing swiftly through the water barrier and up to the surface. They grabbed the long ropes that hung down and both Revi and Typhenous hung on as they began to pull the [Mages] up.

“Coming, Halrac?”

“Yes.”

The [Scout] gave the [Mages] a head start and then climbed up his rope himself. He paused as he got to the barrier of water over the dungeon’s ‘roof’. It was just water, prevented from entering the dungeon by some kind of barrier. He took a breath and climbed rapidly into the water.

Instantly he was wet and felt the water swirling around him. Doggedly, Halrac climbed up through it. Two feet, five feet, eight…he broke through and felt rain pouring down on top of him.

“Gah! I forgot it’s still raining!

It was another world above. Revi’s sour voice came from overhead as she and Typhenous were hoisted up by the summoned spirits. Halrac shook water out of his eyes and kept climbing. When he reached the top Revi offered him a hand. Halrac didn’t take it. He clambered onto the wet grass and began hauling the rope up behind him.

Halrac! Just let the summoned warriors do it!”

Revi was impatient as Typhenous cast a shield of air above them to keep the rain away. Halrac let a shining warrior that looked like a long-dead soldier haul up the sodden rope and deposit it into his bag of holding. It was a practice all good adventurers followed—don’t leave an exit for monsters to use. Many could climb and a hanging rope was an invitation for disaster.

“Back to Liscor?”

Typhenous looked inquiringly at Halrac. The man nodded and they began their slow walk across the Floodplains to Liscor in the distance. It was a wet, slippery walk in silence. Halrac eyed the pools of water forming in the valleys as he, Revi, and Typhenous stuck to higher ground. How long until the water rose to the point where it would become impossible to walk anywhere? By that time both entrances to the dungeon would be flooded. What then?

Revi must have been thinking the same thing. She looked hesitantly at Halrac, scowled, and spoke.

“Okay, I know I’ve been bothering you all day. But you have to talk eventually, Halrac.”

“About what?”

The [Scout] looked at her. Revi glared back.

“About? About anything you flax-headed idiot! You’ve been going into the dungeon at the crack of dawn each day, not talking to us, your teammates! We have to follow you everywhere since you won’t tell us what you’re doing! This is not how a Gold-rank team should act!”

That was true. Halrac paused a second, feeling guilty. Ulrien would have been ashamed. But he was dead.

“Ulrien’s gone. We’re a team without a leader. Understrength.”

“The Halfseekers have only three members.”

“The Halfseekers have a [Warrior], a [Rogue], and a [Mage]. We have two [Mages] and a [Scout].”

The Stitch-Woman pursed her lips sourly, but Halrac had a point. Smaller groups of adventurers demanded at least one front-line fighter or risked being overwhelmed by numbers.

“Then why are you trying to solo a dungeon?”

“That’s my choice. I didn’t ask you to join me. In fact, I told you not to come.”

“And leave you behind? What kind of team would we be if we did that? But I’m telling you Halrac, if we keep doing this one day the Bagrhavens will get the drop on us and we’ll all be—”

“Then quit.

Halrac turned on Revi, his patience exhausted. She stopped, eyes wide, and Typhenous halted as well. The [Scout]’s voice was curt.

“Quit. I’m not asking you to stay. Ulrien held us together and he’s gone. We’re not a team any longer. So leave and find a better team.”

He meant that sincerely. Revi was young and a gifted [Summoner]. She could find another group easily, as could Typhenous. [Mages] were in high demand with most groups. To his surprise, Revi glared. The Stitch-Woman had changed her hairstyle for the wet season to short-cropped hair. But she tossed her head as if she still had her long ponytail.

“Are you an idiot? Us? Quit? Do you think we’re the kind of adventurers who run off the instant our teammates die? What would other people think if we did? Typhenous and I would be blacklisted in an instant!”

That was true. Halrac grunted.

“Then stay and let me do my work.”

“Oh, and let you die I suppose? And how would that look? First we lose our team leader, then we let our [Scout] wander off and get himself killed?”

Revi snorted. Halrac glared at her, but she was right on both counts. He knew what he’d do if he had a teammate going rogue. Typhenous’ voice was diplomatic, but his tone was no less firm as he stepped up besides Revi.

“We are a team, Halrac. I know we are new compared to Ulrien and the former members of Griffon Hunt, but we are a team nonetheless. And a team looks after our own.”

“Precisely. If you keep running off I’ll summon my warriors to hold you down and Typhenous will web you to your bed.”

The [Summoner] glared at Halrac, her eyes bright. She stared at Halrac as he met her eyes, no emotion showing on his face. Revi blinked, and then blinked again. Her voice was loud and angry, but tinged with more than just anger.

“It’s not fair that you shut us out! It’s not like we weren’t there! It’s not like we don’t miss him. Ulrien—don’t you think I think about how I could have stopped it? I would have summoned all my warriors if I’d known—it was too quick. I—”

She broke off, turning her gaze away. Halrac felt a pang. He saw Typhenous rest a hand on Revi’s shoulder, her shrugging his hand away. Typhenous’ voice was soft.

“The fault is not yours alone, Revi. I was completely caught off-guard by Regrika Blackpaw as well. Her abilities, that of her companion—we underestimated her far too badly. Had I a second chance, I would have fought differently. But there is no way to turn back time. Ulrien was our leader. He was first into battle, first to fall. Defending us.”

“And we failed him.”

Revi’s back was turned. Her voice was thick. Halrac looked at her and nodded as the rain soaked his back.

“We did.”

The Stitch-Woman looked up and Typhenous glanced at him, brows furrowed. Halrac stared distantly towards a hilltop next to Liscor, at an inn sitting darkly on the hilltop. He spoke quietly.

“We did fail him.”

That was all. He looked at Revi and Typhenous, his teammates. They stared back somberly, wet with the rain, quiet. Halrac averted his gaze, began to walk towards Liscor. He did not walk towards the inn, did not say anything more. Revi and Typhenous followed after a minute. Not much had changed, and yet, Halrac had said it.

We failed him. We. The group walked quietly towards the city, passing through the gates, dispirited, quiet. Halrac walked down the empty streets until he heard a scream.

Help!

It was a panicked shout from a street over. Halrac heard other voices raised in panic and broke into a run. Behind him Revi and Typhenous jerked. They both took a step in the same direction, ran into each other and fell. Halrac raced down the street. He was no [Guardsman], no hero or citizen of the city. But he was an adventurer, and adventurers are bound to help those in need.

 

—-

 

Help! Monster attack! Ancestors, help me!

The voice was loud and high-pitched. It came from a Drake, a male one, running for his life and screaming at the top of his lungs. He fled down the rain-soaked street as something lurched after him, a huge bulbous mass of liquid, oozing towards him, mouth agape. It was dark green and brown and oozed as the rain pelted it. A Sewer Slime, engorged and massive. It had oozed out of the drainage system and set on the first prey it could find. The Drake ran, calling out for help.

And it was adventurers who found him. Liscor was rife with adventurers due to the new dungeon. True, many were low-level, local adventurers who had come here to brave the dungeon but reconsidered when they heard stories of the dangers lurking within. But there were some, a chosen few who had come from further abroad. They were the only groups to enjoy any kind of success in the dungeon, the elite among their kind.

Some might call them heroes. The team of Thunder’s Kiss would never refer to themselves by such a title of course, but they weren’t about to stop anyone from saying so. They raced down the street. Their leader, a big Drake with a warhammer shouted triumphantly as they saw a Drake running towards them.

“Don’t worry, help has arriv—”

He broke off as he saw two other groups of adventurers turn towards him. The team of Thunder’s Kiss skidded to a stop, two of their number slipping and falling with a crash onto the street. There were a lot of adventurers in Liscor. Fifteen of them now stood in the street, answering the call for help. They exclaimed as they saw the slime following the Drake.

“Dead gods, it’s massive!”

The eight adventurers stopped as they saw the Sewer Slime chasing the Drake. It was lurching along, extending a small part of itself to grab at the Drake and then rolling forwards. It wasn’t quick, but it had a good momentum going on the slick cobblestones and the Drake was having trouble both avoiding him and running on the wet paving stones.

“Help me!”

He called out at the adventurers desperately. They looked at each other. They were the third team to arrive, but the other adventurers in the street looked just as confused as how to tackle the huge slime.

“Spread out. Let’s get ready to engage!”

The team leader called out uncertainly to his companions and the four Humans and three Drakes hesitantly spread out across the street. All of them looked nervous. They were a Bronze-rank team and while they’d killed slimes before, they’d never seen one this big.

“How are we supposed to kill it?”

Thunder’s Kiss was a melee-focused team with no ranged support. They saw the other two teams attacking the slime from afar, one [Mage] pelting it with small orbs of fire that sizzled out on contact and some loosing arrows futilely into the slime’s side. The Sewer Slime seemed to enjoy the attention and it rolled towards the adventurers who backed up.

“You kill a slime by removing the mana core, right? Or crushing it?”

One of the Human stared at the slime. Normally it was easy to pull out a slime’s core, but in this one? The Sewer Slime had come from the sewers and as such it was comprised of waste. Specifically fecal matter, urine, dead rat corpses…the adventurers shuddered at the idea of putting a hand into that thing, let alone stepping into it as they’d have to do.

“Uh, let’s cut at it. Thotiss, Remar, take the left. We’ll attack and fall back, got it?”

The adventurers were hesitantly moving down the street, shouting in confusion at each other as the Sewer Slime rolled forwards. It looked completely unconcerned by the adventurers in front of it, and the leader of Thunder’s Kiss realized with a sinking heart that all three teams were Bronze-rank.

He gulped as the Sewer Slime rolled forwards and then heard pounding boots. He turned and saw a man running down the street. He had a bow in hand and his face was instantly recognizable to some of the adventurers. One of the Bronze-rank adventurers cried out and pointed.

“It’s him!”

“Who?”

“That’s Halrac! Halrac the Grim!”

Instantly the Bronze-rank teams sagged in relief. They turned to look at Halrac as the [Scout] took in the scene in a moment. He stared at the Sewer Slime with narrowed eyes. The adventurers waited for him to kill the slime, but to everyone’s surprise, he turned to the leader of Thunder’s Kiss.

“Are you the team leader of this group?”

“Me? I uh, yes, I am!”

The Drake faltered. Halrac nodded to the warhammer in his hands.

“Can your team kill the slime? The mana core is in the upper left hand side. If your team charges it you can probably scatter it enough to remove the core. If you can’t do that, stall it long enough for my companions to arrive.”

“Us? But you’re a Gold-rank adventurer!”

The Drake looked at Halrac with wide eyes. The [Scout] frowned at him.

“I’m an [Archer]. That’s a slime. You can destroy its body. Send your team in.”

It was an order not a question. The leader of Thunder’s Kiss looked at the slime and shuddered as he saw its foul body. The ‘water’ that made up its round body was practically opaque with filth. He tried to argue with Halrac as the slime broke off from the adventurers and turned towards a house, looking inquisitive.

“Look, Mister Halrac, we’re a team of our own. Thunder’s Kiss? We can help you fight the slime, but telling us to charge into it is a bit—”

Halrac ignored the Drake, keeping his eyes on the Sewer Slime. He cursed as it stopped rolling forwards and turned to one side. It pressed itself against a doorway, and to the horror of the Bronze-rank adventurers they heard a scream as the Sewer Slime began leaking into a house, going through both the cracks in the closed shutters and windows.

“Oh no! We’ve got to stop it!”

“Move around the back! Let’s go! We’ll hit it from behind!”

The leader of Thunder’s Kiss ordered his group and they started towards the slime. Halrac shook his head.

“Too late. Back up.”

So saying he produced a glowing arrow that crackled as he set it from his bow. The Bronze-rank adventurers, seeing it, backed up at once. Halrac drew the arrow to the bow and calmly sighted down the shaft as the Sewer Slime continued to leak into the house. He aimed directly at the small glowing stone floating in the mess of the Sewer Slime’s body.

“[Piercing Shot].”

The arrow sped into the slime’s body, directly towards the mana core. It penetrated deep as the slime’s body consumed it, and then detonated in a flash of lightning. The team of Thunder’s Kiss averted their eyes as the slime’s entire body lit up. They saw it shudder, and then saw the mana stone had cracked. The slime slowly collapsed, its body turning into a tidal wave of foul liquid that splashed the nearest adventurers to their horror. Inside the house, the screams of terror had turned to screams of deep offense.

“It’s dead!”

The other adventurers stared at Halrac in awe. The [Scout] was scowling and shaking his head. The leader of Thunder’s Kiss stared at him.

“If you could do that, why didn’t you do that earlier?”

Halrac just glared at him. He turned his head as someone shouted behind him.

“Halrac!”

Revi and Typhenous, drenched and muddy, ran up. They looked winded and scraped from their fall. Revi looked about.

“What happened? Was there a monster?”

“Big sewer slime. Had to shoot it with an arrow of shocking.”

What?

Revi shouted in outrage. She looked at the adventurers. More were still arriving in the street, as had four members of the City Watch. They milled about, asking what had happened and what that smell was. Revi listened to a scrambled account of what had happened—and then rounded on the leader of Thunder’s Kiss.

“You! What were you lot doing just standing around? Halrac told you to attack the Sewer Slime and you lot just argued with him?”

“He told us to charge into that thing!”

The burly Drake protested as Revi glared at him. He was twice as large as she was, but she was a Gold-rank adventurer and he was Bronze. He quailed as Revi’s eyes flashed with fury.

“He told you to charge the slime because arrows are practically useless against it! Dead gods, are you rookies all idiots? All you had to do was splatter the slime so you could reach the core! Instead, you made Halrac deal with it and to kill the slime he had to use a magic arrow!”

She pointed accusingly at Halrac’s bow.

“Do you know how much an enchanted arrow of shocking costs? It’s better to have a warrior attack slimes, or mages! But no, you lot had to make Halrac go and waste an arrow! A cracked mana stone is barely worth the cost of an enchanted arrow, and that’s without the hassle of having to sell it!”

Her ranting had silenced the street. The Bronze-rank adventurers shuffled their feet, not daring to look Revi in the eye. Typhenous sighed and felt at his sore back. Halrac ignored Revi as he squatted over the cracked mana stone, eying it with distaste. He pulled out a canteen and washed the mana stone before putting the pieces of it into a bag of holding. Revi stormed away from the team of Thunder’s Kiss as the City Watch began taking notes of the damage and assisting the female Gnoll whose house had been partially flooded.

“Amateurs! Sands save me from greenhorns without an idea of how to fight the most basic of monsters!”

Revi groused to Halrac and Typhenous, not bothering to lower her voice. The Bronze-rank adventurers were crimson with humiliation and most of them left in a hurry before people could connect their faces with her words. Typhenous shook his head as he surveyed the Sewer Slime’s remains with a wrinkled nose. He waved his staff as the liquid and…other remains began flowing out of the house and into the street, much to the relief of the Gnolls and [Guardsmen] inside.

“Help me with shifting this, would you, Revi? Don’t be too hard on the adventurers. Fighting a giant slime is dangerous.”

The Stitch-Woman grumpily complied with her wand. Together they forced the liquid out of the house and back into the sewers where it hopefully wouldn’t reform into another slime.

“I’m not saying they had to beat it by themselves, but when a Gold-rank adventurer gives them an order they should obey it! If this had been more serious—”

“It’s not. The slime’s dead. Drop it, Revi.”

Halrac cut her off shortly. Revi sighed but closed her mouth. She was aware that her words carried a lot of weight in the adventuring community. Gold-rank adventurers were celebrities to low-level adventurers just starting out. It wasn’t good form to badmouth them too harshly, but it was a bit insulting to see how incompetent some of them were! Revi eyed her befouled boots and sighed.

“Let’s go wash up. I want a bath and we have to arrange for someone to look at the treasure we found. Halrac, how about we—oh what now?”

She turned and scowled at the team of five adventurers who were standing behind her. They smiled nervously. Typhenous nudged Revi and she sighed.

“Hello? Can we help you?”

This team was a group of five adventurers. A tall Jackal [Mage], a short woman with Dwarfish blood, a Drake with black scales, a Gnoll, and a woman with a curved sword. Revi felt like she’d seen them about before, but they were clearly not Gold-rank. Silver, probably. The Jackal Beastkin cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Miss Revi? We’re a team of Silver-rank adventurers, Vuliel Drae. Could we trouble you for a word about the dungeon?”

Revi ground her teeth together. The last thing she wanted was to talk. She wanted a bath and to replace the stitches around her right arm. They felt like they were coming loose. But it was a courtesy to exchange information.

“Yeah, we can do that. Are you planning on going in? I’d advise against it. Silver-rank teams shouldn’t enter that dungeon.”

She was aware of Halrac and Typhenous appraising the other group. Both Griffon Hunt and Vuliel Drae were at the center of attention, and Revi could see other groups pointing to both teams. She heard whispers. Was this Vuliel Drae a big deal or something?

“We appreciate that, but we can handle ourselves, Miss Revi. We’ve been in the dungeon once before. We were hoping to compare notes, ask what direction you’ve gone in. We’re hoping to find another artifact today.”

The black-scaled Drake raised his voice as he replied to Revi. His leader, the Jackal, frowned at him, but the other three members of the group seemed to enjoy the murmurs that remark caused. Typhenous raised an eyebrow.

“That’s quite ambitious of you.”

He didn’t remark that it was also rude to assume that Griffon Hunt would just hand over the maps they’d worked on. Adventuring was a competition after all. The Jackal seemed to sense that and spoke in a placating tone.

“I think my teammate is being presumptuous. My apologies. We are a Silver-rank team, but we have faith in our abilities and we’d of course be willing to pay for information. We just don’t want to tread through used tunnels. If you’re willing we’ll pool our knowledge and return the favor when we return—”

“No deal.”

Halrac interrupted the Jackal. He shook his heads at the astonished team of Vuliel Drae. He nodded to Revi and Typhenous as he addressed them and the crowd.

“We’re not helping Silver-ranks kill themselves. Go find another request to do. This dungeon will be classified as Gold-rank or higher.”

“Gold-rank?”

“Is he serious?”

Halrac’s words provoked a stir in the adventurers around him. It was customary for Adventurer’s Guilds to rank a dungeon to tell adventurers what the minimum rank should be to enter. It was very common to rank a dungeon as Silver or Bronze. But Gold? The team of Vuliel Drae looked dismayed by Halrac’s words, but then the short Dwarf-woman thrust her way forwards. She thrust her bearded chin out at Halrac.

“You might think we’re your run-of-the-mill Silver-ranks, but we’ve handled ourselves in the dungeon before, tall-legs! Haven’t you heard? We were the first group to find treasure in the dungeon!”

There were nods at that, and Revi saw the other adventurers eying the five adventurers as they held themselves proudly. She frowned skeptically.

“You lot? What did you say your group’s name was?”

Her question dismayed the five adventurers. The Drake with black scales coughed.

“Vuliel Drae? We’re uh, the team that went into the dungeon and found a Gold-rank weapon?”

Typhenous, Revi, and Halrac exchanged glances. Halrac scowled and shook his head, remembering. Revi frowned until Typhenous whispered in her ear. She snapped her fingers.

“Oh, you’re that stupid team that got lucky? Good work, thanks to you eight other parties have gone into that dungeon and gotten slaughtered.”

She glared at the other team. Vuliel Drae looked shocked. The woman with the katana looked offended.

“It’s not our failing if the other teams died.”

“No, you just made it seems like it would be easy to find treasure. You just had to wave about that mace you found and brag about how easy it was, didn’t you? Good jobs.”

Revi’s voice dripped acid as she turned away. Halrac was already walking down the street, Typhenous following. Dismayed, Vuliel Drae watched them go. Revi had a few cutting words before she too left.

“I heard you only survived because you had help! Don’t count on it a second time, and don’t bother us about collaborating! Getting lucky is not the same as skill!”

With that she stormed off. The adventurers could hear her shouting at her two companions.

“Dead gods, what is it with newbies these days? At least the Horns of Hammerad actually treated us with respect. Hey, Halrac, slow down! Hey! Slow down!

 

—-

 

There was a nasty silence after the team of Griffon Hunt had gone. Vuliel Drae, the five Silver-rank adventures who had become famous for entering Liscor’s dungeon and emerging with a mace worth thousands of gold coins stared at each other in embarrassment and anger afterwards as the adventurers dispersed around them. It was Dasha, the part-Dwarf woman who broke the silence.

“What a load of arrogant jerks! Those Gold-rank adventurers, hah, I don’t care for them! Especially the Stitch-Woman. Too full of herself, that [Mage].”

She stroked her beard, looking offended. The rest of her team nodded hesitantly, but their leader, the Jackal named Anith, looked disapproving.

“I can’t say I enjoyed being lectured, but they are Gold-rank adventurers, Dasha. They seemed to be acting in our best interests and we were quite rude to put ourselves on their level. Insill.”

He stared pointedly at the black-scaled Drake and Insill shifted his feet. It was the Gnoll, the fifth member of their group who hadn’t spoken until now who came to Insill’s defense.

“They might be Gold-rank, but they are still wrong, yes? We’re going into the dungeon their words or not.”

He looked around and got nods from his teammates, even Anith. Vuliel Drae, the Silver-rank team, weren’t famous like Griffon Hunt or the Halfseekers, but they had succesffully entered the dungeon and come back with treasure, making them local heroes. There were five of them.

Anith, their Jackal leader and [Mage], Dasha, a Human [Warrior] with Dwarven ancestry and a full chestnut beard, Insill, a Drake [Rogue] with black scales, Larr, their [Archer] and Pekona, a rare foreigner with a curved sword who was a rare type of warrior known as a [Blade Dancer]. They had adventured together for two years now, and they were confident in their abilities, even if their ego had just taken a blow.

“Let’s go to the dungeon.”

Pekona was the one who took charge. The silent woman usually didn’t say much, mainly because her command of the common tongue was weaker than the others. She truly was unique in that her people who lived on the Drath Archipelago spoke a different language than the rest of the world. Vuliel Drae left Liscor, talking, carrying along full packs. Dasha grumbled as she splashed through the grasslands, her armor sodden with rain.

“Stupid String People. Snooty Gold-rank adventurers. Griffon Hunt? Hah, as if they’re something special! The Silver Swords, now that’s a real team. They’ve got a proper Dwarf and everything. One of my people! After we get back from the dungeon let’s see if we can meet them. I wouldn’t mind tangling my beard with his if you get my drift!”

Her other teammates groaned aloud, but Insill just grinned at Dasha. She was more bluff than talk and often referred to ‘her people’ as Dwarves, despite having more Human blood than Dwarfish.

“You liar. You just want to meet their leader, Ylawes Byres. I saw you waxing your beard and trying to introduce yourself when he was in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“You scaley rat!”

Dasha turned red and roared at Insill. She chased him for a few steps, but the [Rogue] was nimble on his feet and dashed away. The other adventurers looked amused until Anith, frowning, called a stop to it.

“Dasha, Insill, there are monsters out here. Please control yourselves.”

The Drake and part-Dwarf woman did, grumbling. Anith led them to the chasm and Insill groaned as he saw the ropes were gone.

“Where’d they go? Don’t tell me that Griffon Hunt removed them? It’s a pain having to anchor them again and again!”

“We’ve got our own and it’s not hard. Hey, is that water at the bottom? We’ll have to swim down the last few feet!”

Dasha looked down apprehensively. Anith stared at the water and shook his head.

“There must be an enchantment over the dungeon. We might not get another chance if the water keeps filling up—we would have to swim down hundreds of feet to get to the dungeon if the rain fills the entire hole.”

“Oh, it will. I’ve lived here all my life. This entire place will be underwater soon. Guess we’ll have to dive off a boat or find another way in soon.”

Insill assured the others. Dasha shook her head, grumbling.

“No proper Dwarf likes water.”

“You’re not a proper Dwarf, Dasha. You’re not even half-Dwarf.”

“I have Dwarfish blood in me! My heritage strikes true!”

“Yeah, the Human half.”

“Hrr. Yes. I agree. You would not have to buy hair growth tonics if you were truly Dwarvish at heart.”

“Shut up, shut up! You’re all just tall-legged bastards!”

The adventurers joked as they readied the ropes and then descended into the chasm. They were a good team, easy in each other’s company, able to laugh in the face of the dungeon. They reached the dry bottom of the dungeon, passing through the water barrier, joking and keeping calm. It was a miracle they weren’t eaten in the first five minutes as they tethered the ropes to rocks, still making far too much noise to be safe.

Where Griffon Hunt was barely more than a few angry whispers at their loudest, Vuliel Drae broke the silence with loud arguments and laughter. But then, that was why Toren liked them. They were silly and stupid and maybe that was what would keep them alive. They reminded her a bit of Erin.

“It’s you!”

Vuliel Drae reacted as they saw Toren step out of the darkness. To them, it was as if the masked swordswoman had been waiting for their return, which indeed, she had. Actually, a group of Raskghar had been waiting too, with poisoned arrows, but Toren had already finished them off. The masked skeleton bowed slightly and Insill’s tail began to wag slightly.

“Um, hello.”

Shyly, the Drake went over to the masked woman, smiling. The dark mask stared at him, but the Drake ignored the impartiality of the mask. He’d dreamed about what might lay under the mask.

“I thought we wouldn’t see you again. I thought—have you gone above at all? We just met Gold-rank adventures who said they’d been down here. Griffon Hunt. Do you—did you see them?”

The mysterious swordswoman shrugged then shook her head. She spread her arms wide, indicating the scope of the dungeon. Insill nodded as Anith bowed slightly and the other adventurers formed up.

“We were actually hoping to meet you. Would you care to explore the dungeon with us? We’d pay you of course—we actually owe you for last time! That mace you gave us was worth a fortune, so we bought this in case we met you again.”

He looked at Pekona and the [Blade Dancer] produced a longsword from her right side. It was a gleaming steel blade with a long forked rune etched onto the metal. The swordswoman stared at it as Insill offered it to her.

“It’s a cheap blade—barely enchanted, really. It’s got a tiny durability and cutting enchantment on it. I know it isn’t much, but I noticed your sword was really old and—”

He broke off as the masked woman dropped her old sword and raised the magic blade. She stared at it reverentially and cut the air—perilously close to Insill. He flinched, but then the masked woman turned to him. She hesitated, then drew a happy smile across her mask.

“You like it?”

He grinned and she nodded. Vuliel Drae smiled too, and Anith spoke.

“Miss Swordswoman, I regret that we don’t know your name. Please tell us, why do you stay below? We did not know any adventurer lived down here, but if you haven’t returned to the surface yet—why do you stay?”

For a second it seemed like the masked woman froze, but then she turned to Anith and gravely shook her head. She didn’t speak—it was clear she was unable or unwilling to, but she raised one finger and carefully tapped her chest. The adventurers stared at her as she drew a line down the side of her mask, under one eye socket. Then she pointed up towards the surface. Insill frowned, trying to make sense of it.

“Sorrow? Going up is—sad? Can you go up?”

A shake of the head.

“Are you cursed?”

Hesitated. A shake of the head.

“Something else?”

“Nod, nod.”

“What?”

A shrug. She was unwilling to say if she knew. The adventurers looked at each other and conferred.

“What do you think? Is she saying she just doesn’t want to go up?”

“That makes no sense!”

“Hm. Some adventurers are loners, yes. But why else not?”

“Maybe she’s on a mission. Maybe she’s decided to challenge the dungeon—or die.”

Anith nodded.

“A [Doomseeker], perhaps. It is not for us to ask.”

He bowed to the swordswoman who bowed back slightly.

“Forgive us for asking, but we are curious. We would be delighted to journey with you nonetheless. Shall we?”

The swordswoman nodded. She motioned with one hand, pointing in the direction that she judged to be safest, for a given value of safe. The team of Vuliel Drae followed, Insill in front, Dasha and Pekona next, Anith behind and Larr bringing up the rear. It was strange. For all she had been agonizing and for all he had proclaimed to hate other people, there was something about this that Toren had missed. She had missed other people, seeing Insill’s happily wagging tail, hearing him chatter and then realize he should be silent and looking for traps. It was…fun.

Toren walked into the darkness of the dungeon, the adventurers following. She would do her best to keep them alive. After all, she knew the dungeon well and they had given her an enchanted sword. An enchanted sword! She couldn’t wait to lord it over him when they were alone. And they would survive the dungeon. After all, how would the adventurers bring her more wonderful weapons if they died here?

This was the dungeon as it was. Alluring yet deadly, it was a crisis for Liscor, a talking point for adventurers in the area, but hardly a matter of worldwide or continental concern. The Drake and Human cities had far more pressing issues to deal with, and the dungeon was not yet rated by the Adventurer’s Guilds and thus it was regarded by many as a minor dungeon. After all, new ruins and abandoned fortresses were found quite often. They usually contained very little of worth.

To Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers, the dungeon was a gamble, a place for untold treasures or death. To the other adventurers it was a place of opportunity, and only the terrors within kept them from flooding the dungeon. To Watch Captain Zevara, it was a disaster waiting to happen. But to many in Liscor and elsewhere, the dungeon had lost much of its interest. It was a thing for adventurers and did not concern anyone else. It was safe, for a given value of safe.

Until now. It was a simple thing that triggered the change. A simple conversation between a group of inexperienced adventurers and a skeleton. It happened as they stumbled across a hitherto unexplored corridor and it began with Insill’s disgusted exclamation?

“Hey, are those eggs? Gross!”

He shone his lantern across the tunnel. The other adventurers reacted with revulsion.

“Disgusting. Look, there’s tunnels filled with them! We should burn the entire mess.”

“Got enough kindling for all of that? How about poison?”

“I do not believe it would be safe. Something laid these eggs. We should pull back.”

“Hrr. Yes. They look familiar to me. What if we took one and—”

Crunch. It was such a faint sound. The team of Vuliel Drae looked around. Toren in her disguise as the masked swordswoman happily crunched one of the bulbous eggs underfoot, then, another, and another. She was having such a good time that she only realized everyone was staring at her after the eighth egg. She stopped and looked at them, wiping her foot on the ground. Insill opened his mouth, and then Pekona raised a finger to her lips. She tilted her head.

“…What’s that sound?”

Vuliel Drae and Toren listened. Then they saw what was coming down the tunnels and fled. They survived, of course, hiding in a room Toren had found that had a door and a tunnel too narrow for most of the things to follow. But that was only the precursor. Something moved in the dungeon, joining the swarm, leading it. It pressed against the walls, seeking a way out. The wall of water and rain deterred it only for a single day until, well—

They came out.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.06 M

There were momentous things happening in the world. In every continent it seemed there were stories to follow, epic tales of adventure or tragedies of dark design. Comedies, farces, the whimsical games of fate, there were so many stories to be told.

In Chandrar, The King of Destruction rode across the sands with the twins Teres and Trey, followed by his faithful servant, Gazi to a mining town to see about having a new sword made for himself. His enemies plotted against him and his allies prepared to march as spring finally arrived.

In Baleros, Niers Astoragon spent an outrageous sum of money commissioning an enchanted Go board as this new strategy game swept across the continent. He played his 37th game of Go in preparation for it reaching his unknown adversary in Liscor.

In Terandria—well, perhaps some things are better left unsaid. Perhaps there were too many stories to focus on. For while it might have been entertaining to witness the current political struggles in Wistram, or peer into the mind of the only [Clown] in the world and hear his tormented madness, why not pay attention to the doings of Goblins?

Surely the two Knights of the Petal that had been captured by the Flooded Waters Tribe were of interest. What of Tremborag and his mountain home? Or the steady growth of the Unseen Empire, the new relationships forged by Emperor Laken and his people? How about Minotaurs? Or a Minotaur? No? Perhaps not, then.

So many stories. Too many stories. While a certain skeleton walked below Liscor and stomped on some eggs with a team of adventurers another tale was taking place above. It was humbler than other stories that could have been told, and perhaps, yes, perhaps it was a trivial event to focus on but perhaps not. Sometimes it is the small things that matter. The tiny blades of grass in the growing storm. So then, this is not a tale about legends or empires or figures of great renown. This is a tale about Gnolls. One Gnoll in particular.

This is the legend of Mrsha, the Great and Terrible.

 

—-

 

Mrsha woke up to the sound of the rain falling. She got up, yawned, stretched, and stared out her dark window. Was it night or day? Her body told her it was day, but the dark skies outside and pouring rain said otherwise. Mrsha stared out through the glass panes at a world consumed by the downpour, an unending tyranny of water threatening floods, changing the very landscape.

She smiled and raced around her room. It looked like a fun day!

Adults were boring and tired. They groaned about rain and complained about waking up back pains, work, and so on. But Mrsha was young. She was excited by the heavy downpour. She would have been excited to see the sun too, though. She was happy in all weather. She would have been happy if it was raining frogs.

A new day. Mrsha was already full of energy on waking up. She leapt over her bed, ran past her window on all fours and saw a large insect stir from the nest she’d built on the windowsill. Apista the large Ashfire Bee fanned her wings and took off from her perch. She landed on a head sticking out of the covers. Mrsha stopped and wagged her tail as the third occupant of her room turned over.

“Apista, please. Give me five more minutes.”

One hand rose and lethargically covered Apista. The bee struggled to get free as Lyonette groaned and turned about in her bed. Mrsha ignored Lyonette. She was grumpy when she woke up. Apista struggled free of the hand and flew into the air, looking offended. Mrsha grinned. She liked Apista. The Ashfire Bee landed on her head as she padded over to Lyonette and poked the young woman in the side, eliciting a groan.

She didn’t understand why Lyonette hated morning. Mrsha loved waking up. She loved sleeping too. The feeling of curling up in her warm bed next to Lyonette when she was tired and waking up to a fresh new world and the smell of Erin’s cooking was the best thing in the world. Carefully, the small Gnoll poked Lyonette through her bedding again.

“Ow! Mrsha, your claws!”

Lyonette sat up with a yelp. She scowled blearily at Mrsha as the Gnoll leapt back. Lyonette blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then suddenly lunged for the Gnoll. Mrsha yelped and scurried away.

“Come here, you little troublemaker, you!”

The [Princess] and [Barmaid] chased Mrsha and Apista around the room for a grand total of three seconds before she collapsed. She groaned as Mrsha walked around her excitedly and Apista crawled onto her head. Mrsha tried to copy her. Lyonette sighed.

“I’m awake. Please get off me, Apista. Mrsha, why don’t you go downstairs and see if Erin’s done cooking breakfast?”

Lyonette’s ploy worked. Mrsha raced to the door, all too willing to pester Erin for scraps. She had to stand on two legs to operate the door handle, and then she was out in the corridor—

And a Goblin was standing in front of her. Mrsha froze and her hair stood up as one of the Redfang Warriors turned. He froze as he saw her. Headscratcher and Mrsha stared at each other for a frozen second, and then the Hobgoblin nodded carefully at Mrsha. He was still wearing his security badge. Mrsha didn’t nod back. She edged towards the stairs leading down and Headscratcher warily walked the other way down the hallway. The Gnoll and Goblin stared for another few seconds and then they both turned and fled, one up the stairs, another down.

Goblins. Mrsha dwelled on them as she hurried down the stairs, trying not to slip and fall head-over-heels as she did when she was racing. She hated Goblins. They had killed her tribe. Mrsha was afraid of Goblins. However, the Redfang Warriors were different Goblins and so Mrsha merely disliked them. They were big and scary and green. She forgot about them in an instant as she smelled breakfast.

Meat. Cooked meat and spices and—Mrsha’s stomach rumbled—fried egg. Her nose was extremely good, even for a Gnoll, and Mrsha could tell that Erin was cooking with a hint of caramelized sugar, fatty oils, and there was fresh bread baking in the ovens!

It was overwhelmingly delicious. The Gnoll immediately headed for the kitchen. As she did she slunk low along the ground, as if she were prowling in the grass. She made herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Normally this would not have helped; a small white Gnoll creeping along the floorboards of an inn is usually not hard to spot. But Mrsha had a secret. Three of them, actually.

Her first big secret that no one knew was that she was a Level 8 [Last Survivor] and that she had a Skill. [Natural Concealment]. It made Mrsha less noticeable so that she could sneak up on people. Now she used it to sneak into the kitchen. Peeking around a counter, Mrsha saw a young woman moving in a flurry about the kitchen.

Erin Solstice hummed as she worked, checking on her bread, frying something in a pan, sliding scrambled eggs into a large bowl, and then getting out a jar of honey and the butter. Mrsha’s stomach rumbled. Erin was making what she called her Classic American Breakfast. What that meant was fresh, fluffy bread made with the strange baking powder that Octavia had given her, hot eggs, butter, honey, and bacon. Only today, Erin had changed her breakfast’s lineup slightly because Mrsha saw she was flipping small sausages in her pan!

They were nice and oily, but Mrsha’s keen nose detected another surprise. The sausages were what smelled of sugar! Erin had mixed some spices and sugar together and glazed them. Now they were roasting away in the pan, giving Mrsha the most wonderful of smells to start her morning.

The Gnoll couldn’t help it. She knew she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen when cooking was happening, but she wanted a taste. Slowly, carefully, she reached up to the counter. It was taller than she was, so Mrsha got up on two legs. She reached ever-so-slowly for a bowl filled with finished sausages on the counter. Slowly, slowly—

“Gotcha!”

Erin whirled around and Mrsha jumped. The [Innkeeper] caught the bowl before Mrsha could knock it over and then grabbed Mrsha before the Gnoll could flee. She lifted Mrsha up, laughing.

“I knew you were there you little thief! Trying to steal from me? I told you, no sneaking in! Honestly, you’re worse than Pisces with his [Invisibility]! No, wait, you’re not. But if you don’t scat right now I’ll make sure you get none of my sausages! Understand?”

She stared at Mrsha and the Gnoll nodded her head rapidly. The fear of no sausages made her flee Erin’s kitchen. By the time Lyonette came down with Apista, Mrsha was sitting at a table looking as innocent as possible. Somehow, that didn’t fool Lyonette who glanced at her suspiciously and then headed into the kitchen. Mrsha heard the adult’s voices as she doodled on a table with a claw and Apista flew over to the windows and the bright yellow flowers growing there.

“Morning, Erin. Did Mrsha cause any trouble? I sent her downstairs, sorry about that…”

Mrsha heard a laugh as she slid off her chair and hid behind the table’s leg.

“She tried to steal one of my sausages!”

“Oh, did she now? Well maybe she shouldn’t have any for breakfast.”

Mrsha’s heart broke. She turned towards the kitchen, begging for mercy. Erin chuckled.

“She didn’t get any so I think she can have some. But if she does it again, maybe we’ll take them away next time.”

“Mm…”

Lyonette returned to the common room and stared at Mrsha as she hid behind a table. Mrsha gave her a pleading look as the [Barmaid] sighed.

“Next time you’re getting no sausages at all young miss, understand?”

Mrsha nodded rapidly, trying to look as guilty as possible. Lyonette eyed her and then looked back towards the kitchen.

“I’ll start setting up, Erin! Are the Goblins…?”

“I fed them right when I woke up! They get up at the crack of dawn. It’s just the Halfseekers today. The Horns are still out.”

“Got it.”

Relieved that her trial was over, Mrsha slid back into her seat and swung her legs back and forth, barely able to wait as she heard the clink of pottery and silverware from the kitchen. She stared hungrily at Lyonette as she brought out a small stack of plates and cutlery. The [Barmaid] began setting two tables but she stared pointedly at Mrsha as she did.

“Mrsha? Do you have something to do before you eat?”

The Gnoll blinked at her, and then Mrsha’s eyes widened. She slid off her seat and looked around. Lyonette pointed to the door.

“The bucket’s just outside. It’s raining so pull it in—and don’t get wet!”

Mrsha carefully opened the door and stared out into a truly tremendous rainstorm. The roar of the rain and millions of drops hitting the ground entranced Mrsha for a second. It wasn’t blowing hard, but every time the slightest breeze blew, she could see sheets of rain pelting the ground. It was wild and tremendous, and Mrsha felt her heart skip a beat as she stared at the world, loving the primal nature of it all. A voice called from inside.

Mrsha! Hurry up! Don’t let the rain in!”

Adults had no time for rain. Mrsha obediently reached out and grabbed the bucket sitting just outside. It was full to overflowing and she slopped some of it coming inside. Lyonette watched Mrsha push the bucket across the floor to the windowsill.

“One cup, remember?”

Mrsha gave her a look of scorn. Of course she remembered! This was her special task! She’d done it every morning for two weeks now. She reached for the cup that had been left on the windowsill next to the large boxes filled with dirt. Tiny yellow flowers, as bright and gleaming as the sun stood out of the soil. They were special flowers, Mrsha knew. Faerie flowers. She dipped the cup in the bucket of water and filled it to the brim. Then she carefully poured it into the first box of flowers, standing on the tips of her toes to reach up that high.

One full cup in each of the gardening planters. Mrsha carefully poured the water in, watching it drain into the soil, staring at the bright yellow flowers and the new ones budding out of the soil. They were growing! She felt proud. She had made them grow!

It was her special job. Lyonette had suggested it and Erin agreed. Mrsha had to have some responsibilities, so she was in charge of feeding Erin’s flowers each morning before breakfast. For her hard work Mrsha received four whole copper coins each week! It was enough to buy a snack or two snacks in Liscor and thus a lot of money.

Mrsha put the cup back as she finished her job and stared at the line of flower boxes along the windowsills. They were all growing nicely. Flowers didn’t grow much in the winter even in the warm inn, but there were always enough for Lyonette to use a few every week to gather more honey. That was because of Mrsha. Not just because she watered them, no. It was part of her second big secret.

She was a Level 2 [Gardener]. Mrsha stared at the glistening flowers, willing them to grow big and strong. As she did, Apista flew over. The Ashfire Bee crawled onto the box Mrsha was standing next to and delicately extended a red ‘tongue’ out of her pincers to lap at the flowers. Mrsha watched Apista eat with interest. Lyonette fed the bee honey, royal jelly, and sugary water as well, but the bee seemed addicted to the tiny flowers despite her size. Erin called Apista’s tongue a ‘proboscis’, but Mrsha knew a tongue when she saw it. The bee was larger than both of Mrsha’s paws combined and slowly getting bigger each week. It seemed like the flowers shouldn’t be that important to her, but every day when Mrsha watered, Apista ate.

“All done, Mrsha? Breakfast’s ready!”

Lyonette called and Mrsha immediately abandoned the flowers. She raced to the table and sat, jiggling in place with impatience as Lyonette ladled four lovely sausages onto Mrsha’s plate, some eggs, and a small bit of bread with honey and butter. She began eating at once.

So delicious! So hot! Mrsha’s face was a scene of contented bliss for Lyon and Erin who both watched her eat with amusement. Mrsha had milk today, and she greedily reached for it and her bread. Only to find Apista was there! The Ashfire Bee Queen loved honey as much as Mrsha and she was snacking on Mrsha’s breakfast! The Gnoll instantly swatted her on the head. Not hard, but enough to surprise Apista.

“Mrsha!”

Lyonette scolded the Gnoll as Erin ducked. Apista took into the air, agitated, and Lyonette reached for her. But though she was clearly upset as she crawled onto Lyonette’s hand, the Ashfire Bee did not seek vengeance on Mrsha. Erin was puzzled by this and she stared at Apista with a frown.

“She must really like Mrsha. I’ve had her try to sting me when I shooed her away from my honey. Of course, I told her I’d feed her to Bird if she did so she doesn’t bother me, but just the other day she tried to sting Badarrow when he was drinking mead. Why’s Mrsha safe?”

“Maybe she knows I’d never let her hurt Mrsha. But you shouldn’t do that either, Mrsha!”

The Gnoll ignored Lyonette as she chewed happily on her bread. Apista was smart. She knew she was stealing food and she knew it was Mrsha’s. So Mrsha was right to smack her! Besides, she’d never be stung. Mrsha had a Skill that allowed her to understand and be understood by the Ashfire Bee in some ways. She had the skill [Wild Affinity], which made her Apista’s friend.

That was her third secret. She was a Level 1 [Beast Tamer] too, just like Lyonette! Mrsha knew that most children didn’t get classes until they were older, until they were closer to grownups. But she’d grown up a lot and so she’d gained the classes. They weren’t much, but they were hers. Her special secret.

The adults talked about boring things while Mrsha finished breakfast. Things like where the Horns of Hammerad were, food supplies, money, paying the [Actors]—who were very exciting Mrsha would admit, but only when they were here—and her faerie flowers.

“They’re blooming nicely although we haven’t had much sunlight. I wonder why?”

Lyonette peered at the boxes of yellow flowers. Erin smiled as she stacked plates, shooing Apista away and getting a warning buzz for her trouble.

“I bet it’s because Mrsha has taken extra good care of the flowers every day, isn’t that right, Mrsha?”

Erin patted Mrsha on the head and the Gnoll smiled, her secret kept hidden away in her chest. Lyonette smiled and then glanced out the window and sighed.

“Ugh, that rain really keeps coming down. I really don’t want to walk in it but—I’m taking Mrsha into the city now, Erin.”

“Into the city? Why?”

Perplexed, Erin frowned at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] paused as she reached for the dirty dishes.

“She’s going to stay at Krshia’s for a while, remember?”

“Oh. Right! Well, cover up! Take one of those stupid cloaks—it’s pouring outside!”

Lyonette nodded. In short order she and Mrsha were bundled up in cloaks and heading out into the rain. Apista stayed at the inn—upstairs in Mrsha’s room since Bird was coming down for breakfast. He was having ‘bird babies’ today, which meant a big bowl of scrambled eggs. That would be nice, although Mrsha privately thought that meat and eggs in a big bowl would be better.

But then she was out in the rain. Mrsha splashed about happily and Lyonette sighed.

“Come on, let’s go get to Krshia. Stay close, Mrsha.”

They walked out into the storm. Mrsha smiled. It was going to be a fun day! She walked with Lyonette as the young woman winced and muttered about the wetness, crossing over the high ground. Mrsha stared down at the valleys they passed. They were filled with water! If she went down into one of them she could swim about! Lyonette kept a tight grip on Mrsha’s hand as if she could read the Gnoll’s thoughts. She seldom let Mrsha have fun. But that was okay. Mrsha would have forgiven Lyonette any number of sins. Because of one important fact.

She loved Lyonette. Wholeheartedly, without reservation. Mrsha couldn’t remember her mother. She didn’t know what a mother should be, but she had seen other mothers and their children. She thought Lyonette was as good as a mother. No, better. Mothers ran away from their children. Lyonette had taken care of Mrsha even though she hadn’t given birth to her. That was better.

It was a simple story Mrsha had grown up knowing. A fact of life. She had been a child of the Stone Spears tribe and her parents had both been [Hunters]. When she was born they had listened for her crying and heard only strange sounds. They had feared she was crippled or sick in some way. And they had been partly right. Mrsha had been born unable to speak. She could make guttural sounds, and she had learned to howl, but words and other coherent sounds were beyond her. It didn’t matter to Mrsha, but then again, it did, because it had mattered to her parents.

A simple story. Her parents had tried to abandon her when it became clear that Mrsha was mute. For that, their tribe’s Chieftain, Urksh, had exiled them. Being unable to speak was not a crime worthy of death, or so he had said. The Stone Spears tribe had agreed. Mrsha had never known her parents. But she had known Urksh. He had raised Mrsha like a father until he was slain by Goblins. Her entire tribe had died so one might live. And so Mrsha had been carried to a new home, and in time found someone to love her like the mother she never had.

Such cruelty and love was part of life. Mrsha accepted it all, with the unthinking innocence of youth. This was the way the world was and no one had ever told her it should be different.

She was happy now. Ryoka was gone, and Mrsha thought of her sometimes, but it was O.K. because Erin had said Ryoka would come back. And if she didn’t, well, Mrsha would find her when she grew up. In the meantime she was gaining levels. [Gardener] and [Beast Tamer] weren’t good classes yet, but Mrsha could have lots! Just like Lyonette.

Happy, content, the white Gnoll cub splashed across the ground. She had to walk on two legs in the little boots that Lyonette had bought, but that was fine too since Lyonette was holding her hand tight in case Mrsha slipped. And she was going to see Krshia! There were always snacks at her apartment and she had secrets too. Mrsha knew all about Krshia’s secrets.

Lyonette grinned at Mrsha.

“Excited to see Krshia? I’m sure she’s ready for you. And it’s probably best that she’s not out in the rain. Still, it was nice of her to agree to give you lessons, wasn’t it?”

Mrsha nodded along until she heard the bit about lessons. Wait, not those! She looked at Lyonette in horror and the [Barmaid] bit off a curse as she realized she’d given away the secret. She held on as Mrsha tried to turn back to the inn.

“No, Mrsha, you can’t go back! You have lessons! Darn it, Erin was right, I shouldn’t have let that slip! Mrsha, come on! You’ve done this before! It’s not bad, and I’ll be back in two hours! Mrsha!

The Gnoll ignored Lyonette, pulling and slipping in the mud as she tried to run back to The Wandering Inn. She had been tricked! This wasn’t going to be fun at all! She had lessons? Mrsha tried to pull away but it was too late. She was caught.

It had been a trap!

 

—-

 

“What is change for one gold coin if I have bought eighteen silver pieces’ worth of goods? Mrsha?”

Mrsha was in hell. Not that she had any concept of what hell was. It was just a phrase she’d picked up from Erin. If Mrsha had been told what hell was supposed to be she would have pictured the crevice on the mountainside where she’d fallen, or the battlefield at night and Ryoka’s scream. But since she only thought about the past occasionally now, she regarded the idea of ‘hell’ as Krshia’s apartment where she had to sit on a high chair and learn.

The Gnoll child hated learning. It wasn’t the new things that got her down, or the act of sitting, but the boredom of it all. She stared dully at the coins on the table.

“Mrsha?”

A kind but somewhat stern voice prodded her. Mrsha looked up at the brown Gnoll sitting across from her. Krshia was sipping some tea and eying Mrsha sternly. She’d get mad if the Gnoll didn’t answer. Mrsha sighed through her nose and pushed two silver coins across the table. Krshia smiled.

“Good! Hrr. It is surprising, yes? You know how to change coins well. Very quickly! You have been practicing since we last met, just as I said, yes?”

Mrsha nodded obediently although that was a lie. She hadn’t practiced math. Rather, she’d been taught by Erin.

Education was very important to all of her guardians. Erin had suggested it after she realized Mrsha hadn’t had any formal lessons in the inn and Lyonette had talked to Krshia and agreed to teach her. All three women had begun teaching Mrsha everything from advanced reading—a subject which Erin herself struggled with—math, geography, history, and so on.

Mrsha liked learning some lessons and hated others. Just the other week Krshia had told her stories about Gnoll history, many of which Mrsha had known from growing up in her tribe and read from a book about the Second Antinium Wars. Sadly, the stories had ended and Krshia had decided that Mrsha needed to learn how to count.

They were changing money. It was a practical example of math and Krshia kept giving Mrsha harder questions.

“What is change for two silver coins if I buy three copper coins’ worth of goods? You may only give me copper coins, Mrsha.”

Mrsha hesitated and counted. One, two, three…she patiently counted up to seventeen and pushed the head of coins across the table. Krshia smiled.

“Good! Arrange the coins so, Mrsha. In fives, stacked up. That way it is simpler to count.”

She demonstrated. Mrsha sighed again. She didn’t want to learn this! Krshia eyed her sternly and the slouching Gnoll sat up reluctantly in her chair. Krshia stroked her chin.

“You know math well. Strange, it takes other children longer to learn this. Hmm. If you answer this next question correctly, I may reward you.”

That made Mrsha’s ears perk up. She listened to Krshia’s question. Then she pushed a gold coin and five copper ones across the table. Krshia blinked at her.

“Hm.”

She got up and found a sweet biscuit for Mrsha. The Gnoll ate it happily. Krshia shook her head.

“A gift for numbers. It is good! Surprising, but good. I am glad you understand it so well, Mrsha.”

The Gnoll rolled her eyes as she licked crumbs off her fur. It wasn’t surprising at all! Unbeknownst to Krshia, Erin and Lyonette had both taken their shots at teaching her math beforehand, to varying degrees of success. They each had their own strengths. Lyonette had taught Mrsha about royalty and politics and secrets of leveling passed down through her family. Erin taught Mrsha math and science and about silly things that couldn’t be seen like germs and ‘oxygen’.

And her math lessons were a lot harder than Krshia’s. Erin had not only taught Mrsha how to add and subtract perfectly, but she’d started Mrsha on multiplication and division. The Gnoll hated those lessons even more than Krshia’s practical ones. Math got silly when Erin taught it.

At least Krshia understood how math really worked. The next question the Gnoll gave her was a stumper.

“I have given you twenty gold pieces by accident to buy goods worth eleven gold pieces, four silver, and three copper. How many coins will you give me back?”

The correct answer was eight gold pieces, fifteen silver, and seven copper pieces. Mrsha mulled it over and pushed eight gold pieces and fifteen silver across the table. Krshia stared at her expectantly and Mrsha folded her arms.

That made the older Gnoll laugh.  She ruffled Mrsha’s head as she growled approvingly.

“Good answer! Yes, that is what I would do.”

Mrsha brightened up. Krshia reached for the coins and Mrsha hoped it was to end the lessons. But she paused and her ears perked up. Mrsha had already smelled Tkrn coming up the stairs and she heard him knock once.

“Wait here.”

Krshia went to answer the door. Mrsha heard her and Tkrn talking as she peered at the Gnoll. He was a junior [Guardsman] in the City Watch, but like most Gnolls in the city he was under Krshia’s unofficial command. She led the Silverfang Tribe in Liscor and was one of the leaders of the city-Gnolls here. If there was a crisis, Krshia would be one of the ones who decided what the Gnollish response should be.

It was hard to be a Gnoll in Drake cities. The Gnolls had to look out for each other. Mrsha understood that Liscor was good as Drake cities went—the Watch didn’t allow Drakes to gang up on Gnolls and there was only a little conflict between species. Still, Gnolls watched each other’s backs which was why Tkrn had come to tip Krshia off about a buying opportunity.

“…had to put down many cows and calves that were injured. It is a shame, but the meat is fresh and good! However, many [Shopkeepers] and [Butchers] and so on want the meat, so an auction will take place in the hour! Aunt Krshia, if you bought the meat for the others—lately all your deals have been excellent and you could save us much coin. Lism is there with his Drake friends and they are planning to buy all the good meat. Do you think you can outbid him or find the best cuts?”

Krshia nodded.

“Hrm. Yes, I do think so. I have a new Skill that allows me to select goods of the highest quality. I should go in person to get the best cuts of meat. Lism, vindictive as he is, may try to outbid me. But I would win either way. However—”

She glanced at Mrsha and the Gnoll waved at Tkrn. Krshia looked conflicted.

“I must take care of Mrsha.”

“Please, Aunt? We’ll have nothing but gristle and too much fat otherwise! The Drakes, they are trying to crowd out our stores ever since you lost your place as one of the top stalls in the market!”

The younger Gnoll pleaded with Krshia. She scratched at her head, growling under her breath, and then nodded decisively. She turned to Mrsha.

“Mrsha, I must go to this auction. It may take a while, so you must wait. Stay indoors, understand? You may wander, but you are not to touch anything fragile or sharp. Understand?”

She gave Mrsha a look, and the Gnoll nodded carefully. In Gnoll tribes, the young were expected to know what was off-limits after they were old enough to stand on two legs. If she broke anything, Krshia would spank her, Mrsha had no doubt. So she wouldn’t. Reassured, Krshia nodded.

“I will be back soon. Now, Tkrn, lead me to the [Butcher] before that scale-flint Lism gets away with all the choice cuts of meat!”

She and the other Gnoll hurried out of the door. Mrsha watched them go, not terribly disappointed by the development. She waited until the scents of the two Gnolls wasn’t fresh and then decided to go peek at Krshia’s secret.

If it seemed wrong of Krshia to leave Mrsha unattended, well, it was because she wasn’t. Not really. Mrsha was smart enough not to stab herself in the eye with a knife and there was no danger of a fire or [Thief] breaking into the apartment. Because Krshia had secrets. Mrsha was aware of them. Krshia thought that Mrsha couldn’t smell the Gnolls who took turns watching her apartment, but she was wrong. Mrsha’s nose was so good she could smell their blades, or their oiled bowstrings and the glue on their fletched arrows.

There was always a guard on Krshia’s apartment, watching and waiting. They were supposedly housewives and mothers, but a Gnoll mother could still put an arrow though a would-be [Burglar]’s eyes at fifty paces. Krshia’s apartment was important. And Mrsha knew why.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been left alone. Mrsha, knowing she was alone except for the Gnoll woman sitting in an apartment across the street and watching the door, padded over to Krshia’s kitchen. She rummaged around in the top drawer of one of the counters and found the secret compartment there. She slipped the key out, padded into the living room, and grabbed the second key that was hidden inside a fold of the couch. Then she walked into Krshia’s bedroom and paused.

She could still smell Brunkr’s scent here, faintly. Mrsha rubbed at her nose and tried to think about the secret. Which key was first? Kitchen key, it was very important. She found the false floorboards under the bed and pulled them out, one by one. There was a very large chest hidden in the crawlspace there. Mrsha put the first key in the lock, twisted it, then removed it and put the second one in.

Kitchen first, and then living room. If the keys weren’t in the right order or someone tried opening the chest with just one, the chest would fill the room with poison. Mrsha had heard Krshia whispering about it with the other Gnolls. What she hadn’t known was what was inside. Mrsha opened the chest, heart pounding and saw—

A book. The little Gnoll stared at it. It was a big book that filled the chest—a massive tome with golden lettering and fancy symbols and colorful illustrations on the cover, but a book nonetheless. Mrsha knew that such a book was probably worth thousands of gold pieces, but she was a little disappointed nonetheless. She had heard Krshia talking with the others about their great treasure, the thing that would make the Silverfang Tribe great.

They were going to offer this at the Meeting of the Tribes, which would be soon. Mrsha knew about the Meeting. It was the biggest Gnollish tradition. Every tribe would gather and offer something to benefit all of Gnollkind. They would discuss important matters, help tribes that were suffering and dispense justice among their own kind and on others.

The Stone Spears had been preparing a massive bounty of alchemical ingredients that could be sold or made into potions before they had been destroyed. Tribes worked hard to bring good gifts because they would receive benefits from the Meeting as well. The Silverfang tribe was rich. And this was all they were going to bring?

It didn’t seem right. Mrsha wrinkled her nose at the book. She had been taught how to read and could read better than Erin, but she had trouble deciphering the script on the front of the book. It didn’t look like the Drakish script, or the Human one which looked like Erin’s English language, or the secret writings that Gnolls sometimes used. Was it in another language? Mrsha opened the book and blinked.

Words on the page. Meaning—see here and comprehend. That which is stone is mutable. The earth sings; the stone resists flow. So shape it as a firm object in your head. A sword of stone, the edge keen. Touch a blade, feel the sharpness. The same sharpness of stone, and the entire blade. Visualize it all as one object, for stone is a complete thing. Then call it out of the ground. Shape it there and draw together all it requires. If sand is all that is there, draw into the sand. The elements are as follows. Take them, meld them, create a sword—

Mrsha jerked backwards and the book closed. She sat up, banged her head on the bottom of Krshia’s bed, and clutched at her skull as the words receded. What was that? She’d opened the book to a random page and the words had been—

They weren’t words. Not proper, written ones. Not language. The symbols had shone into Mrsha’s head and spoken there, instantly comprehendible. They were…well, it was like Krshia’s lesson, only vividly being shown in Mrsha’s mind. It was amazing—and painful. The effort of understanding gave Mrsha a migraine, but she understood! Oh, she understood.

What the page had been telling her was how to make a sword. No, not make one, conjure one out of the ground. If Mrsha had read through the rest and if her mind had been able to grasp it all, she would have been able to cast a spell. [Stone Sword], or perhaps [Blade of the Earth]. Mrsha’s understanding was incomplete from that brief glimpse, but the other page had shown a faceless warrior drawing a blade out of the earth. Mrsha’s paws trembled as she held the tome up, marveling at how light it was. Now it made sense.

This was a spellbook! It was worth infinitely more than a mundane book. And if the entire book held spells—Mrsha stared round-eyed at the book. If Krshia’s home had been filled with gold coins it might not have been worth enough to buy this book. This was what the Silverfang Tribe was going to offer at the Meeting of Tribes! It was ambitious, worthy. And risky.

Mrsha understood the gamble. It hinged on Gnolls wanting to use the spellbook, the tribes considering it worthwhile. Because if not…it was just something to be sold, worth only gold and even then, it would be gold that wouldn’t reach the other tribes in time for the meeting. If Gnollkind desired to learn magic, it was a princely, no, a kingly gift. If not…

Here was the issue. Gnolls couldn’t learn magic, not the magic of [Mages]. That was a fact across the world. They had no aptitude for it, no interest, and most tellingly, no representatives of their kind in Wistram, home of the mages.

Gnolls had tried to send one of their kind to Wistram, oh yes. But their great representative had been cast out of Wistram, laughed at by the [Mages] there. For that insult, no Gnoll would trade with Wistram. It was a grudge of decades. Of course, the tribes didn’t really need to have their own [Mages] since Gnolls were able to become [Shamans], who were just as good, if not better in some areas.

But there had never been a Gnoll [Mage] in living memory—the tribes had no spellbooks and few [Mages] wanted to have a Gnoll apprentice, and fewer Gnolls wanted to risk wasting their time trying to learn if it was impossible. So there were no Gnoll [Mages]. Some said Gnolls couldn’t learn conventional magic. But Mrsha had read the spellbook.

What did that mean? Mrsha had no idea. But she didn’t think overlong on the subject. People said Gnolls couldn’t learn magic. But she didn’t really care. Magic. If she could learn it—with a trembling paw, Mrsha slowly opened the spell tome again to a random page near the middle.

Words. The meaning is simple. Complex in nuance. The earth lives. It harbors magic. It harbors life and the memory of it. Where there is memory, create an echo. For a brief time reach into the past and call out a reflection of the self. Grass springs forth from soil and wood—even stone. But caution. Memory is strongest where life begins. Draw forth a tree from the ground, but never from uncaring rock. With more magic comes more growth. Diversify—seek more understanding, more knowledge of the green. Grow, and such creations shall last until magic is gone or until destroyed. Grow, the earth calls. And remembers.

Grow.

The spell struck Mrsha’s mind, burning itself across her thoughts like a brand, etched there, unfading. It was a simple spell, but with infinite variations. It was a spell of the earth, a spell worthy of a novice.

[Grow Grass]. Nothing more, nothing less. Mrsha struggled with the images in her head, telling her how the spell could be used, how to provoke the earth to conjure magical grass that would last for minutes or possibly hours. Her head ached and Mrsha reached for the book, to hunt for another spell, the spell of the stone sword, when she heard and smelled something.

Meat. Blood. The faint odor of gold and silver and copper and emotion. Satisfaction. Wet fur and a bit of sweat, the hint of spices and other goods on her paws.

Krshia was coming back. Mrsha slammed the book closed in a panic and shoved it back in the chest. She heard the chest lock itself as she ran with the keys, remembering to put the kitchen one in the drawer and the living room one in the couch. By the time Krshia opened the door to her apartment looking smug, Mrsha was sitting at the table, stacking gold and silver into a tower and trying to look innocent.

Perhaps if Krshia had been more alert she would have noticed Mrsha’s guilt. But the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] was elated, high on her success.

“Hah! That fool Lism had no idea what happened! He couldn’t tell a prime cut from entrails, but I could. Four of the best cuts and plenty more for our [Butchers] to sell! We will earn triple what I paid, at least!”

She strode around the apartment and Mrsha’s tail wagged in unison with Krshia’s. Mrsha was happy, understanding a bit of what Krshia meant but mainly picking up on her mood. Krshia was exultant, and then guilty.

“But I am sorry, Mrsha. I have left you for over an hour and a quarter, far too long! I must apologize to Lyonette and thank her—come, we will meet her outside. And I must buy you a snack to make up for it.”

She took Mrsha by the paw. The little Gnoll was astounded. An hour had passed? But it felt like minutes since she’d opened the book! She stared in awe at the wet street. The wet street, but the rainless skies. The rain had stopped pounding sometime while she’d been in that trance. Krshia sniffed as she took Mrsha down the street.

“Here. A snack. Hejor, give young Mrsha a meatball. No, two. She deserves a treat.”

A Gnoll was frying meatballs at a stand covered by an awning on the street. Mrsha’s stomach rumbled as he carefully took two large ones and put them in a little bit of wax paper. Erin’s hamburgers and other fast food delights were still popular in the city—now you could buy a hamburger at any number of taverns or food stands, and these meatballs were a popular variation on the concept. Mrsha greedily licked her lips as Krshia offered her the meatballs.

“My treat. No, save your coins Mrsha. A good [Trader] takes what is given freely, unless the debt is too great. Now, let us meet Lyonette since it is time.”

She led Mrsha onwards, the Gnoll nibbling at her steaming meatballs as she went. Mrsha smiled happily, then her eyes went wide and vacant as she stared at a cobblestone. Grass could grow from it. All she had to do was reach into the earth and call the memory of—

Her grip slipped and Mrsha nearly dropped both her meatballs onto the street! The Gnoll quickly popped one in her mouth and chewed as she walked on. Krshia didn’t notice, save to warn Mrsha not to scarf down her food and ruin lunch. She also told Mrsha not to let Lyonette or Erin know she’d been abandoned and Mrsha nodded dutifully. But her mind was racing. The book’s spell still burning across her memory, and when she looked at the ground she could feel the spell in her mind, ready to be cast.

But surely it was impossible to learn a spell so quickly? Unless the book was special? Unless Mrsha was special? The Gnoll was confused.

What had just happened?

 

—-

 

They met Lyonette at the city gates just as she was coming in. The young woman looked relieved to be out of the downpour and she said as much as Mrsha ate her second meatball.

“Rain’s stopped. I’m glad—it’s a pain trying not to slip and tumble down a hill on the way here.”

Krshia nodded. She cast an eye up at the dour skies.

“A short reprieve. The rain will be back in a day or two at most. It will rain all month and the next and then the flooding will stop. But already some valleys flood, yes? Soon we will be unable to travel except by boat so tell Erin to prepare well.”

“I will. Thank Miss Krshia, Mrsha.”

Mrsha waved at the tall Gnoll and Krshia bared her teeth in a slight smile.

“Go well, Mrsha. Stay out of trouble.”

They returned to the inn. Lyonette asked Mrsha if her day had been fun and if she’d learned a lot. Mrsha’s deep nod of conviction seemed to please the young woman and they returned to the inn to find the Halfseekers sitting about, talking, rather than being out in the rain.

Mrsha would have loved to go to her room and put her head under the pillows to make sense of what had just happened, but her ears perked up as she saw the three Gold-rank adventurers sitting at a table. Normally they’d be in the dungeon, but as they were telling Erin, they were taking a vacation today. Jelaqua grimaced over her mug as she waved at the wet landscape outside.

“Not every day’s a good day to adventure. Today is all politics—we’re trying to get the city to build the dungeon entrance higher. The official one, that is. Not sure how you’d stop that rift in the ground from flooding. And it’s important to have at least one entrance open if we want to continue challenging the dungeon this spring!”

“Can’t you, I dunno, let the dungeon flood and kill all the monsters?”

Erin was writing down notes for a new play on a piece of parchment. She waved to Lyonette and Mrsha and nearly knocked ink over the entire table. Jelaqua grimaced. Moore leaned over. The half-Giant [Mage] shook his head as he politely eyed Erin’s notes.

“I believe you’ve misspelled hawthorn, Miss Erin. It’s a ‘w’ not a ‘u’. And the dungeon is protected against flooding. Water will not enter past a certain point to prevent adventurers from using the tactics you just described.”

Erin grimaced as she crossed out a word.

“Oh, thanks Moore. Jeeze, this is hard. Even if I can remember all of King Lear, my head hurts from trying to write down all the lines! Stupid Skills…so you want to make sure it doesn’t flood since it won’t work, right Jelaqua?”

“That’s right. Anti-flood and earthquake measures are standard for magic dungeons, but I don’t feel like swimming to the entrance every day. We need to build a rampart from the city to the dungeon or at least create a fortification around the entrance. But the Antinium refuse to work in the downpour and there’s practically no [Diggers] in the city besides that lot! The city’s content to just let the dungeon flood because they think monsters will be trapped inside.”

Bad idea. Lots of monsters like water and it’s a nightmare fighting them in those conditions. Take it from me. There’s a reason why I left the sea.

Seborn leaned over, his claw-hand gripping a mug. Jelaqua nodded seriously in agreement. Erin thought for a second.

“Sounds rough. Yeah, the Antinium are really scared of water. And they’re busy in the Hive, or so Bird says. Look, if the issue is finding people to dig…why not see if you can hire some people from Celum? I don’t know if they’re as good as digging as the Antinium and they’ll probably charge more, but you could probably hire a lot of help between them and Liscor. Krshia could introduce you to some Gnolls who’ll work for a day I bet.”

Jelaqua snapped her fingers together and grinned.

“Oh, of course! I’m a vine-cursed idiot. Moore, Seborn, why didn’t either of you think of that?”

Because you’re an idiot?

Seborn ducked as Jelaqua swung at him and Moore smiled gently. Mrsha padded up to him and the half-Giant looked down.

“Hello Mrsha.”

He very carefully lowered a finger and stroked her head. Mrsha smiled up at him. Moore was as gentle as could be and he was always nice to her. She loved him. Jelaqua spotted the Gnoll and reached over to ruffle her head as well. Mrsha smelled her rotting body and the Selphid’s true form within. She didn’t flinch, although she could tell that Jelaqua’s body was falling apart.

“Hey there, kid! How are you doing?”

Moore waved at the Selphid who grinned at her. Jelaqua was loud and laughed a lot, and she was nice too. She liked Jelaqua. Seborn she wasn’t sure about. The Drowned Man just nodded at Mrsha. Sometimes she couldn’t smell or hear him at all, which was spooky. Jelaqua stood up after giving Mrsha another ruffle. She nodded at her companions.

“Come on, let’s go see if we can hire a group. It’ll be pricey, but I figure we can talk the Adventurer’s Guild into reimbursing us the costs. I don’t want to ask Griffon Hunt to chip in, but—whoops!”

She was striding over to the door when it opened and Octavia came out. The [Alchemist] stopped before she ran into Jelaqua and the bottles in the crate she was carrying clinked together.

“Whoa! Hey, careful!”

“My mistake, Miss [Alchemist].”

Jelaqua edged around the Stitch-Girl and Octavia put the crate on a counter. She wiped at her forehead.

“Hey Erin, got another delivery for that Gnoll [Shopkeeper].”

“Krshia?”

“Yup, that’s the one. I’ll bring some more potions through. The ones I made sold really well—hah, of course they would! You know, I undercut the prices from the regular potions since I can buy from Celum and Liscor and manufacture cheap. And I don’t have to sell my stock to a [Merchant] or [Trader] who has to lug his goods all the way from Pallass to Liscor—we can earn the same profits and sell for a lot less! Hey, can I leave this here?”

“What, on the table? No! How about over there?”

“Can’t put it by a fire, Erin. Some of this stuff—well, let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t run into that Selphid lady.”

“Okay, how about over there?”

“Uh…is that an Ashfire Bee I see hovering around those flowers? How about you put it over there?”

“How about over there?

Mrsha crept away now that the boring adults were doing boring things again. Her head still hurt from reading the book. [Grow Grass]. She knew the spell! But could she cast it? Mrsha hesitated, and then pointed at a floorboard as she ascended to the second floor. She concentrated, did what she’d seen in the book. She pulled—and nothing happened.

Nothing. Not one thing. Mrsha poked at the ground, stepped on it, and then realized something was wrong. She knew the spell. But…she didn’t know how to cast it.

She needed something. Mrsha furrowed her brow as she tried to understand the spell searing in her mind. To cast a spell you needed…how had Lyonette explained it? Oh, yes. Mana and a catalyst. Mana was the fuel a spell burned and it came from the world and the mage. But a catalyst was important, too.

A toe or a finger was a bad catalyst for magic because all the flesh and bone got in the way. Only a good mage could work around the issue, like Pisces, and even then, a catalyst made the magic easier, boosted spells.

She needed one of those. And as she had that idea, Mrsha realized she’d had a catalyst all along! She raced up the stairs and into her room. There she rummaged around in a pillow and pulled out her prized possession: Pisces’ wand. She looked at it, slightly guiltily because she remembered the bad thing she’d done with it.

It had been a very bad thing, trying to hurt Badarrow with the wand. It had been taken away from Mrsha after the incident, but she’d snuck into Pisces’ room and taken it back. It wasn’t the wand’s fault and Pisces kept forgetting about it. The wand was lovely and hard and Mrsha liked gnawing on it—it was practically unbreakable as far as she could tell, since neither her teeth nor poking at logs in the fireplace had harmed it in any way. It was special.

And now it was important. Mrsha closed her eyes as she lifted the wand. She raised it, swished it, and tapped the ground. She cast the spell in her mind.

[Grow Grass]. Mrsha waited and stared at the floorboards.

Nothing happened. Mrsha frowned, licked her nose, and tried again. [Grow Grass]. Nothing happened. She growled and peered at the wand. Maybe it didn’t work? Maybe that was why Pisces didn’t use it. She tapped the ground again and reached. This time she found something in her chest.

A burning feeling, a howl. A cold beyond cold. The sight of glowing shapes, Ryoka’s arms around her. The earth as it froze. The feeling of warmth in the snow.

Magic.

And the floorboards shifted. Mrsha leapt back as a single blade of grass grew out of the floorboards, shimmering, flush with life. Mrsha touched it, awestruck. She plucked the blade of grass and saw it shimmer. Mrsha tore it in half and the pieces dissipated in her hands. She stared at the floorboards and they were completely untouched. She felt a pang of exhaustion in her body and stared at her wand.

She’d done it. Magic. Real magic.

The next few minutes saw Mrsha running around the room, the inn, howling with excitement. Lyonette, Erin and Octavia ran upstairs, but Mrsha was unable to explain. She just pointed at the floorboards and waved her wand, which was regarded as cute, if ultimately pointless. Mrsha didn’t know if she should tell them about her new spell—she had a feeling that looking at Krshia’s magic book would earn her a very big spanking, and the Gnoll spanked a lot harder than Lyonette.

It was her secret. Mrsha let the adults go back to arguing over where Octavia should put her potions—Erin had the opinion that the picky [Alchemist] could put it up somewhere and Mrsha wondered if they were going to put it on the third floor. She didn’t care. She stared at her wand as she went to the common room. The adults were busy and Mrsha?

Mrsha was a [Mage]. She was an adventurer. The Gnoll had dreamed of being a [Warrior], of being a hero in the tales that Ryoka and the Gnolls of her tribe had told around the campfires. She’d dreamed, but never believed she could actually be one. Now it was all different.

The Gnoll stared out a window. It wasn’t raining outside. She’d been cooped up for days now, and she suddenly had a burning desire to be out. She wasn’t supposed to be—Lyonette had to come with her, but wasn’t everything different now? Mrsha could do magic. Surely that means she could break the rules! She was Mrsha, Mrsha the [Mage]. No—

Mrsha the Great. She’d become a world-famous [Mage], a Gnoll who could cast magic! Mrsha swung her wand excitedly as she wandered out of the inn, unnoticed by Octavia and Erin who were fussing over the potions. Lyonette might have noticed Mrsha, but just as Mrsha opened the door there was a crash of breaking glass and a scream.

No one touch anything! Get back in case it explodes! Don’t panic—I’m an [Alchemist]!

Oh my god, what’s that smoke?

Don’t panic! I said, don’t p—

Mrsha closed the door. Exciting as that sounded, she had places to be. She looked around the soggy landscape, wand in hand, and noticed Apista had flown out with her. Well, that was good. It was time for an adventure! Mrsha knew it was dangerous outside, but now she knew magic! Or at least, one spell. She was going to be Mrsha the Great! Not just great—she’d be Mrsha, the Great and Terrible! The Gnoll wandered off in search of an adventure.

And found it.

 

—-

 

This was the adventure of Mrsha, the Great and Terrible. She left The Wandering Inn with her magic wand and her trusty companion, Apista. The Gnoll and Ashfire Bee travelled down the hill, ready for adventure, monsters, and maybe treasure!

They found a frog. Mrsha the Great and Terrible chased after it and the frog hopped into a pond forming in one of the valleys. It was vanquished! Mrsha raised her wand triumphantly and grew some grass. It was hard work! But she could make it grow larger outside of the inn. Apista landed on a cluster of stalks and then Mrsha spotted a rabbit.

A monster! The rabbit monster fled as Mrsha the Most Excellent Mage cast her spell and grass stems erupted around the startled creature. Another monster defeated! Apista waved her antennae encouragingly as Mrsha decided to go over one more hill. The inn was still in sight after all, and Mrsha the Brave and Responsible wouldn’t get scolded if she went a bit further, right?

As Mrsha the Explorative crested the next hill she saw an amazing battle taking place below her. A small, colorful, blue and yellow slime was fighting two horrible aggressors! A pair of large, ugly, green and brown poo slimes was attacking it, smacking it with their bodies, trying to splatter the poor slime! The magic slime was clearly magic; its insides swirled with color and it glowed. It was bright blue with a yellow streak running down the center.

The magic slime was beautiful, and thus, clearly important. Mrsha hesitated, unsure if she should actually fight monsters. But she was an adventurer wasn’t she? Apista fanned her wings agitatedly and Mrsha made up her mind. She raised her wand and howled as all three slimes turned to stare at her.

The epic battle of the grasses went like this: Mrsha the Great and Terrible charged into battle, wand waving. She brought her magic wand squarely down on the center of one of the poo slimes. It was barely bigger then she was and her wand went splash into it. The slime turned to her and Mrsha the Tactically Unsound realized she might have made a mistake.

So began an epic chase as Mrsha the Quick to Flee ran and the first poo slime pursued her! It stank horribly and it kept trying to swallow her legs! Mrsha the Fiercely Hygienic kicked at it and part of the slime splashed away. Apista, her loyal friend tried to stab the slime with her stinger, but the slime was all liquid and the Ashfire Bee nearly got swallowed! She flew away as Mrsha, She of Stinky Paws, punched the slime and splashed its nasty body everywhere.

The poo slime retreated and Mrsha, In Dire Need of a Bath, pursued. She leapt on the slime and, remembering what she’d been told, grabbed the small glowing stone in its body. The slime constricted around her hand and Mrsha cried out, feeling it twisting her paw, digesting her fur and skin! She pulled at the core, ignoring the slime as it resisted. The slime reacted, trying to engulf Mrsha entirely, but the Gnoll plucked its heart out and the slime was no more!

Panting, covered in very nasty liquid, Mrsha the Stinky triumphantly raised her wand and saw the second poo slime had been defeated as well! The glowing slime had engulfed it and was now jettisoning a steady stream of liquid out of its body. It ‘spat’ the other slime’s body away and as Mrsha watched, ate the other slime’s core. The magic slime’s body glowed and it rolled towards her, reaching for the slime core she held.

Mrsha had to take a break for a second to wipe her face and try not to retch at the horrible smells around her. But then, the slime was engulfing her leg, reaching upwards with its bulbous body for the mana stone she held. Aha! The damsel in distress was in fact a brigand! Mrsha thumped the slime with her paw, making it retreat.

A standoff ensued. Mrsha the Perplexed stared at the glowing slime. It looked familiar. The slime quivered as Apista circled it menacingly. Was it friend or foe? Mrsha the Merciful decided it was probably okay. She handed the mana stone from the second poo slime to the magic slime and watched in fascination as it ate the stone! It had a mana stone of its own and the slime’s core grew as it absorbed the first stone.

It rolled around Mrsha, lightly touching her, and the Gnoll, fascinated, gently patted the slime. At first she was nervous and at first the slime was nervous, but Mrsha was a [Beast Tamer]! She and the slime became friends or at least, didn’t try to kill each other. Mrsha decided this slime would make an excellent companion with Apista. She patted the slime and gingerly poked her paw into its side. The slime pulled away, but Mrsha felt her sore paw heal instantly!

Wide-eyed, Mrsha the Surprised pulled her paw back and realized this slime was no ordinary magic slime, but some kind of amazing healing slime! Just like Erin had talked about! Healing slimes were real, and this slime had healed her! It was also, apparently, hungry.

The healing slime crawled across the ground, examining the remains of the poo slimes and the grass and mud. It absorbed some of the water and horrible sewer remains and promptly spat out the sewer stuff. It plucked some grass, spat that out too. It found a grey flower hiding among the grass and ate that, and a cluster of spotted white mushrooms.

It was a picky slime. It was only as half as big as the poo slimes had been, for all it seemed energetic. Maybe there wasn’t enough for it to eat? What did healing slimes eat anyways? Mrsha the Keen Observer watched and decided her new friend could use some help. Thus, Mrsha the Great and Terrible went back home.

There was uproar in the inn, and Mrsha the Unobtrusive heard a lot of shouting as she pushed open the door and padded inside.

“Okay, no one step on the glowing puddle! I don’t know how it’s going to react!”

Octavia the Very Panicked was shouting and waving her hands near the kitchen. Lyonette and Erin were shouting too with buckets and mops. Mrsha the Slightly Interested decided that watching might not be a good idea, especially when she saw a small fireball rise up and all three young women scatter.

She snuck behind the panicking adults and into Octavia’s shop which was, ironically, probably the safest place to be at the moment. Mrsha the Inquisitive stared around at the shelves full of bottles. She felt a bit guilty, but this was an experiment! She stared around at the potions on the bottom shelves, looking for a good one. A large bottle at the end caught her eye. It was purple and had green flecks, tiny shimmering stars contained within the dark liquid.

The purple potion with green stars called to Mrsha. She picked up the bottle and shook it gently, watching the glowing colors swirling together. Yes, this would do. Mrsha the Daring Thief snuck back through to Erin’s inn. Once again no one noticed her—they were trying to put the fire out, and stymied by the fact that adding water just made it grow.

“Try oil!”

Oil? Are you trying to burn my inn down?”

“What about dirt?”

“It’s all wet! What about this? We have uh—flour?”

Lyonette grabbed a bag of flour and both Erin and Octavia tackled her.

“Get the beans! Smother it with beans! I have two whole bags here!”

Mrsha the Vastly Entertained watched for a while, and then decided her new friend needed her more. She walked back outside and found the healing slime wandering about. It froze when it saw her and Apista again, but Mrsha patted it on the head and offered it the potion. It accepted the bottle into its center and Mrsha, fascinated, saw the glass begin to crack as the slime tried to digest it. The bottle broke and the magic purple liquid filled the slime.

Mrsha the Prudent took a few steps back as the healing slime froze. Its swirling center turned purple and the yellow sparks within it swirled brightly. For all of three seconds it seemed to fight the new colors within, and then—surprisingly—it changed color!

First it was the bright blue and yellow color it had been before. And then, suddenly, it was purple with green spots! It rolled about and then suddenly blue blossomed around the core and it shifted back into its original configuration! Mrsha the Amazed stared at the slime and padded over to it. She gingerly poked a finger into the slime as it turned from blue to purple and licked a bit of the purple potion.

She immediately spat it back out. Whatever was in Octavia’s potion, it tasted horrible! Too horrible to consider tasting! Mrsha scrubbed her mouth with some grass as the slime rolled about. Was it…faster? It zipped around Mrsha, a purple blur and she blinked and chased after it.

Now it was a race! Mrsha and the purple slime ran about the plains! It was quick! Fast as Mrsha was, she could barely keep up and the slime seemed to enjoy shooting up and down the hills, avoiding the small lakes. Fast, fast! Mrsha ran after the magic slime, leaping after it, watching it race around her tail, turning, and then—

And then she ran over a hill and saw the Fortress Beaver. It was limping along, a huge gash cut down the side of its body. It was larger than she was and as Mrsha halted, she, Apista, and the magic slime faced the large beaver. It made a wary chattering sound and Mrsha backed up, ready to flee. The magic slime made to run as well.

But wait, wasn’t she Mrsha the Great and Terrible? And she was a [Beast Tamer], a friend of Apista’s! She had [Wild Affinity], so surely she wasn’t a threat? Mrsha the Generally Peaceful edged forwards and the beaver retreated a step. She raised a paw and waved at the beaver. It stared at her and then decided she wasn’t a threat. It collapsed, lying down, and Mrsha the Horrified saw that it was still bleeding from its wound!

Whatever had cut the beaver must have been poisonous, because the wound looked greenish. The beaver was foaming a bit around the mouth and Mrsha the Healer realized something had to be done. She stared at the magic slime, and then stared at the beaver. The healing slime trembled as Mrsha padded over to it, but it reluctantly rolled towards the beaver and inspected the wound. It stared at the dying creature and Mrsha saw it shift from purple to blue. The slime slowly rolled over the wound and before her stunned eyes, the beaver’s wounds closed. The Fortress Beaver sat up and Mrsha the Savior of Beavers saw it lick the healing slime and then walk over to her! She patted it on the head and felt it whuff as it smelled her.

Another triumph! Another victory! The beaver seemed to realize that Mrsha and the slime had saved its life, and it seemed to want them to follow it. Mrsha the Great and Terrible followed the beaver with her band of trusty followers in tow. Apista seemed to enjoy licking the healing slime with her proboscis and the healing slime kept trying to swat her away, but that was okay. They were all friends and Mrsha was their great leader!

The Fortress Beaver led her over two hills and then Mrsha saw a group of Beavers chattering around the entrance of a cave! They were all Fortress Beavers and all very big. When they saw Mrsha and the other beaver they clustered around her. They were all hurt for some reason. Mrsha the Confused wondered why. Then she saw the beaver she had saved walk into the cave, followed by his kin.

Of course, Mrsha the Generally Inquisitive had to follow. She marched into the cave, head held high, ready for an adventure. She walked into the darkness, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, and saw the beavers tense. Mrsha the Suddenly Wary stopped, and she saw a shape lying on the ground.

It was…a Fortress Beaver. It was dead. The back of its head had been torn away and it was being ripped apart from the back. Something was tearing at it, savaging it. It crawled over the top of the beaver as Mrsha and the other Fortress Beavers stared and she saw an orange glowing body, protected by an exoskeleton of black and bloody red chitin. The Gnoll’s heart stopped as she realized what it and the other shapes clustered around the beaver were.

Crelers. The scuttling horrors with too many legs and teeth looked up as they dug into the flesh of the rotting Fortress Beaver’s corpse. Like a wave they scuttled towards Mrsha and the other animals. Their pincers and maws were red with blood and Mrsha saw a headless Corusdeer lying on the ground, the remains of three Shield Spiders. The Crelers came at her, hissing.

And suddenly it wasn’t a game anymore.

This was how the battle went. Mrsha fled as the Crelers attacked the Fortress Beavers, howling in panic. This wasn’t a game! Apista flew after her, just as afraid and the magic slime was zipping out of the cave! They were being pursued. Two of the Crelers had followed her and they scuttled out into the daylight after the Gnoll with alarming speed. Mrsha ran, howling, her magic and adventure forgotten. She tripped as she tumbled down a hill and fell—

Into a Shield Spider’s nest. The ground collapsed and Mrsha saw a flashing, rolling vision of large bodies, white egg sacks and then—a Shield Spider. It stared down at her, mandibles wide. Mrsha went very still. She tried to will herself to be invisible, to use her Skill to hide. But the Shield Spider had seen her! It opened its mandibles as more flooded into the pit—

And the Crelers charged into the nest. One leapt onto the Shield Spider standing over Mrsha and the second shuddered down the side of the nest. They began biting, tearing into the armored spiders as if their bodies were nothing more than paper! Alarmed, Mrsha retreated and the Shield Spiders shrieked and attacked the invaders.

It was a battle between the two species! To her horror, Mrsha saw the Crelers were tearing apart the Shield Spiders. They were too strong, too quick, and too tough! Their bodies were made of something stronger than the Shield Spiders and no matter how hard the spiders bit they couldn’t deliver more than superficial injuries. Whereas the Crelers could literally dig into their opponents and tear them apart!

It was terrible. And once the Crelers were done with the spiders, Mrsha would be next! She looked around desperately but there was no good way out. She saw a Creler leap off an eviscerated spider and scuttle towards her. It reared up—

And a bee smacked into it from the side! Apista, wings stretched wide, stabbed the Creler in its soft underbelly with her stinger. The Creler reared back and the Ashfire Bee flew around it, furiously attacking! Mrsha saw the other Creler break off as a whirling purple mass leapt at it. The magic healing slime engulfed the Creler into its body and Mrsha saw the creature fighting mightily to get out. But her attention was on the Creler in front of her.

It was trying to leap onto Apista! Mrsha raised her wand and smacked it on the back. The Creler whipped around, fast as a snake. The Gnoll leapt back and the Creler might have bit her then, but for the other Shield Spiders! They swarmed onto the creature, biting, fighting it in a mass of writhing limbs as the Creler thrashed about. It was a horrible battle and Mrsha saw more than one Shield Spider stumble away, practically ripped apart by the Creler’s claws. But then the Creler was dead, torn apart, and the second had fallen to the healing slime. It drifted in the slime’s body, its body twisted and mangled by the internal pressures put on it.

A silence fell over the Shield Spider nest as they realized there were still three uninvited guests. The spiders limped around Mrsha and she, realizing it was do-or-die, grabbed the healing slime and began splashing the spiders with its liquid. The spiders scuttled away at first, but then realized their wounds were healing! They crowded around Mrsha and she did her very best to convey that she was not prey. She pointed, and tried to convey a simple message.

There were more Crelers above. The Shield Spiders looked at her. They opened their mandibles wide and Mrsha the Great and Terrible held her breath.

The Fortress Beavers had retreated again. They had left six of their dead in the caves this time and killed only one Creler. They were all wounded, all poisoned by the Creler’s toxins. And yet, the beavers did not retreat. It was death or victory here. They had lost most of their colony to the Crelers already and they would not run.

This time they waited outside the cave, knowing the end was coming. The Crelers were eating their kin, laying their foul eggs. But they would not wait long, knowing more prey was ready to be slain.

The Fortress Beaver young stayed behind their parents as the beavers formed a semicircle around the cave. This was it. They heard scuttling, and then, to their astonishment, a howl! They turned and saw an unexpected ally. The white Gnoll had returned! In this dire hour she raced towards the cave, towards certain death. The Fortress Beavers stared at her and then at her strange companions.

An Ashfire Bee, a magic slime, and a Gnoll? Surely that wouldn’t be enough. But then they saw Shield Spiders scuttling across the ground behind them! The Fortress Beavers braced, but it was not the beavers that the Shield Spiders had come to slay. The scuttling grew louder as all sides heard the sounds from in the cave grew louder. There was a shriek, an inhuman noise that no animal would make either.

The Crelers had come. They poured out of the cave and the Fortress Beavers slapped their tails and chattered in fury. The battle was joined as Mrsha howled in alarm and Apista and the healing slime charged the creatures. It was a thin line of Fortress Beavers and Shield Spiders that rushed to meet them, but they were not alone! To her astonishment, the Gnoll saw more Shield Spiders pouring out of other pits, crawling across the grassland, drawn by some unknown message between their comrades. They set upon the Crelers, ignoring the Fortress Beavers, biting and clawing at the horrific things.

Mrsha understood as she saw the whirling bundles of legs and fangs turn and attack the large spiders. The Crelers bit into the armored shells of the spiders, tearing them apart, fighting the Shield Spiders as the massive Fortress Beavers tried to bite and pound them into submission. This wasn’t about predator and prey, this wasn’t about sides! The Crelers were a threat to all species!

They had not been born of this world. Not like animals. They had not sprung into being. They had been created, and they were malice and death. Mrsha understood that in a flash, connected by her tenuous bond with the animals. They had to be stopped. She saw the healing slime engulf another Creler and then Apista stabbing at a second one as a Fortress Beaver tried to smash it onto the ground.

The Creler leapt and bit the beaver’s throat. As the huge furry defender fell it turned towards Apista. This time the young Ashfire Bee was too slow to fly back and the Creler bore Apista to the ground with a powerful leap. It fought Apista as the Ashfire Bee grappled with it on the ground. The Creler was biting, tearing with all its claws and pincers! It was going to kill Apista! Mrsha didn’t realize she was running until her wand was stabbing into the Creler’s back.

The earth remembers. Call it out, diversify. Change what is, shape it to what it must be. Tell the earth what could happen. Combine memory and thought.

Make it grow.

Mrsha cast the spell. Grass shot up from the patch of earth around the Creler as Apista struggled free. The bee crept away, bleeding, as Mrsha held her wand in place. Bright green tendrils of grass snaked around the Creler as it turned towards her, weaving around its legs, its body.

The grass grew in a spurt around the Creler, weaving together, snaring it, pulling it down towards the ground. Surprised, the Creler scuttled at Mrsha, but she held her concentration. The grass tightened around the Creler as it fought to break free, holding it against the ground. It struggled there, helpless, as Mrsha staggered backwards.

The world greyed out and Mrsha fell backwards. She felt like the life had been sucked out of her. She saw a dim shape, and saw Apista crawling towards her. Her trustworthy companion had been savaged; she was bleeding from her abdomen, her sides. She crawled onto Mrsha’s hand as the Gnoll closed her eyes. They lay together as the darkness consumed Mrsha and the sounds of battle raged around her.

 

—-

 

And then Mrsha woke up. She felt a wet sensation on her face and sat up suddenly. The heavy gelatinous mass slid off and Mrsha got a glimpse of a bright blue glowing form, and saw the healing slime slide away. She stared at it and then looked around wildly. Apista, where was—

The Ashfire Bee flew onto Mrsha’s head and clung to her! The Gnoll, stunned, stared at the bee and then looked around. She saw devastation in the cave, blood, broken body parts, and the Crelers.

They were all dead. The alliance of spiders and beavers had won, if barely. Mrsha saw Fortress Beavers and the carcasses of Shield Spiders strewn about the cave. And yet, more were on their feet and moving about then she would have imagined. Mrsha stared at the unhurt beavers and spiders and then realized who was responsible. The healing slime rolled towards a beaver that was missing a leg and engulfed the bleeding stump. The beaver stopped bleeding. The leg did not regrow, but the beaver seemed to visibly perk up. It turned around and licked the slime and the healing slime rolled away.

The healing slime. Mrsha approached it and the slime retreated warily. She waited and it rolled back. Mrsha gently patted the slime and the slime engulfed her paw and then let go. She looked around the cave and saw countless beady eyes on her. The Shield Spiders and Fortress Beavers stared at Mrsha and there was something intelligent in their eyes.

Intelligent, yes. Thoughtful—no. Mrsha saw no words in the eyes of the animals and spiders. But as some of the beavers surrounded her and began to groom her fur, Mrsha realized something.

Fortress Beavers could think. The slime could think. The Shield Spiders…well, Mrsha got more simplistic thoughts out of them. But they were wise enough to avoid a second battle in the wake of the war. They left, carrying their dead, as the Fortress Beavers reclaimed their cave. They began to tear apart the Crelers with their claws, not to eat, but to make sure not a hint of life remained in any of them. And they made sure to destroy the eggs as well.

The eggs. They were bright orange and red and contained swimming shapes within the dusky orbs. They had been laid in the bodies of the dead Fortress Beavers and Shield Spiders. Ruthlessly, the beavers smashed each one. Mrsha stared as a lone Creler egg rolled towards her. She picked it up and stared around the cave.

This had been a battle. An actual battle. Mrsha stared at the magic slime, at Apista, looking fierce and triumphant, and at the Fortress Beavers grimly reclaiming their home and pushing their dead out. She felt triumphant and tired. She was done playing. She wanted to go back home.

And so it was that Mrsha the Great and Terrible, hero of the Battle of the Cave, left the Fortress Beavers and the healing slime behind. It seemed content to roll about the caves and it apparently liked the dead Crelers enough to keep eating them. Mrsha hoped it would survive. But as for herself, she was going home. She walked back proudly to the inn, bearing the spoils of her travels with her.

“And where have you been?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips as Mrsha walked into the inn just in time for dinner. The Gnoll guiltily avoided Erin’s look. Erin peered at her suspiciously and then sniffed.

“Eurgh! You smell awful, Mrsha! Did you fall into the outhouse? Lyonette, we’re going to need to give Mrsha a bath!”

“Us too!”

Jelaqua raised her hand. The Selphid was covered in dirt, as was Moore and Seborn. They were tired, but happy. They’d found their diggers and done a lot of digging themselves, apparently. Mrsha padded over to them, noting the blackened spot of floorboards in front of the kitchen. She wondered if they’d put the fire out.

“Beans are a wonderful extinguisher for magical fires. I learned that today. Also, we’re out of beans. I’m definitely not serving the ones we burnt on the fire and I really hope they don’t grow.”

Erin announced this to the room as she carried out a pot of macaroni and cheese for the hungry adventurers and Mrsha. The Gnoll sat happily at the table with the Halfseekers, thinking it was about time that she joined their ranks. Moore smiled at Mrsha.

“Did you have a good day, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded. She began placing her treasures on the table. Jelaqua laughed as she leaned over to look.

“What’s that? Oh, you’ve been outside, have you? Let’s see, you’ve got a lovely flower, an empty potion bottle—where’d you get that, then? And an egg. Huh. What’s that?”

She stared at the orange, translucent egg with a frown. Moore and Seborn leaned over too as Mrsha rolled the egg towards the Selphid. Jelaqua frowned as she stared at the egg and then her eyes widened.

Dead gods!

She flipped the table as she leapt to her feet with a shout. Erin watched her pot of macaroni fly everywhere. She stared at Mrsha. Mrsha stared around the inn as Seborn stomped on the Creler egg. She thought about the future and what it might hold. Every eye turned towards her. Erin folded her arms. Mrsha slid from her chair at the table and gave everyone her best, most innocent smile.

Then she ran for it.

 

—-

 

One last detail. As Mrsha, the Great and Very-Much-In-Trouble fled from the inn with Lyonette, Erin, and the Halfseekers pursing her, a predator of the skies took wing. A Razorbeak, a massive avian similar to a pterodactyl with sharp claws and sharper teeth flew overhead. It was known to Erin as a Dino-Bird, and as it spotted the small Gnoll it began to dive.

It was a large creature, bigger than an eagle and fully capable of grabbing the Gnoll and lifting her up into the air where it would happily tear her apart. It dove as Mrsha hid from Lyonette behind the crest of a hill, beak pointed at the Gnoll’s back, talons outstretched—

An arrow pierced it through the chest. Surprised, the Razorbeak had only time for a strangled squawk before it fell. It landed dead on the ground and Bird lowered his bow and hummed his song.

Birds, birds, I shoot birds. Because I am Birds. La, la, birds…

It was the eighth bird he’d killed in the last hour, and all thanks to Mrsha. Bird nodded happily as he mentally marked the spot where the Razorbeak had fallen for picking up later. He watched as Mrsha disappeared behind the crest of a hill, pursued by the angry adults.

She’d been going out a lot today. He wondered if he should have stopped her, especially given that she was so young. But she had a wand and that meant she was a [Mage]. And mages could defend themselves, right? Bird happily went back to waiting for the next bird to try to carry Mrsha off.

Life was good.

 

—-

 

[Beast Tamer Level 6!]

[Gardener Level 3!]

[Mage Level 2!]

[Conditions Met: Mage → Druid Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Gardener removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Beast Tamer removed.]

 

[Druid Level 2!]

[Skill – Spell: Wild Growth obtained!]

[Skill Change – Wild Affinity → Peace of the Wild!]

[Skill – Peace of the Wild obtained!]

 

Mrsha woke up in the middle of the night. She rubbed at her sore bottom, and then rolled over and went back to sleep. And thus the tale of Mrsha the Great and Terrible ended.

For now.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.07

(Volume 1 of The Wandering Inn is now on sale as an e-book on Amazon! Please read this short message about the book!)

 

It began with a quiet in the morning, a hush as the incessant rainfall ceased. Erin Solstice woke up and looked out into a soggy landscape at the crack of dawn. She heard shuffling feet and knew there were others who had woken up at the same time as her.

The door to her inn opened as Erin got up and blearily brushed her teeth and changed clothes.

“I should probably get my own room. Yup, yup. Why do I sleep down here anyways? Because the kitchen floor is soft? Well, it is, actually. But I need a dressing room, at least. The actors could use one and so could I.”

“Probably. Then again, I don’t mind the view.”

Erin whirled around.

“Jelaqua!”

The Selphid grinned at her, looking tired. She was up early. She eyed Erin as the young woman finished dressing.

“Hey Erin. Nice forearms.”

Only a Selphid would compliment someone about the state of their forearms. Or someone really concerned about body fitness. Erin sighed.

“Morning Jelaqua. Breakfast’s not ready yet so you can go back to sleep.”

“I know that. Normally I’d be in bed, but I couldn’t help it. I heard that lot getting up so…”

Jelaqua nodded over her shoulder. Erin walked out of the kitchen and stared out of one of her inn’s windows.

“What, the Goblins? They do this every day.”

“Really?”

“Every day since I gave them their rooms upstairs, yeah.”

“So they’ve done this today and yesterday is what you mean.”

“Um…yes.”

The Selphid woman and Erin stared out the windows. The Redfang Goblins were standing outside in the dewy grass in that not-quite-darkness that was the sky before the sun fully rose. Actually, standing was a bad word. They were sparring.

Five Hobgoblins, each taller than Erin, each green, and each strong and fit. They kicked and punched at each other, sparring in pairs or two-on-one and then switched to swords in scabbards and calisthenics. That meant Headscratcher would wail on Badarrow with a sword as the other Goblin cursed and dodged while Rabbiteater did pushups and Shorthilt and Numbtongue sprinted up and down the hill.

Jelaqua shook her head as Erin readied breakfast. The Selphid stared hard at the Goblins as they performed a demanding workout. It wasn’t just physically tough—the Goblins hit each other hard and Erin had seen them draw blood with their swords while sparring.

“Plague corpses, that’s unnerving.”

“What is?”

The Selphid absently picked at the stiches around her crown. A bit of skin fell off around her skull and Erin made a note to bar Jelaqua from the kitchen. The Selphid was a bit smelly at close quarters and her body looked decidedly worse than it had when Erin first met her. Jelaqua noticed Erin flick the dead skin off the table and wipe the offending spot and grimaced.

“Really sorry about that. My body’s not doing too well right now. It’s time for a change, but I haven’t been able to find a fresh corpse for the life of me. No one in Celum or Liscor’s eager to sell a body to a Selphid, you see.”

“Not a problem. Just don’t uh, drop any part of yourself in today’s breakfast. You got hurt defending my inn, after all.”

“Huh. I suppose I did.”

Jelaqua scratched at her stitches again, seemingly surprised that Erin remembered. She stared at the Goblins and shook her head again.

“They’re like clones of Garen.”

“Who? Oh, that’s the Hobgoblin that betrayed…”

Erin broke off. Jelaqua nodded, her face unreadable.

“Yeah. I know I shouldn’t think they’re the same, but damn me if Garen didn’t teach them to fight and train like him. He learned those exercises from us. And seeing these Goblins do the same…”

Her fist clenched. Erin nodded slowly.

“Hard?”

The Selphid paused.

“Nah. They’re different, in the end. That’s what I keep telling myself now, thanks to you. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the view. Look at those calf muscles! And the way those sweat glands are working!”

She licked her lips, staring avidly at the way Shorthilt’s pectoral muscles moved as the Goblin charged up the hill with Numbtongue right behind him. Erin stared at Jelaqua. The Selphid really did have the oddest interests in people. Namely, their bodies. There was a lot to look at as the Goblins sparred in their loincloths, and their sturdy big toes weren’t normally the subject of interest for most Humans.

Most Humans. Erin saw Jelaqua break off from ogling the Goblins to look at her with a grin.

“This doing anything for you?”

Erin stared blankly at the five Goblins as Badarrow began loosing arrows at the other four Goblins. The Hob was using arrows that had no arrowhead, but he was aiming at close range and the other Redfang Warriors were getting hit hard. She heard a yelp as Badarrow shot Rabbiteater in the groin and shook her head.

“Nope. But uh, I’m not thinking of the Goblins in any kind of intimate sense.”

“Mm. I could give it a shot. I mean, Goblin bodies are—well, it’s a bit daring if you get my meaning, but what Selphid would turn their tendrils up at one of these specimens? But I totally get that you’re not into having sex with Goblins.”

“Thanks for understanding?”

It was weird talking with Selphids. This wasn’t the first time either. Jelaqua knew more about the Human body than Erin did, and that was despite Erin’s education in biology. There was just something a bit off putting about someone who could tell you exactly what you felt like from the inside.

But Jelaqua was a good person. Erin leaned over the windowsill, watching the Goblins. The Selphid stared at them again.

“Funny though, they really do look sort of like Garen. Do you ever get confused by them? They look mostly alike to me.”

“Really?”

Erin looked at Jelaqua with a frown. The Selphid nodded.

“Oh, their bodies are different, but I can’t tell them apart. Can you?”

“Yup! They’re all unique. It’s easy to tell them apart when you know how. Here, let me show you. The easiest one to spot is Badarrow. That’s him with the bow.”

Erin pointed to the Hob who was shooting at the other Hobs, trying to keep them from attacking him while they ducked and tried to avoid his arrows. The [Innkeeper] smiled.

“He’s the bad-tempered one. He always looks grumpy and he’s always grouching to the others. He really likes bows and arrows so he sometimes stares at Bird’s bow. I think he’s jealous.”

“Huh. I do get that vibe from him. [Archers] love bows. The entire Gnoll species seems to love them too. We had a half-Gnoll that always—well, never mind. Who’s the Hob charging him?”

Erin saw a Hobgoblin charge up the hill, willingly taking an arrow in the shoulder to tackle Badarrow to the ground. There was triumphant shouting as the two Hobs rolled around, punching each other.

“That’s Headscratcher. He’s like the cool emotional leader guy. The other Hobs listen to him mainly and he’s always leaping into the fight. But he has a soft side.”

“You sure?”

Jelaqua watched Headscratcher put Badarrow in an arm lock before the other three Goblins decided it was time for two-versus-three battle. Headscratcher and Shorthilt charged the other three with wild shouts, fighting ferociously. Erin nodded knowingly as she stared at Headscratcher walloping Rabbiteater.

“Oh yeah. Total softie. He cried during the play last night you know.”

“You’re joking. No? Okay, it made sense. Moore was blubbering on me and I would have cried, but my tear ducts are all clogged up. Seborn’s a cold-hearted bastard though. Who’s the other Hob with him?”

“Shorthilt? Weapon dude. He likes sharpening swords. He’s always maintaining that sword he has and he doesn’t let the other Goblins touch it. He’s like a snob-Goblin.”

Erin saw Shorthilt pirouette with his blade, warding off Badarrow and smacking Numbtongue with a fast cut to the shoulder. He was probably the best of the Hobs with his sword. Erin frowned, a bit vexed.

“I think he’s a good guy. Silent type. But he means too well, you know? He sharpened my knives one time and I nearly cut through my cutting board!”

“Huh. Okay, what about that Hob?”

Jelaqua pointed and Erin saw Numbtongue backing up, cursing loudly as he tried to flank Shorthilt and the Hob kept him and Rabbiteater at bay.

“Oh, that’s Numbtongue. Easy to spot too. See how he’s the only Goblin saying anything? He’s the only one who can really talk.”

“I have never heard one of the Goblins say more than five words together, Erin.”

“Yeah, but he could if he wanted to. Remember when I was singing? I swear he was singing the entire song with me after the first go round. He’s got a great memory, and I’m pretty sure he’s memorized both plays by heart.”

“A talking Goblin who doesn’t talk.”

“That’s right. And so we have our last Goblin. Rabbiteater.”

Erin stared at the Goblin, who looked grumpy as he and the three defeated Goblins watched the victors of their mock battle, Headscratcher and Shorthilt, celebrate. Jelaqua looked at Erin.

“So what’s his special feature?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. He’s good at most things and he likes to eat. He’s a hard worker and the other Goblins like him because he doesn’t get on their nerves. He’s a Hufflepuff, poor guy.”

“A what?”

“That’s like…you know, someone who works hard but doesn’t have any defining features?”

“Oh, a loser?”

“No! They’re good people and Rabbiteater’s good in a lot of ways! He just doesn’t stand out. Hufflepuffs are nice! Okay, I was a Gryffindor, but…”

“I have literally no idea what you’re talking about, Erin.”

“I know.”

As the Selphid and Human girl talked and the Redfang Warriors trooped inside for breakfast—fruit and oatmeal with honey—more people began waking up and walking downstairs. The Wandering Inn woke up as Drassi arrived for her morning shift. But the small crowd would soon have some more visitors. A band of three Gold-rank adventurers set out from Liscor, walking through the wet grasslands, arguing as they headed to The Wandering Inn.

The Silver Swords were a group of three adventurers, known for their championing of just causes and for protecting those in need. They had grown famous in the north, enough so that their name was recognizable in most Adventurer’s Guilds across the continent. Rarely did they stray so far south, though, and while they were a solid team who had worked together for six years already, they were known for arguing. Mainly because each of the three members of the Silver Swords hailed from a different race.

Their leader, Ylawes Byres, was Human. He was a [Knight] who strode ahead of the group. Next to him walked the half-Elf Falene Skystrall, a [Battlemage] who had graduated from Wistram. Behind the two, stomping along and muttering into his beard was Dawil, a Dwarf [Axe Champion] dressed in full plate armor.

Such an unusual combination of species was rare to see, not least because half-Elves and Dwarves were known for their distaste for one another. That was a long-held stereotype at least and while it might not have fit in general, it seemed to fit with this group, for whom the word stereotype was sometimes understated.

It was Dawil who was complaining this morning, his deep voice loud in the morning hush. He stomped along, growling at Ylawes’ back. All three adventurers were armored up despite the early time—Dawil’s armor and Ylawes’ silver plate shone bright in the sunlight, as did Falene’s magical robes that caught and enhanced the light. None of that made the Dwarf’s mood any better.

“Bah! We had to get up early and for what? Breakfast in that inn? Hah! I’d rather have Drakes rubbing their tails all over my head and Gnolls shedding in my soup than have Goblins stinking up the place! And you! Why are you walking in front of me, you giant shining lummox? Bad enough that I have to get up at the crack of dawn when we’re not on an adventure. I’m not staring at a flashing mirror all day!”

He cut ahead of Ylawes, grumbling about [Knights] and polished armor. Ylawes sighed, but it was Falene who cut Dawil off. The half-Elf looked down her nose at the Dwarf.

“If you’ve stopped grumbling, I’ll present my findings, Dwarf. I was telling you about the group Ylawes’ sister has found herself with.”

“Oh good, the half-Elf has done some research. Let’s all applaud her woodsy majesty then!”

“Dawil…”

Ylawes’ tone was patient. The Dwarf grumbled, but let Falene go on as the Human [Knight] nodded to her.

“As I was saying. It seems the half-Elf, Ceria Springwalker and the [Necromancer] Pisces truly are Wistram graduates. I had my sincere doubts, but I received a brief note from a colleague in Wistram affirming their claims. However, it seems they left Wistram prematurely…I sense there was an incident that the academy is attempting to cover up. I’ve sent follow up letters and hope to know more soon.”

“Two [Mages] from Wistram, eh? And one’s a [Necromancer]? I didn’t know that the mages graduated [Necromancers]. And didn’t I hear you say that you’d never work willingly with someone who raised the undead, Byres?”

“The mages don’t let [Necromancers] join the academy. At least, they don’t encourage it. And my family has fought against the undead and those that command them for generations, Dawil. I don’t understand why my sister would work with this [Necromancer]. As for the Antinium—anything, Falene?”

Ylawes turned to Falene hopefully. The half-Elf hesitated and shook her head.

“Nothing. The Antinium are supposed to be a mindless mass. Why one of them would join an adventuring group—much less have a name—is a mystery to me. He could be a Prognugator, but those are supposed to be exceedingly rare. And why would he be exiled from his Hive?”

“Outcast, probably. So let’s see, we have a half-Elf with a missing hand and a [Necromancer], both of whom left Wistram under dodgy circumstances, and an Antinium from the Hives. Tell me again how your sister’s mixed up in all this, Ylawes?”

The tall [Knight] grimaced. Ylawes could have walked out of a painting of a knight fighting a Dragon. He frowned at the inn as he ascended the hill with his companions.

“I don’t know. Yvlon lost her team in Liscor’s crypts and I think she fell in with this group by accident. She knew the half-Elf—Ceria Springwalker—from the expedition. As for the [Necromancer] and Antinium…she refused to say. But I’ll take her back north safely regardless of whatever mess she’s gotten herself into.”

“If she’s willing to go. You’ve already committed us to finding a lost adventurer. In Liscor’s dungeon no less.”

Falene looked sideways at Ylawes. The man nodded grimly.

“It’s a just cause and if there really is a Minotaur down there who’s survived this entire time, he deserves rescue.”

“And we deserve a big bag of gold for finding him, but will we get that? No, it’s another one of your noble causes.”

Dawil grumbled. Ylawes gave him a stern look.

“If need be I’ll pay the reward out of my own pockets, Dawil. I told you that I was looking for my sister and we might not find work here. You were free to join another team—”

“And leave you to get killed? Hah! Maybe the half-Elf would do that, but we Dwarves understand loyalty!”

Dawil thumped his chest. Then he pointed at Ylawes.

“But mark me, Byres. I’ll gladly eat and fight monsters in this city so long as there’s pay to be had and food in my belly, but if you’re really trying to get your sister to come back with you you’ll take my advice. You’ve pestered your sister for a week now and for what? Nothing. Listen, I might be a Dwarf but I’ve lived for thirty eight years—”

“And I’ve lived for twenty seven. Dawil, if you’re trying to give me sage advice…”

“Just listen! Y’see, I’ve been around for a while. Not as long as Miss Snooty half-Elf I’ll grant you, but—”

Ylawes rolled his eyes and Falene looked resigned as Dawil stroked his beard knowingly.

“Women aren’t so easy to manage. Sisters either. In my opinion, women are like metamorphological magic theory.”

Ylawes, who’d been opening his mouth to tell Dawil his advice was unwanted, stopped. He stared at the Dwarf. Falene stared as well.

“Go on.”

The Dwarf smiled.

“You see, it’s simple. Women are like metamorphological magic. I don’t understand it, and you don’t either. The half-Elf might, but if you go blundering about trying to tug your sister one way, it’ll do no good. Probably make things worse. Why not ask for advice before you keep prodding her with a stick?”

He looked up at his companions and saw them looking at him thoughtfully. Ylawes nodded.

“You know Dawil, you might be right.”

“Of course I’m right! Been around longer than you, haven’t I?”

Falene smiled drily.

“I suppose that sage advice comes from meeting women? You do seem oddly popular. Just the other day that Silver-rank adventurer was making passes at you. Remember? The part-Dwarf [Warrior] with the beard? She was quite handsome. Were you interested?”

“Her? Gah! Not on your life! Did you see that beard she had? It looks like she grew it with hair tonic and the way she talked! Tall folk this, us short folk that! She’s not Dwarfish at all. No, I’d rather make eyes at a Drake. False beards are really disgusting.”

Dawil shuddered and shook his head. The Silver Swords laughed as they climbed the hill. Ylawes pushed open the door for his comrades and they strode in. They paused as they saw the Redfang Warriors in the corner, and the inn stopped for a second in surprise.

Drassi was serving tables with Lyonette, Erin was chatting with the Halfseekers, and the Goblins were eating alone and massaging their bruises. The Silver Swords walked forwards and Ylawes cleared his throat as he looked around. He nodded slightly to Erin.

“Is Yvlon—?”

“Not here! She’s still out on her mission-request thing.”

Erin cut him off brusquely. Ylawes looked disappointed.

“She told me she’d be back today.”

“Yeah, well, she told me the same thing. Maybe they couldn’t find enough Corusdeer?”

The [Innkeeper] shrugged as she offered the adventurers a seat. The Horns of Hammerad had been absent for the last four days on a big contract for Esthelm. They’d been hired to provide meat for the city as Esthelm’s food supplies were low. To that end they’d been asked to slay Corusdeer, which was a task that seasoned [Hunters] might balk at due to the danger.

Late-season Corusdeer were dangerous as they migrated and Ceria had told Erin to expect them to take at least this long. Ylawes looked like he wanted to ask more, but Dawil was already sitting at the table and his stomach was rumbling loudly.

“Your sister’s not here, Ylawes! Too bad! Now let’s eat! I could eat a horse. What have you got?”

“Oatmeal! With fruit and honey!”

The Dwarf’s face fell. Erin smiled.

“I have ham and mayonnaise sandwiches and two fried steaks I could heat up if you wanted it.”

“What? You didn’t tell me you had steak!”

Jelaqua shot up at her table. Dawil chuckled.

“Steak? I’ll have one of those and that oatmeal mush. And what do you have to drink?”

Ylawes and Falene sat as Erin hovered over their table. Erin smiled as Lyonette hurried out with bowls of freshly chopped fruit and oatmeal for all three and began heating up Dawil’s steak on the pan. It was so easy to serve food! All you had to do was heat up something Erin had cooked twelve days ago and bam! Ready to eat! The only thing that didn’t last with her [Field of Preservation] Skill was soufflés.

“I just got some wine in today. I’m expanding my stock. So in addition to ale, mead, and whiskey, I’m now serving wines from Liscor and Celum! They’re local stocks, imported from Wales and uh, I think Sasil. That’s a Drake village south of the Blood Fields.”

“Hm. Wine, eh?”

Dawil looked interested, which surprised Erin since she’d expected Falene or Ylawes to want wine instead. The Dwarf nodded at the bottles Erin had put up against the bar.

“I’ve heard of the white wines that Drakes make, and I’m fond of a bouquet now and then. I could have a cup of the red and wash it down with that mead!”

That sounded weird to Erin, but she nodded agreeably. Falene smirked slightly at Dawil.

“Really, Dawil? Wine and mead? What happened to your Dwarfish pride?”

“A Dwarf can like both, you prissy snob! And don’t pretend to be all elegant and refined you hypocrite—I know you drink hard spirits when no one’s watching!”

Dawil pounded his hand on the table, making his bowl of oatmeal jump. Falene shook her head as she turned to Erin. The half-Elf’s smile was just a bit too knowing as Dawil growled under his breath about judgmental half-Elves.

“I would gladly have a small cup of the Walesian Red—do you have a recent vintage or an older one I could sample?”

Erin gave her a blank look.

“Um. We have red wine if you want it? Or did you mean the maroon wine?”

Falene paused.

“I meant the Walesian Red. I assume that’s the bottle over there?”

Erin looked over her shoulder.

“Oh! Right. It probably is. I don’t use the names of wines. I just call them by how they look. I’ve got red, off red, sort of red, greenish yellow, maroon…hey, why do we call all those wines white if they look green? What about green wine? What’s wrong with calling it that?”

Falene stared at Erin for a long moment. Dawil roared with laughter as the half-Elf just stared at Erin, completely unsure of what to say. Erin gave Falene an innocent look of puzzlement.  At last, the half-Elf coughed delicately and pointed.

“In that case I will have the second bottle to the left.”

“Sure thing! Coming up! And what about you, Mister Dawil?”

“The same.”

The Dwarf grinned widely and then his eyes widened as Erin turned away from Falene and gave him a conspiratorial wink. She returned with two cups of Walesian red, which met all expectations. The Silver Swords ate without further incident and Dawil was ready to admit that the oatmeal made for a filling breakfast—if you added a steak on the side that was.

The Gold-rank adventurers might not have quite fit in with the rest of the inn’s guests, especially given their wariness around the Goblins, but they were adventurers and the Halfseekers seemed at home with another experienced team nearby. Jelaqua leaned across their table and called towards them as she finished her bowl.

“Hey Ylawes, guess what? There was a Creler infestation near here.”

“Really?”

All three Silver Swords turned at once, interested and concerned in equal parts. Ylawes put a hand on his sword.

“How big is the nest? Did you see any adults?”

“Nothing so bad! We actually got tipped off when Mrsha here came in with a Creler egg!”

Jelaqua pointed at Mrsha, who was sitting tenderly and rubbing her bottom. The Gnoll looked up guiltily as Jelaqua went on.

“Turns out she’d found them in a cave not two miles away! Can you imagine?”

“I take it you cleared the nest then?”

Again, the Selphid shook her head.

“Nah, the place was clear when we got there. Lots of Creler bodies, no live ones. Looks like they invaded a Fortress Beaver colony and the beavers barely wiped them out. Cuddly little varmints must have been really lucky and fought only newborns or something. I thought about hunting a few of the beavers for their pelts, but Moore wouldn’t let us. He’s too fond of animals.”

She elbowed Moore and the half-Giant grunted. He placidly dipped a huge serving spoon into his bowl of oatmeal. Drassi, who’d been waiting the adventurer’s tables since she was still nervous around the Goblins, looked interested.

“Really? The Fortress Beavers killed them all? Why’s that? I thought they were really placid animals—unless you started breaking their dams, that was. They’re a real threat when it rains since they like to create huge forts but I’ve never heard of them being aggressive—hey, anyone want more oatmeal?”

“Here!”

Jelaqua and Seborn raised their bowls. Drassi moved over to them with the serving pot. The Drake was in her element with people to talk to. The more people the better. It was Falene who answered her, sipping her wine and speaking so the room could hear.

“Even non-violent animals will attack Crelers, Miss Drake. Animals hate Crelers as much as the thinking races and for good reason. A nest of Crelers will systematically wipe out all life in the area if left unchecked and then colonize a new location—or burrow underground to feed and reproduce.”

“So that’s why they have such huge bounties. Huh, Selys always talks about that and how it’s so hard to award coins to adventurers since they don’t collect trophies or all the Crelers are smashed to bits.”

Drassi looked interested. Ylawes nodded seriously.

“Crelers are a considerable threat. Hatchlings and baby Crelers are manageable for Silver or Bronze-rank teams if the nest is small, but larger nests and juvenile Crelers are a match for Silver-rank teams. Any larger and Gold-rank teams have to step in. And once Crelers pass into their adult stage they’re a threat worthy of any Gold-rank team on their own.”

“Not fun. The bounty on them is high but I’d rather kill sewer rats all day than fight one of those bastards! Gah, we used to send out suppression teams of three Gold-rank teams together to fight really big nests in Baleros!”

Jelaqua shuddered. Seborn raised his one eyebrow as he wiped oatmeal off his crab claw hand.

Ever tried fighting them underwater?

“Don’t joke, Seborn.”

Who said I was?

 

—-

 

The day began in earnest. The Silver Swords ate breakfast and chatted with the Halfseekers as Erin, Drassi, and Lyonette got about the business of business. Erin actually got to relax for most of it—her [Barmaids] were good at their job and there wasn’t really that much to do. If it weren’t for her nightly performances Erin would have been seriously concerned with paying Drassi, but as it was she assured the Drake that she’d have a full load tonight.

“And I get to watch the play, right? I heard all about how it’s like a performance and a story in one. Selys says it’s amazing—she said you took her to a performance once and she’s dying to see another one. I can’t wait to see one myself. It’s already the talk of Liscor!”

“How is it the talk of Liscor? I haven’t even advertised it yet! Most of Celum just found out about the plays today!”

Erin frowned in bemusement and Drassi smiled.

“Well, I heard about the plays from Selys and then Lyonette told me that’s what I’d be doing today so I’ve been telling everyone about it all day!”

“Without having seen a play?”

“Yup!”

The [Innkeeper] had to shake her head. Selys had warned her that Drassi was a gossip on an entirely different level. She even had that as a class! What happened if she got to a high level in that class? Did she turn into a [Chatterbox] capable of whispering around the world? Erin was listening to the Silver Swords quizzing the Halfseekers on the dungeon—hinting that they might want to join in today’s exploration it seemed—when the door to her inn opened.

“Miss Solstice?”

Watch Captain Zevara strode in. Erin turned, surprised to see her. The Watch Captain looked busy as usual and she cut to the chase.

“I’m here on duty Miss Solstice. I won’t take much of your time—but I’ve just gotten an official message from Pallass. They’re ready to open the door to your inn and I’m told that the Assembly of Crafts had dropped all sanctions against our city. As far as they’re concerned your inn is off-limits.”

“What, really? That was fast!

Erin stared at Zevara and hurried to get her mana stone. Her guests stared at her with interest as Zevara nodded.

“You can thank Wall Lord Ilvriss for the rapid response. He’s been in communication with his Walled City for days now—there’s been a political struggle going on between Pallass and Salazsar and it looks like Salazsar won.”

“Whoa, this was a big thing, then?”

“We’re just pawns in the larger conflict. But yes, this is meaningful. I’ll be making an announcement in Liscor later today—I’ll try to explain the limited capacity of your door, but you might get a lot of people wanting to walk through to Pallass. I’m here to tell you not to let them use your door. Celum’s fine, but you only have enough mana to send two people through, is that correct?”

“Without recharging, yeah.”

Zevara nodded.

“In that case, we’ll be offering a request form to be filled out at the Watch’s barracks. Citizens and interested parties can sign up to travel to Pallass. If they’re approved—and most will be—I send a [Message] to Pallass and get confirmation. That way, they can clear individuals from their end and deny entry if they choose. And if no one from Pallass wants to return, we’ll send two people through. If they want to come back they need to follow the same protocol in Pallass or pay a [Mage] to charge up the door enough to let them return.”

Erin frowned as she placed the mana stone on the door.

“Wow, that’s so complicated. Official, too! Hey, thanks for doing this! I guess it would be bad if people kept trying to go to Pallass. This way it’s slow, but people can get on a waiting list!”

The Watch Captain nodded.

“It’s not ideal, but it will allow for a small bit of traffic per day. I’d like to ask you to expand the door’s capabilities if it’s possible—ideally Liscor would like to send five or ten individuals through and have the same number coming into our city per day. But I told the Council that might impossible.”

She looked quizzically at Erin and the young woman gnawed at her lip.

“Yeah…my inn’s already filled with mana apparently, but I have no idea if it’s all going to the door or what. Pisces might know. He was working on it with Typhenous or Moore. When he gets back I’ll ask him to get all his mage buddies together and do some more experiments, okay?”

“Just so long as it doesn’t cause another diplomatic incident.”

“Hey! That was—okay, that’s fair. Uh, the door’s ready. Are we supposed to wait?”

“Watch Captain Venim should be on the other side already. He’ll be making the same announcement on his end—he might have done so already. I can pull up some [Guardsmen] if there’s too much of a crowd from Liscor—I want to handle this calmly and without incident, Miss Solstice. You might also have a few members of the Council here to make a speech when the first person from Pallass arrives and we send our first visitor through.”

“Whoa! It’s going to be that big?”

The Drake nodded. Erin looked at her with round eyes and then opened the door.

“Okay then, let’s make my inn fam—oh. Hi, Watch Captain Venim.”

Sunlight poured through her doorway. Ylawes stood up in astonishment and the other guests in the inn stared in fascination as the blue skies and huge city of Pallass appeared in the doorway in front of Erin. A Drake was standing on the other side of the door, dressed in yellow armor. He had a helmet under one arm and saluted Watch Captain Zevara.

“Watch Captain Zevara, I’m pleased to see you.”

“Likewise, Watch Captain Venim. My apologies for the slight delay. I was just letting Miss Solstice know what to expect.”

Watch Captain Venim nodded. He was standing in the sun, and Erin saw to her great surprise that she was no longer looking into the alleyway! It looked like they’d been placed on some kind of side street. She stared at Venim in fascination.

“You moved my door! Hey! That’s so cool! I forgot I could do that! Maybe I’ll move my door out of Octavia’s shop!”

She peered around the street excitedly. There seemed to be a crowd behind Venim! She hoped they wouldn’t rush through the door. He didn’t seem to have many [Guardsmen] posted to keep them back. Zevara saluted, looking slightly worried as she eyed the gathering.

“Watch Captain Venim, a pleasure. Have you already made the announcement on your end? We’re not quite ready here for the ceremony although we could speed it up if there’s excitement on your side. I hope you haven’t had to keep the mob from the doors.”

“The mob?”

The Drake in yellow armor looked blank and then stared over his shoulder at the crowd.

“Oh. Ah, no, Watch Captain Zevara, it’s peaceful here. I understand the door’s inactive until Miss Erin connects it so we’ve installed it here. It should be perfectly fine. We announced the doorway this morning with the regular morning news. I believe the [Belldrakes] have spread the word and there is some interest.”

“Good thing you opened the door now before a huge crowd appeared!”

Erin excitedly looked at the Drakes and few Gnolls in the crowd. She waved, expecting them to gasp or cheer in return. The Drakes stared at her with raised eyebrows. A little Drake child waved back and a few adults peeled away from the crowd and walked down the street.

Erin frowned. So did Zevara. Venim didn’t notice the confusion on the other side of the door. He was talking, waving a small sheet of parchment in front of Erin to get her attention.

“Watch Captain Zevara has informed you of the waiting system in place, Miss Solstice? We have our own sheet in the Watch Barracks. I don’t think we’ll get much interest at first, but we’ll inform you or the city of Liscor if any of our citizens intend to pass through your doorway. Otherwise we’ll arrange a time to open the doorway each morning, say, just past midday?”

If your people want to come to Liscor? But—wait a second, don’t they all want to come?”

Erin pointed at the crowd of Drakes, dismayed. More were leaving. Venim hesitated.

“I believe they’re just looking, Miss Solstice. Pallass did have a deep interest in your door, but that was with the intent of moving large bodies of goods and people through. Since the Assembly of Crafts was appraised of the strict limits on your doorway—and that your inn was in fact a focal point of magic to begin with—they’ve lost interest in its economic viabilities.”

The Drake smiled as if it was good news. Erin and Zevara just stared at him.

“We may experiment with transporting a set number of objects through the door instead of people per day, but the [Merchants] are still arguing about how to set up such a system. They want a representative of their own on Liscor’s side to handle the influx of goods and none of their senior members want to cross over—”

The penny dropped. Erin stared at the disinterested Drakes, at Watch Captain Venim’s apologetic expression, and realized what he was saying.

“Wait, people don’t want to come to Liscor? Why not?”

Her incredulous question provoked a response from the crowd at last. A Drake with a slash of red across his blue scales raised his voice.

“What do you mean, why not? What’s Liscor got that Pallass hasn’t, Human?”

Erin stared at him. That was a silly question! Liscor had—Liscor had—she opened her mouth and drew a blank. Okay, Pallass was bigger…and a Walled City, but Liscor had stuff! It was different, wasn’t that enough?

Apparently not. Another heckler in the crowd raised her voice and drawled sarcastically.

“Wow, Liscor. I’d just love to see the…what do they have over there? Grass? Shorter walls? More smelly Humans?”

There was a laugh from the crowd. Erin stared at the Drakes, dismayed. Zevara looked dumbfounded.

“You don’t think Liscor’s cool? Come on, it’s another city! Four hundred miles north! There’s this new dungeon filled with monsters that just appeared and everything!”

“Oh yeah? So what? We have three dungeons in the area!”

“Exactly! What’s this about travelling? Who wants to do that? Do I want to spend a week in Liscor, home of the rain, the Antinium, and boredom? Your city is a border city! Maybe I’ll pop by to visit Celum, but only if I feel like talking to fleshy Humans all day! Pallass is six times larger than Liscor!”

“I thought it was eight!”

“With walls that short, how would you be able to tell? Hah! Got ‘em!”

The crowd laughed and joked as Watch Captain Venim leaned closer to the door. Zevara was just staring as Erin weakly protested and got ribbed for her trouble.

“I delivered your report to Pallass’ Assembly of Crafts, but they didn’t take it too seriously, Watch Captain Zevara. Monster raids from dungeons aren’t uncommon and you are due reinforcements soon. Liscor’s army sent a detachment of their forces north and Pallass spotted them over a week ago. They should be arriving soon if they’re marching at a steady pace. But as for Pallass sending aid to help guard the dungeon…”

He grimaced and spread his claws helplessly. Venim looked apologetic as he continued, nodding to the crowd that was breaking up behind him despite Erin’s best efforts.

“Well, we’ll approve your visitors and I’m sure some [Merchants] and perhaps some adventurers will be coming through from time to time on our end. Who knows, there might be some tourism your way, but we’ll approve both people you want to send through today. I uh, think we could get one or two of the senators to arrive for a small ceremony as long as it doesn’t last too long.”

He stepped back. The crowd of Drakes had grown tired of heckling and was breaking up. Venim saluted again.

“Just send a [Message] spell when you want to send someone through. We’ll have a small escort ready and a few [Guardsmen]. More if I can get one of the senators to show up.”

He nodded and eyed Erin and Zevara’s faces. Somewhat sheepishly, Venim closed the door. There was a faint thump, and the portal closed. Zevara and Erin stood in front of the doorway, staring. At last, Erin looked at the Drake. Zevara’s face was pale and she looked stunned. Erin shuffled her feet and then raised her voice.

“Wow. People in Pallass are jerks. They really don’t think Liscor’s cool?”

“Apparently.”

Zevara looked like she’d been stabbed. Her expression was the shock of someone finding out that their home wasn’t as well-respected as they thought it was. Erin could practically sense the thoughts running inside of Zevara’s head because they were parallel to her own. Of course Liscor wasn’t a Walled City, but wasn’t it a strategic landmark and all that?

Wasn’t Liscor famous for the Antinium, for defeating the Necromancer and…and more? But people thought it was just a rainy, boring place? That wasn’t fair! Okay, it wasn’t a major Drake city and it was far from the others, but—

She wondered what Liscor’s Council would say if Zevara told them what had happened. No, what would Liscor’s citizens say? They had a lot of pride in their home and they’d believe until now that their home was the best. Mainly because visitors who badmouthed a city got in trouble fast and because they’d never actually met a bunch of people from Pallass all at once before. But now…

There would be trouble. There would be anger, indignation, and hurt feelings. For now, Erin stared at the doorway with narrowed eyes. She kicked the blank wall with her foot.

“Whatta bunch of arrogant snobs.”

Zevara paused. The Watch Captain’s pale face returned a bit of color and she almost smiled at Erin.

“Absolutely. Well…thank you for your time, Erin Solstice. I have a report to deliver to the Council. And I’m sure they’re not going to like it.”

She walked off. Erin stared at the doorway. Pallass wasn’t all that great! All it had were huge walls, tons of cool things to see, magic elevators, about eight times as much horizontal landmass and about the same amount as much vertical space and…

“Darn it. Liscor’s cool.”

Erin scuffed away on the floor with her foot and walked away. The doorway remained closed. And underneath Liscor something, many somethings moved in the dungeon.

 

—-

 

The warning signs began just after midday, as the Horns of Hammerad were returning from their long stay abroad. They were covered in muck, tired, sweaty, and currently sitting on a wagon. The wagon being pulled by undead bears.

It was not a smooth ride. Bears, unlike horses, moved with a loping gait and the wagon jerked along, making the occupants quite, quite uncomfortable. It had been a long four, no, five days and they were understandably unhappy. They argued as they rode over a hill, skirting the puddles of water. Another problem with undead bears was that if you didn’t pay attention to them, they’d drive you right through a pond. Or into a tree.

“All I’m saying is that it’s not our fault if we don’t see you when you’re invisible, Pisces! How was I supposed to know you were in the radius of my [Fireball] spell?”

“I told you I was going to attack one of the Corusdeer from behind, Springwalker! At what point does that not translate into my proximity to said creature?”

“I thought you were picking the ones off on the outskirts, not right in front of me! And Ksmvr, stop gnawing on the Corusdeer horn!”

“Itsh tasty.”

Yvlon sighed as Ksmvr hunched over his horn. Her stomach rumbled. Loudly. She stared up at the grey skies, grateful it had stopped raining at least.

“I’m not blaming anyone, but how did we run out of supplies a day ago? We’re hunting for food for Esthelm; how did we not take our own supplies into account?”

Ksmvr looked shamefaced as he opened his mandibles.

“I take full responsibility for my actions, Miss Yvlon. I bought supplies in accordance to Antinium policy for this trip.”

“Which means?”

The Antinium shifted guiltily.

“…Antinium policy is that we eat our foes on the march. Or our own dead. We are able to march most effectively with the reduced burden you see, and…”

He trailed off. The other three adventurers exchanged glances. Ceria covered her face with her good hand.

“Okay, Ksmvr doesn’t buy supplies next time.”

“Agreed.”

Pisces and Yvlon said it at once. Ksmvr deflated.

“I apologize for my continued failures.”

Yvlon patted him on the shoulder. When the Antinium looked up she gave him a warming smile.

“We all make mistakes. Don’t worry—it’s not like we’ve starved and we can eat as much as we want at The Wandering Inn. We’re nearly back.”

“About time too.”

Pisces sniffed. The [Necromancer] had, surprisingly, fared best out of all the four adventurers in the Horns of Hammerad. Despite Ceria being a half-Elf used to living in the forest, despite Yvlon Byres’ training to become a [Knight], despite Ksmvr’s hardiness, the [Necromancer] had endured the lack of food simply by the expedience of having a meal’s worth of snacks hidden away in his private bag of holding.

It had been the subject of much ire once it had been discovered. Ceria kicked him and the [Necromancer] glared at her, but didn’t dare retort back. His stomach growled noticeably less than his comrades and he devoted his attention to steering the undead skeletons of the bears he had summoned towards the inn in silence.

That was the Horns of Hammerad. Ceria the half-Elf, the [Cryomancer] with her skeletal left hand, Pisces, a [Necromancer] with a haughty attitude and a rapier hanging at his belt, Yvlon, a [Wounded Warrior] whose armor didn’t gleam like her older brother’s, and Ksmvr, a three-armed Antinium cast out from their Hive.

They weren’t the best team around, and they had only adventured for a few months but…well, that was about it. They were a Silver-rank team on the verge of ascending to Gold-rank, but they were new. They’d survived one literal trial by fire, but they had yet to adopt the camaraderie of the Halfseekers or the Silver Swords. But they were adventurers.

And they were nearly home. The inn was in front of them, warm and inviting. The wagon drove up the hill and the Horns piled out before it had pulled to a stop. Pisces wasted no time in ending the spell that held the skeletal bears together; the bones fell into a heap and he pushed them into his bag of holding as the rest of his team headed straight for the doors. Visions of hot food and warm beds assailed Ceria and she could smell the lunch being served within. She put her hand on the door handle and froze. Yvlon and Ksmvr stared at her, practically dancing with impatience.

“Ceria, what is it?”

“Hold up, do you feel that?”

The Horns stopped as one. Pisces, hurrying to catch up, stopped and looked around warily. A new team they might be, but they were used to heeding each other’s warning. Ceria looked around, puzzled.

“My [Dangersense] is going off. It’s faint, but I feel like something’s…coming.”

The Horns of Hammerad stared around but they saw nothing. Uneasily, Yvlon gripped the handle of her sword and Ksmvr reached for his weapons. Pisces, frowning, looked at the wet landscape and shook his head.

“Let us enter the inn, Springwalker. Inside will be safer regardless of what occurs.”

He made sense. Ceria nodded and opened the door. She walked into The Wandering Inn and saw the warm fire, people sitting around tables, five Goblins hunkering in a corner, a Drake serving drinks to a table of adventurers, and then a beaming face as Erin Solstice turned.

“Ceria! Yvlon! Ksmvr! And Pisces! Hey, how have you guys been?”

She strode over to them and Ceria saw a man in silver armor stand up. Yvlon, who had been distracted by the heap of waffles that Mrsha was digging into with a fork, froze for a second as Ylawes strode towards her with a welcoming smile. She managed one of her own.

“Oh, brother.”

Oh brother.

Pisces muttered under his voice as Ylawes strode towards his mud-spattered sister. Ksmvr poked Pisces in the side.

“Comrade Pisces, why did you say that? He is not your brother, is he? Or is he?”

The [Necromancer] was saved from the intimates of language and Human genetics by Erin ushering the Horns of Hammerad to a table.

“Come in, come in! Ylawes, don’t bother your sister. Whew, you’re all covered in mud! Sit, sit. Hey, Pisces’ robes and Ceria’s are nice and clean. Can’t you get your armor to do that, Yvlon? Lyonette, drinks for everyone! Drassi—”

“Waffles, hot from the kitchen! You want honey and butter with that?”

The Horns of Hammerad could have cried. In between grabbing for plates and elbowing Pisces out of the way, they simultaneously said hello, explained where they’d been and why they were so hungry, and talked about Ceria’s strange episode at the door.

“What, you too, Ceria? I felt the same thing! I thought it was just a funny feeling until I realized it was my [Dangersense]. What could it be? Did you see any monsters about on the way here, Ceria?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. Has anything happened over here?”

Ceria talked with a mouthful of waffle, spraying crumbs onto the table and making Falene shoot her a disgusted glance. Erin shot a glance towards the door to Pallass and shook her head hesitantly.

“I…hm. Anyone want more waffles? I’m planning on a big dinner tonight—hey, you won’t believe what happened! I’ve got the [Actors] coming here to do a play each night, Ceria! Remember them? They’re going to put on a performance and I’m going to fill this inn with hundreds of people and earn tons of money!”

“Actors? You mean that play? That’s a brilliant idea, Erin!”

Ceria smiled and Pisces sat up at his table with interest. Ksmvr, about to poke, was stopped by Yvlon as she whispered in his earhole. Ceria frowned as she wiped dirt and food off her mouth.

“I can imagine you’ll have tons of guests. But—hundreds of people? Are you planning on holding the shows outside? It’s going to keep raining Erin, and unless you want to set up a second roof—”

“What, no! I’ll have them all in here of course!”

Erin waved at the common room of the inn. Ceria and the other adventurers stared around the common room. Jelaqua raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Uh, how? By packing them in like tadpoles?”

“No! I’ve got plenty of room! Wait—oh!”

Erin looked around the inn and slapped her forehead.

“Oh right, I disabled it. Of course you think I’m an idiot! Okay, watch this! I got this Skill two days ago and I totally forgot to show it to you all! Ready? [Grand Theatre]!

She clapped her hands together. The eyes of everyone in the room were on Erin. They heard the clap, and then the echo. The sound was deeper, larger than it should be. The others looked around the room and gasped.

The perspective of the common room had changed. One second it had been small, still large enough to hold a crowd, but hardly enough for the hundreds Erin had described. But now, in the blink of an eye it was vaster. A dark, massive room stretched out behind the guests, barely lit by the dim glow of the fireplace. The common room had tripled in size and ended at a stage at the back of the room, clearly visible above the tables and chairs.

The extended common room was devoid of any furniture. The floorboards were of the same quality as the rest of Erin’s inn, as were the walls, but the windows hadn’t been copied further than the walls. The extended part of the common room was dark, like an indoors theatre, and the sound of Erin’s clap continued for a little bit in the silence. The room was waiting, welcoming, expectantly waiting for noise and drama to fill the room with life.

Erin’s guests stared. Pisces’ jaw was fully open. Yvlon’s eyes were wide. Moore was quietly choking on his waffles. Seborn looked around in disbelief and Mrsha was hiding behind Lyonette with Apista. Dawil fell out of his chair and Falene dropped her cup. It shattered with a crash in the silence as everyone stared around the gigantic common room.

Ceria looked at Erin. The young woman grinned at her. The half-Elf took one deep breath and then another. She left for five days. Just five! She looked at Erin and couldn’t help it. Ceria shouted.

Erin! What in the name of trees is this?

And the inn exploded into noise. Mrsha ran across the common room as the adventurers and other guests clustered around Erin. The Redfang Goblins, forgotten for a moment, stared at Erin as Badarrow and Shorthilt slapped Rabbiteater, who’d fainted. Erin grinned as she raised her hands and tried to explain over the shouting—

And that warning feeling in the back of her head twinged. Erin stopped smiling and looked towards the windows.

Something was coming.

 

—-

 

Watch Captain Zevara had felt it too. She strode onto Liscor’s walls, shouting for the Drake officer on duty to find her. To her surprise and pleasure, it was Olesm who hurried up.

“Olesm! I thought you were off-duty today?”

“I was! But I felt my [Dangersense] go off and—you felt it too?”

Zevara nodded grimly. She surveyed the empty Floodplains around Liscor. She could see Rock Crabs on the ground, a few Razorbeaks and other birds in the air, but nothing else. But her [Dangersense] had interrupted her meeting with Liscor’s Council and Zevara did not ignore such warnings lightly.

“Have you seen anything?”

“Nothing, Captain. I thought about sending a message to you, but I knew you were in a Council meeting—glad to see you.”

Olesm smiled and Zevara’s heart leapt a bit in her chest. She still carried a small candle for the Drake [Tactician] and hoped they could be more than just fellow civil servants. But right now they needed to focus on business, and Zevara was just glad Olesm was here. He was the city’s best [Tactician] and if he wasn’t that high-level, he was sharp and good in a pinch.

“How many [Guardsmen] are on the walls right now?”

“Just the usual rotation. I’ve told them to be alert, but I didn’t want to make anyone nervous by requesting more.”

“Well, I’m already nervous. And I’d rather call the alarm now than be caught off guard.”

Zevara turned.

Street Runner!

She bellowed, keeping her voice loud and deep as possible. Why was it that people said female leaders screamed while male Drakes could shout as much as they wanted? She wasn’t a shrinking flower! But raise your pitch just an octave and your men thought you were panicking. Zevara had worked hard to earn her reputation as a steady Watch Captain, and she’d be damned if she showed weakness now.

A Drake had heard her call and one of the Street Runners that hung out near the wall ran up the stairs swiftly. Zevara eyed the young Gnoll and pointed.

“Run to the Watch Barracks and have them send me every off-duty [Guardsmen] they have! If you find more in taverns get them! I want ten Street Runners getting [Guardsmen]. Go, now!

The Gnoll’s eyes widened and he raced down the steps, already shouting at his friends. They scattered as Olesm turned back to Zevara. She tried to look calm and collected, like she knew what she was doing.

The [Guardsmen] around her had also heard her orders and they scanned the Floodplains with increasing alertness. Some looked to Zevara, but they were well-trained enough to keep their attention where it should be. Olesm looked at Zevara as his gaze flicked back into the city. She could tell he was calculating how long it would take them to have more [Guardsmen] on the walls. Five minutes if they were ready, ten or fifteen otherwise. They could have six hundred members of the City Watch on the walls soon, but would they need them? Zevara’s stomach ached.

“You’re not going to sound an all-call, Captain?”

The Watch could blast a horn throughout the city that would alert everyone to muster on the walls—or warn the citizens they were under attack. Zevara shook her head, keeping her voice calm though she didn’t feel that way inside.

“No reason to. Not yet. It could be that the danger’s not near us, or that we can handle it on the walls. Remember the Carn Wolves prowling the Floodplains three years back? That had everyone’s [Dangersenses] warning them not to go outdoors, but we were safe.”

“You’re right.”

Olesm tried to sound confident. Zevara tried to believe her own words. She scanned the landscape, waiting. She kept her eyes on four spots as she glanced around the landscape. The first was the raised rampart of dirt around the dungeon’s official entrance. Ancestors, was it the dungeon? It might be the dungeon. Zevara bet it was the dungeon.

“Damn those Pallass fools. They think this dungeon’s like their three dungeons? They’ve cleared all three of their spots, and I know those are Bronze and Silver-rank dungeons! That’s nothing like the one we have here! We have no idea how large it is, and how dangerous—we could use some of their soldiers!”

She muttered to herself anxiously. Olesm glanced at her.

“Pallass denied your request? I thought we’d settled things with them.”

“We did. But they’re still not going to help us in any way. Once they realized they weren’t getting Solstice’s magic door without a fight, they lost all interest in it—and us! All they want to do is ship goods to Liscor. No one in their scale-rotting city wants to visit Liscor. They think we’re a backwater city with nothing interesting to see!”

Zevara ground her teeth together. Olesm spluttered.

“Well that’s not—who thinks that?”

“All of them. And our dungeon’s not a concern to Pallass.”

She stared at the second landmark, the place where a rift led down into the dungeon from the Floodplains. That entrance should be partially flooded already, but it was another spot of worry. She’d considered having it filled with dirt, but hopefully the water should deter some of the monsters.

Zevara shifted her attention to the next spot—the road leading north. If the Goblin Lord had sent his forces south or a hostile group of monsters had come out of the High Passes, it would come from that direction. But Esthelm would have warned them, surely? Or did they not have enough [Mages] capable of casting [Message] spells anymore?

No way to know. Zevara would send a message to them if nothing happened in the next few minutes. She stared at the last spot of worry—Erin Solstice’s inn. It was the target of more strange happenings than Zevara had ever seen. Rogue Named Adventurers, undead skeletons, Hobs, portals to other cities—Zevara’s stomach clenched and did backflips at the thought of what the young woman might have done in the short hours since she’d seen her.

Dungeon entrance, rift, road, inn. Zevara alternated between then until she heard pounding boots and turned. The rest of the City Watch poured onto the walls. A Senior Guardsman stopped in front of her. The Gnoll saluted, his hand on his sword.

“What news, Captain?”

“Nothing yet. My [Dangersense] is going off and so is Olesm’s. Have everyone spread out along the walls—west side a priority and shout if you see anything!”

“Yes, Captain!”

The Gnoll began ordering the [Guardsmen] around the walls. They spread out, and Zevara saw more marching down the street, called to action by the Street Runners. She heard a loud and familiar voice grousing as Relc climbed the stairs.

“What? We don’t know what’s out there? Come on, it’s my day off! This better not be like the time with the Carn Wolves or I’m gonna get mad!”

Shut up, Relc! Get your fat tail moving or I’ll kick you off the walls!

Zevara bellowed at him and the nervous [Guardsmen] laughed. She was privately relieved to see Relc as he grumbled and raised a single claw in her direction. The [Sergeant] was a famous [Soldier] when all was said and done, and there were far worse people to have at your back. She turned back to ask Olesm if Erin had mentioned anything, anything unusual when it happened. Her [Dangersense] blared an alarm into her skull and Olesm jerked. Zevara’s head spun wildly.

Inn, dungeon entrance, road, rif—there it was. The rift was hidden from her sight by a large hill, but Zevara clearly saw the geyser of water spraying into the air. It shot upwards as both she and Olesm watched, propelled into the air by a massive force. And then she saw a leg rise above the crest of the hill. It was long, insectile and—furry? Zevara only got a moment’s glimpse before it lowered and she saw water spraying down.

“What in the name of the Ancestors is…?”

Olesm never got a chance to finish his question. Something rose out of the rift, something massive. Zevara saw a head poke above the line of the hill, wet, covered with hair, a giant furry head and then a long, long body. A huge abdomen shook; gargantuan wings unfolded and exposed a staring pattern of black spots and brown chitin. Two fuzzy antennae swiveled and Zevara saw the jaws open.

The mouth, oh, but it shouldn’t have a mouth! But this species, this horrible offshoot was known for its mouth, infamous for it! The razor-sharp opening gaped wide as the gigantic moth shook its wings, spraying water everywhere. Zevara’s heart stopped as she saw its body rustle. Thousands of smaller moths were clinging to the adult, and as the mother spread her wings, they began to take off as well. The Drake stared at the moth as it fanned its wings, ridding itself of the water. Olesm’s voice quavered in the silence .

“Face-Eater Moth.”

It was larger than Erin’s inn. The Face-Eater moth flapped its wings once and sounded like thunder. Its carnivorous children flew upwards searching for prey. The huge swarm covered the sun. Zevara looked up and screamed. Anyone would have screamed.

Sound the alarm!

Her voice snapped the [Guardsmen] around her out of their stupor. They stared at her and then rushed to the walls, some running to grab more bows, more arrows, others racing to the north and west walls. Zevara turned to Olesm and grabbed the Drake.

“Get the command spells for the wall! Prepare to activate Liscor’s defenses!”

He nodded and ran for the small box of scrolls that would operate Liscor’s enchantments. Zevara turned and found the nearest [Guardsman].

You! I want all citizens indoors! Take a squad—get the Street Runners! Clear the streets!

He nodded and ran for the stairs. Zevara looked around. The Face-Eater Moths were still flapping their wings, still drying them. Some were beginning to fly, and they were moving in a swarm. They would eat anything and everything in sight. One giant moth, countless smaller ones.

Smaller? Zevara could see some of the moths at a distance, as large as wagons. She saw the mother flap her wings and tried to count. They could hit the mother with spells, fry the storm with magic. They had arrows; they could hold the walls so long as they could keep the moths there! She kept calm. She kept calm until she saw the second leg coming out of the ground.

Zevara froze as another gigantic moth began worming its way out of the rift. She turned. The [Guardsmen] around her had gone silent. The Watch Captain screamed into the silence.

Summon the Antinium!

 

—-

 

“Oh my god.”

Erin stood at the windows, staring. The second moth was just as colossal as the first. It crawled out of the rift, miles away from the inn and yet it still seemed huge. From her vantage point Erin could see it awkwardly pulling itself onto the grass, and she could see the thousands of smaller moths clinging to its body. She heard a faint sound behind her.

“Jelaqua? How bad is…that thing?”

“Bad. Very bad.”

The Selphid’s face couldn’t go whiter, but her hands shook as she gripped her two-headed flail. The Selphid stared at the giant moth as it opened its mouth again. Moths shouldn’t have mouths. Not like the gaping hole that opened and closed sharply. Were those teeth around the edges of the mouth?

“That’s a Face-Eater Moth.”

“A Face-Eater…that name’s a joke, right?”

“Nope. They do exactly what you think. Ever seen one bite someone’s face clean off? They won’t stop with faces either. They can bite through arms, tear flesh off—and they’re huge. Dead gods, the big one is larger than this inn.

“And there are two!”

Lyonette hugged Mrsha to her chest. Her eyes were wide as the second moth extracted itself and began fanning its wings. The adventurers stood at the windows, nervous, holding their weapons. Erin looked from face to face, afraid. She’d never thought she’d see a monster that would actually scare her more than Skinner, but the two giant Face-Eater Moths made Moore look like a tiny puppy!

“Jelaqua? Ylawes? Are they going to attack?”

There was a pause as both captains stared at each other in silence. Moore was the one who answered. The half-Giant kept his voice low.

“There are a few things that could happen. In the best case scenario the moths go back into the dungeon. But that’s not likely. They’re mostly likely hungry. Something—or someone woke them up. And so they’ll probably search for food.”

“And that food’s us, right?”

Drassi’s voice quavered in the silence. Moore nodded. He didn’t take his eyes off the moths. There were thousands and they were beginning to fly in a huge cluster.

“But perhaps—perhaps they might go elsewhere. Or only a part of the swarm remains. That would be ideal.”

“And the not-ideal?”

No one answered Erin. She stared at the two giant moths. Each one was larger than her inn. She imagined them attacking Liscor, flying over the walls and—her eyes widened as she saw another head rising from the rift.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

Another Face-Eater Moth was climbing out. This time Seborn swore long and loud. Jelaqua looked stunned.

“Three? How large is their nest? They were just sitting in that damn dungeon the entire time? Ylawes, have you or your team ever seen something like this?”

“Never. I didn’t think they got this large. The biggest one I’ve ever seen was mounted on a wall and it was only as large as a Troll.”

The [Knight]’s face was grim as he adjusted the straps on his shield. Erin stared at the moths. There had to be tens of thousands of them now. More were coming out of the rift. More and more. But they might fly away, Moore said. If—if—

If no one provoked them. Erin saw the smaller moths flying around in a widening circle. Their wing beats—it wasn’t like the deafening buzzing of bees. It was more like distant thunder, vast and terrifying. Erin saw the moths flying closer to the Walls of Liscor. She could see [Guardsmen] on the walls. She saw the future and held her breath.

“Don’t—”

Someone said it in the silence. Erin saw the [Guardsmen] raising their bows as a group of moths flew closer. They might have had orders. Or maybe one of them lost their nerves. Erin saw a single arrow fly, saw a Face-Eater Moth jerk and fall. The moths swirled in alarm; more arrows flew. The moths fell, landing on the ground and wriggling, some still alive. Erin saw the giant moths turn their massive heads. She saw their mouths open and their wings spread.

And then she heard chittering. It came from the moths. It was high-pitched, terribly loud. It almost sounded like laughter, loud and hysteric, coming from a thousand, ten thousand bodies. The moths flew. Erin heard a scream from inside the inn. The sky turned dark. The moths flew up and blotted out the sun. Then they came, all of them. They chittered as they flew towards Liscor. And towards the inn.

“Lyonette?”

Erin’s voice was terribly calm as she turned her head. She felt like the world was moving in slow motion. She saw the [Barmaid] turn, her eyes wide. Mrsha was in her arms, holding onto the [Barmaid] tightly. The small Gnoll looked at Erin, trembling with fear.

Slow motion. And then fast. Erin grabbed Lyonette.

“The door! Now!”

She pointed. Lyonette looked. Not to the door of the inn, but the magic door. She stared at Erin. Erin shouted. Time went back to normal as the inn erupted into chaos.

The door! Drassi, now!

She ran to the door as the adventurers shouted and began racing about the inn. Erin ran to the door and tore the mana stone to Pallass away. She opened the door and saw Octavia look up.

“Erin, hey.”

The [Alchemist] paused.

“What’s that s—”

Inside!

Erin practically threw Lyonette and Mrsha into the doorway. She rushed Drassi through and Octavia shot to her feet.

“Erin—”

“Liscor is under attack! Get the Watch! Get help!”

Erin screamed at her and then slammed the door. She looked around her inn and ran for the kitchen. She should run, she knew. She should escape. Ceria screamed at her as Pisces, Ksmvr, and Yvlon began overturning tables, pushing them into barricades against the windows.

“Erin! Go through the door!”

“Not yet! Not yet!”

The [Innkeeper] ran into her kitchen. Knife, frying pan—she ran to her pile of blankets, threw them aside, pulled out a crate which clinked.

The inn was full of thumping, banging as the Goblins and adventurers raced to secure the building. They were shouting, and from the walls of Liscor blared horns. They screamed an alarm.

 

—-

 

In the city Selys looked up, heart suddenly pounding.

“Those are siege alarms!”

The adventurers in the Guild stared at her. Many of them were Human. They had no idea what Drake warning signals sounded like. Selys sat upright and stared out the window. She heard Runners shouting as people screamed and fled into their houses. She turned and shouted at the staring Humans.

“Liscor is under attack!”

Then she raced to bar the doors of the Adventurer’s Guilds, shouting at anyone on the streets to come inside. The civilians hid as the horns blared onwards. And in the inn the adventurers waited. Erin stood behind a window she herself had boarded up with nails and spare boards, peering out the cracks. Everyone was indoors.

Almost everyone.

 

—-

 

Bird stood in his watch tower at the top of The Wandering Inn, staring at the mass of Face-Eater Moths as they flew towards him. He stared. His bow felt suddenly very small. The Antinium looked up at the largest moth and then at the tens of thousands behind it. He reached for an arrow.

“That is a lot of birds. A very big lot.”

He drew the arrow to his chest and loosed. A moth fell. Bird drew a second arrow and just as swiftly a second moth fell. He stared at the endless swarm, so numerous that they defied counting. He looked thoughtfully at the quiver at his side.

“I might need more arrows.”

The moths had seen him. They flew at him as the Antinium began to loose arrows again and again. Protect the inn. Guard it. He shot moths down until they were right on top of him, swarming his tower. More and more. Bird had one thought, one desperate realization as the moths closed in around the inn and the city. Just maybe, just once…there could be a thing as too many birds.

The Face-Eater Moths were everywhere. They came, flooding the walls of Liscor, clawing at the glowing field of energy that sprang up around the Drake City, biting at the magic barrier, swarming over the inn. They chittered as the magics slowly began to fail. The noise—a fourth giant moth crawled out of the rift, and then a fifth. They chittered as they came. The noise filled the air, made the walls and ground vibrate. That chittering, that infernal squealing. It was everywhere, deafening. And worse—

It sounded like laughter.

 


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5.08

(Volume 1 of The Wandering Inn is now on sale as an e-book on Amazon! Please read this short message about the book!)

 

They were coming. They were already here. The Face-Eater Moths flew and crawled across the Floodplains of Liscor, chittering. There were so many that Erin couldn’t see the sky. Already they were crawling over her windows, their legs scraping the glass. She saw one moth press its body against her window and backed away.

Erin!

A hand yanked her into the middle of the common room. Erin whirled. Ceria’s face was pale and she was holding her wand in her other hand. She shouted over the terrible rustling of thousands of bodies.

“Get into the door! To Celum! We’ll fight them here!”

“What? No!”

Erin shook her head. The half-Elf stared at her incredulously.

“Erin, there are thousands—

“Tens of thousands. Moore, block that window!”

Jelaqua snapped as Moore heaved a table up and rammed it against the window. Erin stared around the room. The adventurers were all boarding up windows or preparing for combat. They looked grim as they checked their gear. She saw the Halfseekers downing potions, the Silver Swords pointing out a crack in the window and arguing—the other Horns of Hammerad were upstairs with the Redfang Goblins, trying to seal off the windows there.

Glass windows. For once Erin regretted the beautiful, expensive, fragile glasswork. She saw a Face-Eater Moth clawing at the window and then saw Ylawes striding towards her.

“Miss Solstice.”

His voice was clipped and he was holding his shield and sword as he stared around the inn. The common room had returned back to its normal size and it felt cramped, as though they were in a tiny box. Erin could hear movement all around them, things battering at the wall.

“I advise you to leave through the door to Celum. We’ll cover you and try to slaughter the moths, but we’ll have to fall back as soon as this inn starts going down.”

“It’s not going down. And I’m not leaving.”

Erin snapped at the [Knight] as he tried to escort her to the doors. He and Ceria both looked at her.

“Excuse me? Did you see the size of those five moths, Erin? One of them could flatten your inn just by landing on it!”

“Not my inn. I have a Skill.”

The young woman folded her arms. She could feel her inn groaning under the weight of so many bodies, but amazingly they had yet to break a window despite the pounding impacts that now came from every side. Moths were hurling themselves at the windows. Ylawes stared at her.

“You’re sure your inn will survive? That changes things.”

“It’ll hold! Moore couldn’t break my walls. My windows though—”

There was a crack as something massive struck a window near the kitchen. Erin saw every head turn. Ylawes stared at her and then looked around.

“In that case we have an opportunity. We can hold this ground; use it to shield our backs.”

“Shield our—what are you talking about?”

More voices. Erin saw Yvlon. She’d come down the stairs. Pisces and Ksmvr were behind her.

“We boarded up as many windows as we could and closed the doors. Hopefully that buys us time. But how long are we planning to hold out here?”

Yvlon pointed back upstairs. Pisces looked around. The [Necromancer]’s gaze was sharp as he eyed the Silver Swords. Falene and Dawil were standing by the doors, the half-Elf holding a staff and the Dwarf a hammer in both hands. He nodded to them.

“The most expedient solution would be to retreat into Celum. But that isn’t your brother’s intention, Yvlon. He intends to take the fight to the Face-Eater Moths.”

“Exactly.”

Ylawes had produced a helmet from somewhere. It was a classic knight’s helm with a visor. He put it over his head, his voice muffled as he spoke.

“We’re going out there. The moths are already breaking the windows and trying to get in—we’ll distract them. Yv, you and your team hold this inn. If Miss Solstice is right we can rely on it to shield our backs and rest if needed. But we won’t win this battle sitting and holding out.”

Win? Ylawes, there are thousands of—”

“I know.

His voice made Yvlon go quiet. Ylawes looked around and Erin saw him open his visor to look at his younger sister.

“Yv, this is our duty. My team’s duty. We’re Gold-rank adventurers and Liscor is under siege. We need to take down those giant moths. Liscor only has a limited window before the city is overrun and we are bound to fight.”

“Sounds about right.”

Jelaqua strode over. The Selphid wasn’t smiling and her hands gripped the two-handed flail tightly. She nodded to Ylawes as the Gold-rank adventurer turned.

“You’re thinking the same thing, Ylawes? Head out and smash those bugs?”

“We’re going to aim for one of the five giant moths. You?”

Erin and the Horns of Hammerad stared open-mouthed as Jelaqua grinned with bloodless lips.

“Nothing so grand. Moore’s magic can’t hit aerial targets and Seborn and I aren’t cut out for it either. We’ll just mow down as many moths as we can. You want to coordinate?”

“No. We’ll just foul each other. Let’s stick within range of the inn, though. We’ll take the front.”

“Fine. We’ll try to hold that ground too.”

Jelaqua nodded. She struck Ylawes’ shoulder with a gauntleted fist as he nodded to her. Yvlon was still staring.

“Are you insane? You’ll be torn apart if you go out there! Ylawes—”

“Don’t argue with your brother!”

To everyone’s surprise, Jelaqua snapped at Yvlon. She looked around. The Selphid’s eyes flashed as she nodded to the door.

“This is a Gold-rank adventurer’s responsibility. It’s not the same as being Silver-rank. When you reach our level you swear an oath to fight. We don’t run, not when a city’s at stake.”

“Exactly. Liscor won’t survive that onslaught for long. Their magic barrier is already weakening.”

Ylawes’ words were punctuated by a thump in the distance. Erin’s eyes widened.

“What was that?

Attack magic. Came from Liscor.

Seborn announced from his position by the doors. Erin heard a thunderous roar and the chittering of the moths stopped for a second as a tremendous thwoom of noise made the windows of her inn shake. She looked around wildly as the press of bodies let up on the outside for a second. She ran to look out a window, ignoring Ceria’s warning.

Moths were flying about in confusion. Erin could see the magical barrier around Liscor flickering and then a flash of orange and red blinded her. The giant moth flew back, keening, as hundreds of its smaller kin fell burning from the air.

“Good use of fire magic. But it won’t last. They only have a limited number of enchantments on their wall.”

Falene announced as she stared out the windows. Indeed, the moths were already attacking the barrier again. They hurled themselves at the blue shield surrounding Liscor and Erin could see it flickering with each impact. Two of the colossal Face-Eater Moths landed on the barrier and she saw it go out for an entire second.

“Dead gods. Are you really going to fight that?”

Ceria’s voice was soft. Ylawes nodded. He looked at her and the other Horns of Hammerad.

“Hold the inn. Don’t let the moths in. If you can’t, pull back into Celum and don’t open that door for any reason. We’ll survive.”

“Ylawes—”

The [Knight] turned and looked at his sister. Erin couldn’t see his face through his visor, but she thought he was smiling.

“I’ll see you soon, Yv.”

There was a crash from upstairs and the sound of splintering glass. Pisces cursed and he and Ksmvr rushed up the stairs. Erin looked around. Where were the Redfang Goblins? Ylawes looked up and nodded to his team.

“Ready?”

“A moment. The mana here is strong. I’m trying to harness it.”

Falene closed her eyes. Erin gasped in surprise.

“Oh! My inn’s got lots of magic! Can you use it?”

“Of course.”

The half-Elf opened her eyes and regarded Erin severely. She shifted her gaze to Ceria.

“Ceria Springwalker, you are a mage of Wistram. I trust you to hold this ground until we return.”

“I’ll—do my best.”

Ceria looked pale. Erin stared at her and then at Falene. The half-Elf was beginning to glow. Dawil grumbled and moved backwards as Falene’s body sparked, jolts of electricity arcing from her body to the ground and tables.

“Hot! Watch it, Elf!”

She made no reply. Across from her, Erin saw Moore raising his staff. Jelaqua’s voice was calm.

“We’re going in, boys. Slaughter tactics. No need for speed or maneuverability out there. Moore, can you cast your armor spell on all of us?”

“Yes.”

The half-Giant’s voice boomed. His eyes flashed green as he brought the staff down. There was a rumble and Erin saw vines covered in huge thorns worm out from beneath her floorboards. They covered his arms, his legs—she saw the same was happening to Jelaqua and Seborn!

“Dead gods.”

Ceria breathed the words. She was staring at Falene. Now the half-Elf was surrounded by a crackling aura of lightning. It was contained—Erin saw the bolts of electricity trying to earth themselves on Dawil and her tables and Falene drawing them back around her. The half-Elf’s voice echoed as her eyes flashed.

Magic is limited only by the quality of the mage, Ceria. This inn is a place of power. As am I.

She turned. Her body shone with lightning. Dawil grumbled.

“And I’m a place of metal. Keep your [Lightning Shroud] spell under control until we’re clear of the inn, Elf!”

“Ready?”

Ylawes strode towards the door. His armor shone as Falene and Dawil took up places behind him. Erin heard more crashes above and shouts. She looked up. Were the moths getting in above already?

“We’re ready.”

Jelaqua’s voice came from a shape cloaked in vines. Erin stared. The Selphid was covered in green armor, her body engulfed in razor-sharp thorns and twisted vine. Only her eyes were visible and then, only just. Seborn looked equally fearful, but Moore—

Two giant eyes stared at her out of a mass of barbed plant matter. The half-Giant turned and Erin, Ceria, and Yvlon backed up a step. A towering creature rose, a hand covered in razor-sharp blades gripped a staff. Ylawes glanced at the Halfseekers.

“On my count, then.”

He put his hand on the door as Dawil knocked aside a barrel that had been pushed in the way. The barrel fell and broke, spilling alcohol across the ground.

“Oops.”

The Dwarf’s voice was loud. Erin heard the chittering, the rustling, saw something smash through the window across the room. It began thumping against the table blocking the way. Ylawes didn’t look around. He waited three seconds and then lifted his shield. He shouted as Ceria and Yvlon ran to attack the moth coming through the window.

Silver Swords! Let’s go!

He threw open the doors. Erin gasped as she saw moths swarming around the entrance. A giant Face-Eater Moth taller than the door itself reared up, its razor-sharp mouth opening. Ylawes raised his shield and it flashed white. He roared as he charged.

“[Shield of Valor]!”

A bulwark of silver light formed around his shield. Ylawes rushed forwards and the moths found themselves swept up, pressed helplessly against the shield as he rammed them together. Hot on his heels was Dawil. The Dwarf roared as he smashed a moth flat and swung his hammer into another with a crunch.

“Come on you flying sacks of crap! I haven’t got all day!”

Behind him strode Falene. Erin heard her speaking as she raised her staff. Spells erupted from the tip of her stave too fast for thought.

“[Blue Lightning], [Flash Fireball], [Water Arrows], [Sand Spray], [Aerial Burst]—”

The lightning around her flashed and Erin heard hundreds of moths shriek as the electricity blasted in every direction. As they tumbled from the sky Jelaqua led Moore and Seborn out, screaming a warcry. The Selphid plunged into the ranks of moths, her flail knocking them aside, creating a space as she whirled through the first rank of moths around the inn. Seborn was already stabbing with his enchanted daggers as Moore smashed moths with his hands and staff.

The door!

Ylawes roared and Erin ran for the door. A moth the size of a large dog flapped towards Erin. She saw its ‘mouth’ opening and shutting as it flew towards her face. Instinctively Erin raised the frying pan.

“Get lost!”

She smacked it and the moth fell down. Erin slammed the door on it and struggled to drag the half-drained barrel in front of the door. She heard more cries as the adventurers began fighting outside the inn and more sounds. The moths were attacking in full force now.

“The windows! Yvlon, take that side!”

Ceria shouted as more moths began bursting through the windows. The one on the far wall had been decapitated by Yvlon’s sword—Erin saw its torso hanging obscenely out of the wall, dripping onto the floorboards. Ceria pointed as more dark shapes squirmed in the window behind it.

“[Ice Spikes]!”

She fired with her wand and skeletal hand. Erin heard shrieks as the forms fell back. Yvlon ran to the other side and lopped off a moth’s leg that had penetrated a glass window.

“Erin! Get to Celum, damn it!”

“No!”

Erin shouted back. She ran into the kitchen and dragged out the crate of rattling potions. She heaved it onto a table, taking care not to break the bottles within. These weren’t the potions Octavia had broken by accident the other day. She’d bought these over a month ago. Healing potions, alchemist’s fire, mana potions—she shouted at Ceria.

“Potions are here! Get them!”

“Potions? Good!”

Ceria turned and cursed as another moth tried to crawl through the broken window. A shimmering wall of ice pinned the insect against the window and then sheared it in two as it blocked the window off again. Ceria pointed and another wall of ice blocked off another broken window. The moths began hammering on the ice again. There were so many!

“I’m going to see what’s happening above!”

Erin ran for the stairs. She could hear more fighting above. She took the stairs two at a time and saw chaos on the second floor.

“Comrade Pisces, the moths are coming through your room!”

“I see them!”

Pisces and Ksmvr were holding the second floor, trying to cover the eight rooms, each of which had moths crawling through the broken windows. They were not alone, though. Erin gaped as three giant bear skeletons tore into the moths above, biting and tearing at the insects. She froze as Pisces impaled a moth on his rapier. The [Necromancer] turned to her, his face alight with battle fury.

“Erin! Get below! We’ll hold the moths off as long as we can! The Goblins are doing the same one floor up!”

“They are?”

“Yes! Bird is wounded!”

Ksmvr shouted as she cut at a moth with three arms. Erin paled.

Bird!

She ran for the third floor, ignoring Pisces’ shouts for her to come back. She’d forgotten about Bird! Was he—

Moths covered the third floor. Erin froze in the hallway. Moths. They were pouring in from the staircase leading up to Bird’s watch tower, filling the corridor. The only thing stopping them was a line of five green warriors. The Redfang Warriors were snarling, cutting moths down as they swarmed through the opening. Behind them an Antinium lay on the ground, bleeding green from dozens of wounds.

“Miss Erin. I regret to inform you that I have failed my duties.”

Bird looked up weakly. His body looked like it had been sliced by thousands of razors. His bow was broken and Erin could see his internal organs pulsating from a place on his side where his exoskeleton was just gone. She reached for the potion at her belt and fumbled with it.

“Bird—hold on!”

One of the Hobs turned. Badarrow’s blinked as he saw Erin and he shouted something guttural at her, pointing at the stairs leading down. He was standing behind a pile of moths. The Hobs had already killed so many that they were forming a barricade in the hallway. Erin saw Headscratcher cutting at two moths, roaring, as they tried to fly in the tight space.

Badarrow loosed an arrow and saw Erin struggling with the potion bottle. He ran over, grabbed the bottle and unceremoniously smashed it against Bird’s chest. The bottle broke as the healing liquid splattered over the Antinium’s wounds.

“Ow.”

Bird’s wounds began to close as Erin dragged him back from the fighting. She saw Shorthilt and Rabbiteater both cutting down moths coming from the doors. The Redfang Warriors fell back a step as more Face-Eater Moths crawled over their companions. And more were coming down the stairs each second.

“Many! Many!

Numbtongue was shouting in frustration as he kicked a cat-sized moth and speared another with his sword. He howled in agony as the small moth he’d kicked latched onto his arm. As he tore it off and stomped on it Erin saw a circular chunk of flesh had been torn off his arm.

“The door! The door to the watch tower! Can you close it?”

She shouted as she pointed to the stairs the moths were streaming down. Bird shook his head as he rose unsteadily. He pulled a dagger from his belt and stabbed a moth crawling among the dead bodies towards Badarrow.

“They broke the door. And my tower! And my bow!

He rose and Badarrow grunted. Bird looked around and walked into his room, past Shorthilt. The Goblin shouted something at him and charged in after the Antinium. Erin shouted for Bird and the Antinium reappeared a moment later with his old crude bow in his arms.

“I have a spare. Miss Erin, you are in grave danger! Please go below!”

“What about you? Come on, get downstairs!”

“No.”

Badarrow growled at her. He shot another moth at point-blank range as Bird took a position beside him. Bird nodded.

“We will hold this spot until we must fall back.”

The other Hobs growled agreement. Numbtongue stumbled back, cursing, as more moths forced him to pull back from the doorway he was holding. Instantly Headscratcher, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater took a few steps back and formed another line a few feet further back down the hallway. Numbtongue turned to Erin.

“Need potions! Got more?”

“Yeah, lots! Hold on!”

Erin ran down the stairs. Pisces and Ksmvr were fighting in the hallways now, battling  back-to-back. Erin froze as she saw deformed skeletons, huge shambling horrors smashing moths.

“Wha—Pisces, are these all yours?”

“I am a [Necromancer]!”

He looked irate as he stabbed a moth behind one of his Bone Horrors. Erin saw Ksmvr pushing a moth into a room and nearly slipped on the blood.

“Hold on, I’m getting potions for you all! I—gah!”

A moth that had been stabbed through the chest fluttered up. Erin reacted instinctively.

“[Minotaur Punch]”!

She caught it on the abdomen and felt her fist go through the moth. Erin screamed in horror as the moth squirmed on her arm. Ksmvr tore it off and threw it to the ground. Erin stared at the gore on her arm and didn’t throw up. That was a challenge. She ran downstairs, her stomach roiling and saw the situation on the ground floor had gotten worse.

“There’s too many!”

Yvlon and Ceria were fighting a hard battle. Despite Ceria’s ice magic the moths were flooding through the windows and unlike the second and third floors, there were no hallways or doors to block them coming in. Yvlon whirled and cut a moth down as Erin ran for her crate of potions. Ceria was screaming obscenities as she shot moths with her [Ice Spike] spell.

“Hold on, just hold on!

Erin ran back up the stairs, dumping some potions on the ground and then hurled the crate at the Redfang Goblins. Headscratcher grabbed one bottle instantly. Somehow the Goblin recognized the potion and hurled it across the corridor. Erin, knowing what the potion did too, threw herself to the ground.

She heard a roar and felt the wave of heat blast her. When Erin got up, the third floor was a mass of flame as the moths burned. The corpses that the Goblins had stacked up became flaming barricades and the assault slowed. And yet, still the moths came, screaming as they burned, smothering the flames with their bodies. The Goblins took the brief interlude to snatch more potions out of the crate, eying them and snapping at each other as they braced themselves for the next wave of scorched insects.

Hey! One of you come with me!”

Erin screamed at them. The Goblins turned. Headscratcher shouted what sounded like an order in their crackling tongue—Shorthilt raced after Erin as she ran back downstairs. She slipped on the blood coating the stairwell and crashed onto the ground. Erin scrambled up, feeling a searing pain in her elbow and side.

“Are you good?”

What?

Pisces screamed back. Erin shouted.

“Can you hold?”

“Wha—yes! For a while!”

His Bone Horrors had pushed into each of the rooms. Erin could see them smashing and cutting the moths apart. She nodded and ran downstairs.

“Ceria! Yvlon!”

The half-Elf and woman looked up as Shorthilt raced downstairs. The Hob charged towards a moth that had come through a window and cut. He slashed the moth in two and then raced across the inn to cut another moth to ribbons.

“Thanks! How are the others doing?”

Ceria shouted at Erin.

“Good! Bad! I don’t know, there are way too many!”

“My brother’s outside in all of this!”

Yvlon screamed at the other two. Erin nodded. She had no idea if the Silver Swords or the Halfseekers were even alive, but she had to trust they were. She looked around. Her inn was filled with shouts, thumping, screeching insects. She had to do something! But what?

Fight? Erin realized she was holding her frying pan and hurled it at a moth that had burst through a window behind Ceria. It clonked the moth and it was stunned long enough for the half-Elf to turn and blast it with shards of ice. Erin backed up towards her kitchen as Ceria yelled at her to keep back. No, fighting was out. She was no [Warrior]. Then what?

It was a flash of inspiration. The door! Yes, why hadn’t she—Erin ran for the door and yanked it open.

“Erin!”

Octavia nearly cut her with the kitchen knife she was holding. She was standing in front of the door with Drassi right behind her. Erin saw the [Alchemist]’s eyes widen as she took in the chaos behind her.

“Erin, get through quickly!”

“No! Octavia, I need potions! And the Watch! Where’s Celum’s Watch?”

“Watch? Lyonette ran to get them! Erin, how many are—”

Thousands! Liscor’s under siege and we’re barely holding! I need all the potions you’ve got, understand? Healing potions, mana, explosive—put them in crates and wait for me to open the door, understand?”

“What? But—”

Octavia hesitated for only a second. Then she nodded.

“I can do that! Give me five, no, two—”

She looked around desperately.

“I’ll open the door soon! Get the Watch to come! Tell them we need as many [Guardsmen] as they can spare!”

Erin shouted at the [Alchemist]. Drassi looked confused.

“Erin, what are—”

Pallass!

Erin slammed the door. She ran into the kitchen, hearing Ceria cursing and Shorthilt shouting a warning behind her. Mana stone, mana stone! Where was—

There! The bright yellow mana stone gleamed at her in the bowl next to the door. Erin grabbed it and rushed back out. She slapped it on the door and opened it.

Pallass! An entire Walled City lay in front of her, the sky blue, the streets filled with people going about their business. For a second Erin just stared. Then she waved her arms and screamed.

“Hey! Help! Help!

Heads turned in surprise. Erin shouted as Drakes stared at her. They just stared at her as she shouted and waved at them.

“Come here! It’s an emergency! Come here!

They just stared at her! At last a few Drakes walked over, looking confused. One of them, a Drake with dark purple scales looked amused.

“Human, what’s this about? What—”

He caught sight of the fighting behind Erin and recoiled.

“Ancestors, what’s going on?”

“Liscor is under attack! There’s monsters everywhere! Get the City Watch! Tell them we need reinforcements, now!

“Liscor, under attack?”

More Drakes came over. They stared over Erin’s shoulder, alarmed, but not afraid. The Drake eyed Erin’s inn through the door.

“Are those…moths? What’s happening, Human?”

“There’s an attack on Liscor! Get help!

Erin screamed at him. She would have run through to yell at them, but she knew her door only had enough power to let her enter and exit. And she needed an army! The Drakes around the door looked unconvinced.

“This doesn’t look like an attack on Liscor. How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“Do you see the giant face-eating moths behind me?

“Yeah, but that could be just your inn.”

For a second Erin just stared at the purple-scaled Drake. She raised one fist and punched him through the doorway. Then she seized the entire door itself and began dragging it across the common room.

“Erin? What are you doing?”

Yvlon caught sight of Erin as she sliced another moth in half. Her face was covered in sweat and her armor was already streaked with the yellowish blood of Face-Eater Moths. Erin didn’t answer. The door was heavy, but she was fueled by desperation. She reached her own door to the inn and yanked it open.

Erin! Are you crazy? Come back!

Ceria screamed at her back. Erin saw a sky filled with motion, thousands of crawling shapes. She heard a roar and saw Moore swinging his staff. The half-Giant was covered in his armor of thorns and the moths were literally cutting themselves to pieces as they swarmed him. The Silver Swords and Halfseekers were fighting outside the inn as the moths flew overhead, landing on Erin’s inn.

Falene was blasting insects out of the sky and she had created a space around her, a bubble that slowed the moths as they flew towards her. Ylawes and Dawil were keeping her safe, battling a moth twice as tall as Moore. Erin didn’t hesitate. Though her every instinct screamed to get back indoors she heaved the doorway out and pushed it against a wall. Moths came flying towards her. Erin scrambled back as a shape blurred past her. Seborn stabbed the moths with his daggers, twisting the blades as the moths screamed. The Drowned Man turned to Erin, his eyes flashing behind his armor of thorns.

Get back inside!

“Wait!”

Erin shouted at him. Seborn couldn’t reply as he turned, cursing, to fight the moths converging on her. Erin set the door against the wall and then yanked it open. Again, Pallass appeared in front of her. This time the purple Drake was standing in front of a crowd of Drakes, talking with an officer of the Watch.

“—Just here, [Guardsman]. I was telling you, she was screaming about moths and Liscor being under attack. Then she punched me! Typical human—”

He broke off and turned. The [Guardsman] turned. The crowd went still. They stared as Erin finally looked around and took in the scene outside for the first time.

It looked like a vision of hell. The sky was filled with thousands of dark shapes. They were swarming over the walls, held back by frantic warriors on the walls. Lightning and fire crackled from Liscor’s battlements, blasting moths apart and arrows felled more, but there were a hundred for every one that fell.

And in the distance five giant moths loomed over it all, giant behemoths that blocked the light. Two were on Liscor’s walls, biting at the [Guardsmen] there. Another was flying across the Floodplains, hunting a scuttling Rock Crab. Two more were coming this way, flapping their wings.

Erin saw the Silver Swords struggling to contain their small bubble of space, the Halfseekers cutting down the moths coming towards her inn. She heard Liscor’s horns blowing, heard the chittering laughter of the bugs. It was a roar that filled the air. They flew towards her, so many that it seemed like they would drown her inn with the sheer weight of bodies.

For five seconds she stared and the people of Pallass stared with her. Then Erin heard a Drake woman scream.

What are they?

“Monster attack! Monster attack!

“Summon the Watch! Call the army!”

Liscor is under attack! Raise the alarm! Dead gods, raise the alarm!

They fled as the lone [Guardsman] backed up, holding his spear and shaking. Erin stumbled back as Seborn, Jelaqua, and Moore closed on her position. The moths had seen the light of another city and were flooding towards it.

“Erin!”

Jelaqua shouted, her armor covered in gore. Erin pointed at the door.

“Keep the moths away! Reinforcements are coming!”

The Selphid stared at her and then the door. Understanding flashed in her eyes as Erin pointed to Pallass. Erin slammed the door and ripped the mana stone off. This time she opened the door to Celum. Octavia was piling potions into crates. Erin began yanking them through as Drassi pushed them towards her. She shouted at Ceria, Yvlon, and Shorthilt as she dragged the potions into the inn. She shouted at Pisces and Ksmvr as they came down the stairs with the Redfang Goblins, retreating into the common room.

“Hold on! Just hold on! Help is coming!”

She prayed that was true. The Face-Eater Moths were everywhere. How was Liscor still standing? Could they hold on? They had to have help!

Before it was too late.

 

—-

 

The [Message] spell that was sent out from Liscor was short and simple. It was marked with the highest-priority reserved only for emergency messages as per Drake protocols. It read as follows:

 

Emergency. Liscor is in immediate danger of falling to monster attack. Repeat, Liscor is in danger of falling to overwhelming monster attack from dungeon. Face-Eater Moths have attacked the city in tens of thousands. Five colossal moths sighted.

 

That was it. There was no request for reinforcements, no plea for tactical advice or support. If it came it would be too late. If help came within the day it would be too late, let alone in weeks. There was no force that could reach Liscor from any of the Walled Cities to which the [Message] spell was sent in time. It was just a warning.

The reaction of the other Drakes cities was immediate. A group [Message] call was set up within minutes, using established emergency protocol. The messages from one Walled City to another were transmitted to all parties and read off as each city’s leaders debated on the content. Initially only the six Walled Cities took part in the call, but such was the extraordinary nature of the event taking place that soon other parties across the world were sending [Message] spells, demanding answers.

Indeed, Magnolia Reinhart’s assembly of [Lords] and [Ladies] and a military camp in Lord Tyrion’s command tent were also aware of the situation. They clustered around the uncomfortable mages relaying the [Message] spells, listening intently. This was raw news as it was happening for anyone with the informants and a [Mage] capable of ‘listening in’ on the situation in Liscor, and the discussion of the Walled Cities.

 

Fissival is present. What is Liscor’s situation? They have not responded to any [Message] spells.

Oteslia. The city is under siege from monsters. Does any city have more details?

Manus. No.

Zeres, likewise.

Salazsar can confirm. Our Lord of the Wall reports exceptionally dangerous monsters. Swarm of Face-Eater Moths with individuals exceeding the forty feet in height.

Oteslia. Surely an exaggeration? How were such moths not spotted?

Salazsar. Our Wall Lord reports it crawled out of Liscor’s dungeon.

Manus. Can your Wall Lord confirm danger of threat?

Salazsar. Unknown. Our Wall Lord is currently engaged in combat.

 

Silence then, as every Walled City waited for details. Magnolia Reinhart sat in her chair lightly, listening to the [Mage] as the older man sweated and waited for more [Message] spells to be sent to him. Across from her, a [Lord] muttered under his breath.

“Goblin Lords and monster swarms from a dungeon? This is the last thing we need.”

Minutes passed, and then—

 

Pallass. Can confirm monster attack. Visual confirmation.

Oteslia. How?

Zeres. Is it possible to share visual input via spell?

Pallass. Standby.

Salazsar. We have visual input as well. Scrying orb. However, our [Mages] are unable to transmit imagery.

Manus. What does Salazsar see?

Salazsar. Overwhelming numbers. Our [Strategists] predict one-in-three odds of Liscor being overwhelmed in the next thirty minutes.

Fissival. To Pallass, request nature of visual confirmation.

Pallass. Visual confirmation is…visible. We have a [Mage] capable of [Scrying] at the location of a portal to Liscor.

Oteslia. Please confirm, Pallass. ‘Portal?’

Manus. Keep up with current events, Oteslia. Pallass, can you send visuals via [Scrying]?

Pallass. Standby.

This is Wistram. If Pallass has a [Mage] capable of casting [Scrying] we will amplify the spell to all interested parties. Our mages are ready to link at a moment’s notice.

 

There was a ripple of shock throughout Lord Tyrion’s command tent. He raised a hand and spoke drily.

“Of course Wistram would be spying.”

There was a nervous chuckle around the tent as the [Lords] and [Ladies] and lesser officers stared intently at the young woman, the [Mage] in charge of relaying what was happening. She gulped, but began to speak again, repeating the conversation after the moment of hesitation by all six Walled Cities.

 

Zeres. Wistram is not invited to this conversation. Remove yourself at once.

Fissival. Wistram was invited by our request for magical consultancy.

Zeres. The mages are not authorized.

Oteslia. If Wistram can send [Scrying] spell, do so at once.

Fissival. To a vote. All in favor? Fissival votes yes to Wistram magical aid.

Oteslia agrees with Wistram’s request.

Zeres reluctantly acknowledges.

Salazsar permits. Act quickly.

Pallass will comply. Standby.

Wistram awaits. Our circle is linked and led by two of our Archmages. We will send a magical projection to all individuals with appropriate receptive capacity.

 

Niers Astoragon instantly sat up. He turned to Peclir Im who was listening quietly behind Foliana and several of the Forgotten Wing company’s officers and [Strategists].

“Get a scrying orb at once.”

“Or a mirror. Hand mirror. I have one in my room.”

“Too small. And yours is weak, only capable of lesser scrying. I want an orb.”

Peclir dashed out of the room and several of Niers’ students looked at the [Grandmaster Strategist]. Niers frowned as he peered at the magical slate upon which the [Message] spells were appearing. Foliana munched on a carrot muffin as she sat next to him.

“Looks like a lot of people are listening.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if this conversation was appearing across the world. Liscor falling at this moment to a monster attack from a dungeon? If Wistram really does send the projection, I wouldn’t be surprised if the King of Destruction himself watches. Assuming he has a scrying device.”

There was a ripple around the room. Niers flicked his eyes across the slate. A single message had appeared. And then another. Foliana offered Niers a crumb.

“Muffin?”

He ignored it. Every eye was on the slate.

 

Oteslia. Pallass, your status?

Pallass. Standby.

 

—-

 

Hold the line!

Watch Captain Zevara was fighting on the walls. She screamed at her [Guardsmen] as they fought the moths crawling over the walls and flying overhead. Arrows were being loosed overhead and the few [Mages] in the Watch were blasting the larger targets, but there were just too many moths. As Zevara turned her attention back to the space in front of her she saw a cloud of moths come up and the [Guardsmen] with shields and spears crying out in dismay.

“Duck!”

She shouted and the Drakes and Gnolls flattened themselves as Zevara inhaled deeply. She exhaled a huge gout of flame. The moths fell as the fiery cloud engulfed them. Zevara gasped for air, feeling her lungs strain to absorb enough oxygen. She’d always had trouble breathing—it was worst when she inhaled too much smoke. Now she coughed and tried to inhale.

More moths fluttered up at their position. Zevara spat fire again, feeling the world go dark around her. She gasped, and felt a hand steady her.

“Careful!”

Olesm had a scroll in one hand. He unrolled it as Zevara straightened and aimed with his claws. A shower of spectral arrows materialized overhead and cut down a swath of Face-Eater Moths attacking the wall fifty feet down. Zevara nodded.

“Good job! Ration those enchantments though! We only have so many left!”

“I’m hitting every big target I can see!”

Olesm reached for another command scroll for Liscor’s defenses. Zevara, her head clearing, saw a group of [Guardsmen] cry out down the wall and scatter as a huge moth landed at their position. It wasn’t one of the five giant moths, but it was still large as a house and simply ignored the jabbing spears and arrows the Watch sent into it.

“Olesm! That moth!”

“I see it!”

The Drake [Tactician] fumbled with the scroll, trying to open it. He had it open and ready to cast when he froze. Zevara was about to shout at him to cast the spell already when she saw what he’d spotted. A Drake in full magic armor was racing up the steps, shouting, cutting down moths and heading straight for the huge moth on the walls. Zevara could hear Ilvriss’ voice clear as day.

“Drakes of Liscor, rally to me!”

He used a Skill. He must have, because Zevara stood straighter and sensed the Drakes and Gnolls around her standing tall, catching a second wind.

“Don’t let these vermin scale the walls! Push them back!

Ilvriss charged down the wall, shouting as he and his escort flooded into the breach. His enchanted sword flashed twice and the giant moth staggered back, keening in pain. Zevara saw his blade stab into the moth again and again, carving through it easily as he and his small group of followers retook the spot.

“Good! Now all we need is ten more of him!”

Zevara shouted at Olesm. The Drake grinned and aimed his scroll at a giant moth climbing up the walls. A jet of flame shot downwards and Zevara saw the moth fly off the wall and flap wildly in agony.

“I’ll try to bring that one down!”

“There are four! Two are here—where are the other three?”

“One’s flying north! The other two are at Erin’s inn!”

What?

“The inn! It’s still standing! The moths are being held off there!”

Zevara turned, incredulous. She hadn’t thought of Erin’s inn, except to wonder if the young woman had fled or been killed. Her tail twitched as she saw the flash of swords and color of magic. The inn was ablaze with motion, covered by moths, but still it stood! And shining out of a door set against the front wall was another city. Zevara’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what Erin was doing.

“Ancestors, of course. Pallass!”

 

—-

 

Zeres. Pallass, what is taking so long?

Pallass. Standby.

 

A pause, as around the world the wealthy and powerful leaned forwards, some actually leaning on the unlucky [Mages] who had to relay what was happening. In Terandria, a group of nobility sat around, eating snacks and laughing lightly.

“What fun!”

“This is far more entertaining than anything I could have hoped for today.”

“I say, let’s have a bet on whether Liscor falls. Any takers, say, a hundred gold pieces?”

“Make it two hundred and I’ll take that offer.”

“Four hundred on the city standing but being gutted.”

“Ah, wonderful! Let’s see if these Drakes manage to get something for us to look at, shall we?”

 

Pallass. We have visual. Stand by for Wistram to relay!

Oteslia. At last!

 

The image swam into place slowly, a blurry scene coming slowly into view. Flos, the King of Destruction, leaned over the tiny marble-sized scrying orb and looked at Gazi.

“Are you sure this is the only orb we have, Gazi?”

She looked apologetic.

“My lord, that is my personal orb. I thought we had a larger version in our posession.”

Orthenon rubbed at his face, shaking his head.

“We did—until we were forced to sell them for food two winters back.”

“No matter. Is this from the perspective of the [Mage] in Pallass? A wonder that Wistram can transmit it to so many locations. Now, what have we here?”

Flos leaned forwards, as did the rest of the people in the room. Trey stared in wonder at the magical portal set into the wall, at the crowd of Drake civilians clustered around the door. There was even sound! The [Mage] was standing next to a Drake [Guardswoman] as she argued with an important-looking officer in yellow armor. It was probably not a conversation that Pallass meant for the world to hear.

 

“Hurry up! We need reinforcements now!

Erin stood in her doorway, shouting at Pallass and unknowingly, the world as the battle raged behind her. Moths were falling from the sky, blasted by Falene’s lightning and a shower of thorns Moore sent upwards like a flight of arrows. The Drakes in front of the door stared at her, but Erin’s words were meant for Watch Captain Venim as he stood with a company of Drakes in armor. They hadn’t entered the door although they’d been standing there for the last ten minutes.

“Watch Captain? Our [Mages] have the doorway open and ready to go! Give the order and I’ll take my men through.”

The Drake was a [Captain], nearly hopping with impatience as she eyed the battle in Liscor. But Watch Captain Venim just shook his head.

“I do not have permission to send your troops in, [Captain].”

The Drake turned her incredulous gaze on him. She kept her voice low so the anxious crowd of Pallass’ civilians couldn’t hear, but she was standing right next to the Drake [Mage] who was mightily concentrating, his face beaded with sweat as he stared at the portal.

“And why not? Liscor is under attack! Those flying moths will overwhelm the walls within the hour if we don’t clear them away! Ancestors, my company might not be enough! We need to push as many soldiers through as that doorway allows and do it now!

Venim closed his eyes.

“The Assembly of Crafts is debating. We do not have authorization to support. Prepare to close the door if the inn is overrun.”

The Drake inhaled sharply.

“Watch Captain? You can’t be serious—”

“You have your orders, [Captain]! So do I! We wait until the Assembly responds, is that clear?”

Venim snapped at her. He broke off as the Drakes looked at him. One of the civilians stared at the soldiers and then at the battle.

“Why aren’t we sending our army in?”

There was a murmur from the crowd. Many Drakes had left the streets rather than look at the hordes of monsters, but the stronger-willed civilians were present. Indeed, several richly-dressed Drakes were inspecting the carnage with a great deal of interest.

“It’s Liscor. It’s not our city.”

One of the Drakes spoke up hesitantly. A Drake with a monocle in front turned, looking offended.

“Excuse me? Liscor is a strategic asset. If they fall, the Humans might easily sweep through or claim Liscor as its own. Not to mention that this dungeon threatens us all. If monsters occupy the area around Liscor or if that dungeon has more swarms of this magnitude—”

“Hey! Where’s the army?

Erin shouted through the doorway. The Drakes turned back to her. Erin ducked as a moth came for her and the crowd screamed. Quick as lightning, a Drake [Archer] standing in Pallass shot an arrow straight through the doorway. The moth fell, and Erin got back to her feet. She was shouting through to the other side now.

“I don’t know! I said I don’t know, Jelaqua! They’re just standing there! Can you hold—aah! Run away!”

She fled as another house-sized moth landed with a thud that made the crowd draw back. The Drake [Soldiers] in Pallass rushed forwards, but before the moth could approach the doorway, a Selphid charged into it. Jelaqua cursed as she hit the moth’s face body, legs, and wings, her flail smashing the insect back.

“Good job that Selphid!”

The Drake with the monocle applauded as the rest of the Drakes in the crowd looked at him. He nodded to the other Drake on his left.

“I say, did the Human call her Jelaqua? That must be Jelaqua Ivirith, a Gold-rank adventurer! She leads the Halfseekers.”

“Splendid flail work!”

The other Drake agreed. They inspected the battle, unaware or simply uncaring of the looks they were getting. The other anxious Drakes stared at them, and then one with purple scales and black eye spoke up.

“Well go on, what about the Halfseekers?”

The Drake with the monocle and his buddy looked surprised.

“Well if you must know, the Halfseekers are a group of three Gold-rank adventurers. They used to be a group of eight and quite well-respected, on the verge of Named Adventurer status as a group. However, they’re solidly Gold-rank now. Their team isn’t specialized for this kind of fighting. Oh—see the half-Giant? That would be Moore, a specialist in earth magic. He’s using…my word, is that a mass-variant of the [Armor of Thorns] spell?”

“It must be. It takes quite a lot of mana to use that spell—I wonder if he’s exhausted himself already? But the defensive benefits are considerable.”

“Naturally, naturally. Oh look, Noass! Do you see that?”

“I do indeed, Sir Relz. That flash of movement, there? That would be Seborn, their Drowned Man and [Rogue]. He’s a Crab-type Drowned Man and very adept at close-quarters combat. Not ideal for the number of flying moths, but he’s keeping mobile with his team, shielding this inn.”

“Shame that none of the Halfseekers can take the fight to the giant moths. Look, one’s assailing the walls. I can’t think that it will be repelled with just the forces th—”

“Ancestors!”

A cry broke through the commentary. Across the world people leaned forwards, trying to get a better look as the Drake [Mage] was buffeted by the crowd. They saw him pushing forwards, staring through the portal at a flash of light. One of the five giant moths was on the wall, climbing over, but a flash of light tore a part of its face away and then another.

“Look! On the walls! Someone’s shooting at it!”

“Who?”

The two Drake commentators, Sir Relz and Noass, pushed forwards as the crowd and the world held its breath.

 

—-

 

The gargantuan Face-Eater Moth had nearly climbed over the walls and was threatening to enter the city where it would cause havoc unchecked. The City Watch was trying to hold it back but the massive moth simply ate the defending Drakes and Gnolls or speared them with its massive legs. It was just crawling over the battlements when an arrow sprouted between its head and exploded into a shower of spikes that tore part of its face away. The Face-Eater Moth reeled back, keening, and heads swiveled for the unknown shooter.

He was coming up the stairs. Halrac raised his bow and loosed another arrow. It streaked towards the giant Face-Eater Moth and exploded into a cloud of green dust. Poison. The moth shook its wings as Halrac shot a second arrow which froze a portion of its left wings. It dropped, and Halrac shifted his aim and shot a moth the size of a wagon instead. The fireball that engulfed the winged creature consumed it almost entirely.

“Griffon Hunt!”

A cry went up as Halrac shot again and again, his enchanted arrows finding their mark each time. The [Guardsman] rallied behind Halrac and pushed the moths back to the wall. Halrac advanced and behind him came Typhenous and Revi. The Stitch Woman shouted in fury.

Come forth, spirits! Drive back these monsters!

She pointed and the City Watch saw a wave of ghostly warriors and archers charge up the stairs behind her. Spectral warriors flooded the battlements, fighting the Face-Eater Moths. Revi pointed and a flaming Corusdeer galloped past her while two bright eagles made of light harassed moths flying overhead.

“Typhenous, we could use a shield!”

Revi shouted at the old man behind her. Typhenous raised his staff.

“[Wall of the Winds]!”

A howling gale sprung up along their section of the wall, hurling the moths climbing or flying there away. Typhenous raised his voice as the [Guardsmen] cheered.

“Keep shooting! The wall works one way!”

Halrac grunted as he loosed an arrow. It passed straight through the wall of swirling winds and exploded in the face of the Face-Eater Moth as it tried to fly back up. Outraged, injured, the moth flew backwards.

“Keep me covered. I’m bringing that thing down.”

He spoke curtly to Revi. She paused in exhorting her summoned minions.

“You think you can?”

Halrac glared at the giant moth as it circled, flying overhead to bypass the windy barrier Typhenous had conjured. He pulled five glowing, cherry-red arrows from his quiver.

“Let’s find out.”

He drew and loosed and the explosion consumed the moth. It fell amid the cheering.

 

—-

 

Pallass confirms one of five giant Face-Eater Moths is down!

Zeres. We have eyes. We saw.

Oteslia. What’s this about Pallass not sending reinforcements to Liscor? Explain yourself!

Pallass. Standby.

 

Zevara’s claws tore the parchment slightly as she stared up from the hastily scribbled [Messages] and at the smoking corpse of the giant Face-Eater Moth that had fallen onto half the wall. The ink was still wet and the Street Runner was already dashing off the wall to safety.

“The Walled Cities know about this? And they’re watching? How in the name of—the inn!”

“Are they sending reinforcements?”

Olesm called hopefully as he surveyed the wall. He pointed.

Fall back! [Rapid Retreat]!”

A group of [Guardsmen] fled at speed as a group of moths swarmed over their location. Zevara shook her head, looking at the rest of the messages.

“No! Damn Pallass! They’re still holding back!”

She stared around the city. The walls were holding, but the moths had just flown over the walls in many spots. Now the fighting was in the streets of the city as moths attacked homes, buildings, and [Guardsmen] indiscriminately.

“Report! How bad is it in the city?”

She snapped at a second Street Runner as he dashed up the stairs. The young Gnoll panted and wheezed as he spoke.

“Gnolls are on the rooftops, shooting down moths entering the city! Miss Krshia has anyone with a bow in the center, but she says they can’t do more than protect their area.”

“The Gnolls? That’s excellent!”

Zevara stared at the small shapes on the rooftops below. The Gnolls were shooting down moths as they came. She spotted more flashes of movement in the streets.

“Are those adventurers?”

 

—-

 

“Go, go, go! Get out there and fight!”

Selys was distributing potions, shouting at adventurers, and herding civilians into the back rooms. The Adventurer’s Guild had turned into chaos as the Drake [Receptionist] tried to force the lower-ranked adventurers to leave the building. They didn’t want to go.

“I said get out there! The city is under attack! You’re adventurers, this is your job!”

“But there are so many! We don’t get paid for—”

“You don’t get to live if they slaughter us all! Move!”

Selys shouted at a young man with a sword. She had a bow by the doorway. She snatched it up as she heard heavy wing beats. A group of moths landed in the street and the adventurers flinched. Some rushed out, but before they could fight the small swarm a shape flashed by them and kicked the first moth so hard its head collapsed. Hawk the Courier spun and kicked rapidly, smashing the fragile moths’ bodies. He spun, ready for more, and spotted the staring adventurers and Selys.

“Hawk!”

Selys shoved the Bronze-rank adventurers into the street. She pointed.

“Guard that street! Just take down any moth you see! Go!”

She turned to the Rabbit Beastkin. Hawk was panting, but unharmed. He wiped moth fluids and body parts from his foot as she approached him.

“Stamina potion?”

“Thanks. I’ve got better ones. Ancestors, this is the second time I’ve had to defend Liscor in months! First the undead, now this!”

Hawk looked around. He straightened as more moths flew down through the air. Two fell to arrows, but the rest landed on roofs, eliciting screams from the people within. Hawk leapt up and Selys saw him kick off a wall and onto the roof where he began smashing the moths. She looked around frantically. Liscor was still fighting, still surviving, but there were more moths coming every minute and no end to them in sight. She shouted the question that was on everyone’s tongue.

Where are the Antinium?

 

—-

 

“Flood the tunnels! Workers with bows, fire into the kill zone! Collapse tunnel G-43E! Activate the traps in cluster JF-42!”

Belgrade was at the center of chaos as Workers and Soldiers streamed around him. Anand could barely see for all the bodies, but the sight of the Face-Eater Moths flooding the tunnels was enough to chill the Antinium to the core. If not for the kill-zone he and Belgrade had created, they would have overrun a good deal of the Hive. As it was, over sixty percent of the Hive was currently fighting and the rest was on reserve.

“Take down that giant moth! [Combined Arms]!”

He pointed, and a group of Soldiers charged forwards, their fists swinging as one. The giant moth reeled back as Soldiers and Workers swarmed onto it. The giant room that was the end of the kill zone was filled with moths and Anand saw Antinium fighting and dying, desperately trying to keep the moths from entering the rest of the Hive. The Face-Eater Moths were numerous and strong. They tore Soldiers apart, trampling them. One giant moth rushed forwards and stopped as it impaled itself on two silvery swords.

“Advance.”

Klbkch’s voice was met with a wave of Soldiers who pressed the moths back. The Revalantor fought, his blades flashing in the gloom as the Antinium held the line. In a lull he ran back to Belgrade and Anand as the two struggled to keep ahead of the moths as they dug through the earth and tried to enter the Hive via other sections.

“Belgrade, abandon your command of the lower-eastern section. The Queen has assumed command of the Workers and Soldiers there.”

“She has? That is a relief!”

Belgrade sagged. He turned his attention to another area as Anand paused to stare at Klbkch. The Revalantor had fought for six hours straight already without pause.

“Revalantor Klbkch—”

“Speak quickly.”

Anand nodded.

“We have received another urgent request for aid from Liscor. It seems the Face-Eater Moths have declined in ferocity after the slaying of their eighth mother-type leader. Should I take some Soldiers and reinforce…?”

“No. We have allocated all we can. The Hive must stand. Tell Liscor that reinforcements are on the way.”

Anand nodded. Reinforcements were on the way. And as the battle dragged into its seventh hour in the Hive, the Antinium appeared aboveground.

 

—-

 

“The Antinium! The Antinium are coming!”

“At last! What took them so long?”

Zevara’s head turned in relief. She expected to see a wave of black bodies flooding out of the tunnels. What she saw instead surprised her. She saw color.

“What? Are those—?”

The Painted Soldiers charged onto the streets. Zevara saw a Worker with a censer point and then two Antinium, one a giant with yellow splatters, the second painted with a ghoulish purple smile lead two groups into the city. They began smashing into the moths on the ground. As she watched the Soldiers charged a wagon-sized moth, bearing it to the ground and stomping it to death. More flooded up the walls and began hurling themselves at the moths there.

“Watch Captain! The team of Griffon Hunt says their [Scout] is out of enchanted arrows!”

“What? Damn! Give him every one we’ve got and get more [Guardsmen] to reinforce his position! Another one of those giant moths is coming! Let the Antinium hold the wall!”

Zevara saw [Guardsmen] race to where another giant moth had landed. The Antinium were now on the walls, ruthlessly crushing moths, fighting with reckless disregard for their safety. She saw one Soldier with bright blue circles on his body jump off the wall and onto a wagon-sized moth climbing up. Both Antinium and moth fell and landed with a crunch below. The Drake winced as she saw the yellow-striped Antinium leader pull another Soldier back from doing the same.

“Push them back! The Antinium are here—push the moths back!”

She shouted at her [Guardsmen], feeling a surge of hope for the first time. Zevara turned as Olesm downed the second giant moth with a flash of lighting. She heard a cheer as the moth fell and the Soldiers in the streets covered it, tearing it apart piece by piece. Three left! They could do this! Three left!

 

—-

 

“Another excellent lightning strike by that [Tactician] on the walls! Good shot, I say!”

“Are those Antinium reinforcing Liscor? Of course, this is the only Drake city with a Hive. Why weren’t they deployed earlier?”

“That’s unknown, but they seem to be pushing the moths back quite quickly where they are! Hold on—do you see what I’m seeing, Noass? Those Antinium have paint on their carapaces! Is this some kind of new Antinium variant?”

The two Drakes who were commentating in the crowd probably had no idea their words were being broadcast to countless other people across the world. However, their words were highly significant to the many people watching. In Baleros, Niers Astoragon leaned over.

“My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Umina, do you see what those Drakes are talking about?”

The Lizardgirl stared hard at the image in the orb.

“I think so. The Antinium have…well, they have something on their bodies.”

“Color? Paint? But they appear to be the standard Soldier types. Is this a trick or does it have more meaning?”

Niers leaned back in his seat, thinking hard. Foliana munched on her muffin.

“Mm. Looks good. Think Liscor can win it?”

Every head turned to Niers. The tiny Fraerling smiled, knowing his reputation could rest on a correct answer.

“I wouldn’t place all my coin on them just yet, Foliana. They’re putting up a good fight, but the adventurers around this…inn are tiring. They’re—wait, it’s that Human girl.”

He sat up as the young woman appeared in the doorway again. She waved at the crowd.

“You lot coming through yet!?”

The Pallassian soldiers shifted uncomfortably. The young woman glared at them, and Niers laughed as he saw her raise one expressive finger.

“Fine! Stay that way! You guys are all assholes, you know that? You and your stupid Walled City!”

Then she slammed the door shut. Niers blinked as the Drakes cried out and the portal vanished.

 

Salazsar. What is going on, Pallass?

Pallass. Standby. Human interference.

Zeres. Stop saying ‘standby!’ Recover the image!

Pallass. Standby.

 

It took five gut-wrenching minutes for the image to reappear. Magnolia saw Erin arguing with another Human in armor as the portal reopened. She leaned forwards.

“What has that young woman done now?

“Look, guard the inn! Inside! Just hold on—they’re coming through the third floor and my guys are tired! Take over and don’t let them come down the stairs!”

The Human in armor nodded and Magnolia saw a group of [Guardsman] rush into the inn. Their arrival had surprised the Drakes in Pallass.

“Is that the insignia of Celum’s City Watch?”

“You’d know more than I, Noass. What are they doing in Liscor?”

“Using a magic door.”

Magnolia muttered to herself, ignoring the intrigued looks the others in the room were giving her. Ressa frowned as she stared at the adventurers fighting the moths. Magnolia glanced up at her.

“Ressa, it looks like Liscor will survive. Unless you disagree? The Antinium are there, there are Gold-rank adventurers on the wall, and two of those horrid moths are down. All good, or do you disagree?”

The maid shook her head.

“The moths are still numerous. And there is a problem.”

“Which is?”

“The adventurers who have been attracting a lot of the attention.”

Ressa pointed at the Halfseekers and the Silver Swords. Magnolia peered at them.

“What’s wrong?”

The maid’s face was grim.

“They’re getting tired.”

 

—-

 

It happened in an instant. One second Jelaqua was there, twirling her flail, the next, the giant moth descended. The Selphid tried to move but her leg slipped in the muck and blood. Erin saw legs snatch her up and heard Jelaqua’s shout.

“Let go of me, let go!

“Jelaqua!”

Moore roared as he ran to grab her. He was too slow. The moth flew up and Jelaqua’s voice grew fainter. There was a shout and then Erin saw something falling. She saw Jelaqua’s pale face, her arms flailing—

And then the Selphid hit the ground. Her body thumped on the ground and bounced. She didn’t move.

“Jelaqua?”

Moths covered her. Erin shouted in horror and tried to run forwards. Seborn was already there, cutting, dicing. Moore thrust aside moths and scooped Jelaqua up. Part of her face was missing—the moths had torn her body to shreds in those brief moments. Her mouth was moving but the rest of her body was limp, twisted.

Broken. Moore ran for the inn and Erin shouted for Celum’s [Guardsmen] to cover them. They obligingly filled the air with arrows, but it wasn’t enough. The giant moth circled and this time struck Moore. He screamed as a leg went through his stomach and the broken armor of thorns on his body. Seborn cursed. This time the moth landed, mouth open wide to eat the half-Giant whole.

“Silver Swords, on me! [Knight’s Challenge]!”

A voice shouted. The gigantic moth turned as Ylawes struck his shield and it rang like a gong. It and the other moths converged on the silver [Knight], buying time for Erin to run out with the Horns of Hammerad and the Redfang Goblins and drag Moore and Jelaqua inside. The moth charged Ylawes and struck his raised shield. Though Ylawes was guarding, the impact sent him staggering backwards. He raised his shield again and blocked a leg as sharp as a needle before it could strike his chest.

“Dawil! Take out its legs!”

“On it!”

The Dwarf ran around the giant moth. He swung his hammer.

“[Thunder Blow]!”

The impact snapped the giant moth’s leg in half. The insect jerked as Ylawes sliced at its head, and it tried to bite again. The Dwarf ran around as Falene raised her staff.

“[Grand Fireball].”

An explosion cooked the insect’s abdomen and it shrieked. It turned, and the half-Elf ran swiftly backwards. Ylawes struck his shield again and the moth turned. Before Dawil could cripple its other leg it grabbed the [Knight] and took off.

“No!”

Erin heard Yvlon shout. The young woman raced forwards as the giant Face-Eater Moth flew higher. Ylawes was a speck overhead. She could see him cutting at the moth, into its belly as it tried to bite him. Falene raised her staff.

“[Blue Lightning].”

The bolt hit the moth in the wing and tore a hole open. It flinched, but kept flying. Dawil knocked a moth aside, panting, his beard covered in gore.

“Think our boy can do it, Falene?”

“Never say ‘our boy’ and my name in the same sentence again, Dawil. And I think he’s done it.”

Erin stared up at Ylawes high overhead. She couldn’t hear what he said, but she saw his sword tear a hole in the giant moth’s abdomen. It screamed and fell and he fell with it.

“He’s gonna splat! Someone do something!”

Erin shouted in horror as Ylawes fell. Falene sighed.

“I am. Don’t block my aim. Wait…wait…[Featherfall].”

She pointed and Ylawes’s body slowed twenty feet from the ground. He landed with a grimace, his armor covered in gore. Dawil ran forwards and buried his hammer in the insect’s head, splitting its brains open and putting an end to its convulsions. Ylawes raised his sword and Erin heard the cheering.

It came from Pallass. She turned back to the door, annoyed and angry.

“Those jerks! They haven’t done a thing, just watched!”

“Don’t need to! There’s only two of them moths left and we’re thinning out the rest of the buggers at last!”

Dawil marched over to the others, panting, his face red with exhaustion. He grabbed for a stamina potion at his belt and downed it.

“Damn things aren’t working anymore. Hey, one of you mind killing the next giant moth?”

He looked around and realized he wasn’t the only one swaying on his feet. Falene leaned over her staff, her elegant face marred by her sheer exhaustion and Ylawes stumbled, barely able to stand.

“We’ve got to rest. Stamina potions aren’t enough.”

“Okay! Rest! The inn’s secure—I’ve got guys from Celum holding it!”

Erin pointed to her inn. It was scarred from the outside, every window broken, and Bird’s beloved watch tower had been smashed, but it still stood. The Silver Swords stumbled inside and paused.

“Huh.”

Dawil stared around Erin’s common room. It had been enlarged again, and over thirty members of Celum’s Watch stood behind the windows with crates of potions at their feet. The bodies of Face-Eater Moths littered the floor and Erin had used the extra ‘stage’ part of her inn to clear the bodies and broken furniture away. It looked awful, but the Silver Swords just collapsed on the ground, ignoring the blood that was on their floor and armor.

“How’s Jelaqua? Is she?”

Injured.

Seborn looked up as he crouched next to his teammates. Jelaqua wasn’t moving, but her eyes and mouth twitched. The Drowned Man grimaced as he poured a healing potion into her mouth.

Her body’s broken from the fall and her real form took damage from it too. I’m trying to get a healing potion into her, but there’s no saving her body. She can’t move it or do more than speak.

“What about Moore?”

Healing. He took a bad injury but he’ll be fine with rest.

The half-Giant’s eyes were closed and his head was covered in sweat, but the [Guardsmen] from Celum had covered him with Erin’s blankets from the kitchen and his wound had closed thanks to the healing potions. Erin looked around.

“Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, Ksmvr, you all okay?”

“We’re good.”

The Horns of Hammerad looked up. They were exhausted too, but the arrival of Celum’s Watch had kept the pressure off them. Likewise, the Redfang Goblins were sitting together, sharpening their blades, keeping a wary eye on the open doorway. They were being given a wide berth by Celum’s [Guardsman], but after seeing the hundreds of moths the Redfang Warriors had slaughtered to keep Erin’s inn from being overrun, it was hard to call the Goblins anything but an ally.

Especially now. Erin peered out of her inn at Liscor’s walls, still filled with fighting.

“You think we’ll be okay if we rest? All but two of the huge moths are dead and there aren’t as many of the other ones. I think we’ve won. Right?”

A grunt answered her from inside. Dawil, on his feet and still pale with exhaustion, looked troubled.

“Battle’s not over until we take out the last two. And there’s enough moths to cause trouble. Hey—watch it!”

He pulled Erin back as the [Guardsmen] in her inn loosed another flight of arrows. The moths approaching her inn fell, pin cushioned, and the ones who got to the walls died to a mixture of spears, swords, and axes. Celum’s Watch might not be as well-trained or as numerous as Liscor’s, but with Erin’s inn they could easily hold the moths off. Erin nodded as she spotted some of them downing Octavia’s potions.

“Okay, two big ones, but once we get rested we can take them down, right?”

“Right. Liscor’s walls might recharge enough to blast the suckers. Or maybe they can shoot them down. Was that Halrac the Grim I saw on the walls? He took out one of those things himself!”

Dawil nodded approvingly. Erin did too.

“Yeah, that’s right! I think we can do it!”

She broke off as she heard voices. Erin peeked around the door and saw the Drakes from Pallass standing in front of the door. They were still doing their commentary, by the looks of it.

“—seems like Liscor’s managed to repel the worst of the assault, Noass.”

“That’s right, Sir Relz. The swarm seems to have been broken and the last two Face-Eater Moth mothers are circling around in disarray.”

“That’s indeed so, Noass. Did I hear you right? You called them ‘mothers’?”

“Apparently those exceptionally large ones are brood mothers that lay thousands—tens of thousands—of eggs, Sir Relz. It’s a disgusting process.”

“Quite, quite. But they definitely have morale and it is failing. See how they’re circling around just out of bow shot of Liscor? Not a smart move, but then, when have monsters ever thought tactically?”

“Indeed, indeed—oh look, it’s the Human who owns this inn.”

Erin peered through her magic doorway at the crowd standing in Pallass’ street. She eyed Watch Captain Venim who wouldn’t meet her eyes and then the two rich-looking Drakes standing in front.

“Excuse me, some of us are fighting for our lives here.

“And some of us are watching the show, Miss Human. You seem to have things well in claw anyways. Do you think some of the adventurers who just fought out there would mind coming to the door so we could congratulate them? The Silver Swords did an excellent job, as did the Halfseekers. Taking down a Face-Eater Moth in the sky like that, my word, what a show!”

Sir Relz, the snobby-looking Drake applauded lightly and the crowd murmured agreement. Erin glared at him.

“They’re all tired from nearly dying. And stop telling us it’s nearly over! We get to say that! You get to watch! Besides, those moths aren’t just flying around in a panic!”

“Oh really? Flying in a circle seems to be rather unintelligent to me, wouldn’t you agree, Sir Relz?”

The Drake called Noass smirked. Erin stared at him.

“You’re stupid. And that’s not a random spot. That’s the spot where the Face-Eater Moths crawled up from to begin with!”

Sir Relz, who’d been smiling condescendingly and sipping from a goblet of wine, paused. He stared at Erin.

“It is?”

“Yup.”

Erin glared around. She eyed a Drake in fancy robes who was staring hard at her and the battle outside.

“And what are you looking at?”

She waved at him but he didn’t respond. He looked like he was concentrating hard. Sir Relz on the other hand looked more and more concerned.

“Miss Human.”

“Yeah?”

“When you say the moths crawled ‘up’ out of the ground, do you mean to say you didn’t see the entire swarm fly in? They appeared out of the dungeon, correct?”

“Yup. Five of the nasty ones. Came right out with a shower of water. Like a geyser. Why?”

“Well…how do you know their entire population consisted of only five moths?”

Erin stared at the Drake. Sir Relz stared back. Erin closed her eyes and then someone screamed. She looked over her shoulder as a Drake pointed and groaned.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Another Face-Eater Moth mother crawled out of the hole in the ground. She spread her wings and her brood flew into the air, fresh thousands flying upwards. Erin stared. Then she saw another Face-Eater Moth mother crawl out of the hole. And then another. And another.

Six giant moths flew through the air, chittering, their voices making the wax in Erin’s ears vibrate. She stared at them as the crowd in Pallass went silent and the defenders of Liscor’s walls froze. Her voice was very audible in the silence.

“Oh, we are so dead.”

 

—-

 

Zeres here. The situation looks unwinnable. Our [Strategists] predict destruction of the city unless the Antinium are capable of fielding an army large enough to repel the moths.

Pallass. Our [Generals] concur. We are prepared to send a company of [Soldiers] into Liscor to evacuate and hold the walls until the citizens can flee into Celum.

Oteslia. Only now are you sending your forces in? Too little, too late!

Salazsar. Liscor must not be abandoned at any cost. Surely Pallass can send in multiple companies.

Pallass. There is no known limit to the population of moths. We recommend evacuation.

Fissival. Are there any reinforcements that may be called in via Celum? Can Wistram assist?

Wistram. We are unable to send reinforcements. If Liscor could hold out for a day we would be able to teleport a single Archmage to the battlefield.

Manus. Untenable. We may only watch and see what transpires. Let us hope for a miracle.

 

Silence. The world waited as the Face-Eater Moths flew in a gathering swarm, chittering, angrier and angrier. They seemed equally focused on Erin’s inn as the city—waves of them were already hammering the inn, driven back only by arrows and the exhausted [Mages]. Erin sat in her inn, staring at the six giant shapes.

“We can’t beat them. I mean. I thought we could. We got three! Three! But now there are six. It’s not fair. How big is the dungeon, anyways? Why are they all out here? Why…?”

“Fair’s never a word you should use in adventuring, lass.”

Dawil stood with his hammer in his hands, staring at the swarm. He sighed.

“It was a good fight. Other side cheated, but then, don’t we all? We’ll have to hold this spot. Don’t know what’ll happen if the big ‘uns come for your inn. Your walls might not hold, but we have to stop them long enough to get all those people in Liscor through the door.”

“It doesn’t have enough power for that.”

“It must. Or—could we hide them somewhere else? The dungeon? The Antinium Hive?”

Erin didn’t know. She stared up, helpless. Pallass’ [Soldiers] were going to come through any minute, but she’d heard them talking. They were going to evacuate people, not fight. The moths blotted out the sky, flying higher, laughing at her. She looked up and knew despair. The Gold-rank adventurers couldn’t beat them. Who could?

“Erin.”

A voice spoke softly in her ear. Erin and Dawil turned and saw Pisces. His robes were white and pristine, enchanted against bloodstains and dirt, but his face was sweaty, grimy, and he had a gash down one arm. He looked up at the swarm of insects, and shook his head.

“A calamity if ever I saw one. A truly terrible threat to any city. And yet—I think I have been too arrogant.”

“Pisces. What are you talking about?”

Erin stared dully at the [Mage] as he spoke. Pisces seemed tired, but almost relaxed as he stared up at the swarm.

“I call others fools. I judge harshly—out of pride and vanity it is true, but also a sense of my own self-worth, my own recognition of my talents. But I must admit—I am as idiotic as the next self-satisfied peon at times. We are all fools, and it is wrong of me to judge based on a moment’s failing. But perhaps it is only the truly intelligent that see the truth? Ah, hubris.”

“Pisces, this really isn’t—”

Erin broke off. She had a feeling. A small certainty, a spark of inspiration in her gut. It had nothing to do with her knowledge of magic, of battlefields, or monsters. It had everything to do with how she knew people. She stared at Pisces.

Look at him. Look at his face, his posture, the way he seems to be holding back a smile. Look at his eyes, alive with hope.

Hope.

He knew something. Erin rose slowly.

“Pisces.”

He turned to her, his gray-green eyes dancing.

“I have a plan.”

“You do?”

Dawil stared at him. Pisces nodded.

“It may work. It may drive them off or at the very least, cripple the moths.”

He gestured to the swarm flying higher. More were breaking off, coming for the inn and the city now. She could see the City Watch retreating, pulling back from the walls.

“Pisces, are you sure?”

He looked at her.

“Trust me, Erin.”

She stared at him. Pisces, the unkempt, rude jerk. Pisces, the [Necromancer] who’d tried to rob her ages ago. Pisces, the genius who had been outcast from Wistram. Pisces, who had made Toren.

“What do you need?”

“This space. Your inn has mana—I need as much of it as I can gather. I need Falene’s help, and perhaps Moore’s and Ceria’s as well. But most of all I need to be outside. And the moths will certainly come for me.”

“You need us to cover you. Buy you time.”

Erin looked at Pisces. He nodded. His eyes were on her face, searching, asking for a chance. She stared at him. Then she nodded.

“Let’s do this.”

 

—-

 

“And another wave is coming in—looks like five hundred by my count Noass!”

“Five hundred! They need to be downed with arrows—looks like Celum’s [Guardsmen] are taking out some and—Ancestors, look at that bolt of lightning from Liscor’s walls! Looks like that [Tactician] up there had enough mana for one more spell! Good shot too!”

“And here they come. The Silver Swords and Seborn of the Halfseekers are on the front line of course, chopping them down, but there’s only so many blades to go around! Hobs on the right—strange how they’re here but let’s not question it at the moment—oh! And an excellent [Ice Wall] spell from the half-Elf!”

“Indeed Sir Relz! This team of adventurers is quite good—not Gold-rank yet, but they’re a name to watch. Anyone have the name of their team? I think—yes, I think this is the ill-fated Horns of Hammerad, of course known for their defeat in Liscor’s dungeon and then subsequent revival and miraculous find at the Ruins of Albez! This is of course a team that mostly focuses in the north of Izril, but they seem to have come south at just the right time—or is it the wrong time?”

“We’ll know soon. Another wave coming up on the left—”

Erin threw a knife and saw a single moth falter. The Drake [Soldiers] from Pallass raised their shields and one of their [Captains] spat lightning as the moths flew at them. They fended off the assault, to cheers from the Pallassian citizens behind them.

It was so strange. So surreal. It felt like the end of a football game. American football. The crowd was cheering, the players—moths, were trying to score a touchdown—Erin felt sick and tired, but she couldn’t rest. The moths flew overhead, chittering, trying to kill them. But they just had to keep the goal safe. Touchdown line. Whatever.

Pisces stood in a circle with Falene, his arms raised, his eyes closed. She and Moore stood with him, arguing. Well, Moore was sitting—the half-Giant’s face was screwed up with pain as he clung to his staff.

“You don’t know how to perform linked spell casting? What kind of an amateur mage are you? You said you graduated from Wistram!”

Sweat streamed down Pisces’ face as he stared up. He still found the energy to glare at her.

“I did graduate. That was not a subject I studied.”

“It is a basic theory that was taught to all third-year students when I—”

“Shut up or I’ll hit both of you.”

Moore interrupted them both. The half-Giant’s normally kind face was strained with pain and exhaustion. Pisces and Falene glanced at him and fell silent. Erin thought they were only arguing to keep from feeling the strain. The three [Mages] were literally glowing with magic. They were channeling it through Pisces as he did…something. Erin wasn’t sure what, only that it was his plan. Ceria would have joined in, but she was essential to keeping the moths away from the [Mages]. She raised another ice wall as more moths flew and scuttled towards them.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“No! Shut up! You’re worse than Ceria ever could be!”

Pisces snapped at Falene, a vein throbbing on his forehead. He stared up again.

“I read this in a spellbook and I haven’t had a chance to try it out! Actually, I read about a completely different spell, but the theory should be the same. It only takes a little bit of energy if done correctly—”

“Hurry up, then!”

Pisces gritted his teeth. He looked up.

 

—-

 

“You know, we might not make it. Funny, did you ever think of that?”

Revi gasped for air as she sat on the ground behind the battlements. Her face was white, and she was shuddering. She was using too much mana, Typhenous knew. But her summoned warriors were the only thing holding the wall. The Watch had pulled back, but the moths kept coming and they had to stop them or be completely surrounded. He offered Revi another mana potion but she shook her head. She’d had too many already—she’d thrown up and started coughing up blood. Any more might kill her.

“I always wondered where I’d die. Today might be it. A shame—moths aren’t exactly a glorious death.”

Typhenous straightened. His barrier of winds had grown to encompass the area around them. It was taking all of his mana and he was feeling faint himself. He saw Halrac grimly loosing arrows into the swarm. The man’s fingers were bleeding. Funny, Typhenous could feel nothing but affection for him in this moment.

Revi saw the look. She bared her teeth.

“Good old Halrac. Hey—make sure he doesn’t die before we do.”

“Perish the thought. Oh, look. That Drake is still fighting.”

Typhenous pointed and nearly fell over. Across from them Relc spun and slashed in a sea of dead moths. Some of the Drakes and Gnolls in the City Watch had fallen from exhaustion, but Relc kept fighting, snarling at the moths as more landed around him.

Heroes. They held the wall. Tekshia Shivertail with a barbed spear, Krshia and the Gnolls, grimly fighting with Liscor’s civilians to let the [Guardsmen] rest—and the Antinium. The Painted Soldiers fought on, despite the green blood that oozed from innumerable wounds on their bodies.

Typhenous smiled to himself. Now he regretted his choice of words. There was nowhere he’d rather be in this moment. He stood, proud of the people he was fighting besides and held the barrier of winds for another moment. It was a race. Would his heart stop or would his magic give out first?

“Typhenous. I just wanted to say—”

Revi’s eyelids were fluttering. If she didn’t release her spirits now—Typhenous thought about knocking her out with his staff. But if he did, would they die? He stared up.

Up. There was something going on. Typhenous was no Wistram mage but he could feel it. He stared around, perplexed by the powerful mana he could sense. Where…? Ah, Erin’s inn. Of course. It was a font of magic—no wonder the [Mages] there could keep fighting after so long. But what were they…?

“Typhenous? I lost my magic.”

Revi looked up. The spirits had vanished. Typhenous realized that his control of the barrier had slipped away too. The moths flew closer. Two of the giant ones landed on the wall.

“Two! Alright! Come on then! I guess I get to kill twice as many giant moths today!”

Relc roared as he ran towards the moths. Typhenous barely heard. He stared towards Pisces, Moore, and Falene, and then looked up again.

“Of course! It’s so obvious! Of course!

“Ty—what?”

Revi looked at him. The old [Mage] grinned at her wildly. He pointed.

“He’s doing it! Young Pisces! Can’t you feel it?”

“No, you know I can’t sense mana like you c—”

Revi paused and looked up. Overhead, the clouds were dark and grey. They’d always been dark and grey. It was the rainy season. But unlike the last day and a half, the clouds were darker now. Stormier. The sky was filled with water after all. It just needed a push. Revi blinked.

And a drop of water fell from above. The Stitch-Woman blinked as it landed on her forehead. Typhenous stared. Another drop fell and struck him on the side of his cheek. He looked up.

It began to rain. First droplets, and then a flurry, then a squall. Then the clouds opened up. The rain fell harder than Typhenous could ever remember seeing, a deafening roar that struck the wet earth, washed the blood from Liscor’s walls—

And hit the moths. The Face-Eater Moths keened as they fell to the ground, unable to fly. The giant moths fell out of the sky as if struck by an invisible hand and they began crawling desperately back towards the rift in the ground. Six fled, slipping on the ground, joined by their brood that drowned as the lakes in the valleys grew and marched. They climbed down into the rift, slipping on the water, fleeing the storms.

Six fled.  Soldiers from Pallass flooded across the landscape, easily dispatching the fleeing moths. They downed one moth with lightning, two with alchemist’s potions, and one with arrows and spears. Two escaped. The rest of the moths disappeared into the rift as Pallass celebrated and the viewers around the world did likewise.

 

—-

 

“We’re alive.”

Zevara stood on the walls, unable to lift her sword, barely able to believe it. Her entire body ached. She swayed. The rain fell down, cool and soothing on her scales. Slowly, Zevara looked around.

Olesm sat on the ground, exhausted from directing the battle. He sat on a dead moth—the battlements were covered with them. The Floodplains were filled with dead or dying moths, come to that. Zevara could already see Rock Crabs and Shield Spiders coming out to eat the corpses and soon more scavengers would arise. The corpses would rot—

A problem for later. She stood on the walls, staring at the wounded, the people of Liscor, and the adventurers. A soft footstep made her turn. Tekshia Shivertail stood, leaning on her barbed spear. The elderly Drake looked more alive than Zevara despite her age. She spoke calmly as the storm raged on.

“By the authority of my position as the Adventurer Guild’s [Guildmistress], I, Tekshia Shivertail, declare that Liscor’s Dungeon is Gold-rank. Let no adventurer of lesser standing challenge it. Come, Drakes and Humans and Gnolls of legend. Come challenge this dungeon. Come, for foes and treasure await.”

She stared out across the Floodplains, to where the last giant moth was disappearing into the hole, pursued by Pallassian [Soldiers]. Zevara looked at Tekshia. The elderly Drake smiled at her. Zevara nodded in gratitude and then fainted.

 

—-

 

“Excellent work! Did you see that battle! I recognized two of those adventurers. The woman in armor, part of the—what was it? Horns of Hammerad? Yes, that team! And the Silver Swords. Both are Byres children! Dead gods, is that what Yitton Byres lets children do?”

“More like, is that what all of his children do?”

A babble of voices broke out in Lord Tyrion’s command tent. Noble [Lords] talked excitedly, energized by the victorious battle. Tyrion leaned back as the Drake [Mage] in Pallass finally cut the connection.

“I haven’t bought Byres steel in ages. I should place another order—if that’s what their sons and daughters do, I’d hire another team led by one of their family in an instant!”

“Not to mention Griffon Hunt, was it? I know that man, Halrac the Grim. Unfriendly fellow, but did you see him take down that moth?”

“What team had the half-Giant again?”

“Astounding. Absolutely—I shouldn’t think that Liscor’s dungeon would be anything less than a Gold-rank dungeon after this. What treasures must it hold? No, what other threats?”

“Liscor’s survived then. A pity I suppose, but the Drakes do fight like Demons when their tails are pressed against a wall!”

Tyrion looked up at that last comment. He stared at the map of the continent on the table in front of him. The position of the Goblin Lord’s last sighted forces was marked there, as were the locations of a number of other armies, including Liscor’s forces. He nodded to himself.

“A pity indeed.”

 

—-

 

“I want reports on all four adventuring teams. The Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers, the Silver Swords, and Griffon Hunt. Particularly on that [Mage], the one who cast the weather spell.”

Niers ordered the excited soldiers and students as he and Foliana retired to his quarters. He poured himself a cup of wine, barely able to sit still himself. A dungeon like that, hosting a monster nest of that size! And that was only one monster type in the dungeon, surely. It made him want to go adventuring again. Why, the treasures such a dungeon might hold—

“Interesting battle. Good Liscor’s standing. You’re glad too, right?”

Niers looked up at Foliana as she appeared next to him. He nodded.

“I can only hope that—”

“Your mysterious chess friend is okay? Mm. Think they had something to do with the battle?”

“I have no idea. But I did notice that Drake—Olesm Swifttail? He was commanding Liscor’s defenses. An excellent job for a [Tactician] of his level. I wouldn’t be surprised if he jumps two levels, perhaps three.”

“Mm. Liscor’s a place to watch?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Niers grinned to himself. Dungeons made heroes. Dungeons could make legends. The Forgotten Wing Company had become famous after they had cleared a dungeon like Liscor’s. It made him remember the past and he glanced at Foliana.

“Think we could clear a dungeon like that?”

Foliana blinked slowly at him.

“Hmm. Want to find out?”

Niers stared at her. He could never tell if she was serious. He smiled.

“Got a plan?”

She paused.

“Nope.”

 

—-

 

The magic [Scrying] ended, and with it, the need to continue the link. The mages of Wistram relaxed, rubbing at sore shoulders in exhaustion as they finished the spell. They had sent the image of Liscor’s dramatic battle to the entire world—and reaped the benefits of course.

A scrying orb could be used to see what was going on somewhere else. What the viewers around the world didn’t know was that the mages of Wistram had been watching their reactions and listening to their conversations at the same time.

However, the speculations and intrigue would have to wait. The spell had taken its toll, despite two of the Archmages being present. One of them, a half-Elf with a long white beard, looked up as a [Mage] approached him.

“Archmage Feor, did you recognize that young man who cast the rainfall spell? And the half-Elf who cast the [Ice Wall] spell. You don’t think—”

Feor nodded shortly.

“It seems they are still alive. However, I saw one of our graduates, Falene Skystrall, as well. It may be wise to direct any inquiries through her.”

“Of course, Archmage.”

The old half-Elf waited until the [Mage] had gone, then he stared back at one of the many scrying mirrors placed around the room. One of them had shown a large man with reddish-gold hair. Feor frowned.

“What are you up to, King of Destruction?”

The mirror didn’t answer. Feor frowned. Was it just entertainment for Flos? Or something else? He turned away. Magic and mystery and dungeons. He was getting too old for this. Feor spoke to another [Mage] as he left.

“Investigate that door. Make an offer if the [Innkeeper] is willing to sell it. If not—I may have a task for some of our recent graduates.”

“Yes, Archmage.”

 

—-

 

So it went around the world. From Magnolia to Wistram, people speculated and plotted. But in Liscor itself, there were no schemes. Just a bit of peace.

Funny how it all worked out. Erin stood in the rain, letting it clean her off, grateful for its presence. Oh, her inn was getting wet, and there was blood and dead moths all over. And all her furniture was broken, and Jelaqua was paralyzed and Octavia probably had a bill worth thousands of gold pieces. And the dungeon was still a threat, and people had died.

But that was all for later. They’d survived. And funnily enough, it had been Pisces who’d saved them all. He stood by himself, just smiling up at the sky. Pisces, the hero. It didn’t sound so bad when you thought about it.

Time enough to weep for the fallen, to heal, to thank all the people who’d fought and look to the future. For the moment, Erin was just grateful. She stood in the rain until she noticed something crawling near her foot. She looked down.

A small Face-Eater Moth was crawling through the rain, trying valiantly to still walk as the water ran past it, trying to carry it into the growing lakes. It looked up at Erin and fanned its wings weakly. It wasn’t so scary when you made them small. Erin stared at it and bent down.

Face-Eater Moths. The first threat of many, perhaps. They’d nearly won, oh, so nearly. But they’d underestimated Liscor and the weather. Erin peered down at it and nodded.

“Welcome to Liscor.”

She smiled at the moth and it waggled its feelers at her. Erin raised her foot and stomped it into the ground. Then she made a face.

“Ew.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – Flos

(Volume 1 of The Wandering Inn is now on sale as an e-book on Amazon! Please read this short message about the book!)

 

“—And it looks like the rain has truly broken the spirit of the Face-Eater Moths. What a dramatic end! A simple climate change spell has reversed the entire battle and indeed, saved the city of Liscor, a stunningly intelligent move by that young mage, wouldn’t you say, Noass?”

“Indeed, Sir Relz. Although I would point out that it was destined to rain sooner or later given Liscor’s unique climate. However, actively encouraging the climate change was a smart move. I can see our fantastic [Soldiers] from Pallass finishing the last of the moths off now. No doubt this will be a hotly debated topic in the days to follow.”

“Without a doubt! This dungeon is unlike any I’ve seen before and it’s—I’m told that it’s being considered a Gold-rank dungeon, and that will play a major role into the politics of the Drake cities and perhaps the Human ones. Adventurers will be coming to claim the dungeon’s riches, but the strategic danger of the dungeon cannot be underestimated. I wonder if Liscor is prepared to handle the influx of both monsters and adventurers into the city?”

“They’ve certainly incorporated a few adventuring teams well. The Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, and the Horns of Hammerad—all names to watch! Now, let’s go back to the battle. I wonder if we can find someone to talk to? Ah, it’s the [Innkeeper]. Hello Miss, are you—”

Erin gave the two Drakes a bright smile and then slammed the door in their faces. The two chattering commentators went silent. The crowd from Pallass burst out into complaints. They tried to open the door again but it only revealed a brick wall. The magical connection had been severed, at least for the moment, and with it, the [Mage] in Pallass apparently decided his work was done too. The image of the Drake city disappeared and the connection broke.

Across the world, people looked up from their scrying orbs, scrying hand mirrors, enchanted magical pools of water and in one case, a shield enchanted with [Farseeing] and [Clairvoyance]. Some pondered what had occurred while others laughed and went about their lives, thinking of Liscor’s battles as a pleasant diversion, a distraction.

Magnolia Reinhart did not think of it that way. She was immediately in conference with Ressa and a few [Ladies] and [Lords] whom she trusted. Lord Tyrion did not speculate, but rather adjusted his plans slightly. The Walled Cities began arguing with each other and Pallass found itself defending its decisions as all five other Walled Cities blasted the Pallassian army’s lack of support for Liscor.

So it was in Izril. However, in other places, other continents, the reactions of those who had seen Liscor’s struggle was different. The King of Destruction put down the marble-sized scrying orb at last and stretched. Then he began pacing around excitedly.

“What a battle! Tremendous! Those are the kinds of monsters that live in Izril, are they? And they emerged from a dungeon? I had heard of legendary dungeons filled with monsters, but to think they could grow to such size! What treasures must they be guarding? What ancient nation constructed such a dungeon I wonder, and to what end? Gazi, you never spoke of the scope of Liscor’s dungeon!”

He turned, his eyes shining with excitement to stare at the woman sitting across from him. Gazi looked up. Two of her four smaller eyes focused on Flos, her king, while the other two moved around restlessly in their sockets. She opened her mouth and smiled at him with sharp teeth.

“I did not know the extent of the dungeon, my King. To my knowledge, Liscor’s dungeon was only a two-level crypt filled with undead. The true extent of the dungeon evaded my sight. Although I did note the Antinium Hive had dug extensively underneath the city. Their activity may well have concealed the dungeon from my gaze.”

“I see. Perhaps they were aware of the dungeon before now. Ah, but what a city! The Antinium, the fabled scourge of Rhir and Izril, living in peace with Drakes and Gnolls? I saw those—what did you call them? Soldiers? They were painted for battle.”

“Yes. That is new.”

“Intriguing.”

Flos grinned. His face was not as alien as Gazi’s. Where the half-Gazer’s skin was orange-brown and her face was loosely based on a Human’s, Flos was entirely Human. Gazi had no nose, four smaller eyes and one large central eye and ‘hair’ tied back into a braided ponytail. Flos had red-gold hair, a strong nose and features worthy of a statue. He was a [King].

Not just any king. The King of Destruction, a ruler who had once ruled over almost all of Chandrar and been poised to invade the other continents of the world. Flos’ name had been known by every nation under the sun until he had suddenly and unexpectedly given up his dreams of world domination.

He had entered into what many called his ‘slumber’ and his kingdom had fallen to pieces. Most of his vassals had left him and his lands had been reclaimed by his enemies and other nations. He had slumbered for over a decade until two Humans from Earth had appeared in his throne room.

And then the King of Destruction had woken up. He had called his vassals back to him, reclaimed his throne and found the spark of ambition to once again rule. He had called his most trusted followers to him, his Seven, a group of legends that had helped him conquer years ago.

Only three had responded. Of the seven, three were dead. Queravia and Tottenval had been slain before Flos had entered his slumber. Another, Drevish, had been killed by the Emperor of Sands. His head had been sent to Flos and the King of Destruction had vowed to slay the Emperor of Sands himself. And one more, Amerys, had not responded though she was known to live in Wistram, the home of [Mages]. Four of the Seven were absent. But three had come.

Takhatres, Lord of the Skies. The bird-man who led his tribe of Garuda against the Emperor of Sands at this very moment. The fastest being on Chandrar and perhaps, the world.

Mars, the Illusionist. A mighty [Vanguard] and a champion of Flos’ armies. Practically undefeatable in battle, Mars took the appearance of a beautiful woman with magical artifacts while concealing her true nature.

And finally, Gazi Pathseeker, known as Gazi the Omniscient. A Named Adventurer and [Scout] feared for her ability to spot any threat, deception, or spell from miles away. She had returned from Liscor blinded, her central eye damaged by an encounter with a certain [Innkeeper].  She sat before Flos now in front of the campfire.

It was night. In fact, it was so late into the night that it was closer to dawn than not. Liscor was far removed from Chandrar and thus evening in Liscor was deep night for Flos. His excitement had forbade sleeping however, and as the [King] walked around his fire more people sat up.

“My King, it’s late. Wouldn’t it be better to rest now? We have a long day in front of us and it will be dawn in a few hours. Why not lie down until then? My bed is open.”

A sultry voice spoke from the side. Flos glanced over and looked at a beautiful woman lying on the ground. She was half-naked underneath the stars and her skin was dusky and flawless. She looked like some vision of the sands, unreal under the moonlight and the surrounding arid desert. To look at her was to be entranced and one young man sitting around the fire gulped and looked away. Flos just stared blankly. Gazi rolled two of her eyes and tossed a bit of sand.

The image of the beautiful woman flickered just a hair as the sand struck her in the face. For a fraction of a second a shorter, less enthralling woman could be seen wiping sand from her face. Then the illusion returned. Mars glared at Gazi. The half-Gazer only smirked.

“Bad illusion. You need a new artifact.”

Mars the Illusionist narrowed her eyes. She drew the simple blanket more firmly around her body.

“Maybe I’ll get one tomorrow. What about you, Gazi? Going to get a new eye?”

There was an intake of breath from the two other people sitting around the fire. Gazi just grinned, not affected by the jest. She pointed to her closed central eye.

“Perhaps one made of gold. It would do me no worse than my current eye. And look better. Would you like to see what my eye looks like now? It has yet to recover.”

“Pass.”

Mars shuddered and looked away. She gestured alluringly to Flos. He was still staring at the scrying orb, as if hoping it would show Liscor once more.

“Well, my King?”

“What? I suppose you’re right, Mars. Why not, let us sleep for a moment. The bazaar awaits after all. Although I shall hardly sleep a wink after such excitement.”

He sighed but made to lie down. Mars scooted her bedroll closer and Gazi sat up as if to do the same. Flos ignored both and lay down on the ground. He closed his eyes and began snoring within minutes.

Mars and Gazi stared at him. They turned around and looked at the other two companions around their fire. Trey and Teres, the two twins from Earth looked at them. They hurriedly turned.

“Time to go to sleep.”

“Night!”

They rolled into their bedrolls which provided them sanctuary from the cold night air. Mars and Gazi eyed each other and then went to sleep as well. This was Chandrar and this was the King of Destruction’s camp. He was far from his Kingdom of Reim at the moment, having travelled for three days at speed. He was headed to the Jerios Bazaar. Trey still wasn’t sure why.

 

—-

 

Morning came too quick and too early. Trey woke up as someone kicked him in the ribs.

“Up.”

He shot out of bed. The kick hadn’t been hard, but the second one would be worse. The young man from England rolled out of bed and looked around blearily. It was still dark! But the smiling half-Gazer didn’t seem to care. Gazi nodded to the campfire where a pot was already simmering. Trey could smell the mild aroma of Yellats cooking with grain. It was a slightly spicy, filling soup and his stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast.

But breakfast came after pain. Trey got up, grabbing the staff at his side and looked at Gazi.

“Training?”

“Training.”

She grinned at him. Trey groaned in mild resignation. This was always how his day started. At the break of dawn Gazi woke him up. He raised his staff as she led him to a spot just away from the fire.

“Now, cast.”

“[Flash]! [Sand Arrow]!”

The staff that Trey held was expensive and the orb held in place at the top flashed with blinding light as an arrow of sand shot across the desert. It flew past a group of three training with swords. Flos, Mars, and Teres looked up as Gazi nodded.

“More arrows. Hit that rock, there.”

She pointed to a hand-sized rock twenty paces away. Trey squinted to see it and aimed.

“[Sand Arrows]!”

More arrows flew and hit the ground right around the rock. It was a good shot; Gazi looked mildly disappointed. She thumped Trey with the flat of her huge greatsword.

“Aim better.”

Sweating already, Trey did. He kept shooting arrows of sand until Gazi made him switch to casting [Flash] and the other few spells he knew. Trey was a [Mage]. His sister Teres was a [Warrior] aspiring to become a [Blademaster]. Or perhaps aspiring wasn’t the right word.

They were the personal servants to Flos. Or companions. Vassals? It was hard to tell. Trey and Teres followed the King of Destruction around. They were hardly as useful as the rest of his servants like Orthenon, his [Steward], or the other vassals like the stern Venith or his wife, Maresar. But they had knowledge from another world and Flos claimed it was they who had given him the inspiration to wake from his slumber.

So for that reason they were indispensable. And Flos’ vassals had taken it upon themselves to train Trey and Teres to be worthy of accompanying the King of Destruction. There were few [Mages] in the Kingdom of Reim, Flos’ nation, so Gazi was training Trey in the use of magic.

He hated and enjoyed it. Trey wiped sweat from his face in the brief moment Gazi allowed him to rest. He hated Gazi’s strict requirements regarding his aim, the flow of mana in his body, and the speed at which he cast spells. Too slow or off-target and she’d hit him with her blade. But he loved magic.

“Good. You hit the target six times out of eight.”

Gazi didn’t have to turn her head to count Trey’s strikes on the tiny rock they’d been using as a target. Her four smaller eyes could all move independently and they were powerful enough to see through walls and indeed, her head. Trey wondered what her large eye was capable of. He also wondered who would have dared to blind Gazi. She was fearsome, unreadable, and very deadly.

She was also his only friend. If they could call themselves that. Gazi hung around Trey more often than anyone else. She was a loner, but she had formed a bond with Trey after he had objected to a practice the King of Destruction and his nation allowed: keeping slaves. He hadn’t realized it, but the entire continent of Chandrar kept slaves or sold prisoners of war and criminals to the Slave Traders of Roshal in exchange for coin.

Chandrar was the biggest exporter of slaves in the world and Flos had sold off the first army he had crushed to feed his impoverished kingdom. Trey understood the reasoning but he couldn’t accept it. He had argued—futilely—against Flos’ decision and the ensuing fight had driven a rift between both him and Flos and Trey and his sister.

There was still a gap, months later. Trey stared at Teres as she trained with Flos and Mars. The other two warriors took it easy on her despite Teresa’s skill with her sword—she had improved in leaps and bounds and was already a Level 18 [Warrior], soon to become a [Swordswoman] according to Orthenon, her teacher. Trey didn’t know how he felt about his sister becoming a warrior.

He didn’t know how he felt about being a [Mage] to be honest. It still felt like he could pinch himself and wake up from the dream he was in. The King of Destruction? Magic? Levels? He was in a dream—

Smack. Trey staggered as Gazi hit him with the flat of her blade.

“Ow!”

“Enough rest. Give me five casts of [Sand Veil] in quick succession. Change directions each time.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t dreaming. Trey rubbed the back of his neck and did as she instructed. Training with Gazi was hard. Speaking to Gazi was hard sometimes. But she was a friend. She understood how he felt about slavery. She had been a slave, once.

“Breakfast!”

Flos roared the words at last and Trey sagged in relief. He trudged back to the campfire, already wrung-out by casting so many spells so early. He’d feel better after an hour and some rest; his internal reservoirs of mana would refill. It was important to keep pushing himself, though. According to Gazi, most [Mages] were lazy and didn’t use all the power their bodies were capable of. She intended to make Trey a [Mage] beyond all others. He feared she might succeed.

“What have we here? Yellats? Grain? Ah, what a familiar meal. It feels as if we’ve had it for the last four days in a row!”

The King of Destruction laughed in good humor as he peered into the cooking pot. He was a huge man, muscle without fat, and he always seemed to be bursting with energy. He was also, apparently, over forty years old. He looked more in the prime of his life than Trey did. Flos took a seat on the arid ground and looked around.

“Has the rest of the camp had breakfast, Gazi?”

“They are eating now, my lord. We’ll be on our way within half an hour. We should reach the bazaar just after morning.”

“Good! I haven’t been to Jerios’ Bazaar in over two decades! I hope everything has changed.”

Flos rubbed his hands together. Trey, sitting exhausted next to his twin sister, looked up.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Trey?”

The [King] looked up, pleased to be asked a question. He had striven to bridge the gap caused over the winter and Trey’s willingness to ask him questions was a first step in mending their strained relationship. Trey hesitated.

“Are you—is it truly alright for you to leave your kingdom for so long, your Majesty? Especially right now? You don’t have much of an escort—”

Trey broke off, aware that he was in earshot of the other people sitting at campfires further away. They did not intrude on the King’s personal campfire, but they still sat close enough to defend their ruler at a heartbeat’s notice.

Their escort was a mixture of [Warriors] and [Mages], all of them elite. The band of String People warrior-mercenaries known as the Serpent Hunters and the small coven of [Mages] known as Parasol Stroll had joined Flos’ kingdom during the winter. Both groups of his former vassals were incredibly dangerous and they had been selected to follow Flos wherever he went.

Flos only smiled as he saw Trey looking at the robed men and women holding parasols over their heads and the silent men and women with stitch-marks around their arms and legs wearing dark green armor.

“My escort is more than enough to handle any [Brigands] or monsters by themselves, Trey. We could handle a small army with Mars and Gazi! Never fear that I’m undefended. Besides, we are travelling to Jerios and the Bazaar does not tolerate armies marching upon it. As for your second question—this is an important trip firstly, and secondly, my kingdom is well-attended in my absence.”

“But you just fought a war. Two wars—”

Trey had been there. He had ridden with Flos as the King of Destruction had fought off the first armies that had come seeking his destruction. After his grand defeat of the coalition army besieging his capital city at Reim, the King of Destruction had led his army north against two of the kingdoms that had caused him harm.

The Kingdom of Germina ruled by the Quarass and the Kingdom of Hellios. Both nations had sent an army to trap Flos by slaughtering his people as they fled towards the city and very nearly succeeded. In return, Flos had marched his armies into their kingdoms and destroyed both. The memory made Trey shiver and Flos saw it. The King of Destruction smiled gently, not quite looking at Trey.

“Orthenon is more suited to the job of managing the kingdom, Trey. He is quelling unrest in both nations and ensuring law and order. A [Steward] can do such things, oft times better than a [King] can. Besides which, my face would only spark more hatred in both nations at the moment.”

That was certainly true. Trey remembered the sight of Flos’ armies besieging the capital of Hellios and fighting Germina’s armies on the field. It had been a slaughter. With the defeat of the coalition army, no other nation had been willing to come to the aid of either kingdom. And in a one-on-one battle against the King of Destruction, no small nation had a chance.

It had been so quick. Before the winter had begun to set in, Flos’ armies had marched north at speed. He had taken Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi, leaving Maresar and Venith to guard the kingdom in his absence. The conquest had taken less than two weeks. Hellios had surrendered unconditionally as the King of Destruction’s armies had marched across their borders and crushed their army. The Kingdom of Germina had not.

 

—-

 

Blood. It ran hot on the dry ground, quenching it. There was smoke in the air, though there was precious little to burn. The kingdom of Germina built its city out of mud brick and stone. Now Flos’ army flooded through the streets, forcing frightened civilians back, pursuing the stragglers of the Quarass’ army.

Trey rode ahead, following Flos as the King of Destruction charged his mount towards the squat palace that was home to Germina’s ruler, the Quarass. It was an ancient building, grand because it was so old. It had been decorated with reliefs showing previous rulers over thousands of years. Flos rode into the building, his armor bloodied. Gazi followed, a swift shadow by her king’s side.

“Trey, come on!”

Teres’ eyes were blazing. She had fought in the last battle, though she had mainly been protected as she rode with the King’s vanguard. Trey had stayed with the [Mages] and thus not had to fight. He felt sick. The battle had been a one-sided slaughter. The King of Destruction had rode through the lightly-armored ranks of Germina’s army, cutting the [Soldiers] down by the thousands with his army.

The twins pursued Flos and his personal vanguard. Trey could hear shouting behind them as the rest of the army spread out to seize the city. Orthenon was overseeing the surrender and Mars was fighting the last of Germina’s forces that had refused to surrender.

It felt wrong. Too easy, almost. It was hard to call war unfair, but after seeing Mars fight, after seeing how helpless Germina’s army was against the high-level vassals Flos commanded…Trey thought Mars could have destroyed Germina’s army by herself if she had enough time. She’d slain the Quinfer, the Germina army’s champion, in a duel that had lasted only a minute. Then she’d charged into the ranks of the army, ignoring the soldiers as they tried to batter her with their weapons.

Unfair. But the Quarass had sent a [Mage] to kill Flos. He had slaughtered the civilians that Flos had rallied to fight the army that had ambushed him. Flos had given the Quarass one chance to surrender. She had refused, sending his messenger back without the hand that had delivered the message. Now Flos rode into her throne room, Trey and Teres following just in time to see the Quarass rise from her throne.

She was an old woman, older than Flos. For all that she had an imposing presence, an aura of authority. It was powerful and made Trey halt. But if she was a candle, Flos was the sun itself. He dismounted from his horse as Gazi slew two of the soldiers who rushed towards him. The King of Destruction strode towards the Quarass, his bloody blade in hand.

The Quarass didn’t flinch. She raised a hand as Flos approached her.

“Wretched [King] of Destruction, I would speak with you—”

She never got a chance to finish. Flos strode up the dais and beheaded her. It was so quick that Trey was left gaping. Flos turned as the throne room erupted into screams. The Quarass’ court threw themselves at the soldiers following Flos or fell to their knees. Flos raised his sword and bellowed.

“The Quarass is dead! Throw down your arms or join her! Her crimes are not Germina’s! Join her, loyal citizens or surrender!”

His words had provoked a bloodbath in the throne room, but the streets went quiet. Soldiers and citizens of Germina had fallen to their knees, weeping, and Flos’ banner had flown over the city. Trey remained in the throne room, just staring. The Quarass’ head had been placed under a shroud but her headless corpse sat against her throne where it had collapsed. He thought she was still staring at Flos.

Staring at him.

 

—-

 

“Trey?”

Trey jerked and realized he’d been lost, staring into the fire. Teres was looking at him. He knew his feelings were written on his face and turned away. It didn’t help. Teres had been born only moments before he had and the twins shared the closest thing to a psychic connection.

“Hey, it’s over.”

Hesitantly, Teres hugged Trey. He let her do it, although the contact was awkward. Everything was so much harder now. He hadn’t forgotten their fight and she hadn’t either. But she was comforting.

The King of Destruction had slain the Quarass. Trey didn’t understand Chandrarian politics, but he understood that it was a massive event that had scared and outraged the other kingdoms. However, they were loath to march against Flos and risk the same. So they had secured their borders and threatened war should Flos so much as sneeze in their direction. The King of Destruction had been content to simply claim the lands of Hellios and Germina for now and thus no further wars had taken place yet.

At least Hellios’ ruler was still alive. Queen Calliope and her son, Prince Siyal, were captives in their own castle. Their deaths would have sparked a bloody uprising throughout their nation. Their lives prevented the same—Hellios’ army had laid down their arms almost to a man rather than keep fighting. A good thing too—Flos had made it clear that he would behead both royals in an instant had they attempted to stir insurrection.

The image of Flos with bloody sword in hand was at odds with the man peering into the cooking pot and asking Gazi what seasoning she’d used. When he was not at war or enraged, Flos was full of life and energy, hard to anger and impossibly fascinated with the most minute details of his citizen’s lives. He seemed bigger, and drew the attention in any room he entered. Mars had once joked that Flos could pass wind and still appear more kingly than half the [Kings] on the continent. Trey believed her.

Flos was one of the highest-level [Kings] in the world. Perhaps the highest—his true level was unknown, a closely guarded secret. But his Skills were incredibly powerful. They were all geared to war, making his kingdom prosperous in times of strife and impoverished at all other times.

Hence their meal. Flos waved away a hovering Stitch-Woman who inquired whether he’d like a meat breakfast or lizard’s eggs or any of the other luxuries his people would be only too happy to provide him. He’d been asked the question every morning and his answer was always the same.

“I like simple food. I will be fine, Xeritha. Thank you for your concern.”

The Stitch-Woman withdrew. Trey, who sometimes thought his purpose in life was to ask the obvious questions to amuse Flos, raised his voice.

“What’s wrong with your breakfast, sire?”

It seemed that people really objected to Flos eating the stringy, spicy vegetable called Yellats. They were a staple of the Chandrarian diet and tasted a bit like sweet potatoes if you made them spicy. Trey quite liked them.

Flos exhaled slowly as he peered into the simmering cook pot. He took out a bowl—a wood-and-silver carved piece that Trey was sure was not standard for camping and filled it with a bit to taste. He replied as he gently smacked his lips together, savoring the hot stew.

“Yellats are considered a poor man’s food, Trey. They are filling and easy to grow on this continent—more so than any other plant in fact. This poor soil and the heat will kill potatoes in a drought, but Yellats can survive extended dry spells. They are ideal in my opinion and I have grown up enjoying them. But to other nations they are a symbol of poverty. Other monarchs would starve themselves before eating a meal such as this.”

Flos shrugged, not at all concerned by this fact. He began pouring the hot soup into bowls and passing them around the fire. The King of Destruction delighted in such things, apparently. To him, activities like serving others or cooking was a luxury to be enjoyed when he was travelling abroad. In his palace and with his subjects Flos was waited on hand-and-foot.

“Come, let us eat and be off quickly! I wish to be at Jerios soon!”

He began to eat his food rapidly and Trey quickly blew on his food and did the same. Life moved at Flos’ pace, which was to say, fast.

Within twenty minutes they’d struck camp. The String People loaded their bedrolls and supplies onto the pack horses and camels. Trey had been surprised that Chandrar had as many horses as camels—his image of the Middle East was limited at best. He was just as glad to mount the placid mare that Flos had picked out for him. He knew the camels were tetchy even with experienced [Riders] or [Animal Handlers]. He’d seen one spit right in the [Packmaster]’s face one time.

“To Jerios!”

Flos shouted in good spirits and his warriors cheered and set off. The King rode up and down the line of warriors and attendants, talking with them briefly, sometimes clapping a hand on a shoulder. His presence seemed to inspire regardless of whether he spoke for a few minutes or just a second. Trey watched the King of Destruction leave his subjects with glowing smiles.

“He is beloved. It isn’t just his Skills—a [King] who truly cares for each of his subjects is a rare sight in any land.”

Gazi rode next to Trey, at ease on her stallion. He glanced at her. The half-Gazer wore her brown scale armor like always. Her greatsword she carried around sheathed on her hip—but only when she rode. It was actually too long to carry that way when she was walking on the ground so Gazi kept it on her back. When Trey asked if it was hard to draw the sword, Gazi had just laughed and told him that anyone trying to catch her off guard would have to be very fast indeed.

Now the half-Gazer stared at her King with one eye, her other three scanning the desert landscape for danger. It wasn’t all desert of course—there were places with a lot of greenery and life. But the lands close to Reim had big arid spots due to the lack of water. Water was a resource prized as much as gold in Chandrar. Although gold was important too. Which was why their trip to the Jerios Bazaar intrigued Trey so.

“So this bazaar. Why are we going again?”

Gazi half-turned in her saddle although all of her eyes remained focused in other directions. Trey tried not to shudder as the half-Gazer smiled at him. It was her fake, small smile she always wore.

“Simple, Trey. The Jerios Bazaar is an annual gathering of [Merchants] and other sellers of goods. It has more treasures to be bought and sold than most nations will ever possess. It is an important place to visit should you desire valuable artifacts.”

“Right. So why does the King of Destruction want something from there? And if he wants something—why not take it?”

“His Majesty is not a thief.”

Gazi looked reprovingly at Trey. She turned and nodded to a speck in the distance.

“Besides which, if my lord wanted to seize the treasures of the bazaar he would have to send a very large army to take it. As it stands, we who have come with him are a capable escort of defending him, but little more.”

“You’re joking. Aren’t you a Named Adventurer? And isn’t Mars—”

Trey looked at Mars riding ahead of them, making ribald jokes with a [Mage] carrying a parasol. Gazi nodded.

“Mars is formidable. But the [Merchants] have many guards and artifacts to defend themselves with. She is only one person in the end. As for myself—I would not arouse the wrath of the entire bazaar at any cost. The sellers and buyers unite in the face of threat and there are most likely a number of individuals there that could best me.”

“Really?”

A nod. Gazi gestured to her closed middle eye. Trey had never seen it open, but he had seen the pus and liquid that had trickled from it in the first few days when Gazi had returned to the kingdom. He wondered if it could heal—Flos had talked about finding a healing potion strong enough to regrow Gazi’s eye.

“Without my main eye I would be considered a high Gold-rank adventurer, not Named. My lord as well.”

“Flos? But he’s—”

“Strong! But not that strong, Trey!”

Flos had overhead their conversation. He rode back, laughing as he gestured to the sword at his hip.

“I am strong, Trey, and an experienced warrior. I could best a Gold-rank adventurer with the strength of my arm alone, but that does not make me a Named Adventurer! To become a famous hero known across the world I would have to be truly outstanding in some way. Gazi obtained her title thanks to her eye—she is virtually impossible to ambush with it and she can cast spells with it. Her armor and blade is also of the highest quality.”

“But you’re the King of Destruction!”

Flos laughed again.

“What is a [King] without an army, Trey? The answer: he is still a [King], but again, without an army. And this king lacks both armor and sword. Had I my old arms I might have been a Named Adventurer, indeed. But I have neither armor nor sword nor any of my enchanted rings or other equipment. That is one of the reasons I ride to Jerios—to find a sword capable of surviving more than a few blows in my hands.”

He gestured at the steel sword at his waist. Flos did have a habit of wrecking the swords he was given. His remarks made Mars turn her horse backwards, frowning.

“What? My King, what happened to your old blade?”

“I gave it away.”

Flos smiled as Mars gaped at him.

“That was a national treasure!”

“I know. But I had no need of it and so I gave it to a [Soldier] when I went into my slumber. I wonder where it is.”

“But your sword—what about your armor? Your helmet? Your lance?”

“Those too. I gave each piece away.”

“Your rings? The [Ring of Health], the treasure that you took from the treasury of Armil?”

“And that. All gone. I regret it in hindsight.”

Flos laughed hugely as Mars spluttered. He waved a hand as if brushing away all his lost treasures.

“Mars, they served no purpose in my grief. Besides, it is more entertaining to rebuild my armory this way. I hated my old armor anyways. It was enchanted with a [Featherweight] spell and I hated having to strap it down or have it bounce about every time I moved. I’m in mind for some heavier armor, enchanted of course, but with a different focus…”

They rode on as Flos began talking animatedly about armor with Mars arguing for certain enchantments, vouching for armor enchanted with magical shields, disputing the notion that swords enchanted with [Sharpness] were better than swords enchanted with [Weight] and so on.

Trey listened with half an ear. It sounded like a discussion between people playing a tabletop game or a video game, but it was all real and those discussing it were deadly earnest. He watched as a collection of tents came into view.

The Jerios Bazaar was based around an oasis and it was a sprawling, noisy affair this early in the morning. It was also magical. Trey could see [Shopkeepers] and [Traders] displaying artifacts, showing them off by conjuring water out of the air or letting customers test their products. But he also saw signs of the visitors’ wealth—there were summoned servants flying through the air, djinni who appeared as sometimes humanoid, sometimes outlandish shapes that were half-corporeal, embodying the element of air or fire or some other aspect.

And beyond them? Trey saw someone sitting on an elephant arguing with a man on a camel on where he could rest his mount. He saw a magic carpet flying through the air and a screaming man drop—

The entire caravan groaned and Flos grimaced as Trey looked away.

“Ah. That’s why no one rides those things. Looks like the bazaar is just waking up.”

“You call that just waking up?”

Trey stared as a [Mage] arguing with a [Merchant] at a stall turned and vanished in a puff of smoke. The Jerios Bazaar was filled with amazing people and surprisingly, very few of them looked inclined to cause trouble. Indeed, if there was thievery it was only going on in an economic sense. Pickpockets and thieves were in grave danger in the bazaar. Trey saw a man turn as someone grabbed a pouch at his belt.

“Stop, thief!”

The cloaked figure ran with incredible speed through the crowd. He got fifteen paces before a man with a huge chest full of hair and a skullcap stabbed him in the chest. The [Thief] ran backwards, screaming, and was enveloped in flame, shot with two arrows and struck by a being made out of lightning. His corpse was quickly tossed out of the bazaar.

“Don’t cause trouble.”

Flos smiled as he approached the bazaar. Trey eyed him with trepidation because the King of Destruction was nothing but trouble. However, Flos touched an amulet on his chest and Gazi and Mars both twisted rings and they turned into different people as they approached the bazaar. Flos grinned down at Trey through a face ten years younger with dark skin and black hair.

“Surprised? I wouldn’t walk into the bazaar with my face, Trey. Believe it or not, I can be cautious.”

“Won’t the [Mages] be able to tell you’re under an illusion?”

“Oh, most definitely. But anonymity is prized at the bazaar—many of those visiting are wearing a disguise of their own.”

Flos flicked his fingers dismissively. He eyed Gazi—the half-Gazer had turned into a woman with long flowing locks of blue hair and starry eyes.

“Gazi, that illusion is ridiculous.”

“Blame Mars. She lent me the rings.”

“They’re for my use, not yours.”

Mars, a redhead dressed in impractically revealing armor shot back. She gave Flos a charming smile.

“Shall we, your Majesty?”

“Indeed. Let’s set up camp a ways away from the Bazaar. Hasil, Fellif—”

The leader of the Serpent Hunters and the [Mage] who spoke for Parasol Stroll rode towards him. Flos nodded to the bazaar.

“Don’t let more than eight of your people enter the bazaar at once. Keep the rest at camp—I will be going into the bazaar for the day.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Hasil, the dark-skinned Stitch-Man bowed, his hand on his poisoned scimitar. Fellif, the Human [Mage] with a sharp goatee nodded.

“Do you require an escort, your Majesty?”

“No. Mars and Gazi will be enough. Trey and Teres will follow me naturally; I will browse quietly. Weapon stalls I think, although Gazi will look for a healing potion for her eye.”

“We’ll split up? How much coin do you have, Gazi?”

The half-Gazer reached for her belt pouch.

“Hm. Enough. I have several thousand gold pieces and enough to barter with. My lord?”

“I have ten thousand gold pieces in my bag of holding.”

Ten—”

Teres choked as she stared at the small bag at Flos’ side. This one wasn’t the typical leather pouch that inconspicuously hung at Gazi’s waist—it was a black-and-ruby affair, taken from the Quarass’ treasury. As had the contents of the bag, Trey suspected.

“That’s not much to buy with, sire.”

Mars looked concerned at the small amount that Flos had brought. The King of Destruction smiled.

“I have a number of jewels I found as well. But I intend to spend lightly, Mars. Most of the gold must go to my kingdom and arming my soldiers. I simply wish for a decent quality sword. You recall I broke the last one?”

“Wasn’t it enchanted?”

“Poorly. Spells can break just as easily as steel if you swing hard enough, Teres. We might see about getting you a blade as well—Mars, how much gold do you have?”

“More than you. I fought as a mercenary for a decade, my King. I could buy you armor as well—”

“Mm. A few artifacts might not go amiss. A shame djinn are so difficult to manage or I’d seriously consider a flying army of them. Remember the Kingdom of Oleis? Fantastic at harassing the enemy. But now that I think of it, a flying carpet—”

They began heading into the bazaar. Flos had elected to dismount so they all walked on foot, joining the crowds of people walking past the open tents that had been set up. Some were magical, so the tents were larger on the inside than the outside.

Trey gaped at the objects on display—there were magic scrolls, floating orbs, and then things that didn’t look so magical like rich saffron being sold by the pound, sheaves of high-quality paper, food and ice being offered by some food merchants—it was a feast for the eyes, ears, and nose. Almost overwhelming, in fact. Trey looked at Gazi. She was following Flos as he looked around animatedly, talking loudly to Mars and Teres.

“Are you going to shop by yourself?”

Gazi turned. She had no eyebrows to raise, but Trey saw her skin move in the same way.

“Would you like to come with me?”

“I…wouldn’t mind.”

Gazi smiled. It wasn’t that Trey wouldn’t mind following the King of Destruction, it was just that he liked Gazi’s company.

“Very well. My king—”

She broke off as their group of five passed by a crowd. The man who had fallen off the carpet had survived his fall, but had broken both his legs in multiple places. He was screaming for help as [Traders] clustered around him, offering him a number of objects.

“Sands, my legs! My legs are—healing potions, please!”

“Can I interest you in a bone regrowth potion sir? The finest to be had for miles—”

“Pain numbing tonic? Just a whiff and you’ll be free of pain—”

“Would you like me to retrieve your carpet sir? My djinni can find it for a nominal fee—”

The poor man reached for his money pouch as Flos passed by. The King of Destruction turned his head as he looked around.

“Blacksmithing…I’m sure there’s an entire row of tents devoted to weapons. Ah! Well, we’ll find our way there eventually! Gaz—I mean, Gabrielle, are you going?”

The half-Gazer bowed slightly.

“I will return within the hour, sire. May I take Trey with me?”

“Oh? But I had hopes to enjoy—well, if you wish.”

Flos frowned slightly, looking almost hurt that Trey wouldn’t follow him around. It would be him asking Trey exactly what he found familiar from his world and his opinion on everything, Trey knew. Teres was giving Trey a look that told him to stay and join in her suffering. Trey gave her a guilty grin.

“I’m sorry, your m—sire.”

“Far be it from me to distract you. Besides which, you might keep Gazi occupied. Don’t start a fight if someone insults my name, Gazi. And keep Trey safe!”

Flos sternly instructed Gazi before turning and staring at a stall filled with scrying orbs and mirrors and so on.

“Now here’s a shop that catches my interest! I could have watched the battle at Liscor far more easily and without hurting my neck with one of these. [Shopkeeper], how much is this orb?”

He held up a yellow sphere that shone with inner light. The man who hurried up to him with a welcoming smile had a turban on his head and silk clothing.

“Ah, a good eye sir! Eight thousand gold pieces.”

“For an orb this small?”

Flos looked dismayed. The man bowed his head slightly.

“Ah, it’s not just scrying, but records memory as well! Hence the price. Did I hear you say you observed the most entertaining affair in Liscor?”

“We did! However, my scrying orb was only so big—”

Flos indicated the marble-sized object. The [Shopkeeper] tsked.

“A true shame! For a distinguished personage such as yourself, you should have one at least the size of a man’s head! Allow me to walk you through my wares—did you know more broadcasts are occurring?”

“No! Truly?”

“Yes!”

The [Shopkeeper] smiled as he showed Flos a huge orb which a crowd of people were staring into. Trey and Gazi paused to stare at another image flashing across the orb.

“It seems Wistram’s ability to link the orbs of scrying is a service they are willing to offer to more than Drake cities. Look—this is a mock battle by the Titan himself in Baleros!”

A tiny figure was standing on a podium in the sphere’s image. As Trey watched, whoever was keeping the image steady shifted, and he saw a row of soldiers with wooden spears fending off a cavalry charge. The projection was being watched with fascination by the crowd.

“One of the Titan’s students set it up. There are [Kings] and [Lords] and countless others watching this at the moment. I believe Wistram intends to offer this service at a great price.”

“I see.”

Flos narrowed his eyes as the ‘Titan’ stood on a dais, shouting orders that were transmitted out to his army. Trey saw his hands clench for a second and saw Mars and Gazi shift and look at their king.

It was Niers Astoragon who slew Queravia, the Gambler of Fates. Trey shivered as he saw Flos’ gaze darken for a moment. But then the King of Destruction was talking animatedly with the [Shopkeeper].

“So any orb can be turned into a…a recording device for such a projection? Is such grand magic possible?”

“If Wistram wills it…ah, but I believe a mage must transmit the image. These humble orbs only convey the image that Wistram sends. Speaking of which, may I interest you in…?”

“This way.”

Gazi murmured and tugged Trey’s arm. He followed her into the crowd, peering back over his shoulder and for a second regretting not staying with Flos. Then he turned back to Gazi. He had to focus on her back to avoid getting lost in the crowd!

“Where are we going?”

“Healing potions.”

Gazi raised her voice to be heard. She led Trey through the crowd. The young man looked around from stall to stall. So many things on display at once! He thought he saw the row of tents Flos had mentioned, where armor and blades were being sold. And…were there actual [Blacksmiths] making weapons at this moment? He heard a clang, looked to ask Gazi about it and realized he’d lost her.

 

—-

 

“I’m telling you, this isn’t a good blade. Show me a better one.”

A few minutes later, Flos was arguing with a [Merchant] over a blade. Teres and Mars found him pointing at a shimmering saber that sparked with lightning. The disguised [King] looked disgusted as he held the saber up. The [Merchant] pursed her lips.

“What is wrong with that blade? You picky Humans! This one is enchanted to shock your enemies! Simply but tap your opponent and they won’t be moving any time soon!”

She was a Stitch-Woman. Flos shook his head.

“It’s fragile. The enchantment’s no good and the blade’s—what, pure silver? An enchantment on that won’t last.”

“Oh? And you’re an expert on blades?”

The [Merchant] was either inexperienced or had misjudged Flos entirely. He smiled.

“Give me a warhammer. Ma—Maven?”

Mars plucked a warhammer off the racks and tossed it to Flos. He set the saber back down and raised the warhammer. The [Merchant] raised her hands and screeched.

“What are you doing?

“Any good sword can take a blow like that! Any enchanted blade should be able to take an unenchanted maul’s strike, or the enchantment is no good!”

Flos raised his voice. He’d attracted a crowd, which listened to him speak about blades. He raised the faulty saber, pointing to the silvery metal.

“A blade is only as good as its [Blacksmith], regardless of the magic put on it! If you bought this blade for anything more than four hundred gold coins you lost your deal, Miss Merchant! This is a half-decent enchantment but the blade will shatter far, far too quickly! I’d rather have an unenchanted blade of quality metal than an enchanted blade that will break after hitting a shield!”

He tossed the saber back on the rack as the [Merchant] went pale. Several people in the crowd nodded appreciatively, agreeing with Flos’ assessment. The King smiled and turned to Mars and Teres who’d gone shopping elsewhere.

“Any good shops?”

“Some decent swords among the trash. I’ll show you.”

Mars led Flos and Teres through the crowd, pointing out the good picks she’d spotted. Teres watched attentively. She had her own sword that Orthenon had given her, but the magical swords fascinated her. Flos just shook his head time after time, though. He stopped at a well-stocked tent and spoke to the [Merchant] waiting on his customers.

“Have you no enchanted swords worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer or better?”

“Ah, sir, I have this new blade that is enchanted with [Petrification]—”

“But the steel’s poor!”

Mars and Flos objected almost at the same time. Teres stared at the blade, unable to tell the difference. Flos looked dismayed.

“I could pay to have a better enchantment put on the blade here, or have it done later! What about your unenchanted blades? Show me your best—do you have any Dwarven-made blades?”

The sweating [Merchant] hurried into the back and his slaves came out with an assortment of blades. He was on trial as the crowd that followed Flos had gathered again. The [King] was simply too loud and too amusing to ignore, and his opinions solid. Flos inspected one blade and grunted.

“Better, but this is still only adequate for an enchantment. Do you truly have no masterworks? Something made by a Level 40 [Blacksmith] or better?”

“Honored guest, these are Dwarf-forged blades.”

“I have no doubt. But I’m talking about real Dwarven craftsmanship. Not just their mass-produced arms.”

Flos turned away when he realized the [Merchant] had no idea what he was talking about. He walked through the bazaar, talking to Mars and Teres.

“Perhaps I thought too highly of Jerios’ markets. Then again, truly masterwork blades would be rare…I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to have a blade forged myself and enchanted here?”

“We can look among the [Blacksmiths], but I don’t know their levels or the metals they work with, sire. I saw one tent claiming to work with pure mithril. A blade like that would hold an enchantment, but pure mithril? I suspect it’s a trick.”

Mars made a face. Teres stared at the blades Flos had so dismissively discarded.

“What did you mean, ‘real’ Dwarven craftsmanship, Flans? Do you mean all that’s fake?”

“Not at all.”

Flos grinned at Teres, enjoying his fake name. He pointed at another row of Dwarf-quality blades on display.

“Dwarven-made weapons vary in quality, but the Dwarves are good [Blacksmiths] and their steel is pure. It’s an indication of quality, but most of the blades are simply better than regular. You might as well turn to a [Blacksmith] on your continent with a higher level for a good sword. However…I know there are better arms made in their mountain home, however seldom.”

“Really?”

Both Mars and Teres stared at Flos in surprise. He nodded and bought a few kebabs for them to eat while he explained. Flos tore the hot meat off a skewer as he spoke.

“Back when my kingdom first expanded, before I had met you, Mars, I decided to invest in my army. I had obtained a fortune from the kingdoms I had destroyed and so I ordered a massive shipment of Dwarven arms from Terandria. We sent a fortune to the Dwarves, in exchange for arms for over a thousand soldiers as well as personal armor and a blade for Gazi.”

“And they delivered?”

“No! That was the curious part of it. The Dwarves failed to provide a tenth of the arms I paid for—they had overcommitted and suffered a disaster in their forges or so I was given to understand. They were unable to repay me either—so they sent me a set of armor and blade for Gazi instead.”

“One blade and suit of armor?”

“The very one she wears. And if it seems a poor repayment Mars, it was not. I don’t know what [Blacksmith] made the armor, but it was worth far more than I paid—than I could have paid at the time, I believe. You know Gazi’s scale armor, Teres, and her blade? Neither one is enchanted.”

What?

Mars raised her voice, attracting attention. She lowered it and hissed at Flos.

“It has to be! That armor’s been through more wars than—I’ve had to replace my armor three times and I buy the best-quality armor money can afford!”

“Nevertheless. It was made by the truest of experts. I’ve never inquired as to the make of the armor as I doubt any of my [Blacksmiths] could hope to replicate it. It’s a masterwork, Mars. In the mountains there are some Dwarves who truly know metal.”

“Incredible. And you hope to find a blade like that here? I think I would have noticed such a weapon.”

“Indeed, it would be a long shot. And I am more interested in that scrying orb in truth. What that [Merchant] said about anyone broadcasting their image…”

Flos looked back in the direction of the scrying orbs then turned to Teres.

“You said it’s familiar to something from your world, Teres. What was it you mentioned?”

“Television.”

“Ah, of course! You did tell me about it, but I had imagined something entirely different. And this is similar?”

“Well…”

Teres hesitantly explained as Flos listened with growing interest. She didn’t like the look in his eyes when she talked about news appearing all over the world. Teres cursed Trey and hoped he was having fun wherever he was. She was going to kick his butt for leaving her behind when she met up with him again.

 

—-

 

Nawalishifra Tannousin tossed her head and grabbed the hilt of her dagger. She was nearly out of patience with the man in front of her. She would have drawn her blade and stabbed the man twice if she could have gotten away with it. But doing so would scare away other customers and she and her people needed this sale. So she kept her voice pleasant, though her every instinct railed against her acting like a common [Merchant].

“It is simple, you oaf, you! Look, this is Naq-Alrama steel! Pure ingots, forged in the heat of my people’s forges, may the dunes take me if I lie! It is not some metal you find lying about on the streets or melted out of cheap steel! It is magic and enchantable and I am selling it to you!”

She glared at the dark-skinned [Trader] who was blinking hard in obvious confusion. Though he looked accustomed to the sun, Nawalishifra was sure he was a city-dweller, not a true son or daughter of the sands. If he was, he would not ask so many foolish questions.

Her skin was far darker than his, and Nawalishifra had to shift her veil not to inhale it as she talked. She knew she was not what he had expected—there were few women in her clan who could swing a hammer, and she was the only [Blacksmith] in her clan worthy of the class. That was the problem, sadly.

“I don’t understand. This metal’s special? But it’s an ingot. Why haven’t you made it into a sword? It’s useless as it is.”

Nawalishifra turned red and gripped the hilt of her dagger. She didn’t know what would come first, dagger or sharp words, but another young man pushed forwards. He had too wide a smile and was too unctuous as he bowed to the man in front of him. She wouldn’t have minded it save for the fact that he was her brother, Allaif. He stepped in front of Nawalishifra as she glared at him.

“Sir, please excuse my sister, ill-tempered though she is from standing out in the sun! She does speak a truth however. The metal is yet to be smithed, but surely an outstanding buyer such as yourself can see the merits of buying the steel as it is! It is ready to be shaped, into shield or sword or mace or arrowhead! And the metal is magic, as my unmarried-and-ill-mannered sister says.”

His ill-mannered sister glared and folded her arms. They were standing in the shade, in near darkness, in fact! The tent’s flaps had been veiled to let as little light in as possible—too much might spoil the quality of the ingots before they could be smithed. Her ears burned with shame—because Allaif’s frantic explanations covered up the truth that the buyer had gotten too near to.

The ingots were less useful, for all they were pure Naq-Alrama metal. It would be far more proper to sell a blade and Nawalishifra was sure it would be ten times as valuable as the next cheap artifact she’d passed on display in the bazaar. But her clan couldn’t forge and sell such a blade—at least, not sell and forge it.

Allaif’s talking had gotten the interest of some other buyers. They clustered around the metal. One, a rich [Merchant] dressed all in silks, sniffed as he eyed the metal. He knew the worth of Naq-Alrama metal, Nawalishifra was sure. But he was skeptical.

“I can see the value of forging a blade, but can any [Blacksmith] manage such a feat? I am told the metal is tricky beyond belief to manage.”

The question threw Allaif, but it was Nawalishifra who interrupted. She gave the men her best smile and felt like her teeth were falling off as she gestured to the ingots.

“Not so, good sirs! The metal is tricky and requires smithing only under the moonlight until quenching, but the trick of shaping the metal is easy indeed. Why not let my humble self show you?”

She led the men outside and, cursing at having to waste the precious metal, took one of the wasted ingots that had been damaged by sunlight on the journey here. Nawal hammered the metal rapidly in the shade, pointing out how to hammer the metal just so to make it move correctly.

“It is all about temperature, honored guests. And the striking must be precise. Six strikes here, see? One, two, three—and then another two here! Thus the metal moves. And care must be taken not to allow it to reduce in heat below a threshold—the forge must be hot, and no magic fire can be used at any time. Fold the metal and then apply the powder and oil mixture before quenching the blade in light-bathed waters—”

She went down the list of details and specifications, noting the dismay on the faces of her customers. Allaif was grimacing at her to stop, but Nawal had memorized this routine by heart and she knew misleading a customer would ruin the metal and throw her clan’s name into the wastes. If selling the ingots as they were wouldn’t do so already, that was.

“So many steps!”

The knowledgeable buyer shook his head. Allaif hurried over to him, fawning in a disgusting manner.

“We can repeat and write down the instructions to your pleasing, good sir. The metal is ready to be forged and any high-level [Blacksmith] can make a blade beyond all others out of it!”

Nawal glared at her brother. Write down the secrets? They were already compromising all of their clan’s crafts by giving away the ingots! But they had no choice. She would have rather torn off her veil and walked the bazaar naked, but their clan depended on the sales they earned from the bazaar. If they had to sell secrets to survive this year, so be it.

“I will think about it. Perhaps I will return on the morrow again.”

That was all they got from the well-informed buyer. The rest left without so much as that vague promise. Allaif walked back to Nawal and she glared at him.

“I think he might buy if we lower the price more, sister.”

“What? We will barely have enough to eat with on what we are selling already! And what was that disgusting display, you dog, you?”

Nawal snapped at her brother. He glared at her.

“Do not blame me for making the best of a bad situation! We must sell the ingots, and it is more profitable to sell them and earn goodwill with a [Merchant] or other faction than to hold onto them and starve with them sitting uselessly in our homes.”

“Useless? A blade forged of pure Naq-Alrama steel is—”

Nawal choked on her words. Her brother shook his head slowly and pityingly.

“Useless since no one can forge the metal in our clan but you, dearest sister. And what manner of fool or coward would use a blade forged by a woman?”

That was true. Nawal knew that no self-respecting warrior in the Bazaar would do so. She hung her head as Allaif turned away. Her clan lived closest to the desert and made their fortune with their signature steel. However, calamity had struck them not half a year ago and thus the metal they had meticulously refined over the course of the year was useless. She turned away, despairing, as Allaif looked around.

Their tent was guarded by other members of their clan, warriors armed with weapons that were mere alloys of Alrama steel and not pure metal. Nevertheless, the weapons shone in the light such that they looked enchanted when they had yet to receive a [Mage]’s enhancements. They were still magical, though, so there was truth to the glimmer. It was all the advertisement their tent needed; in truth, Nawal’s clan would have had visitors queuing up to bid on their blades any other year and her clan’s warriors would be needed to guard the tent. But not this year.

“I must make arrangements. I believe I can sell the ingots. For a better price than we might get if we had swords! Just hold here and—do not scowl at anyone who comes in!”

Allaif made extravagant promises as usual as he hurried out of the tent. Nawal glared at his back, suspecting that he was going to get drunk and cause trouble as usual. How could the same seed of her father’s loins be so useless in him and the wrong gender in her? If he was alive he might have died again just to see this sight. She turned away from the stacks of beautiful ingots and saw someone pushing into the tent’s flaps.

“Hello? Are you looking for our blades? We only have ingots for sale.”

Nawal called out, too tired to pretend to be happy to see the visitor. To her surprise she saw a pale-skinned foreigner enter the tent. His skin was far too pale for the hot sun and he jumped at being addressed.

“Ingots? Sorry I’m—a bit lost. You don’t sell swords? I’ll be going.”

He backed up towards the entrance and Nawal’s pride flared.

“We used to sell swords. The finest blades you will ever see, my word on it! Don’t back away, you milk-skinned fool, you! Come and see true metal, if only once in your lifetime!”

Her words made the young man stop. He approached the table and gasped as he saw the Naq-Alrama steel.

“That’s…is that magic metal? Some kind of special metal?”

Proudly, despairingly, Nawal nodded.

“It is Naq-Alrama steel.”

She looked at the young man’s blank face and scowled.

Naq-Alrama steel! Have you never heard of it?”

He hadn’t. She grumbled under her breath.

“Ignorant foreigners. Listen well. This steel is magic, forged of the sands, refined through heat and kept from any—any sunlight! Such is the nature of the metal that it can endure any pressure when quenched in sun-filled waters. It will hold enchantments with ease and the blade itself cuts through magic like water. If there was ever a blade for one who seeks to do battle against [Mages], this is it! You could make a blade worthy of a [King] out of these ingots which we will sell for handfuls of gold!”

She raised a fist and nearly struck the metal, but held back, knowing the blow would only freeze her skin to the ice-cold ingots. The young foreigner looked impressed, which warmed her heart slightly.

“That’s incredible. If you’re selling them so cheaply, why not have someone make a sword out of—”

“We used to do that, you idiot, you!”

She shouted at him and the young man flinched. One of the [Caravan Guards], Hesseif, poked his head in and Nawal gestured to him that it was fine. He gave her a nod and resumed watching for thieves. Nawal sighed as she looked at the young man.

“We had a [Blacksmith] of renown who shaped the blades. He created less than ten per year, but they earned enough for our clan to thrive! But he died—his heart gave out last year.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. But can’t you get someone else to—”

“No. The techniques are too hard to learn overnight! It takes years of practice and of all whom my father taught, only I learned enough to shape the metal.”

The young woman laughed at the young man’s confusion.

“But if you can do it, can’t—”

“Who would use a blade forged by a woman?

Who indeed? Women could be warriors, but they weren’t capable of making steel, that was a fact. It was a truth among Nawal’s people that women were impure—the metal grew to develop defects if they shaped it. Her father had broken with tradition because he needed a helper, but he had forbidden her from entering the forge whenever her blood flowed throughout the month and of course Nawal was forbidden from shaping any blade herself.

She could make armor so long as no one knew who had done most of the forging and goods like nails and so on, but never blades. So her father had said while she hammered in the forge and he claimed to have made each blade himself with her ‘help’. He had given her a chance, but he was dead and no one else would touch a blade she made, however keen.

The young man didn’t seem to understand that. He was a foreigner and wrinkled his brow. Was he a [Mage]? He was certainly no warrior of the sands, accustomed to blood and glory.

“I don’t know about people in your tribe, but I know someone who probably won’t care if you forged the blade. He just wants the best blade in the world. And if your uh, Naq-Aama—

Naq-Alrama.

“Right. If that steel’s the best he might buy it. Why don’t I ask him?”

Nawal stared at the young man, and a sprig of hope entered into her heart.

“You? You have a master?”

“What? No! I’m not a slave—”

“But he’s wealthy? A man of power? How much might he spend?”

“Uh—he said he has at least ten thousand gold pieces, but I think he might spend more—”

Ten thousand gold pieces. It wasn’t a lot, but the thought of actually selling a blade had Nawal’s mind racing. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Sell to foreigners! Surely there were some who wouldn’t mind how a blade was made so long as it was sharp! Drakes, perhaps? There were rumors that there was a great dungeon filled with monsters on their continent. Perhaps if she—

“Sister! Wondrous news!”

A loud voice came from outside. Nawal’s heart sank. She hurried out of the tent, making sure that the layers of flaps prevented any sunlight from touching the inside of the tent and came outside with the young man to see Allaif, standing in front of the tent and grinning broadly.

He was not alone. The rich [Merchant] from before and a man with a whip at his side were behind them, along with a group of armed thugs. Nawal eyed them with distaste, noting their cheap iron weapons and marking the man with a whip for what he was—a [Slaver]. Not of Roshal, clearly; he was probably just a local [Slave Trader] who dealt with the impoverished and desperate.

Nawal glared at her brother as he smiled broadly at her. He looked too happy, as if he was pulling one of his tricks on someone. They had always landed him and the people around him in deep trouble.

“Allaif, what is this? I have a buyer for our steel—”

“As do I, sister! All of it!”

“What?”

Nawal’s eyes widened and she saw the other members of her clan start. Allaif had found a buyer? But—she looked back at the young foreigner. How much had he compromised to sell all of their ingots? Allaif rubbed his hands together, looking proud of himself.

“We will earn as much as we would for a commission on blades, sister! This generous [Merchant], Sir Redif, will buy all the ingots from us at such a price!”

“At what cost?”

There had to be a trick. Nawal eyed the [Slaver] with apprehension. Allaif spread his hands, looking wounded.

“Sister! I made the best deal I could, for the clan! I gave away only one thing to honored Redif.”

“Which was?”

“You.”

Allaif smiled at Nawal as the ground fell away under her. He spoke quickly as a rumble sprang up from the other clansmen.

“It is the best offer! The best! We will be paid richly and you, dear sister, will be sent to show any [Blacksmiths] how to forge Naq-Alrama metal! You will be able to continue helping around the forge—and find a husband if honored Redif is generous. It is for the clan, sister.”

Nawal just stared. Slavers? Her father had banned slaves from the clan two decades ago, before she had been born. Metal forged with the weight of shackles was impure as that of metal made with dishonest deeds or blood, or so he had said. She stared at her brother, her brother.

“You cannot sell me, Allaif.”

A flash passed across Allaif’s eyes, one of his dark moods nearly escaping.

“I can and will. I am our representative and I speak for our family and clan with our father’s death.”

“You are not worthy of licking his boots, you spineless worm!”

“How dare you!”

He raised his hand and Nawal gripped her knife’s handle, making Allaif hesitate. The [Merchant] interrupted impatiently.

“Enough! This isn’t a debate. I have papers proving my ownership of both the Naq-Alrama metal and Nawalishifra Tannousin.”

He brandished a sealed parchment, signed in blood. It was a binding contract. Nawal looked at it and felt her stomach drop. He’d actually signed it. Without asking, without thought. Allaif smiled victoriously as the other Tannousin clansmen muttered curses.

“Sister, is it really too much to ask? You will be well treated, privileged even! Our father was mad for letting you hold a hammer, but I have given you the same honor. Do not make this harder than you have to.”

“No struggles, girl. I’ve broken more new slaves than I care to remember.”

The [Slaver] grinned as he unslung his whip and his thugs drew their weapons. Nawal walked slowly over to Allaif. He smiled at her.

“Ah, sister. Do you see reason?”

“Goodbye, brother.”

Nawal stared into her brother’s eyes. He tried to look remorseful, but just looked insincere. He bent to embrace her and she drew the dagger. And plunged it into his chest.

Allaif gasped and his eyes went wide. There was a shout from behind him, but too late. Nawal’s voice was low as she felt blood rush over her blade.

“I renounce you, I renounce you, I renounce you.”

She whispered it into Allaif’s ears as he choked, and then twisted the dagger. He gasped and clutched at her shoulder. Then he fell backwards.

The [Merchants] and [Slave Trader] stared at Allaif in shock, and then backed up as Nawal retrieved her dagger from her brother’s body.

“There will be no sale. And I am no slave. Honored buyers—I regret to tell you my brother erred in selling me and my clan’s wealth.”

Nawal smiled very politely at the pale-faced [Merchant]. The man gaped at her and then colored with outrage.

“Insolent woman! You may have killed Allaif, but the contract—”

He flinched as Nawal swung her dagger and spattered the contract and the [Merchant] with blood. She cleaned her dagger with a handkerchief as she spoke calmly.

“I have renounced him three times. He is dead to my clan and I, and no longer of our blood. Any contract he signs is dust.”

Her clansmen appeared behind her, and Nawal was relieved to feel Hesseif’s presence at her back. The [Slaver] eyed her and cracked his whip.

“Is that so? Well, I have a contract and I say we enforce it right now. There’s always room in my train for more slaves, and breaking a contract is a crime!”

He raised his whip to strike at Nawal and there was a flash of light. Nawal blinked as the young foreigner blinded the [Slaver] and his thugs, making them hesitate. She felt Hesseif shift and readied herself for a bloody battle, but in the moment the light had flashed someone had appeared next to the [Slaver].

“I wouldn’t start a fight.”

A tall woman with blue hair and starry eyes, a vision of perfection, stood next to the [Merchant] and the [Slaver]. She wore brown scale armor made of a metal that Nawal had never seen before and held a greatsword in one hand. The woman smiled slightly as she held the greatsword underneath the slaver’s throat. He gulped and cut himself.

“I am a [Slaver]—”

“With a bad contract. You heard her.”

The woman nodded at Nawal. The [Merchant], pale-faced, backed up a step.

“Harming a [Merchant] in the bazaar—”

“Who said anything about harming? I’m simply defending a [Shopkeeper] from being illegally made into a slave. If you want to try and enforce your contract, I’ll defend her. And myself. Starting with your head.”

Her voice was loud enough for the other people watching to hear. Nawal admired her poise. This foreigner woman had the respect of the bazaar, and could slice apart the [Slaver] and his thugs without repercussion if they called her bluff. And the [Merchant] knew it. He backed up and the [Slaver], realizing the same, fled. The thugs he’d hired melted away as the young man turned.

“Gaz—”

She slapped a hand over his mouth and he staggered. She stared at him and his eyes widened.

“Gabrielle! I thought you’d lost me!”

I didn’t lose you. You wandered off and I was waiting for you to find me. But you found something interesting so I decided to wait.”

Gabrielle, the mysterious woman, turned to Nawal. She had a slight smile on her face.

“So you’re a Tannousin [Blacksmith]? You, a woman?”

She knew about Clan Tannousin! Nawal straightened, pride in her voice.

“I am. Though I may be a woman, I am the only successor to my father’s craft, master that he was. I can forge true blades of Naq-Alrama steel, woman-touched though they may be!”

Her announcement drew a murmur from the crowd, a disapproving one, but Nawal only had eyes for Gabrielle and the young man. They looked at each other and the young foreigner spoke.

“I think our uh, master won’t mind that Gaz—Gabrille. What do you think?”

“I think he would accept such a blade gladly, no matter what hands touched it.”

Gabrielle looked thoughtfully at Nawal.

“Do you truly claim to have your father’s skill?”

Nawal drew herself up, her eyes flashing. She raised her voice as she stood with her brother’s dead body lying at her feet. She would grieve for who he was and who he had been later. But this was pride and steel—it was the pride of her clan.

“Lead me to your master, foreign warrior! Pay my cost and I will forge your master a blade sharper and finer than any he has laid eyes on in his life! My oath on it! I swear it on the body of the man-who-was-my-brother, cursed be his name!”

She pointed at her brother with her dagger and the young man flinched. But Gabrielle just smiled wider.

“Good. In that case, come with me.”

She turned and began to stride through the bazaar. That was a bit too sudden even for Nawal. She hesitated as the young man turned.

“Um, this way. Sorry, I never got your name—”

“I am Nawalishifra Tannousin, a [Blacksmith]. Who are you?”

She stared at the young man, all pale skin and awkwardness. But he had surprised the [Slaver] with magic. And he clearly knew this Gabrielle. Who was his master? The young man smiled at her and Nawal drew her veil further over her face in embarrassment.

“Me? I’m Trey.”

 

—-

 

Trey had had weird days, but it felt like they all paled in comparison to an ordinary day around Flos. Even when he wasn’t here, things got weird. He now stood in a bazaar with Nawalis—Nawalishif—Nawal, a [Blacksmith] wearing a veil. She seemed calm, despite having stabbed her brother through the heart moments ago.

Gazi was equally calm as she stood at ease, sheathing her blade on her back. She didn’t seem bothered by the death either.

“It was her clan’s politics. Her brother would have died had she gone with the [Slaver]—his people would have beaten him to death the instant they were alone.”

“Oh. But Nawal—”

Gazi smiled. Her illusionary face stayed the same, but Trey knew one of her eyes was fixed on Nawal as the dark-skinned young woman began shouting at the rest of her clan standing behind her.

“Well done in finding her. I’ve heard of Clan Tannousin before. They can outsmith a Dwarf. Most Dwarves, at any rate. If this young woman can truly smith  Naq-Alrama steel, she must be at least Level 30. Probably higher.”

“What, her?”

Trey stared at Nawal as she shouted animatedly at her fellow tribes people, cursing them and exhorting them to clean up the body and keep the light out of the tent at all costs. He turned to Gazi, embarrassed.

“I didn’t do much. I just wandered in by accident and when I heard how good the blades were, I thought of his M—you know who.”

“Indeed. And I thought the same thing and let you enter the tent.”

Gazi smiled as Nawal strode over to them. She looked far more cheerful despite having just lost a brother.

“Lead on then, Trey and Gabrielle! Take me to your master and I will see what blade he wants! I will offer him a discount he does not deserve—more if he will buy all the metal we possess! Assuming he has coin of course.”

“He has that, and he will buy every blade you can forge.”

Gazi assured Nawal as she led them through the bazaar. Trey couldn’t help but notice that they were being followed by some of Nawal’s clan members. Probably for her protection, although Trey didn’t think he’d stand a chance. She’d moved very quick with that knife of hers.

“So where is he? Have you a camp? We must talk details and I must see your coin.”

Nawal was impatient. Gazi just smiled. She looked amused for some reason and Trey began dreading why.

“He is just up ahead. At that tent.”

It was a familiar tent, the very same one they’d passed by upon first entering the bazaar. It was the one with the scrying orbs and as Trey saw the huge crowd gathered around it, he heard Flos’ voice. He was shouting loudly, standing in the middle of the bazaar, and his illusion was gone.

Flos, the King of Destruction, stood in front of a [Mage] from Parasol Stroll who was holding a scrying orb up at him. He was speaking into it, his voice booming, the people around him looking awestruck or terrified as the Serpent Hunters and Parasol Stroll formed a protective wall around him. Mars stood behind the King of Destruction, as he spoke into the scrying orb, addressing an unseen audience.

The entire world.

“I am the King of Destruction! I have returned! If there is any nation that seeks my end, come! Send your armies to me! But I will not make war on any nation that treats my people and my kingdom as friend! Let any who crave glory flock to my banner, and any foe of mine quake behind your walls! I am Flos of Reim and I have awoken!

Trey covered his face. He wished he was dreaming. He turned and saw Nawal staring at Flos, her face suddenly dead-white. He could hear the voices.

“The King of Destruction, here?”

“Impossible.”

“Amnesty? He wants adventurers and warriors to join him?”

“He won’t declare war?”

Flos continued, his voice a roar.

“The Empire of Sands is my foe! I will slay the Emperor of Sands myself! As for Wistram, send Amerys to me! Return to me my [Mage] or I will sail upon your walls and break your academy into dust! I say again, I will make war on no nation that does not attack my people! But the blood of Drevish stains the Empire of Sands and I will return the favor a hundred thousand times over!”

He went on, shouting into the orb, his image captured, his words projected across a thousand scrying orbs in a thousand spots across the world. Gazi turned to Nawal and smiled.

“That is our master.”

“Him? You mean—”

The young woman had lost her self-assurance. She stared at Flos as if he were, well, Flos, the King of Destruction. Trey saw her pale as she recalled her bold claims of a moment ago. Gazi just smiled wickedly.

“So, a blade worthy of a [King], and one my lord has never seen before. Your oath on it.”

She looked at Nawal and the young woman glanced at Trey and then at the King of Destruction.

She fainted. Trey caught her just in time and looked up to see Flos, the King of Destruction, grinning at him out of a thousand scrying orbs. He gestured, and the world followed his every word. In a bazaar, standing in front of a dusty tent filled with scrying orbs, Flos sent the pillars of the world quaking and laughed as nations and [Kings] scrambled to catch up. Somehow, Trey had expected nothing less.

 


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5.09 E

I dreamed I was sleeping in my bed, with worried voices speaking loudly overhead. I couldn’t tell who had trespassed here, only that they had come in secret and stood around me, speaking anxiously and quickly. As I was dreaming I missed most of what was said, but I knew it was important. I tried to remember, to grasp the words as they flitted by, but like memory and water they flowed away, leaving me only with an impression. Snippets of a conversation.

 

“Is it time…?”

“I don’t think so.”

“…sure?”

“….we’re early. We….here!”

“…trouble!”

“Let’s….”

“Wait!”

“…We’re not…”

“…remember to….”

“…!”

“And…! …okay? Remember!”

“Quick…before—”

 

And then I woke up.

 

Day 85

 

As dreams went, it wasn’t the worst I’ve had by far. Not the best either—it was mainly confusing. I’ve had good dreams and bad dreams aplenty. Of course, I don’t remember most of them and I never ‘see’ dreams.

Because of course, I’m blind. Hello, I’m Laken Godart, [Emperor] of the Unseen Empire. Protector of Durene’s Cottage, sovereign of the village of Riverfarm, Windrest, Tunslaven, Kiquel…and so on.

I’ve got a lot of titles. A lot of power. And yet, it feels like only yesterday that I was a normal young man walking around in San Francisco. Forever ago and yesterday. Strange—I sometimes forget what my friends’ voices sound like. There are so many around me each day, asking me questions.

“Laken, do you want eggs on your uh, weird potatoes, bacon and onions?”

Sometimes the questions are good questions and come from people you love. Nevertheless I roll my eyes as I get up.

“No eggs for me. And it’s call bratkartoffeln, Durene. Honestly, I keep telling you. How hard is it to remember?”

“Hey! I try, but—oh, you’re joking.”

I smile to myself at the sound of Durene’s voice. I can tell she’s in the kitchen, delicately stirring the fried potatoes with a long-handled spoon. She transfers the hot food to a plate and comes to sit by me as I dress and move towards the small table in her cottage. I have a chair—she uses the floor. We’re still pretty much on the same level because she’s a good bit taller than me. Bigger, too.

She’s half-Troll. And a [Paladin]. It’s a long story. I eat breakfast happily with Durene, talking about the day until a loud squawk interrupts us. A large and, apparently, blue bird is making a racket. She smells breakfast and wants in.

“Shut up, Frostwing.”

I toss some bacon at her and sense her catch the bit of meat and worry at it. Placated for a few moments, I turn back to Durene and keep eating. It’s wonderful to be able to sense where every part of your meal is on your plate. It’s what I always imagined sight to be like, but better, since I can sense everything in my domain. And that means I can sense everything from Durene scratching her leg to Frostwing behind me, to the Mossbear snuffling around our front door—

“Um, Durene. He’s back.”

“Is he?”

Durene gets up and I sense her opening the door. Feel it too—it’s no longer cold and the breeze actually feels quite nice. Spring is finally here. Durene shouts at the large bear outside.

“Go on, shoo! I’ll feed you breakfast later!”

The bear whuffs and I raise my voice.

“Bismarck—heh. Bismarck, go on, leave the door alone!”

I snort a bit as the bear obediently backs away. Yes, I named the bear Bismarck. I think it’s funny and it needed a name. Especially because it’s now my pet. Or something.

[Lesser Bond: Bismarck]. I received it yesterday after I finally came up with a name for him. Bismarck was just called ‘Unnamed Mossbear’ before that. Apparently I tamed him by feeding him and having him fight in a battle alongside my people. Now he lets me ride him, hangs around the cottage for food and in general pesters Durene.

“Shoo! I’ll give you potatoes later! And don’t you dare dig up my garden! It’s all growing, understand? Leave my plants alone!”

Possibly only Durene could push a bear off her property. She’s actually stronger than the Mossbear, and the Mossbear’s bigger and tougher than normal bears to boot. Durene chalks it up to her [Enhanced Strength] and her other new Skills, but I wonder. Trolls are said to be extremely strong and tough, but they can’t gain classes or level.

As a half-Troll Durene seems to have the benefits of both her Human and Troll heritage. Not that it helped her before she met me. She was an outcast, barely tolerated by the village. Only when I became an [Emperor] did everything change.

“Oh, how much it changed.”

I mutter to myself as I stroke Frostwing’s head. My lovely, stupid bird snaps at the meat I offer her.

“Soon you’re going to have to hunt for yourself. You can fly, and it’s a waste of good meat to keep feeding you cow and pig. How do you feel about rats?”

She poops in her nest. I sigh. Animals, Durene…what else? Well, there’s the young man waiting patiently outside the gate. I keep telling him not to do that, but Gamel is my [Knight] and seems to believe I should be attended at all times. Since the villagers agree with him, it’s hard to tell him to stop. Plus, it is convenient.

Time to start my day! I stride outside as Durene, grumbling, chucks potatoes at Bismarck. Apparently bears can eat potatoes and he chases after a spud as I walk past. I wonder if this is what it’s like having a dog?

“Good morning, Gamel.”

“Your majesty.”

Gamel bows. Quite smoothly too. He must have been practicing. I nod at him and square my shoulders.

“Time to start the day. Durene, I’m heading into the village.”

“Wait for me! I just have to—no, Bismarck, there are no more potatoes! Go eat some berries!”

Disappointed, the Mossbear ambles out of the cottage gates as Durene hurries into her cottage. I sense Bismarck heading into the forest now that breakfast has been served. He’ll scavenge for food until dinner or when I call him. I’m fine with that. I know some people would prefer me to ride him around everywhere but I like walking and Bismarck is not that comfortable to ride.

“I wonder if someone can make a saddle for him.”

“The bear, sire? I will ask Mister Prost about it right away!”

“No…”

I grimace and wave a hand. This is the problem with being an [Emperor]. Everyone takes my words as a command. And that can be a big problem.

“We have more important things to do than waste time with saddles for bears, Gamel. Maybe once we finish construction and get everyone settled.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Right.”

I wait until Durene comes out of the cottage. She’s got a greatsword and she’s tying it to her belt. It’s old and she doesn’t have a sheath—the greatsword is made of iron, not steel. Even so, she’s killed two Hobs with it and a score of Goblins.

Durene, my [Paladin], and Gamel, my [Knight]. Their lives were shaped by me. I saved Gamel’s life. Kept him alive when he was dying. I ordered him to live and he lived. He has never told me whether he resents that order.

The cottage that we leave behind is mine. The dirt road that we walk down is mine. The village we enter is mine, as are all the people inside. I claimed it. I claimed the land around here, marked it with totems proclaiming the borders of my empire. So I can ‘see’ the entire area around the village if I concentrate. I can sense the hundreds, no, over a thousand people in this area alone busy at work this early in the morning.

I sense houses going up, people carting timber to the areas under construction, the [Farmers] hard at work to the north in the new fields, the [Blacksmiths] at their forges, working to produce nails and hinges and so on for the construction. Riverfarm was a small village of just over a hundred people. Now it is turning into a city.

There’s a method to the chaos. It might seem chaotic at ground level—I wouldn’t know. The babble of voices greeting me, the sounds of horses and people shouting at each other is confusing for a blind man. But I can view the village from above and get a very reliable idea of how things are laid out.

“Good, we’re still on track. Gamel, is Prost supervising the building?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“We’ll go see him, then. Durene?”

“I’m going to help carry stuff, Laken.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

I part ways with Durene, knowing she’ll be carrying trees around and helping people lift things too heavy to carry without a team. I’d like to stay with her, but I have my duties too. I am an [Emperor], and my job is to oversee…this.

An empire. Or the beginnings of one. It’s small, and by small, I mean that it only has a few thousand people in it, but that’s a frightening number of people to house, feed, and protect every day. They’re all villagers, the people of Riverfarm, Windrest—villages that were raided by Goblins. Oh, and a town. The town of Trottvisk declared itself part of the Unseen Empire just the other day. It happens.

So much to do. I wouldn’t know where to start—but I have some advantages. My Skills as an [Emperor], my knowledge from Earth, my home, and my counselors. I might not know how to take care of so many people myself, but if there’s one thing I know from Earth, it’s that delegation is key.

In fact, my coming from another world is probably my biggest asset. One day I just appeared in this world. And while all the scientific knowledge in the world wouldn’t protect me from monsters or starving to death by myself, it does help when I’m a leader of a large group of people. One of the things I brought from my world to this one was the idea of sanitation.

Obviously, people didn’t eat everything with dirty hands in this world before I came along, but they didn’t consider washing hands essential and they sometimes built their outhouses and latrines way too close to the water.

That’s changed now. I walk towards a man directing people to dig the latest public outhouses away from the river that gives Riverfarm its name. He stops, turns to me, and bows the instant he notices I’m here.

“Emperor Laken, sir!”

Prost, my [Steward] has also changed markedly since I first met him. He was a [Farmer] who barely tolerated Durene and couldn’t accept that she and I were living under the same roof. Now he’s my right-hand man who oversees construction, settles minor disputes, coordinates things like food, housing—all the things I’m bad at. I nod to him.

“Mister Prost, how are we doing today?”

“Another four houses built since you last visited, sire!”

Four? But I was here last night!”

Prost beams. I can sense it and hear it in his voice.

“Yes, your majesty. But we had a night team working and they’re quick! Don’t fear that people minded the hammering—we sleep like rocks unless there’s an alarm called!”

I have to shake my head. Another of my Skills is [Blessing of the Hearth], which allows people a comfortable night’s sleep even if they’re lying on the floor. I had no idea it could be used this way, but that’s the thing about leading, or so I’ve learned. It’s about combining multiple perspectives to achieve the best result.

“Well, carry on Mister Prost. I just wanted to see if there were any new developments.”

“In the construction? No, sire. We’ve been keeping to the directions you gave—it’s very simple to understand!”

“Is it? Good, good.”

My directions. As I said, I can see the entire village and my empire with a bird’s eye view. That means I’m uniquely able to visualize the layout of the buildings in my head and organize it as best I can. However, there’s a lot to take in.

“Just let me know if you see any issues arising regarding wells, proximity to the outhouses and so on. We want everything within reach and I’d hate to know that we didn’t build a large enough road or something.”

“Yes, sire. Don’t worry, I’ve talked it over with the other [Village Heads] and [Farmers] and so on. They all agree your plan for the city is sound.”

One of Prost’s new talents aside from all his organizational skills seems to be reassuring me. I leave him to it. The village does look good in my head. I tried to copy it over as best I could to a map, but sadly I still can’t read books with my [Emperor] senses. I had to describe it and trust that everyone understood what I was talking about.

Creating a village. Planning it out with access to water, food, keeping houses away from [Blacksmiths] who are noisy, and organizing a central road that splits off into smaller paths—it would be a challenge for an [Architect], and I have absolutely no training in this area. However, I did my best. In fact, coming up with a design for my new empire reminded me a lot of video games—or rather, what I imagine video games are like.

It’s hard to play a lot of games when you’re blind. Board games sort of work, but anything with a strong visual component? No thanks. I did have friends who told me what it was like, though. The friend I was hanging out in San Francisco with, Zoe, she told me about a game. Age of Empires II or something. She described it like this, where you direct people around, lay out your kingdom, and defend it from enemies.

In my head, I’m thinking of where monsters or bandits might come from, how we’re going to expand—because we will expand, I’m sure of it—the placement of other villages, and of course, how to patrol the entire area I’ve claimed to keep it safe. I get headaches just thinking of all the problems. And people do this for fun?

“Gamel, I think I’ll look at our crops today. I see Wiskeria and our guest are near the farms so we’ll visit her on the way.”

“Very good, sire.”

Though Prost is my [Steward], I’ve assigned him to worrying about construction and farming for the most part, which he knows the most about. However, I have two other people I regard as my counselors. I go to meet both of them now. They’re standing near the farms, talking with their own crowds of people.

One is a woman on horseback with a pointed hat and spectacles, overseeing the deployment of armed men and women. The other is a woman wearing a dress, out of place among the more simply dressed folk. But she is also in the thick of things, speaking eloquently as people bow to her and hurry off.

“Lady Rie, Wiskeria.”

I greet them as I approach. The two women break off immediately and come to me. Rie curtsies and Wiskeria dismounts to bow slightly. Wiskeria is a [Witch] and my [General] tasked with defending my empire. Lady Rie is a [Lady], formerly the landowner of some of the villages and towns around here.

After Goblins attacked her mansion, Lady Rie pledged herself to my service. I was the one who led an army to save her, but I was surprised by her request to become my vassal. It’s been three days since she came to Riverfarm and she’s already assisted in numerous ways.

“Good morning, Emperor Laken.”

“Morning, sire.”

The two greet me, Rie formally, Wiskeria informally. I nod to Wiskeria and incline my head to Lady Rie. There is a difference and according her the status of her rank is important. Lady Rie is good with people. She is a [Lady] after all, and as the last member of the Valerund family she knows how to organize and settle disputes.

“Lady Rie, thank you for your help. May I ask if there are any new developments?”

“None worth speaking of, Emperor Laken. However, I urge you once again to entertain the notion of an audience with some of the local nobility. I could arrange the meetings quite easily.”

I grimace and cut the motion short. Lady Rie has been floating the idea past me for the last few days.

“I understand your desire Lady Rie, but I have no desire to enter the political world just yet.”

“I fear it is far too late for that, your majesty. Your presence alone is significant, and I worry that the other nobles will take your expanding empire as a sign of…”

Rie hesitates delicately. I fill in the gap for her.

“Danger?”

She shifts ever so slightly.

“Perhaps. Which is why an audience may allay their worries. I have no doubt the other [Lords] and [Ladies] who own lands in the area have already investigated your presence, your majesty. They will be cautious, some afraid—but the truth is that there is a surplus of lands and not enough of the aristocracy to manage the land. Your presence may be quite beneficial so long as the other nobles are assured that their lands will not be encroached upon. And you are needed. Many villages lack a local [Lord] or [Lady].”

“Is that a bad thing?”

The practice of landowning seems medieval to me—not the act of owning land, that’s as common as landlords, but the idea of owning everything on a piece of land, including the people. I don’t see why anyone would want that, but Lady Rie seems surprised by my question.

“Having a [Lord] is quite beneficial, Emperor Laken. Some would consider a village or town not protected by some kind of landowner to be very dangerous indeed, or at the least, troublesome.”

“How so?”

Wiskeria stands patiently to one side, listening, and I sense the crowds of people either moving away on business or waiting for me to finish. I feel as though I’m interrupting important work, but I am the [Emperor]. Teaching me important facts is quite necessary if I’m to lead well. Rie explains as I stand patiently with Gamel behind me.

“When my family was alive we managed a huge area of land. It is not simply protection we offer, but justice. We enforced laws, settled disputes, collected taxes, and dealt with disasters and monster attacks as they emerged—ruled in short. Each [Lord] is a [King] of his own domain, or so it is said.”

“I see. And there’s a lack of nobility in the area?”

Rie pauses.

“The Second Antinium War was…devastating to put it mildly. Many of the aristocracy lost their lives defending their homes from the Goblin King. As such, there are many unattended lands that lack any local ruler.”

“I see. Well, if it will reassure the other [Lords] and [Ladies], I suppose I could consider an audience. But on the same note Lady Rie, would you prefer to stay elsewhere? I know Riverfarm’s accommodations are less than what someone of your station might expect. Several of the local cities and towns have offered to give you their finest lodging.”

I float the idea by Lady Rie, wondering if she’ll bite. She declined the offer the first time I made it, but will she have changed her mind in the three days she’s been here? Lady Rie shakes her head instantly, and then recalls that I’m blind.

“I am quite content here, Emperor Laken. I would like to see my home restored to me—but so long as the Goblin threat persists, I do not believe I would be safe anywhere but here. As to staying in a city or nearby town—if you will allow me to say so, I see greater opportunity in making myself useful to you here, your majesty. If you will permit me to stay, I would do so gladly.”

I nod.

“I won’t turn away aid, and I do consider you quite invaluable, Lady Rie. Your people are quite helpful as well. Although as I recall, your man—Geram?—was insistent on staying by your side.”

Adamant, in fact. He didn’t say so around me, but I got word of the argument through Prost. All of Lady Rie’s servants follow after her and treat me with the utmost respect, but it can’t be normal having an [Emperor] pop up all of a sudden. Rie’s voice is apologetic.

“Do forgive him, sire. He worries for my safety, but I assured him I was quite safe in the village.”

“I quite understand. I believe he will be quite an asset to Wiskeria’s army.”

Geram is one of Lady Rie’s more notable servants. He’s a huge bald man who fights with his fists. He’s apparently a former [Street Brawler] of some renown—an odd choice for a captain of the guard for a [Lady], but he does seem tough. He took down several Hobs himself while defending Rie’s mansion. I wonder if he’s romantically involved with Lady Rie, or the other one, Nesor, her [Mage] is. He’s a young man with a lot of anxiety and isn’t the best [Mage], but I’ll take any magic-users I can get.

“I’m grateful for all the soldiers I can get, Lady Rie. On that note—Wiskeria, how goes training the army?”

Wiskeria steps forwards smoothly. She’s in charge of defense, which is a lot simpler since I can tell if anything enters my lands. Wiskeria can send out a patrol to deal with most problems at once, which is why she devotes most of her time to actually creating an army to fight with.

We have a small core of adventurers and retired [Warriors] and so on, but I’ve had to rely on other towns and cities by using another Skill – [Imperial Levy]. I can request their soldiers to fight if a huge group of monsters or bandits come along, but I’d prefer to have a force at my disposal. Wiskeria’s been working in that area, but training [Soldiers] up from scratch is hard.

“We have a number of recruits interested in fighting, Emperor Laken. I suspect we’ll have less after the rigorous daily training, but then again, perhaps not. They are quite dedicated. However, we do have an issue.”

“Oh?”

She nods.

“There’s not enough weapons to train all the potential recruits, and many skilled workers—[Bakers], [Carpenters], and so on—don’t have the tools or space to ply their trade.”

“That was my observation as well. Too many villages fled without packing their supplies and lost them to Goblins or thieves.”

Lady Rie sighs. I nod. The Unseen Empire is comprised mainly of villagers who fled their homes and as such it lacks most of everything.

“I’m aware of the problem, Wiskeria, but I consider getting a roof over everyone’s head the first priority. Most of the villagers are still sleeping in barns—that can’t last forever. If they’re not training, send your soldiers to help with everyone else. That goes for our experienced craftspeople, Lady Rie. We have a lot of hands. Anyone can help lift or hammer nails, or help make rope and so on. We’ll use that to get everyone housed quickly, and then focus on specialized buildings and tools. Our [Blacksmiths] can only work so fast and I need them making nails before swords.”

Wiskeria nods reluctantly, but Lady Rie clears her throat softly.

“We may be able to procure some arms and tools without needing to forge them ourselves, Emperor Laken. If you will allow me to make a few inquiries, I believe I could obtain a good deal of supplies at a cheap price.”

“From the other cities?”

“Indeed. I could put in an order to Invrisil and further cities abroad as well. The transportation fee would be somewhat steep, but it would allow General Wiskeria and other craftspeople to begin working sooner. If you consider it wise? We have enough money.”

I shift uncomfortably.

“It is your money after all, Lady Rie.”

Perhaps it’s my Skill – [King’s Bounty]. Or perhaps it’s just how things worked out. But Lady Rie’s fortune is now part of the Unseen Empire. She told me it was mine to use and I reluctantly accepted it. That money could buy a lot of tools—I just wonder how I’ll repay Lady Rie.

I’ll think about it later. And Lady Rie seems to regard it as an investment.

“Consider it a gift for saving my life, Emperor. Very well, I will send a few [Message] spells with Nesor’s help. If you will excuse me.”

She bows slightly and moves away. She’s graceful, intelligent, and extremely helpful. I can’t help but think that I lucked out in having her pledge her loyalty to me. I wait until she’s out of earshot to speak quietly to Wiskeria.

“You’ve been watching her?”

“Yes, Emperor. She’s done nothing out of the ordinary. She uses her personal mage to send [Message] spells, but her people have settled in well. Fairly well. The [Servants] were arrogant until Prost settled them down and I believe Lady Rie had a word with them.”

“Sounds good. But keep a discreet eye on her. I will too. In my own way.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Saving Lady Rie was an easy decision. Accepting her as my vassal…well, I didn’t have any reason to refuse. She’s competent, in need of a home, and knowledgeable on things like politics and trade, something neither Wiskeria nor Prost know that well. I haven’t had any reason to doubt her and neither has Wiskeria.

However, after Odveig, neither of us are quite so trusting. Lady Rie seems perfectly willing to put herself behind me with coin as well as her help. Maybe she’s grateful. Or perhaps she thinks I’m a rising star and wants to secure as much influence as possible. I’m fine with either option, but I do worry.

“All’s quiet so far?”

“You would know that better than I, Emperor.”

Wiskeria’s voice is a little less formal without anyone else to hear. She treats me more like a person than Prost or Rie or anyone else besides Durene, which I’m grateful for. I smile.

“True, but I do worry. It might be my senses can’t detect hidden threats or…well, it puts my mind at ease to know your people are patrolling.”

“Of course, sir. I think it reassures the other towns and cities too. But I have only a limited number of warriors at my disposal and I prefer to keep most of them here in case you sense anything.”

“Right. Speaking of sensing—Beniar’s riders dispatched the [Bandit] group on the western road.”

“Ah. Any casualties?”

“None. They took them out in the middle of the night.”

I relay the news to Wiskeria with the utmost certainty despite Beniar being over fifteen miles south east of here. I sensed him attack the [Bandits]. I felt it. It was almost like I was there.

 

—-

 

Darkness. The night is pitch-black, so dark that the distant stars and obscured moon do little to provide light. It’s so dark that the few lazy sentries outside of the camp of [Bandits] can’t see much. And why should they worry anyways? They’re hidden well off the road, far from any settlements. They can hide and strike at people on the roads at their leisure.

Or so they think. But galloping hooves break the night’s silence. I imagine the sound of galloping, anyways. I can’t hear, only sense. What I do sense is the [Bandits] on watch looking up in sudden alarm. They reach for their weapons, peer into the darkness. One goes to rouse the others.

Too late. The first rider appears out of the darkness like a ghost. He rides down on a sentry who screams once—the sword takes him in the chest and he falls. Beniar, my [Cataphract] and [Captain], turns his mount and more riders appear out of the darkness behind him. They charge the sentries and into the camp of bandits.

The ragged men and women are ready for a fight. What they’re not ready for is for Beniar to scatter their torches and campfires, plunging them into darkness. Again, I have to imagine the shadows flickering and the riders streaming through the camp. I don’t have a problem with seeing since the images in my head aren’t really visual.

I sense Beniar and his [Riders] cutting the confused [Bandits] down as they flail at shadows. My riders have no problem seeing in the darkness, and as they cut down the last of the [Bandits] they cheer. I roll over in my bed miles away and go to sleep at last, relieved.

 

—-

 

[Blacksky Riders]. That’s the name of the last of my new Skills. After the battle at Lady Rie’s mansion I gained a new Skill that allows my soldiers to become, well, terrors of the night. It was hard for me to figure out what my Skill did at first, but after one exciting night it all became clear.

My Skill allows a group of chosen riders to see in the night. Not only that—the effect extends to their mounts and lets them dampen the light when they so choose. Thanks to that, Beniar’s group of mounted warriors have become night ambushers who can attack in the darkness with ease. It’s a powerful Skill and has already led to rumors that the people of my empire don’t need eyes to see.

Just like their [Emperor]. I was relieved that none of the riders were hurt, though, and Wiskeria seems equally relieved. Losing just one soldier or horse is dangerous.

“Beniar should be on his way back. I think he’ll arrive after midday, but I’d like to put a [Mage] with his group. Someone who can send and receive [Message] spells.”

“I agree. Unfortunately, that young [Mage] that Lady Rie employs can neither ride nor send [Message] spells reliably. There are artifacts that can do the same, but they are quite expensive.”

“More problems. We’ll put that on our list until later, Wiskeria. At least I can tell where everyone is. But keeping the lines of communication open is one of the key principles of war. I think I read that somewhere.”

“Hm. I agree. But aside from Lady Rie’s personal artifacts we have nothing of our own. And I would rather buy more swords and bows and so forth than purchase a single artifact.”

“They’re that expensive?”

“Oh yes. On that note, may I speak with you about the crops your [Farmers] are growing? Food is essential I know, but they could easily devote a few fields to growing some crops that [Alchemists] would buy. Or a few varieties of mushrooms? I’m familiar with what sells well and I could obtain some seed samples with enough coin…”

“You have my attention.”

The work never ends. There’s always something to do, which isn’t bad, but it means that I always feel like there’s more I could be doing rather than taking a break. I’m sure that’s unhealthy, but I have energy and it’s not like I’m running about. Just talking and listening.

In any case, the rest of my day is devoted to managing things with Wiskeria. She’s quite sharp despite only having been a Silver-rank adventurer before I made her into a [General], and I value her insight. We spend an entire day talking about how to use Beniar’s riders most effectively and hunting without depleting animal populations. It feels slightly wrong that I can tell where every deer herd is, but I have to keep my people fed. I work and then I go to sleep with Durene in the cottage.

It’s another day in the life of Emperor Laken. That is, until Nesor wakes up screaming and rouses the entire village.

 

Day 86

 

Zel Shivertail is dead. The army raised by Magnolia Reinhart at Invrisil has been defeated. The Goblin Lord is marching towards the city, only a few days away from this area. And like that, I’m facing another crisis. The same crisis I’ve always had to face, in fact. The enemy that has defined Riverfarm’s struggle, the nemesis of the Unseen Empire in my mind.

Goblins.

“Nesor, calm down and give me answers. How badly was Magnolia Reinhart’s army defeated? How did General Shivertail die? Where is the Goblin Lord’s army headed?”

It’s early morning. Rie, Prost, Wiskeria, and I are all standing in the large cottage assigned solely to Lady Rie. Nesor, a young man who failed to graduate from Wistram is sitting at a table, face pale, hands shaking. He’s stuttering, barely able to speak.

“I—I just got a message Lady Rie. It said General Shivertail was dead and the Goblin Lord had won! It was a warning to all the nobility in the area so I got it—”

“Nothing else?”

“N-n—”

He shudders. I look at Wiskeria. She has an impatient look on her face, the same one I’m trying to suppress.

“You can’t send [Message] spells, can you, Wiskeria?”

“I never learned. That kind of magic is more difficult for my class.”

“Nesor, calm down.”

Lady Rie is soothing Nesor. She looks at me apologetically.

“I apologize, Emperor. Nesor, send a [Message] spell back to—oh, First Landing? It must be chaos in Invrisil right now and I don’t know that we’ll get a quick response. This might take a while.”

I nod and step out of the house with Prost and Wiskeria. I turn to them and see the same worry and fear in their eyes that I’m feeling. Only they’re looking to me for help. I can see lights in the houses nearby and a lot of people are standing in the streets, looking worried. Time to do my [Emperor] thing.

“Okay. Prost, calm everyone down. Don’t mention specifics, but let people know there are Goblins near Invrisil and—leave it at that. Tell them there will be an announcement later and that we are still waiting for details.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Prost hurries off. I turn to Wiskeria and drew her aside.

“Wiskeria, explain what Nesor said to me.”

“What part?”

All of it. I know the Goblin Lord was marching north, but who’s General Shivertail?”

Wiskeria’s voice is surprised.

“You don’t know?”

“I have never heard of him before. Assume I’m from far away and have no idea of anything. Who is he, and why is this so important?”

I can sense Wiskeria looking at me. I never told her or anyone besides Durene that I’m from Earth, but Wiskeria isn’t stupid. She’s already expressed surprise at the things I know and don’t know. Right now I don’t care. I might tell her everything just in case—Ryoka would object, but I need people I can trust in possession of all the facts. For the moment, Wiskeria takes me at my word.

“General Shivertail is—was—a hero of the Antinium Wars and the highest-leveled Drake [General] in the entire world. If he’s dead, then this Goblin Lord is extremely dangerous.”

“Antinium Wars. Wasn’t there a book on the history of the Antinium Wars? I never found a copy to read. Please explain all of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

I walk with Wiskeria to her private house and she brews me some tea while she speaks, summarizing decades of history while the sun rises. Her home, like Rie’s, is hers alone. It’s a bit extravagant especially since a lot of people are still sleeping crammed together, but rank has privileges and as soon as we get personalized housing built Wiskeria will move out and let a family take this home. She wants a forest cottage with a garden for mushrooms and other alchemical ingredients. And a place to brew potions where there’s no one to smell it.

Anyways, her explanation of Zel Shivertail and the Goblin Lord fills me with dread. The news we get just after morning is no better. Nesor finally got through to First Landing and all the reports are of the battle, and the Goblin Lord’s army.

Tens of thousands. That alone is enough to panic me. I could muster a force of a thousand soldiers. Maybe two thousand if I pressed every city and town in the area to turn out their garrisons. That’s all. If the Goblin Lord comes here—

“What should we do, Emperor Laken? People will panic if word spreads.”

“It’ll spread.”

Wiskeria glances sideways at Nesor. I grimace. The young man sounds like he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Funny, I’m probably only a few years older than he is.

“I won’t lie to people or hide the truth. Prost, we’ll tell them what happened. But when you do, tell them this: the Goblin Lord’s army is not headed our way just yet. They’re moving towards Invrisil, which is close by, but I haven’t sensed any Goblins in our radius and I will know if they approach.”

I sense Prost nodding in relief. I don’t talk about my abilities, but people need reassurance now.

“If an army comes calling we’ll evacuate or fight, but until then, there’s no reason to panic. Wiskeria will send out more patrols and alert all the settlements nearby in case they haven’t heard.”

“I’ll send riders now.”

“Good. Lady Rie, if you would keep communicating with First Landing?”

“Of course.”

I nod and stand.

“In that case, Prost, you and I will calm people down.”

And so we do. Prost shouts the news and I tell people what I just told him. It doesn’t calm them down exactly, but no one screams or runs. And once we get people moving about their tasks things calm down. I walk around the village, reassuring people, being there, and it does help. Everyone looks calmer when I’m around and more than one of Riverfarm’s original villagers recounts the battle in the village to the others.

Everyone’s calm. But me. As I lie in bed next to Durene I toss and turn and eventually wake her up.

“Laken, why are you so restless?”

“Why aren’t you? Durene, I promised them everything would be okay, but I have no plan if the Goblin Lord actually comes this way. We can’t fight and we might not be able to escape.”

“You’ll figure out something. If you can’t do it, no one can.”

I laugh in the darkness. How does she believe in me?

“I wish that were true.”

“It’s true! Now come over here.”

She pulls me over and I forget about Goblins for the moment. It’s nice to have someone with you who can take your worries away. For a while I’m not an [Emperor], and the cottage is intimate.

A bird screeches, surprising both Durene and me in the silence. Frostwing objects to being woken up. I throw my pants at her.

“Shut up, Frostwing.”

 

Day 87

 

Today I consult with Rie and Prost. Reassurances are all very well, but I want to be prepared for a fight if it comes to that. Ironically, Wiskeria’s not on my list—she’s training her forces and there’s little I can do to help her. I don’t want to be a distraction.

However, there are things I can control and one of them is my project that Prost’s been in control of. Siege weapons. Ryoka Griffin taught me the fundamentals of how they work and the rest has been trial and error. I have a few [Carpenters], one [Blacksmith], and three new [Tinkerers] on the job with some other eager young men and women.

Lady Rie stares at the two prototype trebuchets and ballista and I realize that she’s never seen them before. We keep the siege weapons far, far away from the town in case of more accidents.

“Prost, how are the trebuchets working?”

“Well, Emperor. I haven’t been here all day, so I’ll let Miss Tessia explain. Tessia?”

Prost gestures and a young woman steps up. She’s got red hair and loose work clothing. I first met her when I helped dig her out of the snow after an avalanche. She’s Gamel’s girlfriend and her timid personality has been replaced by what I can only consider an engineer’s mania.

“Emperor Laken! We’ve finally gotten one of the trebuchets working! We can throw a twenty pound stone over two hundred feet with each shot, and I think that once we make a new trebuchet we’ll be able to hurl a stone twice as far!”

She grins as behind her the people crowded around the trebuchet step back. It fires and I hear a creak as the arm comes up and a stone is hurled through the air. I stare at the sling as it releases a stone and sense it fly into the distance. The people cheer as two boys run after the stone to see how far it’s landed. Lady Rie just stares.

“Is that a…a catapult?”

“It’s a trebuchet, Miss!”

Tessia either hasn’t heard that Lady Rie is a [Lady] or doesn’t care. She begins excitedly talking about range and the ballista they’re building while I inspect the trebuchet up close.

“Amazing. And can you aim it?”

“We’re figuring it out now, sire. The lads—and lasses—have been firing it nonstop. I’d say Tessia’s got the best shot. She can hit a house from two hundred feet five shots out of eight!”

“Please tell me we’re not actually hitting houses, Mister Prost?”

“Oh, they built one out of spare wood, don’t you worry, sire. But I reckon that we could build two more trebuchets within the week! Those would make the Goblin Lord blink twice, don’t you think?”

“Indeed they would. But I want those trebuchets inspected carefully and tested thoroughly. The last thing we need is for someone to get hurt.”

“Yes sire. I had to knock a few heads together when some of the lads kept wanting to rush things. But don’t fear—after the second time, Tessia started doing it for me! The lasses are much more careful about making sure no one’s in danger of being thumped by the arm and standing back and so on.”

Prost beams with all the pride of a former [Farmer] now constructing weapons of war. Lady Rie looks dazed as she comes over to me.

“Emperor Laken—your majesty, may I ask whether this was your invention?”

I smile slightly.

“Not my invention, Lady Rie. I know about the theory, but the villagers of Riverfarm built all this.”

“I see. But you know how to build siege weapons?”

“Is that uncommon?”

Lady Rie stares at the trebuchet as people begin to load it again.

“Oh…slightly. I believe the Walled Cities have such devices. Pallass creates them, but the secret of such weapons is zealously guarded and they refuse to sell to Humans. Other nations have them…but they are not mass-produced. And you’re building them here?”

“And we’re training [Engineers]. We have [Tinkerers]—I hope they’ll level up when I get them building some other inventions. War chariots, maybe. Or an irrigation system.”

Lady Rie stares at me. I smile. The sight of the trebuchet firing again gives me an idea and I turn to Prost.

“Mister Prost, it occurs to me that most of the villagers haven’t seen the trebuchet in action. Maybe a test would impress them as much as Lady Rie and reassure them of their safety. Could you move the trebuchet to an open space and set up a target?”

“Of course, sire!”

“And why not make it a contest? Let Tessia and the other workers have a contest who can hit or get nearest to a target. The winner will receive…well, how about a few mugs of ale and a small coin prize? You decide.”

Prost smiles.

“I think that would motivate them greatly, sire. But could I extend the offer of ale for the entire team? They’ve been working like Demons to get the trebuchet done.”

“Of course. Lady Rie?”

I leave my [Steward] to set it all up and walk a few paces back with Lady Rie. She still keeps staring at the siege weapons.

“You know, that is the true treasure of your village.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those.”

Rie points to the trebuchet as Prost begins speaking and Tessia and the others mill about in excitement. She nods to the path to Riverfarm behind us.

“If you’ll permit me to say so, Emperor Laken, Riverfarm is hardly a rich village. With your help I have no doubt it will be quite self-sufficient, but planting cash crops as Wiskeria has suggested will only earn the people a modest income. However, building siege weapons? Exporting such devices would earn you a fortune.”

I nod slowly. I hadn’t considered it except as a form of protection, but…

“The war industry is always a profitable one. I don’t know that I’d like for my empire to be known for that, but at least we’ll be able to defend ourselves.”

“It is your choice of course, your majesty.”

“Choice. Yes, well, I’d like my people to have the same. I’m building trebuchets and teaching people to become [Engineers], Lady Rie. But I’d like them to be able to become [Alchemists] or [Blacksmiths] or [Scribes] or whatever they desire.”

“That is rather ambitious, your majesty. I suppose it might be possible, especially with your communal farming system. There will be less need for [Farmers].”

I shake my head.

“Less need for as many [Farmers], perhaps, Lady Rie. I intend to provide them with oxen, ploughs…Riverfarm used to consist of subsistence farming where each family tended a small plot of land. By creating large fields we can provide for a large number of people with only a few [Farmers].”

“And you intend to let the next generation grow up to become artisans instead?”

“That’s the theory. Or [Soldiers]. But to do that they need to survive and this place needs to be standing in a week’s time. The Goblin Lord’s army…I was hoping you had some thoughts on the matter. Is there any force that can stop them?”

Rie nods.

“Of course! There is already talk of Lord Tyrion’s army. He gathered one at the same time as Lady Magnolia and his is by far the superior one. I doubt Lord Tyrion Veltras falls far behind General Shivertail regardless of level.”

“Huh. Lord Tyrion Veltras.”

The name’s only vaguely familiar to me, like Magnolia Reinhart. There are so many influential people in the world and I feel like I’m a small fish in my corner of Izril.

“Tell me about Lord Tyrion, Lady Rie. He levied a vast army, but does he have his own private force? Do lords and ladies have armies of their own? I recall your mansion was defended, but…”

I can hear Lady Rie’s rueful smile in her reply.

“The Valerund family was…much diminished by the time I became its sole heir, Emperor Laken. Aside from the small number of guards I employed, I had no standing militia to speak of. I would have relied on the forces of towns and villages to root out threats. But my example is hardly indicative of more powerful nobles. Lady Magnolia Reinhart has many, many servants trained in espionage and combat. She often employs them to clean up…problems in her domain.”

I think of Odveig, the perfect spy masquerading as a Silver-rank adventurer.

“I can believe that. Does Lord Tyrion do the same?”

Rie shakes her head.

“The Veltras family has a conventional army. As do the Reinharts, although theirs is far smaller and guards their family estate. Most powerful [Lords] and [Ladies] train their retainers. For instance, there is a Lady Bethal Walchaís who commands a knighthood. Her Knights of the Petal are elite and quite, quite dangerous.”

“I see. Everyone has their personal force on top of regular garrisons.”

“Yes, your majesty. I see you have started your own army as well.”

“My own army? Oh—yes, Wiskeria is doing her best.”

“Not just her.”

Lady Rie puts a gentle touch on my arm and I jump. She withdraws her hand quickly.

“Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

“It’s nothing.”

Is she standing closer to me? Yes, she is. I clear my throat and keep my head turned towards the trebuchet which is being pushed to another spot. I don’t have to look at it of course, but people get nervous when I talk about things behind my back that I shouldn’t be able to ‘see’.

“What were you saying, Lady Rie? My own personal force?”

“Indeed, Emperor Laken. Your ah, Sightless Riders have already developed a reputation.”

“My what? Oh—Beniar and his people? Yes, I could see that. That was due to a Skill, but perhaps I’ll obtain more.”

“One can only hope. But such specialized units are the hallmarks of any powerful ruler. And it is my sincere hope that your initiatives keep your empire safe. I know that I am eternally grateful for your intervention in my hour of need.”

She gently touches my arm again. I hold still and think.

Okay. She’s definitely flirting with me. That’s not hard to figure out. The question is—does she know Durene and I are an item?

I don’t get to ask, if I was intending to ask. Prost comes back and Lady Rie stands demurely at my side. I continue the inspection and watch the trebuchets being fired for an enthusiastic crowd without any more incidents. But I do recall the touch. Was it just a casual touch? Am I overthinking things?

Her fingers were very soft.

 

Day 89

 

Between my personal assurances and the trebuchet demonstration, my people are calm enough not to panic at news of the Goblin Lord’s army. They trust me, because I’ve protected them from Goblins before. However, that faith doesn’t apply to the other local towns and cities. They were all too willing to offer me a tribute so I’d protect their roads, but the Goblin Lord’s army is justifiably terrifying.

As such, I spend most of today entertaining audiences. I have no throne room, but one of the first non-essential buildings that went up was a meeting hall. It’s mainly a storage area, but someone decided it had to have a throne despite the lack of beds. So here I am, sitting on a wooden throne decorated with carved eyes. My [Carver], Jelov, is a famous man in the village. From a recluse who sold small trinkets, he’s now got eight apprentices and more work than he can handle.

“Of course my people will alert your town the instant Goblins cross my borders in force, [Headman] Filk. And I am committed to defending all the cities under my protection. My army will hunt down any stray monsters and bandits, as promised. Only an army could resist my forces.”

“Just as you say Emperor Laken. Forgive me for troubling you. It’s just that the Goblin Lord has an army and—”

The man standing and bobbing nervously is the leader of a town nearby. I forget which one. I hope he’ll mention the name again in conversation. I shift on my throne. Why did Jelov not include a pillow?

“Indeed. The Goblin Lord has an army and if he did march in this direction I would be unable to stop him. But consider this, Filk. Lord Tyrion Veltras and Magnolia Reinhart have both committed their forces to stopping him. Do you truly believe they would allow the Goblins to rampage unchecked?”

“Lord Tyrion? Well, your majesty—Lady Reinhart might—but Lord Tyrion does have an army.”

There’s a question in his voice. His town—what was the name again? Started with a ‘g’, I think—doesn’t have a [Mage] who can receive [Message] spells. I nod.

“He has been gathering an army for weeks now, Headman Filk. A substantial one that outnumbers the Goblin Lord’s army by all accounts. I would trust him to take care of the Goblin Lord. And if any raiding parties should head this way in the meantime…I will deal with them.”

That relieves the man. He raises his head, bowing again awkwardly.

“I had no doubts, your majesty! I’m terribly sorry to take up your time—of course Lord Tyrion’s got his army! And you’ve got yours.”

“Of course.”

I smile at him and he smiles back. Nervously. I feel his gaze on my closed eyes. I think the audience is over, so I gesture subtly to Prost, standing at the back of the room.

“You must be tired from your trip. Please, allow me to offer you refreshments before you go.”

“Oh—sire, I also meant to give you this!”

Filk nearly falls over himself as he rushes to the back of the room. He comes back with a small chest carried by several people from his town.

“It’s just a token of our appreciation, your majesty. Some of our local produce, a few bundles of cloth—rough stuff, but we wanted to show our thanks. The town of Gec isn’t prosperous as those big cities, but we’re grateful that we can sleep in our beds thanks to your men!”

Gec! Of course, how could I forget a name like that? I smile at Filk.

“I appreciate the gifts, Filk. They are not necessary—I have sworn to protect your town and I mean to keep that pledge. Please, tell the people of Gec that I appreciate their faith in me. I would love to sample their produce—are those apples in the chest?”

“A few, sire. We have this cellar with runes of [Preservation] and—oh, pardon me for taking your time! It’s just a small token, hardly—thank you once again!”

He retreats, embarrassed. I smile as Prost moves forwards to take the gift. This is the fourth emissary to visit me today. People are worried, and they’re coming to me to hear what they already know. There is a Goblin Lord, but Lord Tyrion’s got an army. I can defend them from everything but a massive force and…that’s it. But they feel better because I’m an [Emperor].

That’s people for you.

 

—-

 

My day is occupied by entertaining guests and appearing as confident—and dignified—as possible. Lady Rie takes over for Prost and it’s quite something when a [Lady] is personally greeting visitors and leading them into my throne room. It’s a long day, but I do get a pillow after my butt gets too sore to sit still.

“You may receive another pledge of loyalty from one of the nearest towns, your majesty. Headman Filk of Gec was quite taken with your village.”

“If they join, I’ll have to figure out a way to manage their town from here, Lady Rie. Perhaps I could send you to oversee it for a day or two? We can’t have more people coming here!”

The thought of my empire growing to encompass other cities and towns gives me a headache. Rie offers me a cool drink of water and I take it gratefully.

“I assume that the news of the Goblin Lord means that politics are on hold for the moment?”

“On the contrary, your majesty. It means that the aristocracy is even more desperate to find allies. You have a number of missives that just arrived.”

“More letters? I would have thought the City Runners in Invrisil wouldn’t dare venture out.”

“Mm. Apparently they’re willing to risk it for enough coin. And your lands are known to be safe for Runners. Would you like me to read them to you?”

“Please.”

I sigh and sit back on my throne. I want to see Durene. Maybe I can have a day off where I just go walking with her? The woods are nice and I could pretend to be inspecting it for valuable mushrooms or building spots or something. We haven’t had a quiet time to be together lately except at night. And sex isn’t the only part of a healthy relationship.

Lady Rie stands next to me as I sit on the throne. Her voice is soft as she reads through one letter.

To [Emperor] Laken, I am Lord Tilwa Petroms of Invrisil. I have heard of your recent accomplishments and must congratulate you on your newfound success. Hm. Lord Tilwa is a known schemer, but if he’s acknowledging you openly as an [Emperor] he must feel you have quite a lot of power already. It seems he wishes to meet with you in Invrisil.”

“Oh? I’m not keen on travelling at the moment.”

If I leave my lands I can’t ‘see’ anything with my [Emperor] senses. Lady Rie shakes her head. Is she standing closer again?

“An [Emperor] should not travel to meet a [Lord] in any case, your majesty. Lord Tilwa is testing you with this letter. Leaving him without a reply for a day or two should unsettle him slightly.”

“Oh? I’m good at ignoring [Lords] and [Ladies]. I think I responded to two dozen letters with polite nothings.”

“Including mine, Lord Laken?”

“You sent me a gift, as I recall. Are you saying I should demand something from Lord Tilwa?”

“Perhaps. He might send you a gift instead, if he hasn’t already.”

“I don’t recall. I think I left the letters lying around. It might be good to see if Prost remembers.”

A rustle. Yep, she just stepped closer. What is her game?

“I have no doubt that Lord Tilwa wishes the same thing from you that all the nobility do.”

“Which is?”

“Influence. Power, derived from your name. At the moment your financial and military capacities are unknown and you control very little land for someone of your class. Thus, your power is mainly in lending support, verbal or otherwise. However, if you can establish Riverfarm as a powerful exporter of goods or military might—”

“Defending areas under my protection or selling siege weapons?”

“As I understand it, Lord Tyrion himself lacks siege weapons. Your empire could be quite powerful economically as well as militarily. Lord Tilwa understands that and is attempting to test the waters, but he can wait. There are more important individuals to address. Now, the next letter—”

I hear the rustle of paper and then a sharp gasp. I sense the letter fall from Rie’s hands and her quickly bending to snatch it up with trembling hands. I sit up.

“Lady Rie?”

“My apologies, Emperor Laken. But this next letter—it must have been mixed up and not placed at the top. City Runners normally organize such missives meticulously by rank—”

“Maybe one of the villagers mixed it up when they were giving it to you. Who is the letter from?”

“Lady Magnolia Reinhart.”

I pause. Magnolia Reinhart. My stomach doesn’t exactly sink with dread, but it does flutter a tiny bit.

“Isn’t she in Invrisil? Right where the Goblin Lord’s army is?”

“She is apparently still able to send letters. And this one—I will read it with your permission.”

Lady Rie opens the letter without waiting for me to say yes. I hear the crinkle of paper as she reads in silence, and then what sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Lady Rie?”

“The letter is—well, I shall skip the greetings. Magnolia Reinhart writes—To the [Emperor] Laken Godart of Riverfarm, I extend my warmest greetings. I had no idea such an august personage had arrived in Izril until this moment and must render you my deepest apologies for not contacting you sooner.

“That’s a lie.”

“It is. She goes on. I am so deeply apologetic in fact, that I feel the only thing I can do to express my sympathies in full is to host a small gathering of my fellow [Lords] and [Ladies] in your honor. Naturally, I would be remiss if I did not invite you, but I would hate for the pressing commitments of station or distance to dissuade you from attending. Thus, I have taken it upon myself to—that scheming bitch!”

“Lady Rie?”

“I—I am deeply sorry, your majesty. Please forgive me. Lady Magnolia writes—Thus, I have taken it upon myself to host this little gathering at your estates in Riverfarm.”

What?

No need to thank me. I will most likely be too busy to attend the gathering myself, but I believe about thirty of the local nobility will attend, as will a close friend of mine, Lady Bethal Walchaís. I have scheduled this event to take place a week from today. I trust this gathering will be most informative to all parties, and I hope that you will allow one of my most trusted servants, Sacra, to convey my personal regards.

Lady Rie paused.

“The name ‘Sacra’ is underlined heavily, Emperor Laken.”

“I understand what she means.”

I grit my teeth as I sit back on my throne. She’s sending Sacra? I mean, Odveig? Why? And a gathering? Here? For what reason? Lady Rie hesitates and I see her looking at my face.

“Ah—there’s a few more lines, Emperor Laken. I trust you will entertain this small soiree in your honor, Emperor Laken. I am mistrustful of [Emperors] and royalty in general, but I feel that we will all be more secure when we get to know each other, possibly over a few light snacks and conversation? Lady Bethal shall tender you my warmest regards. Sincerely…

Lady Rie folds up the letter without finishing. I sit back. The two of us wait in silence for a long time. At last, I speak.

“Lady Rie, how well do you know Lady Magnolia?”

“Not well, Emperor Laken. I have met her several times. The day before I travelled to your village, in fact.”

“Really? And what do you think of her?”

“As a person or as a [Lady], your majesty?”

“Either.”

“She’s dangerous, ruthless, and cunning, your majesty.”

“Do you think this is a trap?”

“Without a doubt. She might want to humiliate you by hosting the event here, gain more information about your empire, poison the other nobles against you, threaten you, or…”

“Or?”

“Kill you. It would not be unheard of in Izril.”

I sit for a long time on my throne. Lady Rie’s words send a chill down my spine. Goblins. Politics. I can’t decide which is deadlier. But I do know one thing. One or both is coming my way. The Goblin Lord or the hand of Magnolia Reinhart herself. And I’m not ready.

Not yet.

 


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5.10 E

“Ressa, how do you suppose an evil tyrant laughs?”

“I have no idea, milady.”

Magnolia frowned mildly as she sat on her pink couch, nibbling at a jam tart.

“It’s just that I’d like to be as authentic as possible. If I’m truly a—what did that girl call me? A ‘cold-hearted tyrannical bitch’, I might as well enjoy myself.”

“As opposed to how you loathe existence in general?”

Ressa stood behind Magnolia, hands calmly folded, watching her mistress snack. Magnolia smiled.

“Yes, well, I imagine tyrants enjoy excess to the fullest. One would hope that a tyranny allows for such indulgences. But enough about the children from another world. If they’re alive, they can stay that way. They may return to one of my holdings—if they can conduct themselves properly around my servants, that is. Servants are not slaves, Ressa. They are not expected to fawn over adolescent children as if they were royalty. I would remind them of that.”

“I shall make a note. Putting aside children for now, Lady Reinhart—we have received a quick response from all the nobles you have selected for Emperor Godart’s gathering in a week’s time.”

“Ah, yes, that.”

Magnolia paused in eating her tarts and a sour expression crossed her face. She half-turned in her seat to the second [Maid] standing behind her.

“Sacra, tell me. Do you think Laken Godart will refuse the invitation outright, or play along?”

“I can only speculate, Lady Reinhart.”

Sacra, clothed and looking like a perfect [Maid], bowed her head. She was not wearing her adventurer’s guise or holding the mace she preferred to use in combat, but Magnolia was quite sure she could use a vase or something similar to cause quite a bit of damage. Magnolia Reinhart smiled at her. The right [Maid] for the right job was something her grandmother had always said. As Magnolia recalled, her grandmother used to employ Selphid [Assassins] and had at least one Minotaur [Butler].

“Speculate away, Sacra. You have met the man in person. What was your impression?”

Sacra was silent for a moment. Magnolia saw her eyes flicker as Sacra recalled her time undercover, posing as the Silver-rank adventurer known as Odveig. She had many identities. It was a shame that Odveig had been outed as a spy, but such was the cost of her work. At last Sacra nodded.

“Laken Godart. He is quite intelligent and cautious. He is aware of far more than his blindness would indicate and he is willing to listen to others’ opinions. If he has a flaw, it is his inexperience.”

“As would befit someone coming from another world. If that is his identity. Go on.”

“I believe he would entertain the gathering simply to avoid offending so many noble families. However…he might be swayed if one of his advisors objected strenuously.”

Magnolia nodded.

“And of those advisors he has…a former [Farmer], a [Witch], and Lady Rie Valerund.”

Ressa grimaced lightly.

“It would be Lady Rie who would object. She was quite opposed to your presence when you two met, Lady Magnolia.”

Magnolia raised her eyebrows.

“You saw that too, Ressa? She hid it well, but she quite hates me, doesn’t she? Hates and fears—an unfortunate combination. However, she seems to have flocked to Emperor Godart’s camp so I doubt she would sabotage him quite so easily.”

“It might be for the best. Her aiding him is a part of your plan, isn’t it?”

Ressa stared at her mistress. Magnolia nibbled another tart and nodded absently.

“It is. Lady Rie is at least adept enough to know that cancelling the gathering outright is a bad move. She will undoubtedly attempt to help Emperor Laken deal with the situation. And therein lies the test.”

“Test?”

In some ways Ressa knew Magnolia quite well, having grown up around her all her life. But where the two differed were their skillsets. Ressa was good at serving tea, managing a household full of servants, and cutting throats. Magnolia was, when you got down to it, a people person. She played political games like she ate tarts—often, and with quite a bit of expertise. She could see how events would play together where Ressa could not.

Magnolia smiled as she turned to look at her [Head Maid].

“Of course. It’s all a test. Lady Rie will help Laken to spite me—or to curry herself favor. It doesn’t matter. She will do her utmost to prepare carefully for my trap. She will be quite poisonous to our good [Emperor], I think.”

“How? Did you threaten her? Manipulate her with a Skill?”

“I didn’t have to. It’s simple, Ressa. Lady Rie will cause more harm than good just by being as helpful as possible. The key is whether or not Laken Godart notices this, and how he represents himself at the party. That is why Sacra is going, and Lady Bethal and Thomast as well.”

“To evaluate him if he fails.”

Magnolia nodded.

“Or if he does too well. There is more than one way to fail a test. With that said—Sacra.”

“Yes, milady?”

Sacra stepped forwards as Magnolia gently pried a ring off her middle finger. She handed it to Sacra and Ressa eyed the ring with serious misgivings. Sacra, noticing, accepted the ring very gingerly.

“I’m giving you this ring in case all else fails. Twist it and aim, Sacra. It’s not hard—just aim at a target and ah, don’t stand too close.”

“Magnolia, that ring could destroy—”

“Ah! It’s just in case.”

Magnolia raised a finger as Sacra held the ring away from herself and looked at Ressa. The older [Maid] made a note to tell Sacra exactly what it did. She prayed no one would recognize it—Magnolia’s wearing it was an open display of power and a threat. Sacra wearing it would be a declaration of war.

Bringing a ring like that into another noble’s home was tantamount to bringing an elite [Assassin] in with you—worse, since all you had to do was point the ring and wait for it to destroy half the building you were standing in.

“Just in case. Worst comes to worse and all that. Either Laken Godart proves himself, or…”

Magnolia left it at that. Ressa nodded to Sacra and the other [Maid] edged out the door. Magnolia sighed as she hunted for another cherry tart on the tray filled with snacks. She mumbled to herself as she did, a sign of stress. She’d lost weight over the last few days with the Goblin Lord’s army on the march, despite her stress snacking.

“The Goblin Lord is headed straight for the Great Chieftain of the Goblins. If he joins his forces with this—this Tremborag, his army might grow strong enough to destroy major cities. You know this, Tyrion. Why are you hesitating to attack? This isn’t like you. What is your plan?”

“He might be building his army further, waiting for the opportune moment—”

Tyrion? Nonsense! He has an army. Why grow it unless he intends to completely crush the Goblin Lord’s army without a hint of a struggle? He could already win. And this [Emperor]—”

Magnolia broke off, sighed, and shook her head. She looked up at Ressa.

“I’m tired of dancing to other people’s tunes, Ressa. Truly tired of it. Laken Godart has one chance to prove he’s worthy of his class. If not I’ll destroy him and his empire where it stands.”

“Is that wise?”

Magnolia paused, a cherry tart halfway towards her mouth.

“I’d like to think so, Ressa. But we’ll just wait and see, won’t we? How long did I give him?”

“A week.”

 

Day 89

 

“Is it time yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we’re early. We—”

 

“Emperor Godart?”

I wake up with a start. For a second, the voices keep going in my head, but they grow distant and I can’t recall what was spoken as I open my eyes and look around. That dream. I know it was important, but I still can’t recall what was said. And now I’m not going to. I sit up a bit and realize I was slumped over in my throne, dozing.

“I’m sorry, Wiskeria. What were you saying?”

Wiskeria smiles ruefully and adjusts her pointed hat. It’s late. I rub at my head and sit up straighter, although I’m not in the public eye for the moment. The ‘throne room’ I’m sitting in is empty save for Wiskeria, Prost, and Lady Rie. We’ve been discussing Magnolia Reinhart’s sudden invitation—well, demands, really—all day. For a little bit I’d hoped this was just a threat or trick of some kind. But apparently, Magnolia Reinhart means everything she says. This gathering is going to happen, whether I like it or not.

“How many letters have we received today, Lady Rie? Seventeen?”

“Twenty three. That would account for almost all the nobles attending—there are a few families—and I believe the rest will arrive tomorrow via City Runner at the latest.”

Lady Rie’s voice is strained from talking into the night, but she sounds far more elegant and composed than I feel. I turn my head towards where I sense Prost standing.

“So that’s where we are. Mister Prost, we have a small army of the local nobility descending on Riverfarm in a week’s time. They will be expecting a banquet and perhaps lodgings for the night. It’s a social gathering, which means they’re coming here to appraise me and my empire. All of this is taking place at Lady Magnolia’s request. Lady Rie believes it’s a trap or a trick of some kind meant to embarrass me. Your thoughts?”

I hear Prost gulp. It’s an unfair question to ask him, really. He might be a [Steward] but he was a [Farmer] all his life. Still, he rises to the challenge with awkward pride in his rustic voice.

“Trap or not, it seems you have little choice, your majesty. I’m not expert as to the games that nobles play, but Lady Reinhart is a powerful woman. If she wants a gathering, well, why not entertain them nobles and show them as much hospitality as they like?”

“The problem isn’t the gathering. It’s what Magnolia Reinhart has planned. She might be trying to embarrass Emperor Laken, or force an incident at the banquet. It’s risky, and I have no idea what she wants out of this!”

Rie cuts in, her voice frustrated. She’s been explaining this all night, ever since we got the letters. I sense Wiskeria shift and look towards her.

“Wiskeria?”

“We don’t know what Magnolia Reinhart desires. But we’ve debated for hours about the same thing. We can either accept the invitation—not that we have a choice—or cancel the gathering.”

“Which will cause trouble.”

I don’t bother to turn my head as I sense Lady Rie nodding. Wiskeria nods as well.

“In that case, what choice is there? As Mister Prost says, we must entertain the nobles.”

“Not as easily said as done.”

Lady Rie sighs. I nod, but Wiskeria’s summed the matter up nicely. I clear my throat softly and all heads turn towards me.

“I agree, but we have no choice in the matter, Lady Rie. The nobles are coming in a week’s time and I for one don’t see the merits in debating why Magnolia Reinhart has done this any longer, or what she has planned. For now we must ready Riverfarm. Can it be done?”

I have no idea. But Lady Rie nods decisively as all heads turn towards her. I wish I could make out all the details of her face with my not-sight. But I can hear the determination in her voice.

“It can. It will be difficult, but I am a [Lady] of the realm and I have hosted a few small gatherings at my estate and attended larger ones. I will begin advising your majesty on preparations for the gathering at once. I realize it will be an imposition, but there is much work to be done.”

“Ah, of course. Food to be prepared, entertainment, and so on. Not to mention—houses for the nobles? I suppose we could move people out or try and build a few in the week we have left.”

I grimace as I think of all that we’ll have to do. Not for the first time I find myself grateful that Lady Rie’s helping. I sense the woman shift and after a pause she speaks.

“Yes, your majesty. But not just that. I fear that Mister Prost will have to devote all of his workers to building a reception hall at the very least. This ah, throne room is all very well for audiences with other towns and cities, but we will need a building four times as large to hold a proper banquet.”

I hear Prost draw in a breath sharply and I sit up on my throne. Wiskeria mutters what sounds like a curse word. I turn my head towards Lady Rie.

“Are you serious?”

 

Day 90

 

“I think we’re early. We shouldn’t be here!”

 

She was serious. As soon as I rise with odd voices bouncing around my head, it’s all business. I find Lady Rie already coordinating people in the center of Riverfarm by the time Durene, Gamel and I reach the village square.

“We’ll need to clear a wide space for the banquet hall. It should be built out of the highest-quality lumber available. And furnishings—I will put in an order to Invrisil as I doubt any of the local cities will have the quality required for such an order.”

Lady Rie is talking to Prost, and from the way his shoulders are tensed I can already see that there’s a lot to do and not enough time to do it in. Both turn and bow as I approach.

“Emperor Laken.”

“Your majesty.”

“Do you truly believe we can build a banquet hall in seven days, Lady Rie? Let alone furnish it?”

I sense her pursing her lips.

“It’s not a question of ‘if’, but must, your majesty. Hosting a dinner outdoors would certainly be acceptable, but not if the implication is that it is due to lack of an appropriate facility to begin with. Not to mention, we must impress the nobles coming here. I am afraid an outdoor event with a village in view would not be…”

“Impressive?”

“To say the least.”

Lady Rie nods and I sense Durene shift by my side. I haven’t really asked Durene about Lady Rie—they haven’t talked that much as far as I know. Of course, Lady Rie is a [Lady] and Durene is often helping out around the village. Right now Lady Rie is too busy to speak with anyone but me and Prost hurries away to get her ambitious project underway.

“Speaking of decorations, Emperor Laken, I’m afraid we must consider a large investment in goods from Invrisil. Ordering so much so quickly will be costly, but I am told you have connections in the Merchant’s Guild that might be willing to offer you a discount?”

How does she know that? I nod, trying to keep up. It’s not an hour past dawn yet and my head feels stuffed!

“I do. But what will we be buying? Chairs? Cushions? Drapes? We have [Carpenters]—”

“—Who make chairs adequate for sitting, but not dining, your majesty. At the very least we should add cushions. The necessary goods will be everything from decorations to silverware, I fear. I did not bring more than a few sets of silverware from my mansion before it was destroyed, and there is nothing worse than a mismatched set so we shall have to order enough for all the guests—”

“Silverware?”

I turn my head blankly towards Lady Rie. I sense her nodding.

“Of course, your majesty. Have you—have you not attended a banquet before in your homeland?”

“I—”

I haven’t. Obviously not. And while I know that Durene knows the truth, I don’t feel like spreading the fact that I’m from another world. So I lie.

“I’m afraid that my memory of dining and so on is limited, Lady Rie. What I experience is ah, very little compared to others owing to my blindness.”

I gesture towards my face. Lady Rie starts.

“Oh! I most humbly beg your pardon, your majesty. I—I hadn’t considered.”

“No, no. Please don’t worry. But I lacked any sort of vision growing up, and my ah, ability to sense my surroundings did not manifest itself until this year, so…”

“I see. Please excuse me, your majesty. Well, I will gratefully fill in any—gaps in your understanding. You see, cutlery…”

Flustered, Lady Rie stumbles over her words and I breathe an internal sigh of relief. It’s not good to lie, but people do get uncomfortable when I bring up being blind for fear they might offend me. Good to know I can use that as an excuse for not being up to date with all the conventions of my rank.

However, as Lady Rie goes on I realize that there’s a lot I don’t know. Not just about the social dictates of hosting nobility, but everything from how many forks someone needs to eat a salad to how many waiting staff we’ll need to serve food—and how they should be dressed. I nod along desperately as Lady Rie goes on and on.

And now I find myself stuck. For the first time, I have no idea what to do. It’s like I’ve suddenly run up against a brick wall in my head. Because for all I’m an [Emperor], for all I have Skills and come from another world and want the best for Riverfarm and my people and so on, I’m lost. Because I have no idea how to host a party. Or a gathering. Or any kind of social event at all.

Let’s be clear: hosting soirees is not a skill most blind people acquire. Having a friend over? I can get snacks out, or make sure there’s a meal ready. I could host someone for a day or two. But this?

“Forks, Lady Rie? What’s wrong with the forks we have?”

“They are not what I would give a [Lord] to eat with, your majesty. We have a lack of good cutlery in general. I believe we’ll be able to get by with some well-honed knives for serving, but we simply must have appropriate utensils for our guests.”

“I understand it’s not elegant, but what’s the difference?”

Lady Rie pauses.

“…I believe it would be easier to show you in person, your majesty.”

She takes me to her home and brings out some of her silver cutlery while Durene gets some of the village’s utensils. I find myself holding a wooden fork, which is more of two long prongs, a metal fork more like the ones back home, and a delicate silver one engraved with detail.

“Damnit. I had no idea—I completely forgot about forks!”

It’s not like I have a habit of touching forks, after all! And while the difference in quality might be obvious to someone with eyes, it’s only the weight of the fork and the shaping of the metal that speaks to my fingertips. Lady Rie’s fork does feel far more expensive, but again, I can’t do anything but compare the metalwork of the forks with my fingers. I can’t see silver and appreciate how much better it is than pot metal!

Frustrated, I run my fingers along the fork, feeling the difference with my fingertips. And yet, when I compare the two in my mind with my [Emperor]’s senses, they’re almost indistinguishable. One works as well as the other, but it’s this kind of detail that I lack.

“It seems as though my lack of sight is a hindrance here, Lady Rie.”

“Only slightly, your majesty. But if you would advise me on your nation’s culture of dining and etiquette, I might adjust the banquet to suit your tastes.”

I pause and bite the inside of my lip. My culture? Back home I’d rather just microwave something than eat expensively. I choose my words carefully as I reply, handing the silver fork to Durene who takes it gingerly in her hands.

“The nation that was my home…honestly, Lady Rie, my nation was so different from this one that you would find it very alien. It is impossible to compare the things to which I was accustomed to here—especially because I was blind. Riverfarm meets all of my needs quite well, and I am content with that. However, if you think more needs to be done, I am willing to listen, although my input will be shallow.”

“I see. In that case, I would be delighted to go over my list of preparations with you.”

Lady Rie puts a soft hand on my arm. I sense Durene stirring and nod.

“Thank you. I hope we have the coin for all of this?”

“We may have to borrow, Emperor Laken. Or perhaps not. It depends on how many things can be done without. Tables for instance—I had a thought. If your [Carpenters] can design a long table and it can be engraved and polished in a week’s time, it might well serve in place of a purchased one.”

“No doubt. Can we do the same for chairs?”

“I will make inquiries at once.”

Lady Rie rises and leaves her cottage. I ball my fists up in frustration. Lady Magnolia Reinhart. If there was ever a good way to frustrate me, planning an elegant banquet I can’t see would be a good start.

“Laken.”

I turn as Durene gently puts the fork on the table. My half-Troll lover looks at me. I try to put a smile on my face.

“Durene? I’m sorry. I know you probably want to help out around the village. I’ll coordinate things with Lady Rie.”

“Well…I could stay with you today.”

“Huh?”

“Just for today. You know. While you’re with her.

There’s a possessive note in Durene’s voice that reminds me of when she met Ryoka. I pause.

“Durene, Lady Rie is—a subject.”

“And a [Lady]. Laken, she’s flirting with you!”

“Is she?”

I did wonder. It’s hard to tell. Someone touching me on the arm isn’t unusual, but Lady Rie did act unusual around me. But then, I’m not used to flirting in general. Back on Earth, the people I knew weren’t exactly adept enough to flirt. It was more straightforward. But Durene clearly thinks Rie’s flirting and isn’t exactly keen to let me stay with her.

“Durene, I’ll be fine. I’ll talk with Lady Rie, but it doesn’t matter.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m with you, remember?”

Durene pauses.

“Oh.”

“Silly.”

I hold her hand. Embarrassed, Durene squeezes my hand gently and flees. I stand up as Lady Rie comes back with a group of [Carpenters] only too willing to make however many tables I need. They just need, oh, instructions on what the tables should look like, how long they should be, how tall, what kind of wood they need to use, and so on. I sigh and get to work with Lady Rie. She doesn’t flirt. But she does touch my arm twice more throughout the day.

 

Day 92

 

“We’ll get in trouble!”

“Let’s go, hurry!”

 

Who’s in trouble? Why are they hurrying? Away? I open my eyes, annoyed that I can’t understand. I get out of bed with Durene, walk down into the village to see what’s happening, and immediately sense a problem.

Over the last day, the giant banquet hall that Lady Rie envisioned has been going up. Quite quickly too—they laid the foundations in one day and began dragging freshly-cut parts over to create a scaffold. That was how it was when I went to sleep, and there was a night team working on it. Only, during the night the scaffolding for the building has collapsed and I can already here shouting going on around Prost. He hurries over to me the instant he sees me.

“There’s trouble, your majesty.”

“What kind?”

“An accident at the site. Two of the night workers—a [Builder] and [Carpenter], were working on adding a section and it collapsed. Neither one was hurt, but they both claim it was the other’s fault.”

I rub at my hair, groaning internally.

“What happened?”

“One says it was an unsteady section that wasn’t checked properly. The other says that everything tore loose because the first fellow wasn’t paying attention. They both blame each other and got into it.”

“Can you tell who’s right?”

I hear Prost’s grimace.

“No, your majesty. I’ve told both of the men to take a break and let tempers cool. They’re both good workers and they’re both furious over the delay—it’s not so much the time lost as the fact that it could have been avoided. I’ll get everyone back to work, unless you’d like to judge the situation yourself?”

And do what? I have no idea who’s right and I’m no building expert. I had no idea what the difference between screws and nails were until I was fifteen, because my parents were too afraid that I’d hurt myself touching them! I shake my head.

“I trust your judgment, Mister Prost.”

He nods and hurries off. I sigh. I’ve been doing a lot of trusting of judgment recently. I don’t have a choice, but it means that I can’t do my one job—namely, deciding things as [Emperor].

Case in point. Later that day I find Prost and Lady Rie coming up to me with another problem, this one directly related to the nobles attending the gathering.

“A lot of the families are worried about having their daughters serve at the banquet, your majesty. They’re afraid that they might be asked to bed the [Lords] attending or be carried off.”

“What?”

I turn to Lady Rie. Her tone is acerbic.

“And I told Mister Prost and the other families that was nonsense, your majesty. They need not fear for their daughter’s chastity—”

“Chastity’s the least of it! What’s to stop one of the young lordlings attending the ball from carrying a young girl off—or a [Lady] doing the same to a young lad and having him murdered to hide the evidence?”

“Mister Prost! Those are rumors—”

“I know a village not two miles from here that had that happen to the [Headman]’s son—”

The two begin arguing and I have to raise my voice to get them to quiet down and explain what they’re arguing about. When they come out and say it at last I get a bad feeling in my stomach.

[Lords] carrying off village girls who catch their eyes. [Ladies] finding young men to have an affair with and killing them to hide the evidence. Apparently it’s happened in the past. I recall something similar from my world. Droit du seigneur in French, or the medieval ‘right to a first night’ practiced among the nobility. Apparently that law doesn’t exist in Izril, and Lady Rie is insistent that nothing else happens either.

“Your majesty, I understand Mister Prost’s worries, but they are groundless. Such events never happen—and if they did, it was one or two truly depraved individuals from decades past—and it would not occur on your lands, not when these nobles are coming to visit you! They wouldn’t dare offend you!”

“No? And what about if they used their privilege and station to force a girl into saying yes?”

Prost folds his arm as he glares at Lady Rie. For the first time he and she seem to be at odds, and Lady Rie seems exasperated by the argument.

“Any girl may refuse, of course—those rights are sacred, and these nobles live next to Lady Magnolia Reinhart herself! She does not stand for any coercion of the young or unwilling. That is one of the few things she does well. The Reinharts have always maintained order among the aristocracy and meted out justice.”

“Too little too late. That won’t save a broken-hearted girl and her love.”

“She can say no—

“To a [Lord]? Without bringing down wrath on her family?”

I have to hold up my hands to stem the argument again. When Prost and Rie are quiet, I look at Lady Rie.

“Lady Rie, can you assure me that the things Mister Prost is describing would never take place?”

She hesitates as Prost folds his arms.

“Well—I cannot pretend that some instances of this behavior never occurred, but at this gathering I am sure any young woman would be safe—”

“Hah!”

“Mister Prost. How often is it that this sort of thing occurs? Are there truly that many instances of it, or are all these rumors just that—rumors of someone in a village being carried off by a noble?”

“Well, sire…I never did hear the village’s name.”

“You see?”

Rie sounds exasperated. Prost flares up again.

“Just because it never happened in recent years, doesn’t mean it won’t at this gathering! There are young men among the nobles attending, and the families here are worried, your majesty. And with good cause!”

“I understand.”

What a mess. And again, I don’t know what the best solution is. I turn to Lady Rie.

“Could we address the issue? Tell the nobles attending that the serving staff are off-limits for…everything?”

Rie inhales sharply.

“Simply mentioning that would cause great offense, your majesty! I can assure you it will not occur, and I would stake my reputation on that fact.”

“But the people are worried. There’ll be more than one family that hides their daughters on the day, and I’ll stake my class on that fact too.”

Prost turns to glare at Lady Rie and I try not to clutch at my head. What am I supposed to do? Both are looking towards me.

“Emperor Laken, your decision?”

“Your majesty? What should I tell the families?”

I don’t know. I bite my tongue on the words again. In the end I tell Prost that the serving women won’t be touched and Lady Rie agrees to have older people wait the tables. It’s not a good compromise and I worry that more than one family might try and hide their sons or daughters on the day. If only that was the least of my worries.

As night falls I sense a fight breaking out between a group of men. I send Durene to break it up and sit up anxiously in the cottage, sensing Prost hurrying to the scene, Durene holding one man by the leg and gently slapping another man off his feet.

Trouble.

 

Day 93

 

“Wait!”

“Shh! We’re not supposed to be heard!”

 

Wait? Why wait? Why aren’t they supposed to be heard? Today I get up with a full migraine. It gets worse as I go about my day.

“The fight last night, Emperor Laken? It was between the two men who quarreled over the collapsed scaffolding yesterday. Never mind that we repaired the damage yesterday.”

Prost comes up to me with a sour tone in his voice. I shake my head.

“That was more than two men brawling, Prost. There were at least eight of them and more joining in before Durene got there.”

“Ah. Those would be the friends and other workers. They’ve started taking sides. You see, one fellow, Mister Horst, is a [Carpenter] from Windrest, and the other’s a [Builder]. Mister Wellim comes from Tunslaven. Since they’re quarrelling, folks have begun taking sides—”

“And now it’s a feud. I understand. Wonderful. Mister Prost, what do you suggest I do?”

I rub at my head as the man thinks, chewing at his lip.

“I’ll separate the building teams today—put Horst and his lot to building the tables and chairs with your permission. That’ll keep arguments to a minimum, but I’d better have some lads making sure there’s no fighting after work’s over. Or Durene. No one’s likely to throw a punch with her watching.”

“Good. Do that. I have to talk to Lady Rie about…everything.”

Prost hurries away and I find Lady Rie speaking with Durene of all people. They’re arguing too. I draw closer, listening. For once the two women are so heated that they don’t notice my presence. Durene’s voice is loud as she snaps at Lady Rie.

“I don’t see why I need to stand during the banquet! Why can’t I eat when everyone else is eating?”

Her voice echoes off the houses nearby and I sense heads turning. Lady Rie’s voice is much quieter, but waspish as she replies.

“You are neither nobility nor formally engaged to Emperor Laken. It would be an indiscretion of the highest order to seat you at the head table, and nowhere less would do! You have no manners—”

“I have plenty, thank you very much!”

I sense Rie rolling her eyes.

“—No manners suitable for formal dining and you are supposed to be a [Paladin], a defender of his majesty, aren’t you? You should stand in attendance! You wouldn’t want to embarrass Emperor Laken, wouldn’t you?”

I open my mouth and hesitate. Durene would never embarrass me, but I can imagine her struggling if she were sitting with me and chatting with other nobles. And yet—she is Durene. But Lady Rie knows this social world best and so I hesitate. Durene herself deflates at Rie’s word. She gulps.

“No. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him. But—”

“Good. Then it’s settled. We’ll see if Master Helm can put you in armor. Otherwise…we might find a [Tailor] able to sew quickly. But armor would be more impressive, I think. A [Paladin] would be quite impressive to our guests.”

Lady Rie claps her hands and turns brusquely away from Durene. She and Durene both jump when they see me standing behind them. I cough.

“You’re sure that would be the best fit, Lady Rie?”

“Emperor Laken! I do believe so. I am not familiar with the [Paladin] class, but it is impressive—as is Miss Durene herself. Having her stand at attendance at your side while a list of her achievements is read out would be most impressive. Don’t you agree?”

“Hm. Durene?”

I turn my head towards her. Durene smiles—she knows I can sense when she does it—and only hesitates for a second.

“I—yeah. I could stand next to you, right Laken? I’d be imposing and impress all those nobles. That’s the best way to do it, right?”

I pause. And perhaps it’s just as well that another argument breaks out—this time between a whole group of angry workers clustered around the banquet hall. Rie sighs distractedly.

“We’re far behind on the building without this sort of distraction! Emperor Laken, by your permission I’ll sort it out.”

She converged on the arguing workers at the same time Prost and Wiskeria do. I see Wiskeria break up the prelude to a fight with a burst of magic. Durene turns.

“I should go over too. Just in case. I’ll uh, see if I can get Mister Helm to make me some armor. You said I should have some anyways, right Laken?”

She hurries away. I stare at her back. The words in my mouth die unspoken. But I’d like Durene to sit with me. She belongs there. But what if it causes trouble? What’s the protocol? If I let her sit with me, what happens?

I don’t know. Wiskeria breaks up the fight and cools down everyone—literally, by shooting sprays of water everywhere. She’s declined to weigh in on all the preparations, claiming ignorance as a [Witch]. I wish I could do the same. I don’t know what to do. And the words keep repeating themselves as I go to sleep, dreading the half-formed dreams, hating my indecision, my inability to figure this out!

I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know—

I can feel my teeth grinding together as I toss and turn that night. I don’t know! And I’m afraid to tell Lady Rie she’s wrong, but something’s wrong! I can feel it.

It’s not right! This gathering is—flawed, somehow! It’s going to go wrong.

Damn Magnolia Reinhart. What did she do?

 

Day 94

 

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring—”

“And—”

 

Blank words in my head. Missing pieces of a puzzle. I get up blearily, eat, walk into Riverfarm with Durene, and listen to the day’s issues. Everything’s behind. Lady Rie frets while Prost talks the situation over. Wiskeria listens quietly.

“The arguments over the building are costing us precious hours, Mister Prost!”

“I know. But I can’t help that! We’re already rushing as it is—we’ll try to get a roof up the day after tomorrow, but every mistake sets us back—”

“We can hardly afford to wait until the day after tomorrow! The decorations are arriving and we must set to work making the inside presentable quickly!”

“We can sand and polish everything quick once it’s up. The tables and chairs look good at least—”

“Those are the least of my concerns. If another brawl breaks out, simply arrest everyone involved.”

“All forty of them?”

“If necessary! This petty feud between the two craftsmen must be resolved, Mister Prost.”

Prost shakes his head.

“Perhaps Emperor Laken could speak to the two men. They’ve been clamoring for a ruling, and both sides want to hear his opinion—”

“On what?”

I raise my voice. Both Rie and Prost fall silent. I look up, my head aching. I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice but I can’t. Not today.

“I’ve listened to the arguments, Mister Prost. Neither man can prove the other caused the problem and it’s far beyond that now. Both sides want me to punish someone, which I can’t do without proof.

“And truth spells don’t work if both sides think they’re right. Or if they don’t know to begin with who’s wrong. Not that anyone can cast [Detect Lies] here anyways.”

Wiskeria looks up as she fiddles with a pouch full of ingredients. She’s been riding patrols with Beniar, escorting City Runners arriving here with bags of holding full of purchased goods. She meets Prost and Rie’s annoyed looks calmly. Then she turns towards me.

“Emperor Laken, I’ll watch the building today and stop arguments from breaking out. That will let Mister Prost handle the rest of the village.”

“That might work. We’re baking and preparing as much food as we can, but it’s not enough, according to Lady Rie.”

Lady Rie sighs.

“Hardly. There’s a [Chef] I’ve been speaking to who could prepare all of the finer dishes we need to present, but he lives thirty miles north of here and is reluctant to make the commute. And I don’t wish to empty the treasury to purchase her services. But we must have a suitable meal ready. And then there’s the issue of gifts…”

I raise my head.

“Gifts? Don’t tell me we have to give our guests—”

“Oh no! That’s not the custom at all. Quite the reverse!”

“What, then?”

Rie smiles slightly, the first smile I’ve sensed all day.

“It’s a custom for visitors to offer a present to those hosting such gatherings. Especially those of high-rank. I imagine an [Emperor] would merit quite a large present, but no one knows what might suit you, Emperor Laken. You recall the gift I gave to you? Well, we’ve received a few tokens like that, but there have been a number of discreet inquiries as to what you might enjoy.”

“What I might enjoy? I get to ask for my gifts?”

The notion sounds ridiculous to me, but Rie nods seriously.

“Indeed. I was rather hoping for this, actually. In fact, this is how Magnolia Reinhart can claim she’s doing you a favor. If we approach the nobles the right way, we might come away with more than we spent to host the gathering.”

“I don’t follow. You mean…ask them for money?”

“A…monetary contribution. Or something similar. Minor artifacts, perhaps much-needed supplies…it all comes down to the phrasing and way the invitations are couched. I would like to speak with you regarding some of the ideas I had in that regard later. If you are willing?”

It’s wrong. My head throbs.

“Of course.”

I lie to Rie and sense her smiling. Prost stands up wearily.

“I’ll get back to work. There’s a few of our [Mages] and [Hedge Mages] willing to try and put on a show—that is, the first stage of entertainments. I’ll see to them.”

“And I will see to the attire.”

Lady Rie sweeps off. I sit on my throne, massaging my head. I sense Wiskeria getting up.

“Your majesty? Everything well?”

“Not really, Wiskeria. I’m not sure how well this party—gathering—whatever, will go.”

She nods.

“Lady Rie’s doing her best. But this was forced on her early.”

“It was. By that damn—do you think we’ll make it?”

“I’m not sure. But I worry that making it or not making it isn’t the problem, your majesty?”

“Then what?”

Wiskeria tilts her head, her voice thoughtful.

“I don’t know. But I don’t think how we impress the nobility is the point. Otherwise, wouldn’t Magnolia Reinhart have made the gathering a few days away and not given us enough time? No, I think it’s something else she’s after. I just don’t know what.”

I turn my head towards her. She’s right. There is something else. But what? What? After a while, Wiskeria gets up. And I, lost and confused, go after Lady Rie. I find her with Durene, consulting with Master Helm.

 

—-

 

“This armor’s too tight! And it’s not real armor, it’s far too thin!”

Durene complains as she models the new armor that Mister Helm, the [Blacksmith], has forged. It was a collaborative work given Durene’s size, and several other [Blacksmiths] are standing around her and consulting with Lady Rie. The noblewoman smiles and claps her hands together.

“Functional armor is not the point, Miss Durene. The armor looks quite good on you, although I see some parts that could be—ah, well, it will do. It only remains for us to forge you a suitable shield to go with your sword. And polish the sword, I think. Could it be plated, Mister Helm? With something akin to gold leaf? Silver? And I think…yes, I think we could add one more thing.”

She regards Durene thoughtfully as the half-Troll girl catches sight of me. She tries to wave, but the stiff armor doesn’t let her. Durene speaks distractedly.

“What else? I can barely move in this as it is.”

Rie’s voice is soft and thoughtful as she speaks out loud.

“A helmet, perhaps? Yes. That would be quite impressive. A helmet would be just the thing.”

“A helmet?”

Durene half-turns to look at Lady Rie. The [Blacksmiths] around her fall silent. My heart sinks when I realize where she’s going with this. Rie nods.

“Yes…with a visor? Can such a thing be done, Master Helm? It would be a grand spectacle, to see Miss Durene armored like a [Knight].”

She looks around brightly at the men and two women around her. Durene goes very quiet. I stand there, my heart suddenly beating very quiet. A helmet? A helmet with a visor. There’s only one reason why Rie wants that.

To cover her face. But no one says it. I sense Durene hesitate, her face grow angry—and then twist into uncertainty. She hesitates, and I see her look at me, and then at Lady Rie. She’s supposed to be quite beautiful. Lady Rie, that is. I’ve never heard Durene talk about what she looks like. She’s too afraid to tell me.

In the end, Durene’s voice is very quiet.

“I…guess so. I could wear a helmet.”

“Wonderful! There are quite a number of designs that might work. Mister Helm, I’ll sketch a few, shall I? You can tell me what would be easiest.”

“Ah. Yes, Lady Rie. We’ll do our best.”

Mister Helm’s voice is quiet as he turns towards Lady Rie. I sense him looking back at me. Durene’s staring at her feet. I take a step forwards and feel a hand on my arm. Lady Rie’s touch.

“Emperor Laken? What do you think? I imagine Durene in full armor would be quite a sight to see—ah, begging your pardon. Quite a spectacle, and certainly impressive, wouldn’t you agree?”

No. I open my mouth. Hesitate. I can tell that Mister Helm is looking at me. So is Lady Rie. She’s gripping my arm with her hand, trying to tell me not to object. She’s right. She knows how the other [Lords] and [Ladies] would react. I close my mouth.

To hide Durene behind a helmet. To not let her eat with me. To do things as they should be. Because a half-Troll doesn’t belong with Humans.

Things crystalize in that moment. I feel the same flash of heat I felt once before, listening to an angry [Farmer] shout the same thing. Not in the same way, not in the same words, but the same thing. And I think about a banquet, about entertaining nobles, about doing things just so.

And I realize what the trap is. I jerk my arm free of Lady Rie and open my mouth.

“No.”

The word cuts through the air, blissfully free. Lady Rie pauses. I sense Durene look up as every head turns to me. Rie’s voice is low as she speaks to me, too close to my ear.

“Emperor Laken, I don’t mean to gainsay your opinions, but I truly think—”

“I said, no, Lady Rie. No helmet. The armor can stay. But make it real armor. And Durene doesn’t need the armor for the banquet. She’ll be sitting with me at the head table. Give her a dress instead.”

Silence. My heart is pounding, my head feels clearer. Lady Rie draws in her breath sharply.

“Emperor Laken? I really don’t—”

Enough.

I snap the word and Rie’s mouth closes in an instant. I look around. Durene is staring at me. The [Blacksmiths] are staring at me. I stand taller. When did I start hunching my shoulders? I point.

“Mister Helm?”

He jumps.

“Yes? Your Majesty?”

“Thank you for Durene’s armor. It’s quite, well, I can tell it’s quite impressive. A showman’s piece, no doubt. But let’s aim for functional armor when it comes to that.”

“Of course, Emperor Laken. We’ll get right to work—”

I hold up my hand.

“Not necessary. There are more important things that we need for now. Nails, for one. Hinges—there’s a lot of metal that goes into houses. Let’s get our [Blacksmiths] back to work on those houses, shall we? Don’t worry about the banquet. Durene? Follow me. Someone get me Prost. And Wiskeria.”

I stride off and sense Durene shrugging out of her armor. Still muted, Rie follows. I can sense her eyes on my back and feel Prost and Wiskeria hurrying towards me.

“Mister Prost?”

“Yes, Emperor Laken? I heard you had the [Blacksmiths] working on construction materials for the houses. Should I—?”

“Get your workers back to building houses. We’ll keep a smaller team on the hall, but take it slower, Mister Prost. We won’t be using it for the gathering.”

I feel the electric shock go through the people around me. Durene exclaims.

“We won’t? But I thought—”

“Would we have gotten it ready in time? And would you trust the building not to collapse on us, Mister Prost?”

I nod at the half-finished building. Prost grimaces.

“It’d be close and that’s without furnishings, sire. But what did you have in mind if not that gathering hall?”

“Easy. Get the tables and chairs done. Then put them in a meadow. That one just past the new farmland sounds good. Clear us a wide space—we have plenty of folk who can do that and it won’t take us a day. We’ll serve our guests there.”

What?

This last bit is too much for Lady Rie and she manages to speak despite my order. She turns to me, aghast.

“Emperor Laken, it’s not proper. Your guests will be expecting the highest honors. They’re nobility, and if Magnolia Reinhart was hosting—”

“She’s not. I am. Be silent, Lady Rie. Thank you.”

I cut her off again. Lady Rie falls silent and I can sense her lips quivering as I turn my head. I can sense them there. Durene, Wiskeria, Prost, and Lady Rie. I sigh.

“I’ve made a mistake. Lady Magnolia Reinhart invited the nobility here, which forced my hand. But my error, the trick she forced me into was playing her game. I don’t think she expected me to put on a formal display for the nobles. Nor should I.”

“But that’s what they’re expecting.”

Durene sounds confused. I smile slightly.

“Yes, they are. That’s what’s traditional. But I’m an [Emperor], Durene. Why should I do things their way?”

“Um…I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

I nod, almost laughing as I sense Rie’s dumfounded look. I look at Prost.

“Don’t worry about [Chefs], Mister Prost. Tell our [Cooks] to make the kind of food they know everyone will enjoy. As much as they can get ready beforehand and we’ll do a lot of cooking the day of. Now, I want you to have our [Carpenters] make more tables as quick as they can and lay them out in the village square. We’ll feed our people at the same time as the nobility.”

“With chairs and so forth, your majesty? That would take a lot more work.”

“Do we need them? No—in fact, have only a few chairs brought to the gathering place. We’ll have people stand and eat. They can socialize while we put on a display. We’ll have the trebuchets do some test firing—maybe let the nobles try them themselves. As for the issue of young women and men serving—”

I can sense Lady Rie shutting her eyes tightly. I look at Prost.

“Have we parchment? Large sheets we can use as signs?”

“I could have some. Are you planning on making a declaration, sire?”

“Just something posted on the main roads. Have it read as follows: ‘I, Emperor Laken, declare that anyone taking advantage of another person upon my lands without consent will be summarily shot and executed, regardless of their rank or gender.’ Or something to that effect.”

Wiskeria draws in a sharp breath. I see Prost shoot a glance at Lady Rie. Funny, he seems uncertain.

“That’s a bold statement, sire.”

“I’d think it would be the least of what you’d expect from me. Have the posters put along the main roads—on those handy totem poles Jelov keeps carving, for instance.  Make sure all of my guests see them. Just in case. Oh, and Prost? Add some images.”

“What? Sire?”

I’m enjoying myself now. I gesture.

“Images. You know, illustrations! A bloody headsman’s axe and a few heads lying on the ground, or a body feathered with arrows for emphasis. Be creative. You can have some of the children decorate them if you like. Now. Wiskeria.”

“Emperor?”

She’s smiling at me, I can tell. Wiskeria tugs at her pointed hat as I point towards the meeting hall and my throne room.

“Those two men who keep starting fights. Find them and put them in my throne room to wait for me. Tell them that if they start a fight before I arrive…well, just warn them what might happen.”

“Yes, Emperor.”

“Now. Lady Rie.”

She’s practically vibrating. When I speak her name she waits a beat as if she didn’t want to cut in and shout at me this entire time.

“Emperor Laken?”

“I take it you object to most of what I’ve just said?”

“Why, what gave you that idea, sire?”

Her voice is sweet. Too sweet. I turn to face her.

“I don’t disagree with your choices, Lady Rie. By all means, decorate and find proper utensils to serve our guests. But if we serve them, it will be my way. Riverfarm’s way.”

“And if the nobility take offense?”

“Let them. This gathering wasn’t my idea. It was Magnolia Reinhart’s. If it doesn’t have the amenities they’re used to, they can take it up with her. Speaking of which, I’ve decided what they should give me.”

“Oh?”

Lady Rie pauses.

“What would that be, your majesty?”

“Food. They can bring food. Tell them I would like for them to bring as many delicacies as they can carry—not just for themselves, but for my people. They’ll be feeding all of us, so advise them that a pack horse or wagon might be in order.”

I grin at Lady Rie and wonder if her face has gone pale. Durene laughs out loud in delight.

“Emperor Laken, are you quite sure? That would hardly be what they expect—although I’m beginning to realize that is quite the point.”

“Indeed. I don’t want money. I don’t need their charity. That isn’t what an [Emperor] needs. Perhaps a [Lord] might ask for such gifts, but all I need is something to amuse my people. Yes, food—and entertainment. Do they have [Jugglers]? [Bards]? Are there such things as [Actors] in this world or…or [Players]? Tell them to bring those too. And—”

Memory flares. A bit of a dream. I stop.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“Yes—pudding. Tell them I’m fond of sweet foods. Have them bring as much of those as possible. And while we’re at it, Durene?”

“Yes, Laken?”

“Why don’t we take a break for a bit? Let’s go for a walk in the woods. I’ll be back in an hour, Lady Rie. Let me know if the sky’s fallen when I return.”

I take Durene’s arm and smiling, walk away. Lady Rie just stares at my back. I walk off with Durene and laugh for the first time all week. She’s smiling too.

“Wow. What happened to you, Laken?”

“I stopped worrying about what other people might say, Durene. Remember? That’s the point. Lady Rie had her heart in the right place, but she did what people wanted her to do. What Magnolia Reinhart wanted to her to do. I’m doing what I want to do. Which is walking with you.”

“Oh. Right! Hey Laken?”

“Yes?”

She gives me a quick kiss as a reply.

 

—-

 

It was a nice walk and we stretched it out to two hours. The two hours came from me sitting down to rest my aching feet while Durene offered to carry me. In the end we just sat and talked, which was wonderful. So wonderful that I forgot that the two men were waiting for me in the throne room. When I finally got back and walked in, they jumped. They hadn’t been sitting, but standing at opposite sides of the room. I felt slightly bad that I didn’t think to give them chairs, but only slightly.

“Mister Horst. Mister Wellim.”

I look at both of them. They open their mouths, uncertain, and I walk past them to sit on my throne. I sit, and the two men shuffle forwards. They wait for me to speak.

I don’t. The uncomfortable silence stretches out as the two men shift uneasily. Actually, I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. I just sit, sensing them grow more and more nervous with each passing second. At last, one of them musters the courage to open his mouth. Quick as a snake, I raise a finger and he freezes.

I wait until he closes his mouth and keep sitting there. The two men stand in place, sweating. I can practically hear their hearts pounding. And I just sit. When I finally open my mouth, I think both of them nearly have heart attacks.

“Gentlemen. Why are you here?”

They stir. And look at each other. I sit there, a young man on a throne. Blind, probably half the age of either of the men in front of me. But it’s they who can’t meet my eyes figuratively or literally. I am blind. And young. But I am an [Emperor].

“Emperor Laken, about our uh—our—our quarrel.”

One of the men, Mister Horst, begins hoarsely. Again I cut him off.

“Quarrel, is it? A quarrel is two men fighting. It gets broken up and both men need a day to heal their bruises. The worst is a broken bone. This is a feud, gentlemen.”

Silence. I look from man to man, opening my eyes briefly for effect.

“Both of you claim the other made a mistake which caused the scaffolding to break. What was it, three days ago? Now there are brawls of thirty people or more. What, exactly, is the point?

They don’t have an answer. I go on, speaking calmly, shifting my attention to the man on the left.

“Mister Wellim, I know of you as a [Builder] who made or repaired half the homes in your village. You’re a community figure and a father of three.”

He starts. Yes, I asked Prost about all that before walking in here. But it still works. I shift my attention to the man on the right.

“And you, Mister Horst, are a [Carpenter] respected by everyone I’ve talked to. You’ve been running your own business for twenty years.”

He hangs his head at this detail, a representation of his hard work over the years. I turn my head to each man.

“Why are we here? If you, Mister Wellim, were dealing with a fight between two of your apprentices, how would you handle it? By smacking a few heads together? Separating the two? What if they kept fighting? What about you, Mister Horst? Would doing any of that do any good? Why are two of your best workers fighting, anyways? What is the point?

I slap the armrest of my throne. Both men jump. After a moment I sigh.

“No one can rule who caused the problem. Both of you were there, and both of you claim the opposite thing happened. You come to me as if expecting me to know the truth. Well, I wasn’t there and I’m no god. But again, I have to ask, why do I need to be here? Correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t we be building houses right now?”

Neither man speaks, but I get the slightest nod from Horst. I go on.

“Construction is dangerous. Or so I’ve heard. If there’s an issue of one person not paying attention, that’s a problem. If it happens again and there are witnesses, there may be need for punishment—or maybe not. Accidents happen. But this feud has already seen violence. If someone dies from all this hatred and anger, who will be to blame? You, Mister Horst? Or you, Mister Wellim? If someone dies, I rather think it would be my fault.”

They both look up sharply. I nod.

“I am an [Emperor]. This is my domain. Shouldn’t the blame fall to me? If things get worse—only they won’t get worse. Because we will sort this out. One of you made a mistake, or neither of you did. Either way, it’s a matter between you two, not two villages. We are working together here, all of us. We are all part of this—this nation. And I expect you to remember it.”

A beat. For a second I open my eyes again and hold their gazes. Then I close my eyes. It’s hard not to blink. I should probably exercise my eyelids, but what’s the point?

“You’re not children. If you want to hold a grudge, hold it. If you know you’re right, watch the other man until he makes a mistake again and point it out for all to see. But the feuding ends now, as does the gossiping and sabotaging each other. You don’t have to like one another. In fact, if you want to start a fight, now would be a good time. I’ll turn my head if you don’t want me to watch.”

I smile at that and turn my head sideways. I can sense the two men looking at each other. Then one of them clears his throat.

 

—-

 

Fifteen minutes later I walk out of the throne room as Horst and Wellim walk out. They’re not holding hands, but they’re talking to each other like people, even managing to smile. I find Prost waiting for me.

“I think we’ve come to an understanding, Mister Prost.”

“Good, Emperor Laken. Whose fault was it?”

“Rot in the timber, perhaps. A bad nail. Bad lighting. I think we’ll stop building at night. It’s efficient, but both Mister Horst and Wellim agree that night work leads to mistakes.”

“Very good, your majesty.”

Prost eyes the two men walking off. He looks at me and I sense a knowingness in his gaze.

“Did they brawl?”

“Not as such. They might throw a punch at each other while working, but I expect that will only be if one drops a piece of timber on the other man’s toe. They’re not friends, but they’re quite reasonable people when they get down to it.”

My [Steward] nods and I nod too.

“Only, you knew that, didn’t you Mister Prost? All of the times you broke the fights up and told them to work it out—or hinted to me that I should intervene—was to get me to do what I just did, wasn’t it?”

“Why would you say that, Emperor Laken?”

Prost bashfully looks the other way. I smile.

“A [Farmer] probably learns more than one or two tricks over the course of his life. A father likewise. Tell me, why didn’t you deal with it yourself?”

“I couldn’t do it, your majesty. Both men, well, they’re proud men and not keen to listen to a new [Steward]. An [Emperor] on the other hand…”

“Young as I am?”

“You saved their villages and drove the Goblins off. I don’t think either of them thought of your age while you were sitting on that throne, sire.”

I shake my head.

“All I did was ask them to settle things like adults, Mister Prost. It could have backfired or not worked at all. I didn’t know if what I was doing was the right thing. I just guessed.”

“But it did work, your majesty?”

I nod. Prost smiles.

“Then it was the right thing to do.”

“Yes, but what if it’s the wrong thing next time?”

He just shrugs at me. Prost speculatively looks across the village as the sun begins to set in the sky.

“Maybe it wouldn’t work any other day, and maybe it won’t work again. But it did work this time and that means what you did was the right thing, even if you didn’t know it was the right thing you were doing. And most of all, because it was you, Emperor Laken who did it, it was the right thing to do. Because [Emperors] don’t make mistakes.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re [Emperors], sir.”

“What if I made a mistake?”

“Then I’d suppose you weren’t acting much like an [Emperor] in that moment, sire. Or maybe it wasn’t your fault because things went wrong for no reason. Maybe it couldn’t be helped and it would’ve happened that way anyways. But [Emperors] don’t make mistakes because they know what they’re doing. Otherwise, why would they be [Emperors]?”

I frown as I mull over his convoluted statement.

“That’s circular logic, Mister Prost.”

He pauses, and then shrugs again.

“It may be circular, but I rather like it, sire. And it works. ”

I laugh.

“Good enough. Now, how’s Lady Rie doing?”

“Chomping at the bit, begging your pardon, sire. But she’s doing a good job, and now that there’s no need to worry about food—or a building—she’s got us figuring out seating arrangements and the like.”

“Much more manageable?”

“Much.”

We walk together, and for the first time I realize that Prost might not be in awe of Lady Rie as much as I was.

“I feel rather foolish, Mister Prost.”

“Do you, your majesty? I think you did a good job today. It was a hard decision.”

“But one I should have made, not anyone else. We wasted a lot of coin and time dancing to Lady Magnolia’s tune.”

“I expect the drapes and other things will make the great hall that much better anyways. And silverware’s good for entertaining folk, sire. It’s an investment for the future.”

“Were you always so optimistic, Prost?”

“No, your majesty. Not as smart, either. But I’ve changed a lot over the last few weeks. Done a lot of thinking ever since a young man pulled my son out of the snow.”

“Huh. Well, I hope I won’t make this mistake again. Mister Prost?”

“Emperor?”

“Let’s get to it.”

He smiles.

“Yes, sire.”

We walk back to work. Work being whatever I care to focus on. Lady Rie has her ideas, and I’m inclined to follow them. When I don’t have anything better in mind.

It’s a silly lesson I learned today. Relearned, rather. I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like that all the time. But I do know something more important: no one else knows what they’re doing, either. And so I’ve got to make the decisions, even if I’m wrong. Even if they’re the wrong ones.

Because I’m an [Emperor].

Hm. I feel like I finally understand. All the little pieces are coming together. If I add all the fragments up, that nonsense dream I’ve been having, then—I have an idea. Or rather, I had an idea. I’m just a few days ahead of myself.

 

Day 95

 

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring lots of sweets!”

“And pudding!”

 

Aha! I wake up with a smile. So that’s what it was all about! I stretch, walk out of my cottage after spending a leisurely breakfast with Durene and find Prost in good spirits.

“Emperor, we’ve got two more houses built and I reckon we can get another field sown today if we push it.”

“Excellent, Mister Prost! Any trouble from Mister Horst and Mister Wellim?”

“Not that I know of, sire. They’ve been working well. Not on the same team, but they go to each other’s sites and shout insults at each other. In a good way.”

“As opposed to a bad way?”

“It’s more like competition than it is anger, your majesty.”

“I’ll take that, then. Lady Rie?”

She bows her head, slightly…sullenly? She’s still not happy about my changes, but she’s working within my design and she’s stopped touching my arm.

“We have the clearing set up. I’ve taken the liberty of setting a few braziers up. I think [Light] spells would be more appropriate given the warmer weather, though.”

I nod.

“Good, we might actually do this. Now, I know we’re expecting the nobles to bring food, but have a few of our [Cooks] see me within the hour. I want some of Riverfarm and the local dishes on display and a lot of sweet foods.”

I turn to Prost as Wiskeria rides into the village, her [Hunters] carrying a dead buck between them. I wonder if a [Witch] has any party tricks? What am I saying? I wonder if she’ll agree to perform a few. I’d rather like to see her turn someone into a frog.

“I’ll also need some dry corn for an experiment, Mister Prost—we’ll make popcorn and a few other dishes from home. How good are your sausages, by any chance? Do we have any fresh pork sausages or could we make some?”

“Sausages, sire? Let me find you a selection…”

Back to work. Only this time it feels right. Uncertain, but right.

 

Day 96

 

“And pudding! Sweets and pudding, okay? Remember!”

“Quick, let’s go! Before—”

 

Yes, yes. I rise, and feel a hum of anticipation in the village. Lady Rie’s pacing nervously before I have a chance to meet with her.

“I’m just not sure we have enough entertainment, Emperor Laken, I don’t know how long you expect us to be occupied with trebuchets, but at some point we will be out of diversions!”

I smile at her, noticing for the first time how stressed she sounds. I wonder how much strain she’s been feeling? I feel great, incidentally.

“We’ll make do, Lady Rie. Mingling and conversation will suffice if we have nothing else at the time.”

“Conversation? If you say so, your majesty. And will you tell me at last what the other seats are for? You aren’t intending to seat more of the villagers with the nobility, are you? Your Mossbear, perhaps?”

Apparently Lady Rie also gets sarcastic when she’s peeved. I like that—it’s more honest of her.

“Trust, Lady Rie. We may have some unexpected guests. Or not. Now, let’s go over my actual conversation topics one more time. Tell me about trade goods coming from the south. You say it’s rare for Drakes to sell their goods past Liscor? What items are in high demand around here and what role did Riverfarm and the local villages fulfill up till this point?”

She sighs, but proceeds to lecture me at length. I wish I could take notes, but my stupid phone is completely dead. I hope I can get it fixed soon. Didn’t Ryoka say that a [Repair] spell charges it up? How come no one in my entire empire can cast the spell?

I wonder how you recruit mages? Reel them in with promises of free room and board? Spellbook on a fishing line? Maybe Wiskeria knows some people. Heck, maybe she’s part of a coven.

One day left. And as I sleep, it all falls into place.

 

Day 97

 

“Is it time yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we’re early. We shouldn’t be here!”

“We’ll get in trouble!”

“Let’s go, hurry!”

“Wait!”

“Shh! We’re not supposed to be heard!”

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring lots of sweets!”

“And pudding!”

“And pudding! Sweets and pudding, okay? Remember!”

“Quick, let’s go! Before—”

 

This is what I dreamt, over a week ago. The voices stir and echo around me, not quite here, but not quite in my mind either. They’re…like real memories, if that makes sense. Memory that becomes reality as you remember it? There’s just one thing missing from the conversation, one little clue.

Today, as I wake up I feel the village come alive. I eat breakfast with Durene, smiling at her as she paces around nervously.

“Are you sure it’ll be okay, Laken? What if they get angry? Maybe I should wear a helmet! Or a hat!”

“I hate hats. Durene, it’ll be fine. Besides, your suit looks quite nice.”

“You wouldn’t know! You can’t see!

I laugh. Durene’s been dressed for today, against Lady Rie’s objections. She decided a dress did not suit her, and instead wore a suit—at my suggestion. If women can wear pants and suits, why not Durene? And apparently she cuts a rather bold figure with the cloth my [Tailors] had labored over.

“It’ll go well with my clothing, Durene. I’ve got enough cloth for a dress. We can say we switched roles for the banquet.”

“Laken!”

I’m not wearing a dress, but robes that are quite long and showy. All the better to give me some additional gravitas, according to Lady Rie. She tried to get me to wear lace and I refused. This was the best compromise we could come up with. I’d rather walk around naked than wear a suit with more lace than fabric.

“Looks like Lady Rie’s already pacing outside of the cottage. Prost’s here too. I thought the nobility were supposed to arrive this evening?”

“Maybe they’re early?”

“Not as far as I know. Pass me a fried potato, will you Durene? No, Frostwing, that’s not for you. Stop pooping so loudly, please? I’m trying to eat.”

This is how it goes. I go outside, tell a joke, and only Durene giggles. Gamel’s too uptight with his suit, Prost is distracted tugging at his, and Lady Rie’s far too high strung. Wiskeria just doesn’t like my sense of humor.

No one arrives in the morning, although we had prepared for a few early guests. Apparently I’m so intimidating, the entire group of nobles is arriving together. Or maybe that’s due to the presence of Magnolia’s servant, Sacra, and the famous Lady Bethal Walchaís. I sense a rather large caravan of people headed this way just after breakfast and Beniar’s riders report the nobles are coming in a train.

“A rather large group. They may arrive an hour late. I don’t think they were expecting to carry quite so much on the trip here.”

Lady Rie stares accusingly at me. I just smile.

“And their escort?”

“Light, for a group of nobles travelling. I counted sixty armed guards.”

“So two per noble? A bit less? That is trusting. If they’re staying the night, they can sleep in the houses for the nobles or outside. It shouldn’t rain today.”

“I doubt they’ll stay the night. And I’m surprised Lady Bethal isn’t travelling by magical carriage. Apparently Magnolia Reinhart lends it to all her closest friends. I wonder if it’s broken?”

“Magical carriages? Hold on, explain that to me? Someone?”

The day wears on. I try not to let my nerves get the better of me. I have a plan. It’s not a good one, and it’s based on guesswork and a dream I had. But it’s all I’ve got. As evening wears into dusk, the first nobles ride into Riverfarm, a group of laughing young [Lords] and [Ladies] and their retainers. They freeze the instant they see me.

“Lord Andres, Lady Cimeca, Lord Pattin, welcome to Riverfarm!”

Lady Rie calls out more names as the mounted nobility draw back, staring at me in alarm and awe. I smile, and gently let Frostwing flap her wings. Beneath me, my mount shifts and growls, making the noble’s horses back away skittishly.

That’s right, I’m riding Bismarck, my Mossbear. If you’ve got a Mossbear and you don’t ride it to meet people, what kind of [Emperor] are you? Durene stands by my side, practically vibrating with nerves. I try not to show anyone that my legs are trembling as they hug Bismarck’s sides.

A flurry. A torrent of bodies. Rich men and women dressed in finery, armored warriors—I can only rely on Wiskeria and Durene’s whispered explanations. Their voices sound like any other, perhaps a touch more refined and breathy—the nobles ride up to me on their horses while I let Bismarck snuffle at them. And then I hear a voice I recognize.

“Emperor Laken, I bring you greetings on behalf of Lady Magnolia Reinhart, who apologizes for the inconvenience of this small gathering.”

“Odveig. Or would you prefer to be called Sacra?”

“Either is fine.”

I turn my head to the [Maid] standing and staring up at me without a trace of fear. I can sense Wiskeria tensing besides me, but Sacra pays her no notice as she bows and introduces the last of my guests. I smell a floral perfume and hear a light voice.

“My, is that a Mossbear? Thomast, look! How exciting! Do you think I could ride it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Emperor Laken, may I present Lady Bethal Walchaís and Sir Thomast?”

The man and woman step forwards. I get nothing from my image of them in my head. Lady Bethal is wearing a dress and Thomast some kind of doublet. They’re attired much like the others I suppose—my [Emperor] senses don’t extend to color or detail well. But the two do have a kind of…presence in my mind.

Lady Bethal feels like a rose, or a bush covered in thorns. As if I could walk into her and be stung. It’s an aura about her, and Sir Thomast—just seems too poised. He stands as if he could leap into action at any moment and there’s a grace about his movements that makes me think he knows how to handle the rapier at his side. Both bow to me and Lady Bethal’s first words after her greeting are about Bismarck.

“Is he tamed, your majesty? I had heard there was an [Emperor] who commanded the hearts of both beasts and men, but until Magnolia told me about you, I was quite under the impression that it was all rumor! Oh, but do forgive me—I do forget myself. Thomast, why don’t you ever stop me?”

The [Chevalier] says nothing. I get the feeling he’s staring at me, not at Durene, for all Bethal is now gushing over Durene’s suit and greeting Lady Rie. From the way Rie goes stiff and quiet, I get the feeling that Lady Bethal’s spiky aura isn’t for show.

Big players. Large fish in small ponds, or however the saying goes. Bethal strikes me as a shark, though. The nobles wait for me as I finish greeting Lady Bethal. They’ve already spotted the clearing filled with food that their servants are busily unloading and I think their mood is—intrigued. Some of them appear dismayed from the way they shift and lean closer to talk to each other, but I’ve made an impression.

So here’s how it ends. I raise my hand and make a small speech in the silence as every eye falls to me. As the light fades I quell the butterflies in my chest. Is this the right thing to do? Is this the right thing to say? I’m an [Emperor]. It better be.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, I greet you. I am Laken Godart.”

They stir as I don’t give myself any titles. I could have proclaimed myself ruler of the Unseen Empire, or any number of things, but I’m here to make friends, not scare them. I go on.

“I am aware that you are here at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request. I was unaware of this gathering until she arranged it in my honor, and I am grateful for her aid in doing so. For your enjoyment, my people have created a small setting in which we may mingle and talk. I look forwards to meeting each one of you in person. But before that—”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. Here it is.

“—But before that, I believe there are a few more guests I have yet to invite.”

Murmurs. I see heads turning and Thomast tense ever so slightly beside his wife. I ignore the confused nobility and look up.

“I greet the nobility of this land before me. I offer them the warmth of my hearths and the bounty of my lands. I would be remiss if I did not extend the same invitation to my own vassals.”

I look up towards the sky. Please be there. Please don’t be a dream.

“My lords and ladies of the court? I invite you to share this banquet at your discretion. My lands are open to all those of my empire on this day. Come, if thou would.”

I offer a hand up towards the heavens. And wait. There’s only silence. After a moment, a long moment in which I curse and wonder what the hell I should do next, I lower my hand. The silence around me is broken by a low voice muttering out of the group of nobles.

“What was that?

I hear a titter and someone shushing the speaker. I turn, keeping my face calm, not letting blood rush to my cheeks. It was a long shot. A perhaps. And I am an [Emperor]. So I keep up the charade, as I turn to look at my [Steward].

“Mister Prost? We may have visitors this night. Keep a place at the tables open should guests arrive. Now, I believe we are ready to be seated?”

“Of course, your majesty.”

Prost breaks the silence by gesturing. The young men and women dressed in fine clothing step forwards and quite elegantly lead the nobles to the tables. I dismount Bismarck and do the same, pointedly standing. It’s going to be a standing dinner, a time to chat. Less formal which means less risk of me making a mistake. I turn my head to the buffet and try to remember my lines? Thank Magnolia for her hospitality again? No, wait, maybe I should talk about the Goblins—

I freeze as I hear a giggle. It’s a soft sound, but it cuts through the quiet murmuring like a bell ringing in a snowstorm. The sound is bright and cheerful and makes every head turn in confusion. I feel my heart beating faster.

The giggling stops abruptly. But the air is suddenly warmer, and the sky brighter. The clearing illuminated by braziers and mage light warms, and it feels as though everything is lit by a subtle glow. I feel the wind blow strong for a second, and smell wet earth, flowers, the smell of nectar, growing grass—

Spring.

Oh, that’s what I was missing. I hear the voices overhead, crystal clear at last. Unearthly voices, voices that rustle and leap with life, the voices made of magic.

 

“Is it time yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we’re early. We shouldn’t be here!”

“We’ll get in trouble!”

“Let’s go, hurry!”

“Wait!”

“Shh! We’re not supposed to be heard!”

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring lots of sweets!”

“And pudding!”

“And pudding! Sweets and pudding, okay? Remember!”

“Quick, let’s go! Before—”

 

A clamor of quick voices, arguing, talking rapidly and urgently. And then an authoritative voice, singing out above them all.

 

“Too late! It’s time!”

 

I hear laughter. And I look up and smile. The skies open. The nobles gape. Durene looks up and gasps. Lady Rie nearly swallows her tongue. I just laugh as the wind blows and they step downwards, step out of the forests, dance into the meadow. Of course, why would they be cold and frozen in the spring? I look at one of them as they wink and blow me a kiss. They bow, mockingly, and I shake my head.

“Took you long enough.”

 

“Same to you!”

 

And then my banquet really begins as they descend, bringing spring and chaos in their wake. The tricksters, the harbingers of spring and snow. The beings of myth and magic. The Fair Folk.

The fae.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.11 E

“What a pathetic little province. Aunt, are you sure an [Emperor] lives here of all places?”

Lord Rael of Veniford twisted in his saddle to speak to the older lady riding next to him. He stared down the dirt road, at the shabby signpost at the crossroads and the distant houses in the distance. He could see small shapes working as the evening light turned the world orange. Peasants building more houses, by the looks of it. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

The woman riding next to him gave Rael a sharp look. Like him, she was dressed in fine riding clothes, attired as befit her station. Her dress was impeccable but it stung Lord Rael’s pride that it was the same dress she’d owned a year ago. His family, the Venifords, could not afford to dress in the latest fashions so they repaired their clothing rather than replace them at year’s end. Rael was acutely aware of the stitching down the left side of his pant leg—practically unnoticeable, unless you cared for good cloth.

And it was presumable that everyone in the small procession cared about such matters. They were all the nobility of Izril. The Human nobility, that was. Rael wouldn’t have ridden with a Drake—if they did know how to ride at all—for any amount of money. He was a [Lord], an owner of a large province of land bordering Invrisil. Unfortunately, said land was not nearly as profitable as, say, Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s holdings and their family had fallen on harder times since his birth.

If the Venifords had one treasure, it was their matriarch and Rael’s aunt, Lady Bevia Veniford. She was an old warhammer of a woman in Rael’s opinion. She’d survived two husbands and both Antinium Wars and she was a high-level [Lady] adept at social graces. Her ties had brought income to Veniford in the form of trade and so on, but it made Rael angry thinking of how his aunt lowered herself to make deals with [Merchants].

He had been raised to be proud of his class by his father, Lord Willam Veniford until his demise during a hunting session at the horn of an angry Corusdeer. It was just another litany in the list of Veniford’s woes. And this—being forced to attend a social gathering in the middle of nowhere at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request was just another injustice Rael intended to correct when he assumed control of the family. Unfortunately, his indignation did not seem to impress his aunt. She leaned over and quietly spoke in a cutting tone.

“You will keep your remarks to yourself, Rael. We are in the lands of Emperor Laken and while we are here you will behave properly, or I will put you over my saddle and spank you myself.”

Rael jerked and his cheeks flamed. His head swiveled quickly, but none of the other riders were close enough to have heard. He glared at his aunt.

“This is beneath us! We are nobility—why is there no escort? And look at that village! It can’t hold more than a thousand peasants!”

“It can. Riverfarm has expanded of late. And they are putting up new houses quite quickly. I had heard they were in the middle of rebuilding not a week ago, with barely more than half a dozen homes standing. There must be four times as many houses. Quite impressive of this young [Emperor].”

Lady Bevia straightened in her saddle, giving the town an appraising look. Rael fumed, trying to see what she did in this rundown countryside. Bevia shook her head slightly as she regarded her nephew with disapproval.

“You have too much of your father in you, Rael. Look beyond appearances. Lady Reinhart herself has taken the time to organize this gathering—at a time when the Goblin Lord is marching through her lands! This [Emperor] is the first of his kind to appear on Izril in over a thousand years.”

“He might not be a true [Emperor]. Why would one appear here?

Rael muttered sulkily as he brushed at his hair. It was wet, conditioned with an [Alchemist]’s tonic he’d bought half-price while in Invrisil a month ago. It felt too slick—perhaps the mixture was going bad? He cursed to himself as he impatiently adjusted his posture on his mare. He should have been riding a stallion at the head of this band of nobles!

Laughter came from the fore of their procession. Rael scowled at the young [Lords] and [Ladies] pressing their mounts ahead. Not everyone invited to the gathering was as old and tiresome as his aunt. A number of young nobles had come with their families. Rael itched to join them, but he was worried about his hair. And the stitches on his pant leg. He tried to tell himself that no one would care.

Bevia eyed Rael as she drew her mount around a fresh pile of horse dung dropped by a rider in front. She cast her eyes back to the wagons filled with foods following their group at a good pace.

“I do not believe Magnolia Reinhart would make mistakes. Nor do I believe Lady Rie Valerund would pledge her loyalty to a charlatan. This Laken Godart is an [Emperor], I have no doubts. So if he appears before us in rags you will bow and address him with respect.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Rael grumbled. Bevia sighed through her nose.

“Rael, you are beginning to test my patience. I brought you on this outing because Lady Magnolia requested I bring you, and I agreed against my better judgment.”

“Lady Magnolia asked for me specifically?”

Rael’s heart jumped in his chest. Bevia shook her head.

“She had a list. Do not let it get to your head. Now, if you wish to ride with the younger men and women, do not let me stop you. But remember—respect. Hold your tongue, Rael.”

She raised a finger. Rael nodded absently. Magnolia Reinhart knew his name! He kicked his mare forwards eagerly, riding past the other older nobles.

“Rael! It’s about time! What, were you going to hang back with your aunt until we got to the village?”

A young man called out as Rael trotted his mount forwards. Lord Andres of Lelk turned his stallion and rode back as Rael slowed. A group of six young nobles turned to him and Rael recognized all of them. Three were young men and three young women. They were all local nobles, none from exceptionally large houses. Of the six, Lord Andres probably had the wealthiest lands although Lady Cimeca of House Tellis probably had more holdings.

Rael would have been placed at the lower rung in terms of both wealth and size of his lands, right above Lord Pattin of Vaunt. Rael was glad to see him and smiled arrogantly at Pattin. The young [Lordling] was heir to a small city and a few villages that produced cheese and little else.

“I decided to keep my aunt company. She’s getting on in years and I didn’t want to abandon her until I was certain she could do without me, Andres. Cimeca, you look well.”

Andres laughed as the young woman with red hair turned her head to look back at him. Rael’s heart skipped a beat as Cimeca politely smiled his way. He urged his mare forwards and he was soon part of the group. The young nobles laughed as their older counterparts hung back, talking quietly. Soon Rael was repeating his comments about the landscape to the laughing crowd, heedless of his aunt’s warnings.

“Aye, it’s a poor province. Riverfarm and the surrounding area earn a pittance compared to lands managed by proper [Lords]. I heard all of this was once Valerund land until the family lost all of its members during the Second Antinium War.”

Andres nodded around the countryside, shaking his head at evidence of unused cropland long abandoned. Rael nodded, but Lord Pattin cut in.

“First Antinium War, actually, Andres.”

“What? The Antinium didn’t invade our lands during the First Antinium War! Pattin, are you sure?”

Haviet Meliope turned her head, her emerald earrings sparkling as she looked at Pattin. She was dressed well, although she was no beauty in Rael’s eyes. Still, her clothing was a far cry from Pattin’s worn riding clothes and sad mare. Pattin nodded, undeterred by her skepticism and his poor fortunes. He twisted a ring on his finger as he talked absently.

“We were never invaded, it’s true, but Lord Quail Valerund was one of the first to pledge his forces to Lady Magnolia when she led our armies to fight the Antinium at Liscor. He perished in the battle—one of the only nobles who fell. He was Lady Rie’s grandfather and a powerful [Lord]—he was succeeded by his daughter and her husband of course, but the loss of such a high-level [Lord] hurt the family and they never quite recovered. Then of course the Second Antinium War happened and they lost control of almost all the rest of their lands along with their garrisons. That was why Riverfarm and the surrounding areas are so poor—”

“Argh, enough talk of history!”

Rael burst out, annoyed by Pattin’s lecturing tone. He spurred his mare and his horse trotted forwards a few steps as Rael raised his voice.

“No one cares why this place is so poor, Pattin. But why an [Emperor] of all people would deign to live here is beyond me. I wouldn’t let a Drake [Lord] live here—if they’d ever come out of hiding behind their Walled Cities, that is!”

He smirked as one of the young women laughed and Andres chuckled. However, Haviet smiled nastily at Rael. She and he had hated each other ever since he’d made an ill-advised comment about her appearance to a few of his male friends a year back. She’d heard and never forgiven him for it.

“I wouldn’t speak so loudly, Rael. If your aunt Bevia hears of it she’ll put you over the saddle right here and now.”

Rael turned beet red as Andres, Pattin, and Oswalt howled with laughter. The other ladies laughed too. He glared at her.

“How did—”

“Haviet just learned the [Long Ear] Skill, Rael. Haven’t you heard?”

Andres grinned as the others kept chuckling. Haviet smiled at Rael and he glared at her. He was a low-level [Lord], as was she and the rest of their company. He didn’t know their exact levels, but they couldn’t be much higher than he was, a Level 13 [Lord] and Level 4 [Warrior]. He glared at Haviet and came up with the most cutting response he could.

“[Long Ears], eh? Well, it can’t hurt Haviet’s looks even if she started looking like a half-Elf. Who knows? It might even be an improvement!”

His words made Haviet flush beet red and provoked another laugh from Oswalt and an unwilling one from Andres. Pattin didn’t laugh though, giving Rael a troubled glance. Rael cared not one whit for his opinion. Cimeca gave him a frosty look, however, which wasn’t part of his plan.

“I think any Skill is to be commended, Lord Rael. Besides which, Emperor Laken Godart has invited us into his domain and that merits a certain degree of respect from all of us.”

She swept her gaze past Andres and Oswalt who immediately stopped laughing and cleared their throats awkwardly. Rael turned his head away, face flushed with anger and shame. After a pause in which all seven nobles trotted forwards, it was Oswalt who spoke.

“I say, there are a number of nobles I don’t quite recognize. I know all of our families, but who’s the woman riding with that man in the doublet with the rapier behind us? Is he her bodyguard or is she single?”

He nodded covertly and everyone turned in their saddle to look. Ellia Cantras, third daughter of the Cantras family, known for their beekeeping, peach orchards, and small population of [Mages], glared at Oswalt. She and he had been in an unofficial relationship for two years until it came out that Oswalt had been cheating on her with local peasant girls and visiting brothels.

“That’s Lady Bethal Walchaís, Oswalt. And if you have half a brain you’ll keep away from her if you don’t want her husband to run you through. Sir Thomast is a [Chevalier] and ten times better with a rapier than anyone here.”

All the young men turned to stare at Sir Thomast. Andres whistled.

“That’s him? I thought he’d be bigger! And that’s Lady Bethal? I heard she’s a firebrand.”

“In bed or out of it?”

Haviet and Ellia rolled their eyes at Oswalt’s joke. Cimeca frowned.

“Don’t offend her, whatever you do, Oswalt. And don’t touch her without her consent.”

“Why?”

“Because you could lose your hand.”

What?

Rael stared at Cimeca. She hesitated and lowered her voice. The other nobles moved their horses closer to hear.

“She’s got a Skill that makes anyone who raises a hand against her suffer. She learned it during the Second Antinium War. The rumor is that she provoked Lord Elmha at a ball six years ago and he slapped her. Apparently he tore half the flesh off his hand and that was before Lady Bethal demanded he duel her husband for the insult. Lord Elmha took three cuts to his right shoulder and apparently hasn’t been able to move his arm or hand since.”

Andres shuddered and Rael found himself glancing backward in alarm. That was Lady Bethal? He knew she was a very influential [Lady] with a powerful estate, but that? Lady Bethal was laughing as she turned in her saddle to talk to Bevia who’d ridden up behind them.

“You’re quite lucky, Rael.”

Pattin was the first to break the thoughtful silence. Rael jumped and stared at him.

“How?”

The impoverished young lord gestured to his aunt.

“Lady Bevia is quite good at making deals. She’s made connections with everyone in this party except Lady Bethal and if anyone might negotiate a favorable deal with this emperor, it’s her. I don’t expect Vaunt to come away with much, but if Laken Godart is offering anything I’m sure Lady Bevia will secure a piece of it.”

Andres sighed.

“If he has anything to offer. I still don’t know why Magnolia Reinhart herself went to the trouble of arranging the meeting. I’m just here for the outing, but I’ll be damned if I know why my father sent both me and my elder sister all the way here at her request. Why would she want to help him?”

Oswalt snorted.

“Why not? He’s an [Emperor] and she’s the highest-level [Lady] in the realm.”

“That’s not a good reason! She’s hardly pledged herself to him. And this isn’t exactly helpful—it could be a ploy to embarrass him, my mother says.”

Haviet leaned forwards. Andres rolled his eyes.

“With a social gathering?”

“If his village really is poor—”

“I thought he owned the lands around here? Anyone know if he owns the local cities?”

“I don’t know much. Only that he calls himself ruler of the Unseen Empire.”

“Unseen?”

“He’s blind.

“What?”

Rael turned to stare at Haviet. She nodded.

“Hadn’t you heard? He’s blind but apparently he sees everything. Somehow. Don’t ask me, but apparently his army has slain every Goblin, [Bandit], and monster in the area for the last few months! The roads are completely safe, which is why my father wants a trade deal with him.”

Andres leaned forwards conspiratorially.

“I also hear he commands beasts. He’s got a half-Giant for a bodyguard and a [Witch] for a [General].”

“No!”

“Yes, and—get this—he’s also able to protect his people from harm. He can magically sense when they’re in danger.”

“That has to be false. Unless there’s really a Skill like that?”

“I’m just reporting on what’s said! But apparently there’s a rumor that when he first appeared, he went to Invrisil and bought supplies for his village with gems and gold! People say he’s an exile from Chandrar—”

“I heard it was Terandria!”

“Terandria? Are you mad? They don’t have [Emperors] there. Unless he’s of some old lineage.”

“Hey, what’s that? Someone’s coming this way!”

The noisy gossip broke off as Lady Ellia pointed. Rael looked ahead and saw a group of mounted warriors galloping towards them. He stared in fascination as they slowed and then jerked in surprise as the mounted [Guards] and [Warriors] escorting the party moved forwards, protectively encircling the young nobles. Rael gripped at his new longsword, irritated. He wanted to declare that he could handle himself, but he never got the chance.

Cimeca stared as the lead rider approached the group. The head of the [Guards] rode forwards to meet them and they conversed. The rider nodded and then kicked his mount forwards. Rael stared at him in appreciation. He was wearing heavy mail armor and his horse was covered in scale barding. He looked like a seasoned veteran and the [Guard Captain] was clearly wary of him.

“My Lord and Ladies of Izril, I am Beniar, a [Cataphract] and [Captain] in service to His Majesty, Laken Godart. I have been tasked with escorting you safely through his lands. I bear you my liege’s compliments and his gratitude for your long journey.”

Beniar bowed in his saddle to the older nobles and then flashed the young women a smile that made Haviet and Ellia blush and fan at their faces. Rael saw Cimeca’s cheeks were slightly red as well and scowled at Beniar. There was a pause as the nobles conferred, then Bevia raised her voice.

“Sir Beniar, we are grateful for your escort. We eagerly await meeting his majesty soon. Tell me, are we close to Riverfarm?”

“Indeed, my lady. We are less than an hour’s ride away.”

Beniar bowed again and the procession, heartened by the news, began moving again. Beniar and his escort fell in line with the nobles and their guards. Soon he was the center of attention as nobles—not just the young women—surrounded him. Rael had to grudgingly admit that Beniar was a good emissary. Not only was he a former Silver-rank adventurer, but he was a [Cataphract], a class unknown to everyone in the group. Rael tried not to be impressed as Beniar described fighting for Laken Godart against Hobgoblins.

“You said the village is just up ahead? Can we ride to it safely? I’d bet my mount could give yours a run for its money with or without armor!”

Andres looked eager to race his horse against Beniar. The former adventurer only smiled politely.

“It is up ahead. I’m afraid I must stay with the procession, but if you wish to go ahead, feel free. My Emperor has assured me the roads are clear.”

“And does that mean they are?”

Rael challenged Beniar and was infuriated when the other young man chuckled in reply.

“If Emperor Laken says the roads are safe, then they undoubtedly are, Lord Rael. Nothing moves or enters his domain without his knowledge.”

There was an impressed pause as everyone considered Beniar’s words. Rael considered scoffing, but he didn’t quite dare. Andres laughed at last.

“Good enough for me! Anyone coming? Pattin? Andres? Cimeca?”

“I’ll go.”

“And I!”

The young nobles hurriedly chimed in, all save for Emile and Haviet who were asking Beniar about a scar on his cheek. The five nobles raced ahead, laughing, and Rael spurred his mare hard, trying to catch Andres’ stallion. He lost, much to his disgust. Though he managed to make his mare beat Oswalt, he was outdone by Andres, Cimeca, and to his absolute disgust, Pattin. The poor lord might have had an old horse, but she was quick and he rode flawlessly in the saddle, nearly catching Andres as they raced into the village.

“Good sport!”

Oswalt laughed, not at all put out by his loss. Rael stared dismissively around the village. Now that he was up close he could see the houses under construction and the milling people at work. It looked just as pathetic as he’d thought! Still, he held his tongue and turned his panting mount as he heard a woman’s voice calling out.

“Lord Andres, Lady Cimeca, Lord Pattin, welcome to Riverfarm!”

A [Lady] was standing in the center of the street, dressed as if she were ready to go to a ball. The laughing young nobles straightened and tried to wipe sweat off their foreheads as Lady Rie Valerund swept forwards. She was a beautiful woman and Rael couldn’t keep his eyes off her neckline. That was, until he saw the giant bear walking down the street.

Mossbear!

Pattin cried out in alarm and Andres and Oswalt paled. Rael fumbled for his sword but before anyone could act, they realized the bear had a saddle. And someone was riding it.

“Please do not be alarmed. My young lord and ladies of Izril, may I present His Majesty, Emperor Laken Godart.”

Lady Rie bowed slightly as the bear stepped forwards. Rael gaped. There was a young man riding the bear! He was only a few years older than Rael, and his eyes were closed. He turned his head to the nobles as their horses shied away, smiling.

“Good evening. I am Laken Godart, Emperor of Riverfarm. I thank you for coming all this way. Please, be at ease. Bismarck is not dangerous.”

He gently patted the green bear’s head and it made a whuffing sound. Rael’s heart raced. He stared at the [Emperor] as the young man turned his head unerringly to look straight at him. His eyes were closed, but somehow he knew where Rael was!

“Lady Rie, will you introduce me?”

“Of course. This is Rael Veniford. His lands are a good bit southeast of Invrisil, and he is the sole male heir of his family. Lord Rael, may I presume Lady Bevia is riding with you?”

“Aunt? Ah, yes—she’s on her way here. Greetings, your majesty.”

Fumbling, Rael bowed in his saddle and saw the [Emperor] nod in return. He felt off-guard and unsure what to do but was relieved to see his companions were little better off. Lady Rie smiled.

“You are no doubt exhausted from the trip. Please, allow our [Handlers] to care for your mounts. We have refreshments ready and I am sure you would enjoy touring Riverfarm on foot while we wait for the rest of the nobles to arrive.”

She whisked the young nobles away as Laken Godart remained seated on his bear, patiently awaiting the arrival of the other nobles. Soon, Rael found himself greeting Laken Godart all over again as the other nobles arrived. He was relieved to see they were equally dumbfounded to be greeted by the [Emperor] riding a bear, but they concealed their surprise well. His aunt only blinked once before gracefully bowing in her saddle.

“Emperor Laken, I am Lady Bevia Veniford. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. You do live up to the rumors, your majesty.”

“Oh? There are rumors about me?”

Laken Godart smiled as if he was unaware of the speculation and gossip that had followed his every move for the last two months. Lady Bevia smiled.

“Merely a handful, your majesty. And please, allow me to be the first to apologize for intruding on you at this busy time. I understand Riverfarm is undergoing extensive construction and Lady Reinhart’s gathering was something of a surprise.”

“Ah, well, I am told Lady Magnolia Reinhart enjoys such surprises. And it would hardly do for an [Emperor] to refuse an audience, would it not? I am delighted by your presence, Lady Bevia. I only trust that my hospitality shall not disappoint.”

“I cannot imagine that it would.”

Bevia nudged Rael and he bowed, stammering another greeting. They withdrew as another noble drew forwards to greet the Emperor. As they moved away, Bevia whispered.

“Unexpected.”

“What is?”

Rael looked at her uncertainly. His aunt blinked and he realized the comment must not have been aimed at him.

“That was a true [Emperor], Rael. He has poise—and a sense for drama! Greeting us on a bear of all things. And he called this an audience? Lady Magnolia was right to draw attention to him.”

“Why?”

Bevia squinted at Rael as if to tell whether he was trying to be deliberately obtuse.

“Because it will benefit her to be the one to introduce Emperor Laken to Izril’s high society, of course! And because he is a true [Emperor]. Leaving him alone would be dangerous and risky. Acknowledging him is a safe maneuver.”

“But she hasn’t come herself. Isn’t that a slight?”

“She sent Lady Bethal, a close friend, and her maid.”

Bevia pointed back to where a maid was standing politely on the ground. She was attracting glances from the local peasants, who’d probably never seen anyone wearing a maid’s uniform before. Rael shook his head.

“A maid?”

“Her spy. Don’t try and woo her. Keep up, and try not to fall over yourself bowing next time!”

Soon all the nobles were dismounted and led to a small clearing out in the open. Rael wrinkled his nose at the outdoor setting, but he had to admit that the banquet was certainly impressive. Each noble had brought a variety of foods, and as such the tables were heaped with delights. Bevia nodded appreciatively.

“And without spending a copper coin he has us host ourselves. Clever.”

Rael stared at the [Emperor] as he slowly walked forwards to the head of the table. He needed no guide despite walking without opening his eyes. He was flanked by a giant half-Troll…female in a suit and Lady Rie on his other side. Rael wrinkled his nose as he eyed the half-Troll.

“Clever or not, he’s made us come all the way here. And he only controls this village, Aunt. This is the least he should do for nobles of Izril.”

He’d gotten over his shock of meeting Laken Godart on the bear and was determined to treat this outsider with more scorn than the other nobles fawning over him. Bevia gave him an irritated glance, and Rael saw Cimeca look over. He smiled to himself as he realized the other nobles around him were giving him speculative looks. Cimeca leaned over, keeping her voice low.

“You’re not impressed, Rael?”

“What, by the bear? That was a trick. What else has this [Emperor] got besides a monster for a pet? We are still [Lords] and [Ladies] when all is said and done. We come from powerful houses—this [Emperor] is wise to greet us as equals. He must win our respect.”

Rael saw a few other nobles nodding in agreement, older men and women. He puffed up with pride as Bevia stared at him.

“Be quiet.”

She nodded to Laken Godart. The young man waited for silence and began to speak.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, I greet you. I am Laken Godart.”

Rael sensed a stir among the crowd. He nodded to himself. The [Emperor] wasn’t using his title. He was being humble. He shot his aunt a triumphant look, but her focus was on him. Laken Godart continued.

“I am aware that you are here at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request. I was unaware of this gathering until she arranged it in my honor, and I am grateful for her aid in doing so. For your enjoyment, my people have created a small setting in which we may mingle and talk. I look forwards to meeting each one of you in person. But before that—”

He paused for a second and Rael frowned. He was already hungry. What did he want, an official greeting? Entertainment?

“—But before that, I believe there are a few more guests I have yet to invite.”

There was murmuring. Rael frowned. Someone else was coming to the gathering? Who? It had better not be the staring peasants. He leaned over.

“Aunt, who is he talking about?”

Quiet!

“I greet the nobility of this land before me. I offer them the warmth of my hearths and the bounty of my lands. I would be remiss if I did not extend the same invitation to my own vassals.”

Laken Godart looked up towards the darkening sky, his eyes still closed. He gestured, as if inviting someone from above.

“My lords and ladies of the court? I invite you to share this banquet at your discretion. My lands are open to all those of my empire on this day. Come, if thou would.”

For a few second there was stunned silence. Rael looked around, and then couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“What was that?

Bevia’s head whipped around. She glared at her nephew, but Rael was busy watching Cimeca and the other young nobles. He saw her giggle, covering the motion, and heard chuckles around him. Bevia’s fingers dug into his arm and Rael suppressed a yelp. His aunt gave him a look that deflated Rael’s good spirits. It promised trouble.

The [Emperor] seemed not to have noticed Rael’s comment. He looked towards an older man standing to one side, dressed in a suit.

“Mister Prost? We may have visitors this night. Keep a place at the tables open should guests arrive. Now, I believe we are ready to be seated?”

“Of course, your majesty.”

The man bowed and began leading nobles to the tables. Rael was about to walk forwards and find himself a seat away from his angry aunt when he paused. He heard something. A laugh from high above. It was faint, but unmistakable. It cut through the voices, the sound of wind, the chirping of insects—a giggling laughter. You couldn’t not hear it. It was as if it was the one true sound in the world and everything else Rael had heard over his lifetime was fake noise. He looked up in bewilderment and felt a breeze blow.

It was fresh and warm, filled with life. It stirred his hair and heart. Rael inhaled and caught a scent in the air, like morning dew, like the fresh air of forests, like spring. He heard more laughter and looked around. The breeze blew. The forest around the meadow stirred. And then he saw a glow of green, a figure dancing among the trees. By his side Cimeca gasped and Rael heard someone inhale sharply.

A woman stepped out of the forests, laughing. She was dressed in wild green and red clothing and her skin was tinted green. Her eyes danced, and the air brightened around her. She walked forwards, spinning, her steps light on the ground. Rael stared at her. She was the most incredible thing he had ever seen in his life. It wasn’t her appearance that caught him like a fish on the hook, but her otherworldly nature, the depths of her eyes, the way she moved.

And then the forest rustled. The air opened. Green figures began descending, walking out of the darkness, dancing down like birds from above. Wild folk, dressed in wild clothing with eyes that shone. Proud folk, that put the assembled company of nobles from Izril to shame. Fair folk, the fairest and most beautiful folk Rael had ever seen.

Fae folk.

 

—-

 

This is how they came. I stand, stunned, as the fae come out of the skies and shadows of dusk. They weren’t so large before! And these fae are full of life and motion, bearing the aspect, the very essence of spring itself. The Frost Faeries I knew were small winged creatures full of mischief and laughter.

At least the laughter is the same here. The fae come forwards, laughing, showing off. Yes, that’s what they’re doing. Showing off. Each one is the center of attention, a one-person performance that demands all the attention in the world. They dance into the meadow, shining stars that glow in my mind’s eye.

The fae.

Dancing and laughing, appearing out of the air like spirits. Called by my voice. The fae descend on my gathering, brightening the dusk with their presence. They walk or run or leap about, dressed in wild clothing that’s both rich and free. Their garments shimmer with beauty, almost as much as the fae themselves.

Or so I imagine. I, Laken Godart, can’t see. But I can listen. I heard the nobles and people of Riverfarm around me gasp with the beauty of the fae. I can only sense them as shapes in my mind for all their voices are like magic to my ears. But there is a difference. And what I sense is that difference without the allure of their physical forms.

The fae are tall. Thin and lithe, their bodies are different than Human ones. Their arms and legs are actually a bit too long for normal. And their faces are more angular than Human ones. I can’t sense what their eyes look like, but I can tell their ears are pointed. Each fae is different, but I sense some with wings.

Insect’s wings. Perhaps I’m the only one who notices them at first. The others are spellbound. I am too, to be honest. But I can’t see the fae, so their effect is muted on me. The fae come out of the forests, at least thirty of them. Perhaps more. I can’t tell—they don’t seem to stand still in my mind. But they stop on the opposite side of the banquet table, laughing, and then fall silence as one speaks.

 

“So you call us, Emperor of Men! You invite us to your feast, you who gave us the titles of your empire. Do you offer us the hospitality of your lands? Do you open your doors to us?”

 

I start, surprised to be addressed. The magic of the moment breaks and I remember who I am. Laken Godart, [Emperor]. And I have a job to do. I have to remember. I planned for this. I wasn’t sure they would come, but now they’re here. So I choose my words carefully.

The fae. The fair folk from my world. Not all legends about them are wonderful. In fact, the further back you go, the more sinister they appear. I remember reading of Wechselkind or Changelings, children replaced by faeries. So I answer carefully.

“I offer you the hospitality of this banquet, lords and ladies of my realm. Food I offer you, and company within this meadow. Feast and revel to your heart’s content here, but nowhere else I ask of you.”

 

“Ah, a wise host!”

 

The speaker laughs at me. Which of the fae is it? I can’t tell. None of them step forwards. And the voice isn’t distinctly male or female. Neither are the fae.

Strange. I could have sworn the Frost Faeries were female, all of them. But these fae—I can’t tell exactly, but some give me the impression of masculinity. Others are clearly feminine—but the lines are blurred. I can’t tell what they are, only that they’re here. The fae mill about.

 

“There is iron here! Cold metal in the tables! Does he give offense, this leader of men?”

“In the tables, the nails! Is it a slight or oversight?”

“Not much iron. And we are outdoors. Food is offered. A feast in our honor! We have not seen such in millennia. Sisters, brothers, do we accept?”

“Within the meadow, aye! For a night, aye! Such are the terms!”

“Then we accept! The deal is struck!”

 

They speak all at once, in a rush. And then they move all at once, making the Humans in the meadow start. The fae descend on the table and snatch up the filled glasses and plates, filling their plates, beginning to eat without so much as waiting for anyone else. They call out to my diners.

 

“So then, mortals! Join us!”

“Yes, come and revel! Come, sit.”

“Join us!”

 

Every eye is on me. By my side Lady Rie is trembling. I hear Durene’s voice.

“Laken, who are they?”

“The nobles of my court.”

I turn from Durene and address the stunned nobility.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, I present to you my guests. Those you see here are the nobles of my court. The fair folk.”

“The fair folk?”

One of the [Ladies] speaks. Bevia, the older noblewoman. She stares at the fae and at me.

“I have never heard of their kind, Emperor Laken. These guests of yours, are they Human or—or something else? Please tell me. From what land do they hail?”

To her credit, Lady Bevia’s voice barely trembles although I know she must be as shaken as I am to be in the presence of the fae. At her words, a few of the shining folk laugh and call out.

 

“Avalon, mortal woman! That land beyond lands! The eternal realm”

“Shh! They don’t know where that is!”

“Hark, the emperor speaks! Let him explain!”

 

I nod. How can I explain them?

“As they say Lady Bevia. They come from lands far distant. And they are not Human. They are the fair folk. They have come here in honor of the banquet you have brought with you. They will dine with you. But before we sit, I have a few words of caution.”

I hold up my hand and speak loudly, over the laughter in the table in front of me. I can see the nobles staring at the fae, entranced. But this has to be said. Caution hums in my veins now that the first moment of wonder is gone. Remember the legends.

I caution you. The fair folk are neither enemies nor friends. Make them no promises and speak no untruths to them. Stay within the meadow and if they ask you to leave with them, politely refuse. They are nobles, but they are not mine. I was honored to give them titles. But they do not answer to me.”

I hear laughter from the fae.

 

“Well said!”

“The emperor understands!”

“No man, no gods! No ruler save for our ourselves!”

 

They cheer and raise glasses, already drinking their third refill, some of them. I gesture towards the table.

“Please sit or stand and eat at your leisure. Tonight is a night for talk and entertainment. We will have a magical display and I believe, a demonstration later. But for now enjoy yourselves.”

It’s abrupt and not that refined, but it’s all I can do. Lady Rie isn’t helping—she’s staring like the rest. I have to nudge her before she starts and begins ordering people about.

“Mister Prost, let us break out more wine for our—our guests. And please, let us find a seat for you, Lady Bevia. Lady Bethal, will you sit or stand? Emperor Laken, may I offer you a seat?”

I shake my head. Bethal hurries off and Durene steps over to me. I sense her bending down as the confused nobles hesitantly approach the table with the merry diners. It feels like a dream.

“Laken? I didn’t understand that.”

“I’d be surprised if you did. Durene, remember the Frost Faeries?”

“Them? I remember. What about them?”

“These are the Frost Faeries. Or some version of them.”

What?

“It’s something from my world, Durene. There are…legends about them.”

“What legends?”

Lady Rie is coming up behind me. I turn.

“Lady Rie?”

“Emperor Laken, the nobles are dining with your other guests. Hesitantly. Would you explain to me exactly what they are?”

There’s a note of panic and fear in her voice. I understand. The fae are brilliant, magical—clearly otherworldly. They entrance just by existing, and unlike the limited magic I’ve experienced in this world, there is something off about them.

They touch this world lightly. I shiver. Awe and wonder can easily become terror at the unknown. I turn to Lady Rie and realize I haven’t prepared her at all for the fae. I didn’t know if they’d come. It felt like a long shot. But now they’re here. I sense Prost approaching, and Wiskeria.

“I should explain. All of you—step over here.”

We move back a few steps so we’re still in the meadow. The sunlight is fading and I can tell the illumination in the meadow comes mainly from the magelights and braziers now. We stand near one and I speak as clearly as I can to Durene, Prost, Rie, and Wiskeria.

“Those are fae. Fair folk. I don’t know if there are legends about them where you all come from, but in my homeland we have tales of them. They are…well, I suppose the best word for them is spirits.

“Ghosts?”

Lady Rie’s voice trembles. I smile, hearing the fae’s unearthly laughter.

“Not quite. They’re more like magical beings. Very powerful, very mysterious. They’re spirits of nature. They play pranks on mortals, they live deep in forests and in mounds. It’s said there are portals to their world scattered in ours.”

“Dead gods. This sounds like a children’s tale! And they’re real?

“Reality is stranger than fiction, Lady Rie. Much stranger, apparently. But what you need to know is that the fair folk have rules. After a fashion. They obey bargains and they don’t lie—but they twist the truth. If you don’t try to deceive them and don’t try to make deals or follow them, they’re harmless. Probably. And don’t threaten them either.”

“How would you hurt one of them? Hypothetically speaking.”

Wiskeria turns her head to stare at the fae. I hesitate.

“Cold iron. That means pure iron. Or horseshoes. I think they don’t like bells either. I don’t know—I’m not an expert on the folklore. But they’re masters of illusion. If they offer you gold—don’t take it. It’s probably just flowers.”

Flowers?

Lady Rie’s voice is high-pitched. I can sense the nobles looking at us uncertainly. I turn to her.

“Lady Rie, please calm down.”

“You didn’t tell me anything about this! Where did you meet these—these fair folk? Am I to believe they’ve been hiding here all this time? What do they mean, calling us ‘mortals’? Are they?”

“Lady Rie, calm down.

She quiets. I take a deep breath, and then another for good measure.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I didn’t know if they’d come. I didn’t expect this. But they are here. And the danger is…acceptable.”

“So long as we don’t make deals or follow them. What about the village?”

I turn my head to Wiskeria.

“They’re supposed to stay in the meadow. That’s the deal. But…it might be best if you keep an eye on the children, Mister Prost. And you, Wiskeria. Don’t ride patrols. Just make sure everything’s lit and keep an eye on everyone. If you see anything moving—tell me.”

“We can do that.”

To my relief, Prost sounds far more stable than Lady Rie. He turns to Wiskeria.

“I’ll head into the village and tell everyone not to stray. We’ve food set out and we can make an early night of it.”

“I’ll tell everyone else. And find some horseshoes and iron weapons.”

They hurry out of the meadow. I look at Lady Rie. She’s breathing hard, but she does seem to have calmed down a bit.

“I’m sorry, Lady Rie. Are you feeling alright?”

“No. But I suppose this is what an [Emperor] does, isn’t it?”

She looks at me, and I half-smile. Lady Rie shakes her head. She turns back towards the nobility sitting and standing around the banquet table.

“We’ve been speaking too long. We are worrying our guests. Emperor Laken, I believe it is time to socialize. I can only hope that you know what you have summoned to this gathering, your majesty.”

“I wish I knew. Durene?”

I reach out and touch her. Durene stares at the fae.

“They’re beautiful. Frightening and beautiful.”

“I know. I can only hear them. But…I know. Do you want to go to the village?”

She pauses. One of her hands finds mine.

“No. I want to meet them. But stay by me?”

“Of course.”

We walk forwards, following Lady Rie. And at some point I find myself dreaming, or something close to it. I hear a humming as I walk towards the fae. Their laughter engulfs me, and there’s a buzzing in the air, just below the surface. And I feel color.

Color. I have never seen color before in my life. I have no idea what it might be. But the fae represent more than just the idea of spring. They are spring incarnate, and when they speak, when I feel them moving about the meadow, I am struck by flashes of—of something that I can’t explain.

Vision. Is this what it’s like? The experience is disorienting. Frightening, even. But I think it’s a color. It can’t be anything else. It speaks to me, I who know no color. They speak and I hear green.

The fae laugh and eat merrily, talking amongst themselves while we mortals move like we’re underwater, watching, listening, talking more quietly. At first I’m overwhelmed, and then I find myself back in the world. And then I’m dreaming again.

The young nobles are clustered around the fae, trying to keep up, staring in awe at these wondrous guests. The fae are caught between genders, some of them. I know they’re the same Frost Faeries I met, but some are decidedly masculine. They flirt with both genders unashamedly, attracting the young nobles—and the young men and women on serving duty—around them like flies. I don’t focus on them for the moment and instead turn my attention to the older nobility.

The wiser ones are nervous as well as entranced. The rest are just awestruck. I sense Lady Bethal chatting to one of the fae while her husband, Thomast, keeps a wary hand near his rapier. Sacra sits far back, her eyes wide in her face.

“Your majesty?”

A voice interrupts me as Durene stares at a male-ish fae laughing and eating a slice of roast beef with his fingers. I turn and sense Lady Bevia.

“Emperor Laken? I was wondering if I might have a word. I am Lady Bevia—we spoke briefly when we first met.”

“I recall. Greetings, Lady Bevia. Let us sit. There are some private tables. Durene? Would you care to join us with some food?”

“Oh! Right!”

I move back with Lady Bevia to one of the newly-made tables made for intimate diners. Each one is decorated with a fine tablecloth and candles—a necessary expense according to Lady Rie. She spent lavishly on the banquet even without the need for food. I don’t know if it was worth it, but I’m at least grateful for the silver cutlery. Would the fae have come if we had spoons and forks made of iron instead?

“I’m grateful that you accepted the presence of my other guests so readily, Lady Bevia. I do apologize for their sudden arrival, but my court is…fickle at best.”

“I see. I was unaware of the presence of so many nobles. Tell me, do they live on Izril? Are they part of your new empire, your majesty?”

Awestruck or not, Bevia’s voice is sharp as she sits and Durene hurries over with plates heaped with food. She hovers around the table timidly. I cough and realize that Lady Bevia is eying Durene with some surprise.

“Lady Bevia? May I introduce my consort, Durene?”

Durene squeaks when she realizes I’m talking about her. I sense Bevia blink, but once again she reacts with nothing but grace.

“My word, I had no idea your majesty was married. Do forgive me. Lady Durene, was it?”

“Hello. I’m—I’m not a lady! I’m not married. Laken and I are just—”

Durene stammers as Bevia gets up. She actually retreats a step. I interject again.

“Durene saved my life when we first met, Lady Bevia. I was quite lost and helpless. Blind as I was, I met Durene and we quickly grew close.”

“I see. I am charmed to meet such a forthright young woman. Tell me, Miss Durene, are you the famed warrior I have heard so much about? I have heard of an imposing hero who slew a score of Hobs by himself in service to Emperor Laken, but the rumors neglected to mention your lovely appearance.”

“Me?”

I can sense Durene is blushing even if I can’t see it. Lady Bevia smiles and I’m grateful to her extreme tact.

“I would be honored if you would sit with us.”

“Oh. Okay—I’ll just sit on the ground—”

Durene sits down awkwardly. I smile at her and pat her arm underneath the table. Then I turn back to Lady Bevia.

“I thank you, Lady Bevia. Where were we? Ah, yes. To answer your question—no. The fair folk do not live on Izril. Nor are they part of my empire in truth. My gift of titles was just that—a gift in exchange for a service they rendered to me. They owe me nothing and in truth, I believe they would not come at my behest no matter the situation. This is a…special occasion.”

“A feast. I understand. Do pardon me if I admit to some relief. Your court is intimidating, to say the least.”

“I imagine so. But so are Izril’s nobility.”

I sense Bevia smiling.

“Ah yes. This little gathering was organized by Lady Reinhart. I understand it was something of a surprise. I apologize if we have caused you any inconvenience.”

“Very little.”

I lie through my teeth and sense Bevia knows it. She delicately spears a sautéed mushroom on a fork and nibbles at it as Durene tries to eat as much meat as possible while appearing polite. The rich food is a treat to her and the villagers, I have no doubt. I can barely touch my plate for nerves.

“Ah, this food is quite well done if I might say so myself. I believe Lord Imral provided the mushrooms, and Lady Fel the beef Miss Durene is enjoying so much. Tell me, Emperor Laken, have you ever met Magnolia Reinhart in person?”

“No. I would like to at some point. However, I have interacted with her servants.”

“I see. Well, I would hate to color your impression of her before you two meet in person. She is an impressive [Lady] and a credit to my class. If difficult to work with on occasion.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“By all means, Lady Bevia. Color my impression as much as you would like—sight is hardly an issue when it comes to meeting new people for me.”

Bevia’s startled laughter makes a few heads turn and Durene nearly drops her drink.

“Hah! You are quick, aren’t you, young man? Well, I don’t think I can say anything Lady Rie has not. However, I would ask that you think of her kindly. She has held together the squabbling nobility for far too long. This is her being kind, if you can imagine that. She was far more direct in her youth.”

“Really? And may I ask if you were more direct when you were younger, Lady Bevia?”

“Oh, slightly.”

She twinkles at me. I smile back and find the appetite to have a roll of mustard and beef. It’s actually quite good and I find I have an appetite after all.

“Lady Bevia, I am an unsophisticated [Emperor] with little in the way of subterfuge.”

“I appreciate the lie, your majesty.”

“No, truly. I prefer straightforward conversation. That’s why I fell in love with Durene, after all.”

I hear a choking noise to my right and ignore it.

“You may well imagine this gathering was somewhat difficult to set up, but now you are here, I would be delighted to talk openly and frankly about the possibility of friendship between my empire and yours.”

“Indeed? Well, well. It is refreshing to be straightforward. I did come here in hopes of making friendships, your majesty. However, I have some slight reservations…”

Lady Bevia delicately pats a cloth napkin to her lips. She pauses, and I sense her bite her lip ever so slightly. She might not know I can sense her movements. Or is she doing that on purpose? I remind myself to be careful—Bevia seems a lot more intelligent than her nephew. What’s his name? Rael?

After a pause, Lady Bevia cuts to the heart of the conversation I was expecting.

“Forging friendships is all very well, Emperor Laken, but I would imagine any noble would be concerned about your empire. Monarchy is an alien concept to Izril. We have done without [Kings] and [Emperors]. It is why our ancestors fled Terandria. To have an [Emperor] appear so suddenly would panic some of the nobility. They might fear you would annex their lands in time.”

“Quite understandable. What if I told you I had no intentions to govern more than Riverfarm? That other towns and cities came to me asking for protection?”

“I would not be surprised. The question is what would occur if a city under the domain of say, Magnolia Reinhart were to ask you for similar protections?”

“I suppose I would decline. I have no intentions of taking land or making war, Lady Bevia. I realize that’s a poor reassurance.”

“Ah, from an [Emperor]? I would not doubt your word, your majesty. When a monarch speaks, I would assume it was true.”

“What if I could swear it was true? On a truth gem? That I have no intention of taking over your lands or any other? That I am willing to work peacefully in hand with the nobles of Izril?”

Bevia pauses. She narrows her eyes slightly. Then she smiles.

“Well now, I believe that I might assume a bit more if that were the case. Tell me Emperor, where were you raised? And may I offer you a stuffed egg? They are quite excellent and come from my [Chef]’s kitchens, by the way.”

“I should be delighted, Lady Bevia. Now, Lady Rie tells me your estates import a good deal of food crops. I don’t know if I can interest you, but I do expect to expand Riverfarm’s farms twenty-fold and I was wondering if you were interested at all in produce…”

 

—-

 

My conversation with Lady Bevia is short. Short, for a wide-ranging discussion on everything from agriculture to trade to monster incursions and the need for security across Izril. We part after Durene’s finished her third plate and I get up, feeling as though someone’s hit me with a few footballs in the face. For an old [Lady], Bevia is sharp.

“How did it go?”

Lady Rie appears at my side as Lady Bevia moves back to a small cluster of nobles, laughing lightly. I nod and lower my voice. One of the things Lady Rie warned me about was the Skills of [Ladies] and sometimes [Lords]. They can listen to a conversation across a noisy banquet hall if not guarded against. Still, all that I’m saying should be fine to hear.

“Good. You were right—she sought me out straight away. Do you think she’ll relay my words to the others?”

“Without a doubt. Lady Bevia could be considered an emissary of sorts. The others will probably approach you after considering what she tells them.”

“I’ll meet them as they come, then. How are the fae doing?”

I sense the laughing folk at my tables. By this point the fae have eaten a good portion of the food the nobles brought—and they brought enough for four times our number! At this point they’re drinking and talking with the nobles. Most of the older ones continue to stay back, but the young ones are completely engaged.

I sense some of them clustered around a young man with a cup in one hand. Laughing, they surround the young [Lord], laying hands on his body, touching him, flitting away. They provoke him and lead the young man on like a game, and I sense his face flush. He reaches for a female fae and she spins away, laughing. The young man pursues her and nearly lunges until he’s caught by another young man. The second [Lord] says something to the drunk one and I hear a loud, slurred voice.

“Keep off, Pattin! No one wants your opinion. Damn you and your poor house!”

His voice is a bit too loud. Not that the fae care. They ooh and laugh as the young [Lord] named Pattin flushes. He replies as I slowly move closer, on the pretext of asking Gamel if he’s got enough wine to go around.

“They outrank you, Lord Rael. It’s not seemly to pursue them like that.”

“Rank? We’re all [Lords] here, you daft idiot!”

The young lord Rael shakes Pattin’s grip off. I remember him now. He’s the one who laughed after I invited the fae. He doesn’t strike me as hugely bright. Pattin on the other hand interests me. Lady Rie appears like a fae herself and whispers in my ear.

“Do you want me to stop them?”

“No, let them talk. Remind me where Lord Pattin comes from?”

“Vaunt. A small city with a few villages. Very small holding, but they make excellent cheese. Unfortunately, they can’t produce a large amount owing to sickness among their cattle six years back. They have yet to replenish their herds and have fallen on hard times. Young Lord Pattin is considered a very intelligent [Lord] though, and I believe that when he replaces his father, Vaunt will prosper.”

“I see.”

I sense Rael staggering forwards until he’s intercepted by his aunt. I can’t hear what she whispers to him, but it sobers him up fast. She bows to the fae lady that Rael was pursuing.

“I do apologize, for my nephew’s rudeness. May I inquire as to your name, Lady…?”

The fae woman draws herself up and I don’t have to see the mischief in her eyes. I can hear it in her voice.

 

“I am a Baron, foolish mortal! Kneel before me!”

 

“A Baron? Do you mean a Baroness?”

Bevia sounds startled. The fae woman laughs at her.

 

“Why would I be a Baroness? I asked to be Baron and so I am! Will ye not kneel?”

 

“I’m afraid [Ladies] do not kneel to [Barons].”

 

“Truly? Pity!”

 

The fae woman loses interest instantly. She dances away and I hear her begin to bother someone else. The fae call out to me as I pass by their table.

 

“Come sit, Emperor!”

“Drink with us!”

“Eat with us!”

“Dance! Dance with our kind! Come!”

 

I decline as best I can as they whirl around me, laughing, snatching at my robe. Durene moves forwards protectively.

“Hey, keep away! You can’t just—”

 

“Ooh, the half-child is angry!”

“Come, daughter of Trolls! Dance with us!”

“Walk the woodlands in with us!”

“Eat and drink, half-child! It has been too long since we have eaten with your kind!”

 

“Wait, what? I’m not—I should—hey, Laken!”

Durene yelps as the fae press drinks and food into her hands. I turn back, but Durene’s objections are quickly muted as the fae cheer her on. She sits with them and begins a drinking contest with one fae. I don’t think she’s in danger, so I move on.

“Emperor Laken? A pleasure to meet you. I am Lord Tourant—”

“Your majesty? Might I have a word? I am humbly Lady Fel of—”

“Do you have a moment, sire? I was hoping to have a quick conversation about—”

The nobles of Izril converge on me, the one person they understand in the sea of strange folk around them. I fend off invitations to sit as best I can and greet everyone I can remember by name. But I move on, breaking out into the edge of the gathering as the fae begin luring more and more [Lords] and [Ladies] to sit and dine with them. They eat and drink with the nobles, talking quietly, listening to the Humans, and laughing.

I don’t know what’s said but I have a feeling those who sit with the fae would tell them anything and everything. Ah, well. I walk on, until I’m standing by a brazier that’s gone out, on the far side of the meadow. I stand there and concentrate. It was just a dim feeling before, but now I’m closer I’m certain.

There’s someone here. I have another guest, one I’ve overlooked. She stands at the far end of the meadow with another silent figure. Another fae. Only these two are different from all the rest. They’re nearly invisible to my [Emperor] senses—more like vague shapes than anything specific. I don’t know if they’re visible to anyone else. I walk forwards slowly.

It’s colder here. The heat of the other braziers doesn’t reach this far. And as I move forwards I sense one of my guests is eating something. The other is quite, quite still.

And armed. My hazy impression of the two changes. One is female, standing alone, greedily devouring a plate full of food. The other is silent. A tall, armored warrior standing by the side of the fae woman. He—and it is definitely a he—makes no move as I approach, but I can tell he watches me. So does she. And as I draw closer, she speaks.

 

“Emperor of the Unseen. I was not invited to your banquet. I am not one of your court, nor do I wish to be. Yet my kin come, and I was permitted to join them. Will ye cast me out or give me the hospitality of your hearth?”

 

I start as I hear her voice. Blue! The word springs to mind along with the color. This fae is different from her kin. The air around her is cold, and I feel like her body is different from the other fae. This fae seems surly, almost annoyed at being spotted.

She stands out from the rest of her lively kin. They shine with life and laughter, the embodiment of spring itself. But she stands alone, dour and silent, eating while the silent warrior stands to one side. Watching her.

“I would be only too glad to offer you the hospitality of the banquet. But not of my hearth. What lies in the meadow—”

 

“Yes, yes. Well then, I shall eat and drink. ‘Twould be uncharitable if I did not offer you my gratitude. So. There.”

 

I wait until I realize that was it. I cough.

“May I ask why you’re standing here alone? And why I didn’t notice you before? Who is your companion?”

 

“Yon silent statue? Take no notice. He is here for me, not you.”

 

There’s a grimace in the fae woman’s voice. She picks up a egg and eats it carefully. Again, that’s surprising—her kin eat and drink with reckless abandon, but this fae is deliberate, mannered.  I wonder—

 

“We’ve met before.”

 

“We have?”

 

“Briefly. You might not recall. You met many of my sisters and gave them titles they rejoice over. But I met you alone. In the city.”

 

Memory strikes me. I gasp.

“You’re Ivolethe!

The fae woman smiles.

 

“Aye.”

 

“But I thought—where’s Ryoka? And why are you still blue? Is this your true form?”

Ivolethe pauses.

 

“True? Form? What would you like me to say? As for where Ryoka Griffin is—you would know better than I. I have not seen her since my punishment began. This is the first time I have come to this world since. I know naught.”

 

“Punishment?”

 

“Yes. Punishment. I am forbidden from returning to this world. Yon guardian is proof of my King’s ire with me. He is here to ensure I do not flee.”

 

Ivolethe flicked a bit of food at the silent warrior standing behind her. He doesn’t move. But I don’t see the specks of food land on his armor. I stare at Ivolethe, unsure of what to say.

“Can I ask why you were punished?”

 

“You can.”

 

I pause.

“Will you tell me?”

She grins for the first time.

 

“Nae.”

 

I’m starting to remember her more now. Ivolethe pauses as she drinks from a wine glass she was not holding a second ago.

 

“‘Tis not my decision to withhold the truth. You need not know what happened, save that I broke the rules of my kind. I interfered with what would be and for that was punished.”

 

“By exile from this world?”

 

“Aye. A harsh punishment. I may go where I please, do what I please. But of this world I am banned from returning save for this one moment.”

 

“That doesn’t seem harsh.”

Ivolethe’s glare is palpable on my skin, like a blast of winter air.

 

“You think so? Here is where my friend lives, mortal. Here she lives and here she will die. I am banned from entering this world until her death. Understand? That is my punishment. To know my friend lives and to not see her triumph and failures. To live until she is gone and chase memories. That is pain! That is how I suffer!”

 

Her voice rises. I feel the air chill further and for a second, a cold wind blows through the meadow, cutting off conversation and turning heads. Then the chill fades. Someone laughs, and the moment is lost. The warm magic of the spring fae overwhelms Ivolethe’s cold fury. I stand with her, silent.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry. Hah!”

 

Bitterly, Ivolethe drinks deeply. Then she shakes her head.

 

“Save your tears, mortal. ‘Twas a fitting punishment by my King. How else would you punish the fae? Our hearts are hurt only by those we give them to. I broke the rules and so, I suffer. No more, no less.”

 

“Is there anything I can do?”

She looks at me blankly then grins.

 

“Do? What arrogance of mortals! There is nothing to do, Laken Godart. Nothing you could say would change the fae. Do not mistake your influence.”

 

“Sorry.”

She stares at me. Then hesitates.

 

“Well, there is something.”

 

“What?”

 

“Could you—could you tell Ryoka Griffin I live? That I did not die when my form was broken? Tell her I am punished, nothing more. And—”

 

For the first time the armored warrior stirs behind Ivolethe. She breaks off sharply and scowls. I stare warily at the armored figure. His armor is dark in my mind. His figure hazy. I don’t know what he is—another kind of the fae?—only that he scares me. Ivolethe stares silently at me for a moment.

 

“Naught else. Tell her that if you meet her again, Laken Godart.”

 

“If I meet her? Do you know if I will?”

Ivolethe shakes her head.

 

“I see perhapses and maybes and what could be. I see the lines of if and when. But the future changes. If you meet her, Laken Godart. Remember me.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Good. Then we have little else to discuss. Yon food is quite good. I would tell you to eat as much of it as possible before my kin devour the rest.”

 

Ivolethe returns to eating from her plate. I stare at her, surprised by the sudden change in conversation. The frost fae stares at me.

 

“What?”

 

“I have a thousand questions.”

 

“Do ye? I have a thousand answers: no. I am not permitted to speak. Go back to your dream, mortal child. Enjoy the presence of my kind, for thou shalt soon wake from the dream. And be wary, lest it become nightmare.”

 

Ivolethe glares at me. She gestures to the spring fae again and I turn my head.

“Nightmare?”

I start as I sense Ivolethe baring her teeth behind me. They’re pointed. She grins at me.

 

“Aye. Or did you really think you could invite the fae to dine with you without dangers?”

 

I turn back to her. Then I hear the buzzing begin. The night has taken over the meadow and the braziers are burning low. I see shadows shifting across the table. And then I see the fae shapes beginning to move.

They creep across the ground, laughing, dragging the Human nobles into shadows, eating, growing more and more excited as they drink further. The fae enter a frenzy as the pitch of their laughter changes. They seem to grow as the shadows deepen. I see Oswalt, enthralled, follow three giggling fae into a shadow. He disappears.

“Oh no.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Ivolethe grins at me as my heart begins to race. I see Durene surrounded by fae, Lady Rie speaking in a trance to one who smiles at her. I can’t tell how many there are, only that they’re moving faster, and…humming.

There’s a buzzing, a thrum in the air. It was a distant sound when I first met the fae. Now it’s growing louder, like the thundering of insect wings. I look around. Where did Oswalt go? Where’s Gamel?

“Ivolethe, what are your kin doing?”

 

“What we always do. You know the legends, don’t you? You summoned the Spring Court, Laken Godart. What did you think they would do?”

 

I turn to her, desperately.

“What do I do?”

She tilts her head towards me.

 

“Have you any bells?”

 

“Bells? I don’t know!”

She nods.

 

“Then I would find out. Quickly.”

 

—-

 

Rael knew he was dreaming. He didn’t care. He reached out to one of the beautiful women as the buzzing grew louder. She laughed and let him try to touch her breasts, her face, her arms, always ducking back or stepping just out of reach. He followed her, grateful that Pattin wasn’t anywhere to stop him. But some part of Rael wanted Pattin to stop him.

The fae woman was beckoning to him, telling him to follow her where the lights weren’t so bright in the meadow. Rael stumbled after her. He saw movement in the shadows. Frenzied, urgent, violent. He didn’t know if it was what he thought or—

There was a humming in his ears. Rael stared at the fae woman. She was beautiful. He couldn’t say how or why she was beautiful, only that she was. More beautiful than Cimeca could ever be. Rael was dimly aware of grabbing for the laughing woman’s hands, of telling her something.

Everything.

There was something wrong. He was drawing further away from the meadow and he recalled that being unwise. But he couldn’t stop. The fae woman’s face seemed to change the further she got from the light. Her features melted until her eyes were dark. They looked almost insectile. But she was still beautiful. Staggering, Rael saw other young men and women following him. He saw Cimeca leaning into the handsome man—or was it a woman?—and heard the distant buzzing grow louder.

 

“Come. Touch me. You want to.”

 

The woman taunted him. Rael reached out and touched her. She felt—

Quick as a flash, the woman tilted her head down and bit. Rael cried out in pain and pulled his hand back. Part of the flesh on his forearm was missing. The fae woman laughed as blood dripped from her mouth. She beckoned him.

 

“Come. Join me. Just a bit further.”

 

She shifted her dress. Rael stared. His body flushed and he took a step after her. Just a few more steps and they’d be out of the meadow. He saw someone lying on the ground just a little bit away, being dragged onwards. Oswalt? Rael heard buzzing in his ears—

And then he heard a bell ringing. It was faint, but the hum faltered as it rang, clear and piercing through the night. Rael stopped stumbling forwards and looked around. The fae woman looked up.

Again the bell rang. And again. It was chiming loudly. It was a hand bell, and the humming sounded as if it might overwhelm the noise. Then another bell chimed, and another.

The humming faded, grew less urgent. The flush in Rael’s body continued, but he could think around the tightness of his pants. He became aware of the blood leaking from his arm and stared at the fae woman.

“You bit me.”

She shrugged. The frenzied light in her eyes had dimmed. The bells continued to ring, and Rael turned to see the [Emperor] ringing a bell with a number of his servants. They spread out around the meadow and the dim braziers and faded [Light] spells brightened. The world came back into focus. Rael backed away from the fae woman as she smiled.

 

“Leaving? You will never know what waits beyond yon boundary.”

 

She indicated a space just past the meadow. Rael stared and smelled spring, the scent of pollen in the air. And blood. He backed away. He would never forget the sight of the fae woman stepping  back and the urgency in his blood. And the fear. He turned and ran back towards the banquet as the bells continued to ring.

 

—-

 

I ring the bell as loudly as I can in my hands. The sound it makes is loud and high—it’s a sheep bell, designed to be heard by shepherding dogs. I ring it again and see Gamel ringing a cowbell. He looks disoriented, but as the sounds of the bells carry, the confusion fades.

The humming from the fae dies down. I see the excitement fade from the spring fae around me and the humans in the meadow start and shake their heads as if waking from a dream. Those who left the banquet table, the young men and women mainly, stumble back. Not all of them are the same as the ones who left.

I sense Rael returning, covering his arm. One of the young women’s clothing is mussed. Another has a sprained wrist. But the worst is Oswalt. Three of the fae were standing around him. I sense him get up, make an incoherent sound and stumble away.

Bloody. As he approaches I hear Rie gasp. I keep my voice steady.

“Gamel, get a healing potion.”

Oswalt is in one piece. He’s alive. But he’s covered in blood. His arms, his neck, and places hidden by his tunic are dark with blood. He’s been bitten or…scratched.  Part of his ear is missing.

“Oswalt!”

A [Lady] runs over to him, pale-faced. His mother. She pushes a fae woman back and the fae retreats, laughing softly. I sense the fae draw back, and the buzzing grows softer as the bells continue to ring.

 

“Well done.”

 

A voice speaks in my ear. I whirl and sense Ivolethe standing in front of me. Her silent warrior guardian is right behind her. She nods to Oswalt as Gamel rushes over with a healing potion.

 

“Almost too slow. But not quite. Yon fool will live, although he will remember.”

 

She grins at me and I shudder. The memory of the fae creeping about, pulling their victims out of the meadow—

“What would have happened if he’d left the meadow?”

 

“Oh, he would have been outside the laws of hospitality. Perhaps he would have gone for a trip and come back older. Or perhaps he would have woken up naked a few miles yonder. Or perhaps…”

 

Ivolethe shrugged. There are a thousand things her shrugs hints at. I turn my head away.

“This was a mistake. I thought your kind would obey the rules of hospitality!”

Ivolethe’s eyes glint.

 

“And why would you think that would make you safe? The summer court is not like the winter. You were lucky that you only invited my kin, not…others.”

 

“And are we safe now? What if others come?”

The frost fae considers my question. She nods.

 

“I would draw a circle of salt around your village or at the very least, the houses. Put an iron horseshoe on each door if ye must. But do not fear; those of us who would play mischief are fewer now than we were.”

 

“Not reassuring.”

 

“Is it? You know the myths. You invited us anyways. Will you complain and say you weren’t warned?”

 

“No, but they might.”

A voice interrupts my argument with Ivolethe. I sense Lady Rie come forwards. She seems pale, but unaffected by her experience. Of course—those who weren’t lured away by the fae were merely charmed. Durene is shaking her head and saying she feels like throwing up, but the nobles wise enough to stay put are just shaken. It’s their outrage that bothers me.

“How dare you! You’d assault a [Lord] of Izril?”

A man is shouting. Oswalt’s father, I think. He has a sword in hand as he faces one of the female fae. She laughs in his face and I see two [Lords] trying to hold Lord Tourant back.

 

“Did ye fear for your son? You were warned, mortal man! What passes is not your choice but his!”

 

She points at the silent Oswalt. His wounds are healed and save for the tip of his ear he’s fine. But he’s pale and shaking. Lord Tourant trembles with fury as he steps forwards the fae woman.

“If you were not a woman I would cut you down—”

He raises his blade and the fae woman leaps forwards. Before he can, react, she grabs the steel blade—with her bare hands. There’s a cry of shock and Lord Tourant nearly drops his blade. The fae laughs as her hand bleeds crimson onto the blade. She holds it, her blood coating the metal, without pain or fear.

 

“Steel? Hah! If you’d duel us, bring cold iron and star metal! Bring blades forged of magic and legend! And if you thrust, do it with your heart in your hands for we’ll pluck it out if you miss!”

“Yes, come!”

“Come and dance the dance of blades!”

“Bare your sword, lordling of men! Shed blood and life like wine on this night!”

Come.

 

More of the fae spring forwards and surround Lord Tourant. The excitement in them isn’t completely suppressed by the bells. Tourant backs up as the fae woman offers the blood blade to him, hilt-first. He hesitates, and then another [Lord] curses and reaches for his sword.

“Damn these outsiders. Tourant! Let’s teach them a lesson!”

He nearly has his sword unsheathed when a voice rises.

“Stop.”

Both men turn. I sense Lady Bethal striding forwards. Her eyes are ablaze with passion and she seems—her dress is very rumpled. I don’t think a fae did it either, because Sir Thomst follows her, adjusting his doublet. Lady Bethal interposes herself between the two lords and the fae.

“You were warned, Lord Tourant. As was your son. Emperor Godart told you the perils of following them. I won’t see you or anyone else dead over this quarrel, and Thomast assures me it would not be our mysterious guests who perish should it come to blows.”

Lord Tourant pales, but his face is still red with anger over his son. He points to the stricken Oswalt with a trembling finger.

“He was bewitched! That was magic!”

Lady Bethal folds her arms.

“If it was, it was no magic I’ve encountered. It was passion. Quite enjoyable passion, but passion nonetheless. You controlled yourself as did your wife. If young Oswalt had the sense not to chase skirts he would not have injured himself. As it is he has lost part of an ear—hardly a disfiguring mark. Indeed, a lost ear due to passion is quite attractive to some.”

Sir Tourant stares at Lady Bethal. He hesitates.

“My son—”

“Sit down, Lord Tourant. You are in Emperor Godart’s presence.”

Lady Bethal turns and all the nobles seem to start and recall I’m here. The man next to Tourant hesitates.

“With respect, Lady Bethal, this is hardly a matter for you to—”

“Sit down, Lord Melbore.”

“I—”

Sit.

He nearly sits down right then and there. The two men back down and sit at the banquet table. Lady Bethal turns. She smiles widely at me.

“That was a most enjoyable interlude, Emperor Laken. May I ask if you have more entertainments planned for the night? Your strange guests are most entertaining.”

I hear laughter from the fae. One steps forwards and kisses Bethal on the cheek.

 

“Yon mortal could be one of us!”

“Almost!”

“A pity she loves only one! Lucky mortal man!”

“Unlucky mortal man! Hah!”

 

Slowly, the mood returns to something like normal. The fae resume feasting and laughing, but this time the nobles sit across from them at their own table. I find Lady Rie again.

“How bad do you think this was?”

She purses her lips.

“Honestly? I have no idea. Your fair folk certainly frightened the nobles, but whether they’ll hold a grudge against you is different. But watch yourself—she’s going to speak with you next.”

She nods, and before I can turn around I feel thorns. I turn and Lady Bethal is right in front of me with her silent husband.

“Ah, Emperor Godart! We didn’t have a chance to talk. May I have the privilege of a few short words?”

“Of course, Lady Bethal. Are you thirsty? Gamel, could you fetch us some drinks?”

The cups of wine are practically all empty, but Gamel hurries off promising to find some. Lady Bethal laughs lightly as she watches him go.

“Most impressive how many devoted servants you have, Emperor Laken. Am I correct in understanding that young man is a [Knight]?”

“You are, Lady Bethal.”

“Fascinating. You know, I have a small order of [Knights] whom I fund. They are quite energetic. And decent fighters, although of course not as adept as my Thomast. You’ve met him. Say hello, Thomast.”

She waves her husband forwards. He bows slightly and murmurs a word, but, I note, keeps his attention firmly focused on Ivolethe. No—not her, the warrior standing behind her. I’m impressed he can even see the two fae—they’re being ignored by practically everyone else in the meadow. Wait—I think Bethal and Bevia can see them too.

“I’m honored by your presence, Lady Bethal. I understand you’re a close friend of Magnolia Reinhart?”

“Close? Well yes, we did grow up as friends and I do occasionally help her out with small matters. But you know, Magnolia does have her obsessions. And while I understand her, it does grow tiresome worrying about everything, doesn’t it? I prefer to simply act and face the consequences later.”

“Hm. I can admire that way of thinking. I fear that I take the opposite approach. Acting without caution is slightly dangerous when you can’t see.”

Bethal laughs.

“Oh, forgive me! It must be different. I am simply referring to…well, let’s just say I enjoyed myself immensely tonight. I came here expecting to simply eat and dine and chat, which is frankly dull, but this was well worth the trip! I won’t forget tonight. You know, your visitors are enchanting. Who did you say they were? Fair folk? They certainly have wonderful complexions! Do you know if I could visit them?”

I try to fend off her questions, smiling politely, and see Gamel heading towards us at speed. He has a wineglass in each hand and I’m not ashamed to admit that I plan to use him as a conversation topic to steer Bethal away from questions about the fae. He’s nearly upon us and I see him offering a cup to me when a hand shoots out and knocks the cup away.

 

“Stop!”

 

One of the spring fae shouts, his voice drowning out all sound. He seems enraged and Gamel staggers back, surprised. I whirl as the fae leaps forwards and snatches the cup from Gamel’s hand. Several of the Human [Lords] leap to their feet with a hand of their weapons, but the fae are faster. The one with the cup raises it above his head and shouts.

 

Treachery! A poisoned cup!

 

The other fae shout in outrage. Their good spirits change to fury in a moment.

 

“What?”

“Who dares break the law of hospitality?”

“Who offers violence?”

“Find them! Hound them! Tear them apart!”

 

They begin shouting all at once, their beautiful faces suddenly twisted with rage. I hear buzzing again, loud and furious. Gamel backs away and the nobles of Izril freeze in fear as the fae turn, their faces masks of anger. A buzzing fills the air, a loud, low drone that makes the tableware rumble and the air shake. I sense the people around me freeze as the fae cry out in outrage. I raise a hand and shout.

Stop!

The fae halt. They turn towards me. I look at the cup the fae is holding.

“Are you sure it’s poisoned?”

 

“Yes! ‘Twas not yon servant who poisoned it, but death runs through this cup! A treachery, a breach of sacred hospitality!”

 

I don’t doubt the fae. I turn to Gamel. He’s pale as every eye fixes on him.

“Gamel, what happened to the cup?”

He trembles, spreading his hands, his face white.

“Your majesty, I swear I put down both cups for a moment to find an untapped keg of wine. When I turned back—it must have been then! Only I don’t know who might have touched it!”

He points to a place where the wine cups were standing. I try and sense whether there are clues or any sign of who might be there. But the nobles all could have gotten up and walked over, and no one’s left a handy bracelet on the ground or incriminating sock. I shake my head.

“So you have no idea who might have put poison in the drink?”

“None, sire.”

“And it is poisoned? For transparency, let us test it. Good folk, please.”

Lady Rie walks forwards, her face pale. She takes the wine glass from the fae and place something in it. A fork. I have no idea why she’s doing that until I recall—all the silverware is made of silver.

After a moment Lady Rie takes the fork out. I can’t tell if there’s a difference, but the nobles all gasp as one, so I suspect the silver’s changed somehow. Apparently it reacts to many poisons. Rie nods slowly.

“Someone was trying to kill Emperor Laken. Someone in this gathering.”

The meadows goes silent. All the nobles and stare at each other, pale-faced. My people surround me protectively, as if that could save me from the invisible assassin. One of the [Lords], Tourant, speaks hoarsely.

“Surely you don’t suspect us, Lady Rie? We never touched the cup!”

“Indeed, how could it be us? What about a servant?”

Anyone could have touched the cup! Why, it could be these strange folk—”

The [Lady] who speaks breaks off as the fae closest to her hiss in outrage.

 

“You dare question our honor?”

“Kill her!”

 

The buzzing begins again, loud and fierce. The nobles shrink in their seats and once again I raise my voice.

“Peace, fair folk! Please, peace!”

They subside, looking at me. I take a few deep breaths. Poison. I never sensed it. And it was coming to me? Why now? Was it—where’s Sacra? I speak as calmly as I can, sensing for her. She’s…wait, she’s in the village. Because she’s not a noble, that’s right! But could she have…? I try and focus, speaking to the crowd in the meadow as calmly as I can.

“Peace. I understand and appreciate your outrage, fair folk. However, no harm was done. This is a time of feasting and I would not besmirch the honor of my guests with accusations without fact. I ask you to sit and eat, lords and ladies of the fae.”

They hesitate. At last, one of them shrugs.

 

“So long as hospitality is not broken entirely and the host agrees, we abide. But a second breach and we will hunt. Honor demands it!”

 

I nod.

“I would expect nothing less.”

Satisfied, the fae sit. Soon they begin laughing as if nothing’s happened, but the nobles of Izril are well and truly frightened. They stare at me, grateful to be saved from the wrath of the fae. I sense Ivolethe moving through the crowd. She plucks the offending cup of poison and sniffs at it.

 

“You have enemies, Laken Godart. Take care you survive to meet Ryoka Griffin.”

 

She takes the half-full cup from the serving tray and downs the liquid inside before I can stop her. Bethal gasps audibly, but Ivolethe just laughs.

 

“Fear not, mortals. ‘Twas not the danger to us that offended my kin, but the insult to hospitality. There are few poisons in any world that we fear.”

 

She tosses the cup down and turns away. Bethal breathes out slowly.

“I see. Well I for one am glad of that. Emperor Laken, I am appalled at this assault on your life—at your own gathering, no less! Please rest assured that I will investigate this matter personally. And please be assured that Magnolia was not responsible for this heinous attack.”

I’m breathing hard. Durene is right behind me, and I know her fists are clenched, ready to hit something.

“You seem very sure of that, Lady Bethal.”

She doesn’t move and her voice is steady.

“I am. Magnolia does not employ poisons. She is far more direct. If she wanted you dead without a shadow of a doubt, well, I realize that is hardly a comfort, but there it is. She intended this gathering as a way to test you, Emperor Godart.”

“And did I pass her test?

I snap and sense Thomast shift ever so slightly. Lady Bethal nods slowly.

“I would say you did. Please do not mistake Magnolia’s actions for hostility. She must be sure of her friends and enemies. I would elaborate, but I think Sacra is tasked with explaining the rest of Magnolia’s thoughts.”

“I will see her directly then. Lady Bethal, I apologize for the abruptness, but—”

“I understand completely.”

Lady Bethal smiles, bows slightly, and retreats. I turn. Ivolethe is standing behind me.

“What?”

 

“It seems this banquet is at an end. The food is nearly eaten and the wine is almost gone at any rate. I believe my kin are leaving.”

 

Sure enough, the fae are gathering. I hesitate as they laugh and call out farewells to the nobles of Izril. Only Bethal waves and smiles in return.

“Are they offended by the poison?”

Ivolethe grins her pointed grin.

 

“Only in your name. In truth, I think they rather liked it. A banquet is not complete without bloodshed and intrigue, after all. I thank you on their behalf since they will not, arrogant fools that they be.”

 

“So you’re going? Just like that?”

She nods. I have a thousand things to ask her, and I sense the warrior behind her and know I won’t get an answer to any of them.

“There’s so much I need to know. Will your kind return if I host another banquet?”

 

“Most likely not. This was special, Laken Godart. You know that. If it happened twice, would it be as special? Nae, do not look for wonders twice in the same place. We are not permitted to interfere in this world.”

 

I frown at Ivolethe.

“But you did. That was poison meant for me.”

 

“Aye. But we were allowed to come here.”

 

I pause.

“That makes no sense.”

She laughs.

 

“You are like Ryoka. Foolish. Don’t you see? The rules we have against interfering are not rules set in stone or graved on the world’s heart. They are just rules. Made by our King. He thinks we should not interfere, so we do not out of respect to him. But there is no reason why we cannot.

 

“But then why is he…?”

Ivolethe shakes her head.

 

“Caution, Laken Godart. Caution and memory. Our King does not wish our deaths. He fears that to interfere would mean the end of one of us, and that is a cost far too high.”

 

“He fears for you so much?”

The winter fae nods. Her voice grows tired, older, even as her spring cousins laugh and dance about, making the most of their last moments on earth.

 

“If one of our kind should perish every thousand years, it would be far too many, emperor of men. We are old.”

 

“How old?”

I feel a frozen finger jab me in the throat and flinch.

 

“Must you mortals ask a question of everything? Old, fool! When your kind was learning to build with stone and wood, we were already ancient. In ages past we danced with gods and demons and made war and peace across worlds.”

 

She pauses.

 

“Once our courts were filled with the fae and we filled the forests with laughter. We are fewer now. Far fewer.”

 

“But you are immortals. Aren’t you?”

She just sighs.

 

“All things die, Laken Godart. All things. So our King forbids us to do more than spread winter on this world. And that is a boon based out of obligation. But he let us attend this banquet because it was special.”

 

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She just sighs.

 

“For the memory of such things, I think. Our King desires not to interfere in this world’s doings, but he remembers. We all remember what was and what might be again, and we long for these gatherings. We love acknowledgement, and for that the Faerie King would bend his own rules to allow us a few moments to dance and make merry. For this kindness, you were granted a wonder. If the world changes because of it, well, such is fate. And we enjoyed ourselves, so that’s all that matters.”

 

She smiles wickedly. I find myself smiling too, but it’s bittersweet.

“I wish—”

She cuts me off. I feel a kiss on my cheek, a sweet kiss like a snowflake, like frost. Ivolethe dances back from me, elegant, mischievous, as Durene gasps.

 

“Hah! If wishes were so easily granted! Take your gifts, Laken Godart. I do not think we will ever meet again.”

 

I rub at my cheek.

“Don’t you know?”

She shakes her head.

 

“If we knew everything, what would be the point of anything? Go well, Laken Godart.”

 

She laughs, a bright, cold sound, and bows. I bow back and Ivolethe turns. In a moment she and the strange warrior are gone. The other fae dance forwards. One steps forwards and bows to me, mockingly.

 

“‘Twas well done and cleverly played. You asked for naught but our presence, and the boon is granted. So we go.”

 

I bow again.

“That is all I wished for. You have already done me a grand favor, fair folk. I would say that I am in your debt, but I am told that is unwise.”

 

“True!”

“This emperor is wiser than most!”

“No debts, no payment!”

“Well then, farewell, wise ruler! Remember us, mortals!”

 

They bow, laughing. All of them. I don’t expect it, but the unruly mob lowers their heads in unison. And then they shout as one as the nobles of Izril look on.

 

“To the Emperor of Eyes! To the Ruler of the Unseen! To the Protector of the Cottage!”

 

And as the last echo of their voice fades in the meadow they are gone. Gone, just like that, leaving only that most precious of things behind. A memory.

 

—-

 

The night was filled with activity long after the fair folk left. The nobles of Izril were almost panicked by what they had seen and experienced. There was the issue of poison hanging in the air, and the fear of suspicion. For the [Emperor] and his people, there was the issue of Magnolia Reinhart’s maid to attend to.

She would have an audience on the morrow—for tonight the [Emperor] insisted on drawing a circle of salt around the village, a tricky task, but a necessary one. The nobles found themselves sleeping in newly-built houses, and if they grumbled about the poor treatment, they found their beds were as soft as any they had experienced in their homes.

Only two people stayed up long after the banquet. Tired though they were, Bethal and Thomast walked just outside the village, ignoring Laken’s warnings. Bethal was chattering into an amulet at her neck, talking animatedly though there was no one but Thomast to hear. And she was not talking to him.

“Oh, Magnolia, I had a wonderful time. The food was quite good—rustic, you know? Of course there were a few delicacies, but I enjoyed the ambiance. We had an open-air dinner and the most intriguing guests. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself so thoroughly. Well, maybe the time we were at Lord Faltifant’s, you remember—well, I was getting to that!”

She huffed as she listened to the voice speaking on the other end.

“Yes, it was quite surprising. All very well done—I enjoyed the décor, for all it was outside. You know, the setting was really—yes, he passed! Splendidly, too! He had these strange guests as well, Magnolia. I don’t know what they were! I said I don’t know—no, not which species! I’m not even sure they were real! But they were quite engaging! Would you like me to tell you about them? Really? Well, listen!”

She began speaking rapidly as Thomast scanned their quiet surroundings for any movement. Bethal finished and added a few remarks to the silent amulet.

“Thomast says he couldn’t kill one of the warriors there. No, not a chance. It was one of the strange visitors, the members of Emperor Godart’s court. No, Thomast says he’d lose, but you know how modest he is—wait, talk to him? I can relay—he’s my husband, Magnolia. I know you know! But I—”

She paused and turned to Thomast.

“She wants to talk to you.”

The Chevalier accepted the amulet, continuing to scanning the landscape. He spoke quietly and matter-of-factly.

“I’m not sure what I saw. But whatever it was, that warrior wasn’t Human or any species I’ve seen. And I’m sure it—he—could have killed me in a duel. I don’t think I could have hurt him with my blade. But perhaps—does the phrase ‘cold iron’ mean anything to you?”

He listened, and then after a moment lowered the amulet and handed it to Bethal. He whispered to her as he passed the jewel back.

“She’s shouting obscenities.”

Bethal covered the amulet and made a face.

“That actually meant something to her? What does she know?”

Thomast shrugged. Bethal raised the amulet and adopted a cheery tone.

“My, that’s an earful, Magnolia! Do you know what—? No? Okay, but I will ask you later—come on, Magnolia, I met them! They were quite alluring in a primal sort of way. You would have—what do you mean, the poison? Oh, right! Yes, the poison. Quite dreadful, but those strange visitors discovered it straight away. Quite luckily too! No, I have no idea who could have done it. But it’s a short list, isn’t it? I doubt one of Laken’s servants would have—you have to go? But I had hardly finished describing the food! Oh, very well. Treat that Emperor Godart as a friend, do you hear me, Magnolia? A friend! Yes, that’s my suggestion! I’m not being swayed! Fine!

She lowered the amulet and made a face. Bethal dropped her cheery tone as she turned to Thomast.

“She’s going to look into it. But I really doubt she’ll find proof, Thomast. Sacra’s not exactly adept at this sort of investigation.”

Thomast nodded. He looked at his wife as she massaged her throat. The Chevalier considered his words, and spoke at last.

“Why didn’t you tell her the poison was meant for you?”

“I didn’t want to worry her. And she should treat it as an attempt on Laken Godart’s life, not wonder if he’s a threat. My impression was that he was an ally of sorts, not someone Magnolia needs as an enemy.”

Thomast nodded.

“I felt the same way. But that doesn’t change the fact that someone tried to kill you, Bethal.”

“My rings would have protected me. Probably. Thomast, we need allies and Laken Godart didn’t plant the poison. If he had, those angry folk would have said so, I have no doubt. We’ll think of who it could be. But let’s leave Magnolia out of this.”

“She sounded tired.”

Bethal nodded slowly.

“She’s tired. She’s being nice. Trying to keep the continent together as always. If only she had some help.”

“Do you think this [Emperor] is the help she needs?”

“Possibly. I don’t think he’ll make things worse. On the whole, I’d trust him over her enemies. The Circle of Thorns has spies everywhere. Perhaps it was one of them who planted the poison. Or perhaps I just have enemies.”

Bethal sighed. She stood with Thomast as the night drew on. The events of the last few hours swirled around them. Fae and magic. Poison and plotting. Bethal looked up.

“Thomast?”

“Yes?”

“Did you enjoy the banquet?”

He thought about this. The banquet had caused a stir. Laken Godart had either terrified or impressed the nobles of Izril. He’d saved himself from being assassinated by Magnolia Reinhart—Bethal and Thomast had been sent to kill him in a duel of honor if they deemed him too dangerous. All in all, Laken had proved himself an adept [Emperor], if a young one. He had mysterious forces at his command, loyal servants, and that most important of qualities—luck.

The banquet had been a wonder, a moment of strange magic in a time of strife. Thomast nodded to himself as he recalled the fae.

“I hated it.”

Bethal kicked him in the shins.

“Spoilsport.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.12

The rain fell. The pounding drops soaked into the already saturated soil of Liscor, pooling into lakes and ponds in the valleys, relentless. The rains covered the grass and chased the living indoors. And brought the waterlogged corpses of the Face-Eater Moths to the surface.

From the walls of Liscor, the Floodplains could be seen stretching to the base of the gargantuan mountains in the distance. In every direction, the grounds were filled with pale white corpses of moths, some bloodied yellow, others scorched or torn to pieces. The moths were dead. Most of them. Some still moved weakly, dragging their wings across the ground. But they were no threat anymore.

Liscor had won. The walls were still littered with dead bodies. And yet, the cost had taken its toll on the city. They had paid in blood to hold the walls.

Not that you would know it to stare at the walls today. As Watch Captain Zevara wearily greeted the rising sun, she saw only Face-Eater Moth corpses being hammered by the rain. Liscor’s dead had already been recovered and cremated, buried, or otherwise laid to rest. Otherwise they would have had to deal with the undead this morning as well.

“Report.”

She turned her head, feeling her body protest the motion. Zevara had barely put her head down more than an hour since the battle on the walls yesterday—just long enough to level up twice. She hadn’t gained a Skill, though. That was a sour plum that made her resent her long watch through the night. But when she stared at the Antinium sitting next to her she reconsidered voicing her bad mood.

Klbkch was sitting next to the battlements, letting the rain wash his body clean. The Antinium’s head was bowed, his carapace cut and still covered with fluids from battle. He looked tired. In Zevara’s experience, if an Antinium looked tired, it meant they were exhausted beyond belief. He didn’t seem to have heard Zevara’s statement. She wondered if he was asleep. She hesitated. But duty was duty.

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch.”

He started and nearly unsheathed the twin swords at his side. He had been asleep! Zevara wondered how intense the battle in the Hive had been, for Klbkch the Slayer to have passed out during his duty. He stirred, realized he had been sitting, and leapt up.

“Watch Captain, my apologies—”

“Sit back down. You need rest.”

Zevara yawned. Klbkch hesitated and then leaned on the battlements next to her. It still felt strange at times to have an Antinium—much less the infamous Slayer—under her command. But at the moment Zevara just saw another [Guardsman]. One of her best, in fact.

“Klbkch, report.”

“Walls are secure. The Face-Eater Moths have been driven off. The Hive is still recovering, but we estimate damages will be repaired within two days at most. We have Painted Soldiers on standby should more threats emerge. As per your request, I have allowed my subordinate, Pawn, to relieve your [Guardsmen] by posting his Soldiers on the walls. He has not reported any incidents as of yet.”

“Good. Did I—did I ask you that before?”

“I believe so.”

“Ancestors.”

Zevara closed her eyes briefly. She turned her head and stared down the right wall, where Antinium Soldiers were indeed standing to attention. The rain battered their dark shells, but failed to wash away the bright colors on their bodies. She wanted to ask Klbkch exactly what the strange patterns meant, but he had been evasive every time she asked. She eyed the lone Worker walking from Soldier to Soldier, pausing to talk to them.

“That’s your subordinate? Pawn? I thought the Antinium—”

She yawned hugely.

“—thought they didn’t have names. Isn’t he supposed to go crazy?”

“That is a misconception. Aberrations arise in most cases revolving around an Antinium’s name. But Pawn is an Individual, capable of thought and action.”

“That’s new?”

Klbkch nodded. Zevara yawned again.

“Dead gods, the Walled Cities won’t like that.”

She realized she’d said that out loud and her heart leapt in her chest. But Klbkch only nodded.

“I believe they will not. But include in your report that they are few in number at the moment. And we are committed to honoring our agreement with Liscor. The Painted Soldiers are a new unit dedicated to this effort.”

The Watch Captain turned to Klbkch. He knew she was reporting to the other cities? Wait, of course he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. But hearing him address her secret duties out loud was—

“The Painted Soldiers? Is that a formal designation? Some new creation of the Antinium?”

Maybe he was tired enough to reveal something by accident too. Klbkch shook his head.

“It is an informal phrase. The Soldiers are functionally no different from other Soldiers. Their unique appearance is meant to foster trust.”

“Well, it certainly makes them stand out.”

Zevara shook her head, eying the Soldiers. It was very rare to see Antinium in Liscor in any numbers. Normally having them on the walls would be the cause for alarm. At the moment though, Zevara imagined that Liscor’s citizens slept soundly knowing they were there. They certainly allowed her to give her guardsmen a night’s rest.

“I’m grateful, Klbkch. Just tell me one thing—your Soldiers won’t panic because of the rain, will they? Or the heights?”

Klbkch had been nodding off. He jerked upright.

“The water? I do not believe so, Watch Captain. The heights are no obstacle to the Antinium, and the rain is only rain. Once the Floodplains fill to capacity, the Soldiers may experience…uneasiness. Until then, they should be unhindered.”

Uneasiness? What did that mean? Zevara clenched her jaws to avoid yawning again.

“Right then. Well…how much do you trust your man—Antinium—Pawn?”

“Pawn?”

Klbkch hesitated for the first time. Zevara noticed it, although she was too tired to wonder why. He nodded slowly.

“Pawn is…quite capable. He will lead the Painted Soldiers into battle competently, if that is your question.”

“Could he hold the walls?”

“By himself? Against most threats, yes.”

“And he’ll alert you if any danger threatens the city?”

“That is correct.”

“Well then.”

Zevara was swaying on her feet. She looked around, lowered her voice, and then slowly lowered herself below the line of the battlements. Klbkch stared at her.

“I am still on duty. Wake me if something happens or when the other [Guardsmen] start reporting. Until then I’m taking a nap. You’re welcome to do the same.”

She leaned back and felt her head loll against the hard stone almost immediately. Klbkch stared at her. Then he saluted.

“Excellent orders, Watch Captain.”

He sat back down. Within moments both he and Zevara were asleep. The rain fell onwards, covering the landscape. Liscor slumbered. It had won, but no one was celebrating. They were all asleep. The day after the battle was quiet. Liscor’s heroes slept.

This is how they woke.

 

—-

 

Pawn was still awake the day after the battle. He walked the walls, past unmoving Antinium Soldiers standing in the rain. More still patrolled the streets below. Pawn would visit them soon, though his body cried out for rest. But the Painted Soldiers had been fighting nonstop all day yesterday. How could he lie down before them?

And he had a duty. The incense censer was heavy in his hands and the rain pouring down threatened to extinguish the embers within. He protectively covered the top of the censer with two of his hands as the other one swung the censer, wafting incense as he passed down the wall.

It was barely noticeable, what with the smell of dead moths and rain all around. But it was noticeable and that was what mattered. The Soldiers stood as he passed behind them, speaking quietly.

“We remember Blue Circles, who leapt from the walls to bring down an enemy four times his size.”

Click.

The mandibles of the Soldiers standing on the wall snapped together. It was a faint sound, but every Soldier on the wall made the same motion. All at once. All four walls of Liscor echoed with the sound as Pawn paused a moment. He spoke again.

“We remember Jilted Lines, who fell while holding the southern wall against the moths.”

Click.

The sound was one. Pawn’s head was bowed. The rain washed over his carapace, unrelenting. He saw a Soldier standing in front of him, bleeding faintly from one leg. Pawn rested a hand on his arm and muttered a prayer. Perhaps it didn’t help. Perhaps it did nothing. But the Soldier stood taller as Pawn passed. The Worker spoke on.

“We remember Leaves of Trees, who was crushed by a giant moth as it landed.”

Click.

The Soldiers stood, proud, wounded, sentinels watching for movement. If a moth so much as twitched they rushed over to stomp it to death. They stood on the walls, listening to Pawn as he passed on round after round. Even when they could not hear him, when Pawn was on a distant wall, their mandibles still snapped together.

Click.

They listed the dead by heart, each one of them. Again and again, as Pawn prayed they would find a better place beyond. The Soldiers stood quietly as the sun rose and the skies brightened. But the rain poured on, on the dead, the wounded, and the living.

Click.

 

—-

 

Olesm thought he heard a strange clicking sound as he wearily got to his feet. He shook his head, rubbed at his earholes, and blearily looked out his window. The rising sun made his eyes open wide and he shot out of bed.

“I’m late!”

He was supposed to report to duty on the walls every day at—Olesm flailed around his room wildly until his sleepy panic was replaced by memory. Oh! Liscor, the battle, the moths—Zevara had told him to rest until he was ready to replace her. Wearily, Olesm rubbed his face. He could have slept another day, but he knew Zevara was on duty until he relieved her.

The Drake hurried to toss some clothes on his body, avoiding the dirty rags he’d tossed in one corner of his room. He hurried out of his small apartment and onto the streets. The streets, filled with dead moths. They littered the ground like so much trash. So many. The Drake still couldn’t believe that Liscor had fought them off. If he closed his eyes he could remember the laughing moths coming up the walls, the sounds of screams, the boom of the enchantments going off—

For a few seconds the Drake’s pulse raced and he reached for the sword at his side. Then he remembered. They were dead. The moths were dead. The rain had chased them off. Olesm stared at the sodden bodies and shuddered as he saw something move underneath a moth’s wing.

“Dead gods, what…?”

He carefully approached the wing and nearly leapt out of his scales as a tiny moth scurried out from beneath the wing of a larger, dead moth. He cursed and stomped at it, and then yelped in horror as he saw several larvae oozing out of the same place.

Ancestors!

Olesm wasn’t willing to stomp on them with his boots so he drew his sword and speared the larvae. They oozed as he cut them and the Drake backed up, shuddering as he stared at the other moth bodies.

“Are they infesting the other corpses? Damn it, we’ll have to burn the lot!”

“That was my thought. Although it’ll be a trick getting the bodies flaming in this deluge. Young Swifttail, it’s good to see you up!”

Olesm whirled. He saw a Drake in gleaming armor marching towards him, followed by several Drakes on patrol. Wall Lord Ilvriss looked tireless despite not having slept for over a day. He nodded to Olesm as the Drake stared at him. His escorts were certainly showing signs of fatigue.

“Wall Lord! I didn’t expect to see you up!”

Olesm hadn’t expected to see anyone up at this hour. Wall Lord Ilvriss just smiled, turning his handsome face to regard the moth corpses with disgust.

“Did you think I’d be asleep, young Swifttail? Far from it! Remember, Liscor’s citizens are already waking though her defenders are catching up on rest. I’m patrolling to show everyone there’s nothing to fear. Although these damned moths do worry me even in death!”

He glared at the body and larvae that Olesm had killed. Ilvriss nodded at a Drake standing behind him.

“Burn it.”

The Drake [Mage] raised her hands and wearily shot a jet of fire at the corpse. It didn’t want to burn, but the sustained flames eventually cooked the moth. Olesm saw a few wiggling shapes trying to escape the burning moth and shuddered. Ilvriss nodded in satisfaction and the mage lowered her claws, panting. The moth’s corpse hadn’t been incinerated, but the heat had probably cooked anything inside of it.

“Good work. We’ll have to come up with a more effective solution soon. Consider the issue, Swifttail—I’d appreciate your thoughts.”

“You are too kind, Wall Lord.”

Olesm bowed. He hadn’t actually wanted to meet Ilvriss, certainly not this early in the day. He liked the Wall Lord—well, sort of—and Ilvriss liked him. And Olesm certainly respected the Drake. He’d seen Ilvriss cutting down Face-Eater Moths left and right during the battle without pausing to so much as rest. But the Drake was a bit much to deal with.

“Well, I ah, I’m honored that you’re working so hard for the good of the city, Wall Lord Ilvriss. It truly is inspiring. I was intending to go and relieve Watch Captain Zevara of her duties.”

“Were you? I saw you off not six hours ago! Good soldier! That’s the kind of spirit we need!”

Ilvriss’ smiled approvingly. Then he looked Olesm up and down.

“You seem taller, young Swifttail. Tell me, did you level at all last night? I thought you must have!”

Olesm gulped. He really hadn’t wanted to get into it. Oh well, nothing for it.

“I did, Wall Lord. I ah, gained two levels?”

“Two? Excellent! We’ll celebrate that later—ah, but I’ll hold off on drinking. Nevertheless, it deserves a party! Several of my men leveled as well. Did you gain any decent Skills by any chance?”

The young Drake hesitated. He shouldn’t say it. It would definitely make Ilvriss focus on him and Olesm really did want to relieve Zevara. But he was bursting to say it. He fought silently for a moment and gave in. Ilvriss would find out sooner or later and he’d be hurt if Olesm didn’t tell him right now. Besides, Olesm really wanted to say it.

“As a matter of fact…I obtained my [Strategist] class from leveling up, Wall Lord. I’m now a Level 30 [Strategist]. I gained the army Skill – [Vigor of Champions] as well.”

Ilvriss had been nodding to some of his men, scanning the street. At Olesm’s words his head whipped around and his eyes went wide. He stared, and then was roaring and clapping Olesm on the back in the next moment.

Strategist?

His voice was so loud that Olesm saw Drakes and Gnolls opening their shutters to stare. Ilvriss shouted as his escorts crowded around Olesm, slapping him on the shoulders and making the young Drake wince. Ilvriss was ecstatic.

“A Level 30 [Strategist]? My dear young Swifttail, how did you not mention that right away? Ancestors! By the walls of my city that’s a cause for celebration! Don’t be modest! A Level 30—most [Tacticians] take another 5 levels to reach that class! We have a prodigy here! And what Skill—”

“You’re too kind, no, it’s really not—”

Nothing? Ancestors, Swifttail, there’s such a thing as being too modest! That Skill’s not anything to dismiss either! I’ve heard of [Vigor of Champions]. That’s a Skill any [General] would be proud to use! Come, use it on us!”

He gestured at his escort. Olesm hesitantly did so, visualizing Ilvriss and his men as part of his command. Instantly he saw several of the weary Drakes straighten. Ilvriss clenched his fists experimentally.

“Incredible. The fatigue’s not gone by any means, but I could fight another battle here and now! Young Swifttail, this is more than just a level up. This calls for—Weille, run to the Tailless Thief. Tell that [Innkeeper] to prepare a celebratory feast for young Swifttail! We’ll toast his new class! And invite his friends and family too! I’ll buy out the inn for the day!”

“That’s really not necessary Wall Lord. Really—”

Olesm tried to back away, but Ilvriss wouldn’t hear of it. He had a hand on Olesm’s shoulder like a steel vice and he was beaming widely as his tail wagged on the ground.

Swifttail! Modesty has its place, but this is phenomenal news! I insist you come with me—and I should give you a gift to celebrate the occasion! Come, let’s go and—”

“Wall Lord!”

At last, Olesm managed to raise his voice enough to slow Ilvriss. The Drake blinked as Olesm tried to find an excuse to get out of an all-day party.

“I truly am grateful, Wall Lord Ilvriss. But though I’d be glad to celebrate with you—at another time—I feel I must replace Watch Captain Zevara on duty. She’s been awake all night, and I would be remiss if I abandoned my duties to celebrate!”

He bit his tongue as he finished, hoping Ilvriss wouldn’t take his words amiss. The Drake [Lord] stared at Olesm for a long moment, and then he nodded slowly.

“Well said, that Drake. Well said!”

He clapped his hands together and his escort, following his lead, applauded as well. Ilvriss kept nodding his head as he turned to his followers.

“You hear that? The model of a Drake! This young Drake—no, this [Strategist] is exactly what we need in Salazar’s army! Not an hour after gaining a new class and he still thinks about his fellow Drake! By all means, relieve Watch Captain Zevara, young Swiftta—Olesm. She certainly deserves her rest. We’ll continue our patrol as well!”

He nodded authoritatively and Olesm saw several of the Drakes behind him wince, clearly longing for their beds. But Ilvriss was animated, filled with energy from Olesm’s Skill. The young Drake coughed.

“Well, I’ll be going Wall Lord. I’ll ah, look forwards to seeing you later.”

“Certainly! We’ll postpone the celebration. Mind yourself on the walls though.”

Olesm paused.

“Is there danger, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss grimaced.

“Possibly not. But the Antinium are currently holding the walls and patrolling the streets. Those damned colorful ones. They appear to be doing their job, but keep an eye on them and watch your tail.”

He glowered, as if Antinium Soldiers doing a Drake’s job was a personal affront. Olesm nodded. He’d rather have the Painted Soldiers on duty while the City Watch caught up on their needed sleep, but he kept that to himself.

“I will. With your permission Wall Lord—”

He backed away. The noise of his meeting with Ilvriss had stirred some of Liscor’s residents out of their beds. Drakes and Gnolls cautiously emerged from their houses, staring with revulsion at the moth corpses. Some waved to Olesm and the Gnolls, having heard everything Ilvriss shouted and probably everything Olesm said, congratulated him on his new class. Olesm smiled, ducked his head and tried not to wag his tail as he hurried towards the walls.

“Watch Captain Zevara? I’m relieving you. I’m terribly sorry, but I—oh!”

Klbkch and Zevara both started as Olesm came up the stairs. They got up fast, pretending they hadn’t been asleep. Olesm coughed as Zevara rubbed at her face.

“Olesm! We were just resting while Pawn—what time is it?”

“Just past dawn, Watch Captain.”

She scowled as she blinked blearily.

“So early? Go get more sleep. I can uh, keep watch—”

“You should rest, Watch Captain! I can handle things—we only need an officer on duty. I don’t have to be on the walls all the time, just on call. The Antinium are holding the walls—let me relieve you.”

Zevara tried to protest, but she yawned hugely and gave up.

“Alright. Alright I’m—I’m going to sign off. Just until noon! I’ll be back up and relieve you then. Senior Guardsman Klbkch—you’re relieved as well. Get at least four hours of sleep.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The Antinium and Drake stumbled down the stairs, nearly slipping on the soaked stone. Olesm shook his head as they left, and then looked around the walls. Antinium Soldiers on duty turned towards him and then swiftly away. They didn’t stop scanning the landscape. Olesm had no idea what to do with them, but he spotted a familiar figure doing the rounds.

Click.

There it was! That strange sound he’d woken up to! Olesm hurried towards Pawn as the Worker waved some kind of smoking object in front of him.

“Pawn!”

“Olesm?”

The Worker looked up. Olesm smiled in relief. He hadn’t been sure the Worker was Pawn—they all looked too alike—but Pawn was somehow familiar. Olesm gestured to Pawn and the Soldiers standing on guard.

“How are you? How are your Soldiers? What’s ah, the clicking about?”

The Worker tilted his head as if confused.

“I am well, Olesm. My Soldiers are able for duty. Those present are only minimally wounded. We are conducting a mass for the departed.”

“The depart—oh.”

Olesm’s good spirits sank for a moment. He stared at the Antinium and remembered the Soldiers fighting on the walls with the guardsmen. Too many Gnolls and Drakes had fallen as the moths swarmed. Antinium too. True, Pawn’s Soldiers had come later in the battle and only a few hundred had entered the fray, but Olesm had heard Klbkch’s report. Moreover he had seen—

The Drake turned his head and stared down into one of Liscor’s main squares. He could see a bit above the roofs of the houses from this point. Not much, but enough to see the heads of fourteen giant Face-Eater Moths that the Antinium had carried out of their Hive.

When Watch Captain Zevara had angrily demanded why Klbkch hadn’t sent up every Soldier under his command he had offered the heads as proof of the Antinium’s battle underground. Just the thought of how many Antinium must have died to fight that many moths made Olesm shudder.

“Your Soldiers. Did they take many casualties?”

“Many? Not many. Not by Antinium standards. But more than none, which is too many.”

Pawn shook his head. Olesm stared at him. The Antinium Worker seemed different than Olesm remembered. Just as quiet, but more reserved. More…somber, perhaps. Olesm stared down into the streets where an Antinium patrol was marching.

“Your Soldiers saved a lot of lives, Pawn. The city is grateful.”

Indeed, the Soldiers on patrol weren’t getting nervous looks so much as amazed glances by the citizens who had heard of the Antinium’s underground battle. Pawn nodded slowly, as if that had never occurred to him.

“The city’s gratitude…is a good thing, I think. My Soldiers simply did what was ordered. What was needed.”

“Nevertheless. As Liscor’s [Strategist], I offer you my heartfelt thanks. Without you we could not have held the walls.”

Olesm bowed slightly and felt a tingle in his chest. Liscor’s [Strategist]. He felt giddy at saying it out loud, and then guilty as he saw Pawn hunch his shoulders.

“Yes. I only wish less could have died.”

And what could Olesm say to that? Pawn was right, but he seemed focused on the dead. The Drake coughed and looked around for inspiration. With nothing coming to mind he defaulted to what he knew.

“Well…I’m sure Liscor will offer you a formal sign of gratitude. And uh, we’ll probably give the Hive a war gratuity for your fallen. I know that isn’t much, but I hope it will help your Soldiers’ uh…family? Friends? Comrades?”

He looked hopefully at Pawn. The Worker paused and one of his hands reached up to scratch at the top of his head.

“War gratuity? What is that?”

Olesm hesitated. He tried to explain.

“War gratuity’s well, money paid to fallen soldiers for fighting. It goes to their families…uh…to their closest relatives…to…”

Pawn just looked blank.

“The Antinium have no such practice. If the city is offering coin for the sacrifice of Soldiers, I am sure the Hive will appreciate the money.”

“But it’s for the Soldiers. I mean, they deserve something for their efforts. Do they get a—a break or a reward for fighting?”

“A reward? We will rest after being relieved of duty.”

Pawn noted Olesm’s dismayed face and shrugged.

“A Soldier does not ask for benefits, Olesm. He exists to fight. There is no need to reward his duty.”

“But he should get—”

Olesm broke off. He stared at Pawn and shook his head.

“Never mind. You know what? Can you stay in charge for the moment? If there’s trouble, send a message to Wall Lord Ilvriss or Watch Captain Zevara. I’ll be back in less than twenty minutes!”

“We will stand watch. That is what Revalantor Klbkch has ordered.”

Pawn nodded and Olesm hurried down the stairs. He knew he shouldn’t leave the city, but he had to. Maybe Pawn and his Soldiers wouldn’t receive any recognition besides gratitude from Liscor’s citizens. Maybe their Hive didn’t reward them for service or honor the fallen. But Olesm, as the Liscor’s new [Strategist] could probably see to it that the Antinium got a hot meal while on duty.

He remembered something about them not being able to eat bread or wheat products. But fortunately he knew one [Innkeeper] that specialized in meals for Antinium. Olesm practically ran out of the gates as the Soldiers on watch obligingly opened it for him. He stared in dismay at the sea of corpses and the actual sea of water filling up the plains. It was already deep enough in parts that he had to splash ankle-deep through some of parts as he tried to keep to the highest hills.

Tomorrow he’d probably have to swim to get to Erin’s inn! And that was only if he was suicidal—the moth’s corpses bobbed on the water, but they wouldn’t be there long. The rising waters meant more creatures would be appearing soon, and they ate anything in the waters. Olesm ran, slipping, the rain pelting his scales, and grinning wildly. He was a [Strategist]! He was a [Strategist]!

Then he fell into a giant valley filled with water. The Floodplains were flooding. Hence their name. And soon the city would well and truly be impossible to attack. As for the inn sitting on the hill, well, it might get a lot less customers. Because the waters were rising.

 

—-

 

It was raining. Erin stared at the droplets falling as she got up. The water was hypnotizing as it came down in droves. It was almost exciting to see it fall, to watch it cascade downwards and show off nature’s unrelenting power. It was also a bit too close for comfort, as Erin was currently watching it pour down through a hole in the side of her inn.

“I think that’s not a good thing, you know?”

She sat in the ruined common room of her inn and stared around. Her inn was wrecked. Dried moth blood was mixing with rainwater and dirt on the floors. Glass and broken wood littered the floor in places, and all of her windows were smashed in. If Erin turned her head she’d be able to see a huge theatre stretching far behind her—filled with Face-Eater Moth corpses. They’d been piled up, pushed out of the main room to clear a path to move around. And that was just the ground floor. Erin knew her second and third floors were still filled with their dead bodies.

She was sitting on one of two remaining chairs, staring at the rain. Snoring filled her inn, despite the wreckage. It came from the basement. Of all the spots in Erin’s inn, the windowless kitchen and basement had been untouched. Bird and the Redfang Goblins had elected to sleep there. The others were in Octavia’s shop, or in Liscor. There was nowhere else they could rest as the rain poured in from the places where walls and windows should be.

“Holes in my inn. Holes in my inn. I have a holey inn. Which isn’t that funny.”

Erin blinked around at her inn. She didn’t actually feel that bad. She just felt grateful to be alive, really. After yesterday she would have been grateful to be sitting out in the rain. Well, not grateful, but it would have beaten having her face eaten off by a horde of angry moths.

They’d won. Liscor had fought off the moths. But the cost—Erin glanced out of a hole in her inn. Well, the cost was just a bit problematic, that was all.

And yet, she was up. She was alive and—Erin’s stomach rumbled—hungry. And Erin had no doubt her guests would be just as hungry when they woke up. And they’d probably be happy, despite not having beds…or chairs…or rooms anymore.

Because they’d probably leveled up. Erin understood that leveling was like having a birthday. It was almost always a good thing and a cause for celebration. Okay, maybe not if you’d just become a Level 4 [Laborer], but a Level 43 [Foreman]? When people reached Level 20 or Level 30 they often hosted massive celebrations with tons of celebratory gifts.

She wondered who had leveled and what they’d gotten. Erin knew she’d leveled, but she was sort of ambivalent about it. She’d become a Level 35 [Magical Innkeeper]. But she’d gained no Skills. And when she stared around her wrecked inn, her desire to wildly celebrate sort of drained away.

“Woo. Yay.”

Erin waved her hands weakly as she peeked out one hole of a window.

“Darn it! They wrecked my outhouse! Both of them! How am I supposed to pee? Just squat over the hole and—wait, that would work. But it’s raining!”

She scowled around the inn and turned her head to the dead moth bodies.

“This is all your fault, you know.”

They didn’t reply. The moths were very dead, cut to shreds, pierced by magic, burned, crushed, and in one case bitten to death. Bird had done the biting. Erin went over to kick the nearest dead moth. She had second thoughts when she stared into its open stomach. And she had third thoughts when something inside the moth wriggled and came out.

“Gah!”

The young woman screamed and leapt back as a yellow larvae wormed its way out of the dead moth. It wriggled towards her on the floor and Erin reflexively stomped. She wasn’t wearing shoes. After a horrified moment where she felt the squish and stared at her bare feet Erin ran screaming outside. She began wiping her feet in the mud and grass and then realized something.

“Hey. Where’d the land go?”

Her inn stood on a hill. A very tall hill compared to the rest. It was one of a few tall hills around—the rest were shorter and of course there were as many valleys as hills. Only, Erin couldn’t see the valleys or more than a few hilltops. Everything else was submerged in water.

It was only a few feet deep in places, or just barely covering the grass. But the water was rising. Erin saw the water rippling as the rain poured into it in every direction as she stared around her hilltop. In the distance, Liscor was surrounded by water. If it rose five feet higher it would start flooding into the city. Erin’s inn was too high up for the water to conceivably flood—but soon almost everywhere else would be covered in water.

“Oh wow.”

Erin stared. Then she felt something wriggle on the bottom of her foot and freaked out again. She dragged the sole of her foot across the ground, avoiding the other dead moths lying around her inn. There were so many! Some were floating in the water around the inn and she could see hundreds more sunken beneath the water.

“Oh my god! How the heck am I going to get to Liscor now? And what do I do about food? And guests? And there are infested moths in my inn! What’s left of it!”

Erin clutched at her head, staring at her dilapidated inn. The second and third floors were mainly intact—if you ignored the smashed-in windows and moth bodies piled inside—but Bird’s watch tower was nothing but smithereens. The entire place needed reconstruction.

“Antinium reconstruction! They can totally build it! Yeah! All I have to do is ask Bird to—”

The [Innkeeper] turned. A thought struck her as she stared at the watery landscape. She opened her mouth.

“Wait a second. Antinium…can’t swim.”

She looked at the water. She looked at Liscor. She looked at her inn. Erin cursed. Then she saw a Drake swimming in the water. Erin hesitated. It was still early morning and she could barely see in the rain. But she thought the Drake looked familiar.

“Is that Olesm?”

“Erin! Erin! I have incredible news I have—oh.”

The Drake was swimming through the water over a valley to get to the inn. He stumbled out of the water, completely drenched and ran up to her inn. He stopped when he saw the ruined building.

“Oh. Your inn.”

“Hey Olesm. How’s it going?”

Erin smiled at him. The Drake looked at her cheerful expression and then at her inn, shock on his face.

“Erin I—I’m glad to see you’re okay. But—”

“I’m glad to see you’re okay too! Yeah, my inn’s sort of busted up. But that’s nothing some wood and nails won’t fix! If I can get someone to fix it cheap. It uh, got smashed when the moths attacked. But I’m so happy you weren’t hurt! I saw the fighting on the walls and I was so worried! I was trying to get help from Pallass, but those jerks didn’t do anything until the last minute! And then Pisces made it rain, can you believe that? He saved the day and—”

Olesm was just standing and staring at her inn. He looked heartbroken. Erin stopped talking. She walked over and gave Olesm a hug. The Drake started.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

He gaped at her. Then he realized what she was doing and hugged her back, fiercely.

“I’m so glad you’re okay! And I’m fine—in fact, I’m better than fine! I levelled up and gained a new class! But your inn. Erin—”

She laughed and hugged him harder. For some reason Olesm’s concern over her inn had banished hers. Seeing him put things in perspective for her.

“The inn? Don’t worry! It’s fixable. And everyone inside is safe. All I need to do is—all I need to do is get my friends to help out a bit. I can deal with my inn. But I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Thank you.”

The Drake seemed startled. Erin just smiled. Her inn was gone, but the people were safe. Not like last time. This time it had gone right. Well, mostly right. She thought about Liscor and her heart skipped a beat.

“How’s Krshia? Selys? Zevara? Klbkch? Relc? Ilvriss?”

“All—all okay. I think. There weren’t many casualties inside the city and I heard it was mainly the adventurers who went out to fight. Everyone who stayed inside was fine and Miss Krshia actually led some Gnolls in shooting down moths—I know Selys is okay, and Wall Lord Ilvriss. I just saw Zevara.”

Erin sagged in relief.

“That’s great. Really. Wait—what about Pawn and Belgrade and Anand and—”

Olesm cut her off as she looked towards Liscor.

“Pawn’s okay! And according to Klbkch, the Antinium fought off the moths! They killed fourteen giant moths, Erin!”

Fourteen!?

“Yes! Their heads are lying in Liscor’s main square right now! Apparently the moths invaded from an underground dungeon entrance—one the Antinium say just opened up—and started attacking! That’s why the Antinium didn’t reinforce us until later and I became a [Strategist]!

“What?”

Erin’s eyes widened and she released Olesm. The Drake blushed.

“Sorry, that slipped out.”

“No, that’s amazing! Did you get any Skills? That’s so great, Olesm! Isn’t that your dream? You have to tell me about it. But—”

She hesitated and looked back towards her inn. Olesm gazed around at the dead moth corpses in wonder.

“What in the name of the Ancestors happened over here, Erin? I saw glimpses, but—you killed a giant moth here, and hundreds of the smaller ones!”

She waved a hand in denial.

I didn’t. That was all the adventurers. We had [Guardsmen] from Celum, the Goblins, the Horns of Hammerad, the Silver Swords, the Halfseekers—oh! Jelaqua!”

She grabbed his arm.

“Moore and Seborn rushed Jelaqua into the city! Do you know if she’s okay?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t visited the Adventurer’s Guild, but I can check. Where’s everyone now? Did anyone…?”

The Drake was clearly relieved when Erin quickly shook her head.

“No one died. Jelaqua got hurt, and Moore, but we healed him up. The Silver Swords went into Liscor with Drassi after the battle, and the Horns of Hammerad stayed here. They’re sleeping in Octavia’s shop and the Goblins are sleeping in the basement since everywhere else is a mess. Lyonette and Mrsha are in Octavia’s shop too.”

“That’s good. That’s good, but—what about your inn?”

“I’ll fix it.”

Erin raised her eyebrows as Olesm gave her a look of disbelief. She felt more confident after hearing about her friends.

“What? It’s doable! My walls are pretty intact—okay, there’s a hole in one wall and my outhouses are gone, but the only real damage is around the windows. And Bird’s watch tower. If I can get a team of Antinium here…”

“They won’t leave the city, Erin. The Antinium don’t leave their Hive during this season ever. They can’t swim.”

Olesm looked like he hated to be the bearer of bad news. Erin gnawed on her lip.

“Okay. Well…I might be able to hire someone from Celum. Or Pallass. Eh, that takes too much mana. Look, I’ll figure it out. But why are you here? Is something wrong?”

The Drake started guiltily.

“Me? Oh no, no—I just uh, well, I was hoping to get you to—nevermind.”

“What? Come on.”

“It’s uh—well, Pawn and his Soldiers were deployed to the walls and they’re standing guard. I was hoping to treat them to a meal, but…”

He gestured at the flooded landscape, at Erin’s ruined inn, and the dead moths. Erin looked around. Dead moths, inn, waters. It was a sight to bring despair to any [Innkeeper]. Any normal one, at any rate. Erin just raised an eyebrow. Thoughts swirled and coalesced into crazy ideas in her head. She had a good one right now, in fact. She smiled as Olesm stared at her.

“No problem! Do you want the food to go or have them come here on their break?”

 

—-

 

The Horns of Hammerad woke up on the floor of Octavia’s shop almost at the same time. That was because when Ceria opened her eyes she moved her leg and kicked Pisces in the side. He sat up, which pulled the blankets off of Ksmvr. The Antinium jerked and Yvlon, who’d been sleeping under a table, sensed the movement, and banged her head as she tried to get up.

“Ow!”

Everyone in Octavia’s shop woke up, including Octavia herself. The Horns of Hammerad sat up groggily, their bodies aching, their heads still filled with fog. They stared around, remembered what had happened yesterday, and then woke up.

“Tree rot! How long have we been out?”

Ceria leapt to her feet, staring around wildly, and then turned and beamed at Pisces. He blinked at her.

“We made it! We’re alive!”

“That was certainly my inference as well.”

He winced as she jabbed him with an elbow. Yvlon got up, wincing as she rubbed at her back. She was still wearing her armor and covered in moth gore.

“Silver and steel, I’m aching all over! I haven’t slept in my armor since—Ksmvr, Ceria, Pisces, how are you?”

“We are alive. I believe this is the reason for Captain Ceria’s celebration. I am ecstatic to be alive as well.”

Ksmvr sat up as the other sleepers slowly got up. Lyonette stumbled upright as Mrsha sat up and yawned. Octavia pulled herself up from behind the counter.

“Whuzzat? Why’s everyone—oh.”

She glared at the adventurers as Ceria laughed with giddy relief. Mrsha ran over to them but recoiled as she smelled all four adventurers. They hadn’t bothered to wash last night  and had literally fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Everyone had, but in the morning the stench was unbearable.

“Ugh! Anyone got soap and a bucket of water?”

Yvlon shook her head as she examined her armor and hair. Ceria realized she was covered in guts and sniffed at her arm and gagged. Pisces brushed at his pristine robes. He was barely dirty, save for sweat and a bit of blood on one cheek. The monster guts and blood had fallen right off the enchanted clothing Ceria had bought for him. By contrast, Ksmvr looked like the survivor of some kind of massacre. He had yellow bloodstains all over his body and shallow cuts on his carapace.

Octavia eyed her guests with dismay. She opened her mouth and pointed to the door to Liscor.

“Hey everyone, thanks for sleeping in my shop. I’d be happy to sell you all a cleansing potion and some water. Why don’t you all go to Erin’s inn and then come back when you’re clean? We can talk payment then.”

“Payment? What for?”

The adventures turned to her in surprise. Octavia gave them a look.

“For sleeping in my shop. And oh, I don’t know, for using all of my potions yesterday?”

She glared and pointed. Ceria stared at the [Alchemist]’s shelves full of potions, or rather, what would have been shelves full of potions. There were barely more than two dozen potions remaining, and the rows of mana potions, healing potions, and so on were all missing. Ceria winced and heard Pisces whistle.

“Oh.”

Octavia folded her arms.

“Oh indeed. My entire stock of potions is gone. And since I doubt Erin can pay for all of them, may I ask who’s going to pay? How much gold do you lot have on you right now?”

She had a dangerous look in her eyes. Ceria eyed the Stitch-Girl and looked around.

“I uh, think we have some gold with us. Not much.”

“How much exactly?”

Ceria hesitated. The [Alchemist] was twitching slightly. She hadn’t made much of a fuss yesterday, not with Celum’s City Watch returning through her shop. Or maybe the Horns of Hammerad hadn’t heard. But now, with the absence of her entire supply clearly visible in the light of day, Octavia looked like she was about to snap.

“We’ll uh, talk with Erin. Why don’t we step through and—”

“You lot used forty one healing potions, thirty five mana potions, every tripvine bag I have, all of my combat supplies, over six crates of stamina potions—

Pisces yanked the door open as Octavia began to shout. He grabbed Ksmvr and pushed him through as Lyonette scooped Mrsha up.

“Through the door!”

The Horns of Hammerad rushed out of Octavia’s shop as the [Alchemist] shouted at their backs. Octavia’s voice followed them before Yvlon could slam the door shut.

Tell Erin I want payment or I’ll—

The door cut the last of her words off. The Horns of Hammerad stared at each other sheepishly, and then stared. Lyonette, who’d followed them with Mrsha in her arms froze. The Gnoll cub whimpered.

Erin’s inn lay in front of them, gutted by combat. The bodies of the moths lay where they had fallen. Shattered glass on the floors, splintered wood—the memory of what Erin’s inn had been jarred with the image in front of him. Ceria leaned against the door.

“Oh, tree rot.”

The half-Elf stared blankly at the desolation. She’d remembered seeing the inn destroyed, but that had been in the heat of battle. She hadn’t thought about what it would mean. But now—

“Oh no.”

Lyonette looked close to tears as she gazed around her home. Mrsha looked up at her with wide eyes, and at the moth corpses, the holes where windows should be. She gazed at Lyonette for reassurance, but the [Barmaid] had none to give. Pisces muttered an obscenity and Yvlon echoed it with something worse. Ksmvr just clicked his mandibles together softly.

“It’s all gone.”

Ceria stared around, wondering how on earth Erin could fix this. She looked towards the kitchen and wondered if Erin was asleep. What could she say? Would Liscor pay to fix all this? No—could it be fixed? And the bodies—

“Hey guys! Good morning! Is everyone okay?”

Erin walked into her inn, beaming. She was drenched with rain and smiled at her friends. They stared at her.

“Erin.”

“Hey Ceria! Are you guys okay? Yvlon, how are your arms? Ksmvr, how are your three arms? Pisces, good job with the rain! Can you turn it off for a while? Lyonette, Mrsha, how are you two? How are you Mrsha, hungry?”

She went over to them, still smiling. The others looked at her, concerned. Ceria hesitated before putting a hand on Erin’s shoulder.

“Erin, are you okay? Your inn—”

“What, this? This isn’t a thing. Holes in the wall? What holes? Nothing a few boards and nails won’t fix! The important thing is you’re all okay. Hey, anyone want breakfast?”

Before she could be interrupted, Erin swept into the kitchen and came out with a plate full of strange wrapped objects drizzled with red sauce. The Horns of Hammerad stared at the steaming plate of hot food. Pisces and Mrsha’s stomachs rumbled as one.

“Enchiladas! Sort of. I made them as close to the real thing as I could, although the hot sauce tastes different. Here! I think I have one table that’s not destroyed or covered in dead moth.”

She ushered the bewildered adventurers, Lyonette, and Mrsha over to a table. In short order Erin came back out with cups, milk, and utensils. Though Ceria was very confused, she began eating and realized she was famished.

“How did you make all this?”

Erin gave Yvlon a blank look as the woman tried to talk and inhale her food at the same time.

“What, this? I have [Field of Preservation], remember? All my food in the pantries is good! Heck, the dead moths are probably still preserved too. Which is sort of a problem because it turns out there are things living in them.”

“What?”

Every head turned to stare at the moths. Erin nodded.

“Olesm came by this morning! Swam here, actually. He told me there are larvae living in the moths! And small moths hiding too. We need to clear them out of the inn before they lay eggs. Pity—I was going to see if I could fry them.”

It felt like Ceria was half a step behind Erin’s train of thought. She saw rain falling through a hole in Erin’s wall as the [Innkeeper] beamed and refilled Mrsha’s mug.

“Fry them. Moths?”

“Yup! It was going to be this promotional thing, you know?”

Erin stepped back and raised her hands, pitching her voice like a food vendor.

“Breaded moth legs! Moth wings glazed with honey! Get your roasted moths here—first plate is free!”

She dropped her hands.

“But I don’t think people want to eat moth larvae, so that’s out. Anyways, I was hoping I could get you to help with some stuff after breakfast. Anyone want seconds?”

The Horns of Hammerad stared at her. Lyonette started to smile and Mrsha sat up, tail wagging happily. Yvlon blinked at Erin and then pointed.

“There are holes in your inn, Erin. Aren’t you concerned?”

“What, those? Nah. They can be fixed.”

Pisces leaned forwards, looking amused.

“And the dead moth bodies?”

“Cleanable! Lyonette, we’re going to need a mop. Or maybe to buy some mops since I think they all got smashed. Can you go into Celum and get some?”

Lyonette opened her mouth. Ceria had to cut in.

“How are you going to fix all this, Erin? How in the world…?”

She waved her hands to take in all the mess. Erin just smiled at her.

“I’ll do it one step at a time, Ceria. It’s a lot, but hey, I’ve handled worse. Remember when my inn exploded? I’ve rebuilt before. And this time I know how to do it right. Speaking of which—hey, you lot how’s it going?”

She turned and waved. The diners at her table jumped as Bird and the Redfang Goblins walked in. They were all wet and as Erin waved at them, they waved back. Well, Bird and two of the Goblins did. Headscratcher and Rabbiteater waved, the other three Hobgoblins just nodded or grunted or in Badarrow’s case, ignored Erin entirely. They moved towards the pile of moth corpses and as Ceria watched, began hauling them towards the doors.

“Everyone good? I’ve got more food if you want it! Just let me know if you need to take a break! Headscratcher, you good? Badarrow? Badarrow? Okay fine, you’re good.”

Erin waved at them. Bird paused and waved back with one of his four arms.

“Look Erin, a baby bird-moth.”

He picked up a tiny Face-Eater Moth that had scuttled out from behind one of the moth corpses he’d lifted. Bird snatched it up and inspected it. The tiny moth shrieked and tried to bite his hand. He lifted it up and crunched it between his mandibles.

“Ew.”

Erin’s optimism wavered as Yvlon made a face and everyone else at the table save for Ksmvr and Ceria had to pause in eating. She pointed at Bird as he ate his snack.

“No eating moths where we can see, Bird. And no eating larvae either.”

“They are not birds. I will not eat them.”

The Antinium Worker nodded happily. He carried the moth out and Erin turned to the others.

“I’ve got the Redfang Goblins dumping the moths outside. We’ve already tossed all the other moths in the water.”

“The water?”

Ceria had to go look and see. She gasped when she saw the flooded landscape. Yvlon whistled softly and Ksmvr groaned. Pisces just shook his head.

“That would be problematic.”

“I heard this is what happens, but it’s another thing to see it in person.”

Yvlon shook her head, amazed at the rising water level. She stared at Liscor in the distance.

“It’ll be a tough trip to Liscor. We might have to swim part of the way—and I don’t want to try that in armor. Are there monsters in the water, do you think?”

“They emerge during the rainy season. Whether or not they will appear during the start of the season is unknown.”

Pisces spoke calmly, his eyes darting to the moth corpses being hurled into the water. The Redfang Goblins seemed cheerful enough, and they were still wearing their ‘Security’ armbands in the bad weather. They’d slept in the basement since their rooms were destroyed and seemed well-rested, as if yesterday’s fighting had been a normal day for them.

“I guess we can find a boat but—”

Ceria was turning to confer with the others when they noticed Ksmvr was shaking. The Antinium stood in the doorway of Erin’s inn, staring at the water and trembling violently. Yvlon looked worried.

“Ksmvr. What’s wrong?”

“The water. So much water. Water.”

The Antinium’s voice was a whisper. Pisces glanced at Ksmvr and his brows rose.

“Ah. The Antinium cannot swim.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh no.”

Ceria and Yvlon exchanged glances. Ksmvr was shaking as he looked at the water around him. Ceria knew that the Antinium Hive was based underneath Liscor. She wondered if Ksmvr had ever seen so much water before, or if he had stayed in the Hive all his life. She gently pulled him back.

“We can stay in Celum, Ksmvr. You don’t have to go to Liscor. It’s alright.”

The Antinium jerked and turned to Ceria. To her surprise, Ksmvr shook his head violently.

“I cannot abandon my team! I will take a b—boat. I am not weak or insufficient to the challenge! Please, allow me to—”

He fumbled for words. Yvlon laid a hand on his shoulder and he stopped himself.

“Ksmvr, it’s alright. If you can’t swim it’s natural to be afraid. The Antinium must fear the water after the last Antinium Wars…”

“They do. It is terrible. So much of it. We—”

Ksmvr babbled as the Hobgoblins passed by. He stopped as Bird lugged another moth out of the inn and trundled down the hill. The Worker happily tossed the moth into the water right by the edge, ignoring the rain pelting him. He was singing another nonsense song.

“Water, rain, water, rain! Throwing birds in the water in the rain! If I fall I will drown! Water, rain, water, rain!”

He walked back up the hill and past the Horns of Hammerad, singing happily. Ceria stared at him and then at Ksmvr.

“Okay, most Antinium fear water. But it’s okay.”

“I would never disgrace myself—”

“Hey! Look at all that water, huh? That’d make getting the Antinium over here really tough, right?”

Erin cheerfully popped up, making the Horns of Hammerad jump. She smiled at Ksmvr.

“Hey Ksmvr, don’t worry about the water. I’ve got a plan! It involves fixing my inn and all I need is Pisces’ help!”

“You do?”

The [Necromancer] looked startled, and then blinked.

“Ah. Wait a moment. I understand completely.”

“You do? Well of course you do.”

Erin rolled her eyes as Ceria and Yvlon gave her uncomprehending looks. She nodded to Pisces.

“Think you can…?”

He smiled slyly.

“It would be a few minute’s work, provided I can gain access to Liscor and locate a suitable location.”

“What location?”

“For my door, of course!”

Erin grinned at Yvlon’s suspicious look towards Pisces. She pointed towards her inn, at the magical door.

“I have one to Pallass and Celum—and I can connect it to more places too, you know! Pisces, I have a few of those mana stones Typhenous ordered. Can you give it a look?”

“At once.”

Pisces rose, smiling with his self-importance. Erin winked at Ceria.

“Magic doors solve everything. Think I’ll have trouble getting the Antinium to work on my inn? Well, if they don’t have enough wood I’ll get some from Celum. The only trick will be making sure someone isn’t waiting on the other side! I wonder if I can make the door switching from place to place automatic?”

The half-Elf shook her head.

“Erin, you amaze me. That’s a brilliant idea!”

Erin snorted.

“No it’s not. It’s the same idea I’ve always had. I’m just doing the smart thing with it. Anyways, that means you can go to Liscor easily, Ksmvr. No boat, no risk of drowning!”

“Oh.”

The former Prognugator stopped shaking. He looked at Erin and then at the water.

“But I was willing to risk my life for the group.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.”

“But I should. I should ride a boat to demonstrate my willingness to—”

Yvlon put a hand on Ksmvr’s shoulder and he stopped. The armored woman smiled at the Antinium.

“Ksmvr?”

“Yes, Comrade Yvlon?”

“Be quiet.”

The Antinium went still. Erin smiled at the Horns of Hammerad and they grinned back. She leaned on her doorframe.

“So, anyone level up last night?”

Ceria, Yvlon, and Ksmvr all raised their hands. Erin grinned.

“Wow! Who got what?”

They looked at each other. Ceria opened her mouth and then Octavia kicked the door open, slamming it into Pisces as he approached with a mana stone. She glared at Erin.

Money!

Erin turned to look at her. Octavia opened her mouth to shout and took in Erin’s destroyed inn. She stared at the Face-Eater Moths, the broken furniture and glass, and then at Erin. A flash of guilt crossed over the Stitch-Girl’s face.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it later.”

She guiltily went to close the door and saw Pisces glaring at her. He had a bloody nose. Octavia paused.

“I have a healing potion for that. Want one? It’s only…”

She hesitated. Pisces was giving her a death-glare as he pinched his nose to stop the bleeding. Octavia sighed.

“Let me get you a bottle.”

Erin stared at Octavia’s back.

“So she’s got a conscience. Who knew.”

She smiled. Ceria looked at Erin.

“Octavia was talking about how many potions we used. I’d like to repay her, but the cost…you don’t happen to know how to deal with that, do you Erin?”

“…Nope.”

The [Innkeeper] drummed her fingers on the doorframe. Ceria sighed. Erin laughed a bit.

“One thing at a time, Ceria. One thing at a time. Now, tell me. Can you fix the holes in my walls? I really want the rain to stop pouring in. A bit of ice magic would probably keep it out long enough for me to do a patch. Yvlon, do you mind helping the others haul dead moths? If you don’t mind the ick. And Lyonette’s going to mop—once Mrsha has breakfast. Now, once Pisces opens the portal to Liscor…”

 

—-

 

It was evening by the time Senior Guardsman Klbkch found himself checking into Liscor’s City Watch barracks. He signed himself in, noting his irregular hour, and then mustered with the other [Guardsmen] on duty. Watch Captain Zevara was addressing a tired group of Gnolls and Drakes. She nodded to Klbkch as he entered the semi-circle. She looked tired, though she had slept for half the day.

A Drake looked over and grinned as he saw the Antinium. He nudged Klbkch.

“Hey Klb.”

“Relc.”

The Antinium nodded to his partner. Relc grinned as he flexed an arm, looking no worse for wear.

“You missed a heck of a fight up here. Tons of moths came out of the dungeon. Crazy fighting on the walls and explosions and huge monsters!”

“I am aware. The Face-Eater Moths attacked the Hive before the siege of Liscor. We were engaged with the enemy while you fought above. So I was thus in fact participating in the fight, albeit in my respective area.”

“Oh yeah? Well…we got like ten of the huge bastards. What do you think of that?”

“I believe we slew fourteen.”

“What? No way!”

“We presented their heads in Liscor’s central square earlier today. Did you completely miss their presence?”

“Um…no?”

“Attention!”

Both Antinium and Drake instantly stopped talking and the other Gnolls and Drakes stopped their chatter as well. Watch Captain Zevara looked around.

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch, good to see you up and about. Do you have another report on your Hive?”

She and the other [Guardsmen] looked to Klbkch. He paused.

“No further news to report, Watch Captain. The moth attacks have ceased and the Hive continues to repair. Casualties in the Hive were…substantial. However, we held our ground thanks to my subordinate’s efforts. We might have lost three times as many were it not for our fortifications. As it is we stand fully ready to support Liscor in reconstruction if needed.”

“Thank you, Senior Guardsman. I doubt we’ll need the Antinium’s abilities for the most part. The walls held and the damage to the city itself was minimal. But the rains are falling and I want to be sure there are no leaks in the walls! The water’s rising fast and this monster attack came at the wrong moment. Added to that, we’ve received word from Olesm, our new [Strategist]—”

Zevara paused to let the murmurs of surprise die down.

“—that all these moth corpses might be hiding larvae or smaller moths. Wall Lord Ilvriss has recommended to the Council and me that we collect the bodies and burn them with mass mage spell. Or dump them off the walls. Either way, that means we have a fun new activity to keep us busy!”

The [Guardsmen] groaned and began to mutter complaints. Zevara raised her voice.

“Stow it! This is a city-wide issue. If we don’t control the corpses we’ll be swimming in those bastards soon enough. Tell them, Klbkch.”

She nodded to the Antinium. Once again all eyes swung to Klbkch. He nodded and clicked his mandibles together precisely before speaking.

“The assessment of [Strategist] Olesm and Wall Lord Ilvriss is correct. Insectile monsters survive eradication by allowing their young to infest new sites and lay thousands of offspring when they reach maturity. A city that fails to properly account for after-battle cleanup may find itself dealing with a permanent population of such insects in the future.”

The Drakes and Gnolls standing around him blanched. Watch Captain Zevara turned and gave the other guardsmen a weary nod.

“You heard him. Double shifts for all but wounded and we work around the clock until the bodies are gone. We can’t clean the ones up outside the wall though, Klbkch. Will that be a problem?”

“No. The water will eradicate the young, as will the local wildlife.”

“Good. Then here’s what we’ll do. We have [Laborers] and other volunteers working already, but I want [Guardsmen] assisting and patrolling for moths down every street. Be vigilant! Not all the moths might be dead and the last thing I need is for someone to get their tail bitten off. Here’s how we’ll patrol. Klbkch, Relc, you head down Ancestor’s Walk. Circle the city. Guardsmen Tkrn, Euriss, check Market Street. Guardsmen…”

The [Guardsmen] named began forming up in pairs or checking their gear. They were still grumbling, but that was the nature of all guardsmen, universally. Klbkch and Relc heard the others chattering as they walked towards the doors.

“Ancestors, I hate those things. First we kill the damn moths, now we have to carry them?”

“And in the rain of all things? Dead gods! Let’s just toss them off the walls, why bother cremating?”

“You fancy hauling a stinking carcass up all those stairs?”

“At least that way they’ll be eaten. Water’s rising. Soon we’ll have to lock the gates. Tonight, maybe.”

“The fish’ll be coming any day now. Once they swim up from whatever hole in the ground they live in. Or come down from the streams.”

“At least they’ll have plenty to eat. That means we pull in more of a harvest.”

“Yeah, but what they’re eating is bugs. You think of that? That means we’re eating bugs because we eat the fish.”

“They can’t be that bad. I heard that crazy Human girl shouting about selling cooked moths from the walls. Did you see her inn? Completely wrecked! There’s a sea of dead moths floating around the hill!”

“Cooked moths? You’d trust her cooking? She sells acid flies!”

“To be fair, they’re really good if you add honey.”

Klbkch and Relc exchanged a look.

“Interesting. Hey Klb, did you hear how Erin’s inn was?”

“I believe it survived the battle, though it was heavily damaged. She incurred no casualties.”

“Really? Wow. Hey, are you free from your stupid Hive duties tonight?”

“My ‘stupid Hive’ is well-attended in my absence, yes. Although I resent the implication.”

“Yeah, yeah. But do you think we could take a look?”

“I can’t swim. Or are you suggesting you carry me the entire way there?”

“Hah! You wish! I could totally do it, but nah. Guess what I saw on the way here?”

“What?”

“Guess?”

“I refuse.”

“Come on…”

“You will tell me eventually.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Your childlike response only solidifies my certainty.”

“Okay, fine. Guess what I saw?”

“Again, I refuse to guess.”

“Oh, come on…”

The two [Guardsmen] walked out of the doors on patrol. Klbkch and Relc, the Senior Guardsman duo. They were a good pair, if odd. One was a precise, almost perfect example of a [Guardsman] who happened to be Antinium. The other was a war hero who slacked on his job and was tolerated for his ability and little else.

They lifted moth corpses, argued, and worked tirelessly for six hours until they stopped at a door set into a wall. It was plain, inconspicuous, and was definitely not supposed to be there, given that the wall in question was Liscor’s western wall. Klbkch opened the door and stepped through.

“Hello? Miss Erin—”

He raised his voice as he entered a dark inn. Boarded up windows leaked rain into the inn, and the fireplace and [Light] spells illuminated the rest of the inn. Klbkch and Relc blinked as they saw something scuttle across the floor and heard an angry voice.

“Argh! It’s another one! Mrsha, get me a boot! Not that boot, get me my bad boot!”

Erin and Mrsha chased the tiny moth across the floor. Erin raised the boot as the Gnoll handed it to her and threw it. The boot spun through the air and crushed the moth. Erin cheered and looked around. Her eyes widened as she spotted the two [Guardsmen].

“Klbkch! Relc!”

“Hey! I thought this place was totally wrecked!”

Relc walked into the inn, laughing and looking around. Klbkch entered after him and his mandibles opened wide with surprise.

“Ah. This is unexpected.”

Pawn looked up as he, Olesm and the Horns of Hammerad ate at the one good table in the inn. They were the only ones sitting on chairs. But the floor, newly cleaned and washed was covered with bodies. Painted Soldiers sat and ate from bowls filled with stew, and sipped from special tankards designed to be held by their awkward grips. They looked up as Klbkch stared around.

“Hey, did you hear about the special dinner for the Soldiers? Come on in! I don’t have any more tables, but I’ve got plenty of food still!”

Erin ushered Relc and Klbkch into the room, beaming. She took the boot from Mrsha and made a face at the oozing carcass.

“Ew. Mrsha, can you wash this outside? Thanks!”

“Whoa. What’s with the huge room?”

Relc gaped at the giant common room, stunned by what he was seeing. Klbkch stared at the empty stage and wide room. He tilted his head thoughtfully.

“I detect the presence of a Skill.”

“Gee, you think? But what the heck is it?”

“Like it? It’s my [Grand Theatre]! It was filled with dead moths and stuff, but we’ve been working all day and we’ve washed it clean! I also have the second and third floor cleared up! Well, mostly. I think Bird’s tossing moths off the roof right now.”

On cue, Relc and Klbkch heard a muffled thump outside and Bird’s voice.

“One moth goes splat, two moths go splat-splat. Three moths go splat-splat-splat.

And then another voice which neither [Guardsman] recognized.

“Splat, splat, splat.”

“Ooh, Numbtongue’s singing! I bet he thinks we can’t hear him.”

Erin grinned up at the ceiling. Relc shook his head in amazement.

“What’s with the big room, Erin? I heard you had Goblins—which is totally fine by me!”

He raised his claws hurriedly as Erin turned back to them.

“Totally fine. I’m just here to eat. I’m not gonna cause trouble, okay? Klbkch and I stopped for a drink since we heard your inn got trashed. Looks better than I thought, actually. Right Klb?”

“Indeed. My partner’s wild speculations are quite groundless. Erin, I am pleased that you are well.”

“Hey, I’m glad you’re well too, Klbkch. How were things in the Hive? Are Belgrade, Anand, and Garry…?”

“All unharmed.”

“I’m good too, Erin! I killed tons of moths! Hell, I held the wall pretty much on my own.”

Relc waved a claw excitedly. Erin laughed at him.

“I bet you did. Come on, take a seat and I’ll get you some food. Or rather—Ishkr? Can you get drinks and stew for Relc and Klbkch?”

A Gnoll came out of the kitchen. Relc chortled with glee as he saw the dark beverage in his glass mug.

Alcohol? That’s good stuff there! When did this happen?”

“A lot’s been going on! Come on, sit. There’s a nice place by the fire.”

Erin sat with the two [Guardsmen]. She smiled broadly at them and Relc grinned back as Klbkch raised his mandibles. For a few seconds they recalled another moment, a long while ago, where they had been in a similar situation. Then the inn had been run-down and old. Now it was filled with Antinium Soldiers and they ate on the floor. But as Erin added a log to the fire and Klbkch and Relc argued over who got the bigger bowl of stew, it felt like not much has changed.

“So Klbkch.”

“Yes, Erin?”

The Antinium looked at her as Erin twiddled her thumbs together. Relc was inhaling his stew and washing every bite down with a gulp of ale, happy as could be. Erin looked somewhat nervously at Klbkch as she spoke.

“My inn’s wrecked. Klbkch, can I pay you to fix it? Bird says the Hive is probably a mess right now, so I can make do for now. But if you could spare a few Workers…”

She trailed off hopefully. Klbkch pondered her request as he ate stew and then nodded.

“The Hive is indeed recovering, but there is a finite number of Workers and Soldiers needed to remove the corpses. The tunnels can barely accommodate a single giant moth as it is. Your request will not impose a strain on the Hive’s resources. I will send a small team up shortly.”

“Oh, really? Wow, I’m so grateful!”

“I appreciate your gratitude. However we will have to charge a fee, and lumber will be an issue.”

“Don’t worry about that! I can get some from Celum and I have coin! Olesm gave me money for tonight and I’ve got acting money coming in! Well, I’ll have more once I get the inn fixed up again.”

“Acting money?”

Relc and Klbkch exchanged a glance. Before they could inquire further, a sorry-looking Stitch-Girl sitting in a corner of the inn far from the fire raised her mug,

“That money had better come to me, Erin!”

Octavia’s eyes were bloodshot and she looked despondent as she drank. Erin coughed. Relc gave Octavia a weird look.

“What’s her problem?”

“Octavia’s sort of upset. We uh, used her potions up during the battle. And I can’t pay her back just yet. I haven’t seen the Silver Swords or Halfseekers yet, and I don’t know if they want to pay her back.”

“Sure, just leave me without any coin for all my hard work!”

Erin winced as Octavia came over to complain. She glared at Erin, Klbkch, and Relc although she kept well back from the fireplace.

“My stock of potions is gone, and I’m ruined without some kind of reimbursement! Why, the cost of the ingredients alone is—”

“Miss Octavia, may I assume that all the potions lost were used in the defense of Liscor?”

Klbkch calmly interrupted the [Alchemist]. She paused.

“That’s right. And without me charging a single coin, by the way! I did my civic duty—to another city no less! And do I get a word of thanks. Nooo—”

The Antinium nodded.

“We will reimburse you the costs of your lost wares, Miss Octavia.”

“Say what?”

The Stitch-Girl broke off. Klbkch tapped his fingers against the side of the bowl, speaking clearly.

“Give me a full receipt of your lost items tomorrow morning. I will have you sign under truth spell and we will offer you a fair sum close to market value for your lost potions. Liscorian law states that services or items used in the defense of the city must be repaid at appropriate price to their respective owners. You may be able to claim some money yourself, Miss Solstice.”

“Really?”

Erin brightened up. Klbkch nodded.

“Your inn was used as a staging ground for multiple adventuring parties and both Celum and Pallass’s City Watch. You may also be able to charge all three cities for use of your magical doorway in transportation, although the cities may claim fair use of a magical artifact in times of war. I will review the relevant information and inform you of whatever reimbursements I deem fitting.”

“All right! You heard that, Octavia? You get money and I get money! Thanks, Klbkch!”

The [Innkeeper] smiled. Octavia looked stunned. Klbkch nodded towards her.

“Will that be satisfactory, Miss Octavia?”

“What? Um. Yes. Thank you. Thank you! Pleasure doing business with Liscor! And might I add that I hope my potions were of great service to the city? I would be more than happy to provide as many potions as necessary—”

Erin rolled her eyes and pushed Octavia back towards her seat. Relc watched her arguing with the Stitch-Girl and sighed.

“Reimbursements?”

Klbkch nodded.

“Part of Liscorian law. A staple of most Drake cities, in fact. You would be aware of this if you ever took the time to review the laws you enforce.”

“That’s what I’ve got you for, Klbkch old buddy. You do all the boring stuff.”

“That is sadly accurate.”

Relc laughed. The big Drake sat with Klbkch on the floor, drinking lightly. He looked older than Klbkch remembered. But then, they’d been partners for nearly seven years now. Relc looked into the fire.

“Hell of a week, huh, Klb?”

“Indeed, Relc.”

“Glad you made it out of there. When that scrawny Worker guy, Pawn, or whatever, came out of the Hive, I got worried, y’know?”

Klbkch paused with a spoon of stew raised.

“I…was not aware of that.”

“Hey, it’s not like I thought you were dead or anything. But you did die once.”

“That is true.”

The two sat in silence for a second as Erin circulated the room, offering more stew to the Soldiers who raised their bowls silently.

“Seems like this dungeon’s causing lots of trouble, huh?”

“To put it mildly.”

“And there’s an entrance that leads right up to your Hive, huh?”

“A recently discovered breach in our security, yes.”

Relc eyed Klbkch.

“Right, right. Just like how the dungeon suddenly appeared one day. The Antinium had no idea whatsoever. You guys just happened to know exactly where the entrance was.”

The Antinium was unmoved by Relc’s stare. He casually lifted his mug and drank.

“Your skepticism is wounding and hurtful.”

“Tell that to Captain Z.”

“She is aware of much of the Hive’s doings.”

“Yeah, and I bet you tell your Queen everything we’re doing too.”

“That is a fair assessment, but flawed in one respect.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t bother her with your trivial antics.”

The Drake glanced at his partner. Klbkch’s face didn’t change one iota as he drank. Relc grinned.

“Bastard.”

“Not precisely.”

“Glad you made it safe. Glad Erin’s good. Even if she does have a weird inn.”

“Indeed.”

“Magic doors, huh?”

“They appear to be quite useful.”

“Well here’s to that. And surviving another day. Moths are one thing, but Captain Z’s going to work us both to death. Glad you’re with me old buddy. And it’s a good thing the Soldiers are pulling the morning shift too, because I’m not rolling out of bed for dawn patrol!”

“You never do. I agree to your optimism however.”

Relc grinned and lifted his drink. Klbkch raised his hand and the Drake and Antinium gently chinked mugs. They drank, and then Erin came back.

“Sorry! The inn’s a mess, but all the bodies are out and all I need is a few Workers to fix it all up! Plus, I’ve still got my customers! We’re actually doing really well if you ignore all the moths and water outside.”

“Really? You’ve got customers coming in later tonight?”

Somewhat skeptical, Relc eyed Erin. She grinned at him.

“Hey, I know the inn’s a mess, but the Players of Celum said they’re still willing to put on a show and there’s plenty of people willing to stand if it means seeing them! Once the Soldiers finish their meal, I’ll call them through and start making popcorn. You want to see a play?”

The two [Guardsmen] exchanged a glance. Relc frowned. Klbkch clicked his mandibles together.

“What is a ‘play’?”

“You mean you haven’t seen one yet?”

The two shook their heads. Erin’s smile grew wider. Relc and Klbkch looked at each other again.

Some things stayed the same. Other things changed. But there was always something new here.

 

—-

 

The Wandering Inn glowed with light. Not far distant, Liscor was illuminated by light as well. The walls stood as the rain continued to fall. Neither monster attacks nor the rising waters could bring Liscor’s walls down. They were a symbol of comfort, of reassurance to all who knew them. They meant safety, security.

Home.

A group paused at the entrance to the Floodplains on a distant hilltop. The dark waters were still being churned by the rainfall. Those gathered on the hilltop took no notice. A Drake spoke curtly.

“We’ve come too late. The water’s risen. Have the company prepare for aquatic travel and pitch camp tonight. We’ll make for the city at dawn tomorrow. I want us in the city before the underwater monsters arrive.”

“Yes, Commander Grasstongue!”

The Drake nodded her head. She turned to another [Soldier] with markings on his armor that identified him as a magic-capable officer.

“Send word to Liscor’s High Command via [Message] spell. Liscor’s 4th Company has returned home and is prepared to reinforce the city. We will reconnoiter the area and stand ready to secure Liscor against any threats. Monster, Goblin, or Antinium.”

The [Soldier] saluted. The company of Drakes began to make camp, posting a vigilant watch, keeping their weapons dry, ready for battle at any time. They were part of Liscor’s army, a hardened elite known throughout Izril. They were Liscor’s sons and daughters, come to defend their home in Liscor’s hour of need against the threat of the Goblin Lord and the dungeon.

They had marched day and night and had forgone rest in any of the Drake cities they had passed to reach their destination sooner. They were a force to be reckoned with, despite their few numbers.

And they were late. Just by a day or two. But they didn’t know that. Liscor’s army camped as the rain fell onwards, the waters rising. And as they did, the fish came out. The animals and monsters who made the annual trip to Liscor began to swim up from dark recesses or crossed through mountain streams and rivers to reach this temporary haven of life. It was spring. And the exciting times were just getting started.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.13

The next day, Erin closed up her inn just after dawn. She waved farewell to the Players of Celum who’d done two performances, and let the Soldiers march through to their Hive or to resume their watch from the battlements. The last of her guests she said farewell to were Relc and Klbkch.

The two [Guardsmen] had enjoyed their night at Erin’s inn. They argued as they left, good naturedly. Relc had been blown away by the stage and had applauded both plays when he wasn’t asking if he could have a try. Klbkch on the other hand was actually a born critic, and had made a few observations on the quality of the [Actor] portraying Claudius in the second play. He reminded Erin of her English Literature teacher in that sense.

She closed the door to her inn tiredly, wishing she had a few more hours before the sun rose. Erin had to get up soon! Or maybe she could nap and let Lyonette take over? She was so tired she nearly ran into Apista as the Ashfire Bee floated past her, trying to get outdoors.

“And where do you think you’re going, huh?”

The bee buzzed around Erin as she shooed it back inside. Apista reluctantly floated back to the faerie flowers as Erin closed the door to Liscor. She’d never hear the end of it from Lyonette if she let Apista fly away.

As it happened, the Ashfire Bee had survived the entire battle with the Face-Eater Moths by hiding in the kitchen and devouring a jar of honey as large as she was. Erin had found her squeezed into the glass jar when she’d gone to open the cupboards. It had not been a nurturing experience, although it had relieved Lyonette, who’d been anxiously searching for her pet.

So much for bees. Erin yawned as she staggered back to her kitchen for bed. She could get a few hour’s nap. But she paused as she passed by a boarded up window. It was a bad patch job and she could see outside. She stared through the crack into the wet landscape. The waters had nearly engulfed everything, but a few hilltops were visible. And as the skies lightened, Erin’s eyes caught a few odd details out in the Floodplains.

“Hey. What are all those Drakes doing swimming over there?”

Erin peered at the distant figures swimming towards Liscor from the south. She thought about it, shrugged, and went back to sleep. And the swimming Drakes approached the city. Their home.

 

—-

 

The sun had yet to rise when the soldiers struck their camp. Armed Drakes and a few Gnolls rolled out of their tents, ate dry rations without a fire in silence, and were on the march within twenty minutes of waking.

Only they weren’t quite marching as they traversed the waters between their hill and the city of Liscor in the distance. The [Soldiers] moved single-file as one of their [Scouts] moved ahead, venturing from hilltop to hilltop and attempting to cross as little water as possible. Avoiding the water entirely was simply impossible; the waters had risen so that most valleys were flooded at least twenty feet deep. The [Soldiers] had to march with their heads barely above water or, if it came to it, swim to the next elevated ground.

It was a challenge, not least because the company of a hundred and twenty odd Drakes and Gnolls were all armed and armored and carrying their gear. All but the best swimmers sank like rocks and had to hold their breath as they crossed a valley on foot…underwater. However, the [Soldiers] had been trained to do just that and they emerged from the water, gasping, but making little other noise besides that.

As they reached the top of a hill close to Liscor, a Drake mounted on a horse raised a clawed hand and the [Soldiers] froze as one.

“Company, halt.”

She inspected the city, only a few hilltops away from their position. Home, at least, the place Liscor’s army called home. They were always on the move, so the city was a distant memory for most. Yet not even their commander could suppress a small stir of excitement in her chest as she regarded the city.

“Looks like Liscor’s not seen any battle with the Goblin Lord. Or if they have, there’s no damage to the walls. What’s that structure over there? Some kind of inn? Anyone recall that being here three years ago?”

She pointed to a distant building on a hill just west of Liscor. One of her subordinates peered at it.

“That’s a new building, Commander Grasstongue. I recall an old, abandoned inn two hills over—there. But it’s been razed by the looks of it.”

He pointed and the Drake shifted her gaze towards the hilltop. She frowned.

“Hm. Well, the presence of an inn suggests the city hasn’t come under any kind of major attack. Or it would have been razed. Who’s the scale-cursed idiot who authorized a building outside of the city without any kind of fortifications, anyways? Captain Halliss, who’d we leave in charge of Liscor?”

“A [Tactician] by the name of Olesm Swifttail and Watch Captain Zevara Sunderscale, Commander.”

“Huh. We’ll have to question them about that inn. Any sign we’ve been spotted by Liscor’s City Watch?”

“None, Commander. The watch-lanterns are out on the walls as well. Unless the guard has night-vision they’ve shirked their duties.”

The [Captain] saw his commander swish her tail restlessly. She growled.

“Poor security, especially with the Goblin Lord’s presence. No wonder the Council called for a detachment to return. What in the name of the Ancestors does this Watch Captain think she’s doing?”

“Watch Captain Zevara is well-thought of. High Command’s reports on her stated her trustworthiness and competence.”

A grunt. The Drake commander eyed the dark walls.

“Is that because she’s Oldblood? From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like she’s nearly as competent as the reports claim.”

The [Captain] was silent as the Drake considered Liscor. Beneath her, the horse fidgeted. It was wet and wanted to graze. The commander kept her mount in check as she came to a quick decision.

“Let’s test their sentries a bit. See how close we can get before they challenge us. If we get within two hundred feet of the city without them raising an alarm I’ll have that Watch Captain’s head.”

She raised a hand, pointed, and drew a line across her face in the air. The [Soldiers] of Liscor’s army saw the movement and instantly checked their wet armor, cinching it and any loose items tight. Quietly, they crested the hill and began crossing to another hilltop some fifty feet away.

To the Drake commander’s extreme displeasure, the company of soldiers made it within one hundred feet of Liscor’s walls without so much as a peep of warning. She glared up at the dark battlements overhead.

“What in the name of the Ancestors…? If we were an enemy force we could take the walls by surprise! Who’s up there?”

One of the Drakes wearing solid plate armor raised a claw as he stared up towards the walls. He had a spyglass in hand and the brightening sky finally revealed the figures on the battlements. He swore loudly, breaking the silence.

“Commander! I see Antinium on the walls!”

What?

Every [Soldier] immediately reached for a weapon. Swearing, Commander Grasstongue leapt off her mount and stormed over to the second [Captain]. He offered her the spyglass and she took one look before uttering an oath.

“There are Soldiers up there, hundreds of them! They must have taken the city!”

Shouts of outrage broke the dawn air. They were immediately silenced. The Drake commander turned to her officers, her expression dark. She reached for a spear—one of two she carried with her horse.

“Prepare to charge! Get me a [Light Bridge] spell now! We’re taking those walls and slaughtering every Antinium we see. There might be civilians left alive! Get ready for combat!”

The Drakes and Gnolls rushed into formation as the commander mounted her steed. Sensing the mood, her horse reared, and the [Commander] soothed her mount. The Antinium still hadn’t raised the alarm—if they could maintain their advantage for a few seconds longer, they might be able to mount a surprise attack. She gazed towards the walls, her heart beating with rage. Rage, and a bit of fear. She spoke under her breath.

“Hold on, old man. If you’re still alive in there—help’s on the way.”

Then a Drake [Mage] stepped forwards. Commander Grasstongue nodded at him and he raised a staff. A shimmering walkway of light shot forth and struck the ground as it built itself towards the walls. In seconds, a [Light Bridge] spell had formed. Liscor’s 4th Company shouted in fury as their [Commander] pointed.

Take back the city! Slaughter the Antinium bastards!”

 

—-

 

The Antinium Soldiers were on guard detail. They’d taken over for Liscor’s [Guardsman] in shifts—rotating out so that the Painted Soldiers could see one of the two plays being put on before returning back to man the walls. Or Soldier the walls. Antinium the walls?

Verbs weren’t important. But this duty was. Liscor’s Watch was in sore need of rest from the battle, so Zevara had readily agreed to let Pawn’s Soldiers hold the walls another day at least. This did mean that the Soldiers were running on four or less hours of sleep across two entire days of staying awake, but that was fine. They could operate for up to three days without rest entirely before they began to suffer complications.

And of course they’d spotted the Drakes heading towards the city nearly an hour ago. Yellow Splatters was on command duty with Purple Smiles since Pawn was watching the second play at The Wandering Inn, and he’d been staring at the Drakes splashing about with curiosity. He hadn’t thought to inquire about why they were trying to swim in armor—they were Drakes. Liscor was filled with Drakes. He was on the lookout for monsters, so his only interest in them was to wonder how they managed to swim at all.

It was only when he saw one of the Drakes raise a stave that his instincts told him they might be the enemy. When the stave projected a wide ramp of golden light towards the wall he was standing on, he was sure. The Drakes began lining up, shouting angrily, and he saw one on horseback point towards the walls. They were going to climb onto the walls via the ramp!

Yellow Splatters instantly changed his opinion of the Drake group. They weren’t friendly. If they were, they’d come through the gates. But the walls? This was a siege maneuver! Antinium used the same trick, although without magic, forming living ladders to climb the walls. This magical ramp would let the Drakes charge onto the battlements and they were all armed.

The [Sergeant] made an immediate call. The Drakes were enemies. Ergo, Liscor was under attack! All the Soldiers around him instantly raised their fists. Yellow Splatters turned his head—another Soldier was already running. The Soldier, painted with blue grass and yellow flowers, charged towards a large bronze bell. He didn’t bother fumbling with the bell hammer. He drew back all four fists and began punching the bell as hard as possible.

The bell tolled loudly with each punch. The ringing jarred the dawn air, echoing. The light bridge spell finally finished materializing and the Drakes below looked up, alarmed. It had been less than two seconds since the Drake [Mage] had cast the spell! But that was the nature of the Antinium. Yellow Splatters’ analysis and decision had conveyed itself to the Soldiers around him, and like a single organism they had moved, ringing the alarm and racing to defend the site of attack.

Two seconds had passed and the bell’s ringing had already reached every corner of Liscor. The Drakes were still assembling around their ramp made of light. The speed of reaction had caught them off guard—the Soldiers were already closing around the top of the ramp as Yellow Splatters charged into position with Purple Smiles.

There the Antinium braced themselves, the Soldiers standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the light ramp. Without further orders they would repel the Drakes here. They waited for the first charge as the Drakes pointed. There was at least one [Mage] in the group and they looked ready to rush up the ramp. The Painted Soldiers would hold until they were all dead, or the enemy retreated.

That was guard duty.

 

­­—-

 

Watch Captain Zevara was asleep in her office. She’d passed out sometime during the night, after a full day of work. Technically she should have been in bed, but the Captain of the Watch had learned long ago how soft a wood desk could be—if you were tired enough, that was. And it was a hard-earned sleep, a sleep born of security. After all, she had eleven whole hours to sleep thanks to the Antinium taking over the walls. That was the best gift Zevara could ever have asked for: more sleep.

Olesm would take the first shift in the morning, which meant Zevara could drool and sleep on her desk as long as she wanted. There were [Guardsman] in the Watch’s barracks of course—there always were. But the sounds they made below couldn’t wake Zevara. She could sleep through anything. Fights, offending Drakes, Humans, and Gnolls being tossed into jail, laughter—

Clang. Clang.

Zevara’s eyes opened and she jerked upright. She could sleep through anything, at any time. Except a call to alarm. She sat up, wiping the drool from the side of her face and prayed that she’d just been dreaming. It did happen. Sometimes she dreamed of an alarm—

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

It was no dream. Zevara froze as she heard one of the bells on the southern wall tolling. The urgent alarm made Zevara’s pulse skyrocket. That was the call to alarm! There was no other bell that sounded like that in the city by law. And there were no horns but—of course not! The Antinium couldn’t blow horns! They were on the wall right now. That meant the Antinium had spotted something!

Had the moths come back? Had something else? Zevara didn’t remember charging out of her office or running down—she found herself running through the barracks, drawn sword in hand. [Guardsmen] turned to her in slow motion as Zevara ran, still blinking sleep out of her eyes.

Get to the walls! I want every [Guardsman] in the city on the South Wall now!

She screamed at the Drakes and Gnolls on duty as they scrambled for their gear. A dozen of the Watch charged out the door after Zevara and she ran with the speed of panic towards the stairs leading to the battlements.

There were a hundred and sixty eight steps leading up to the top of the battlements. Zevara took them two at a time, counting each step. She burst onto the ramparts and turned.

“Where—”

Then she saw light. Not the dawning sky, but bright, shimmering mage light, the kind that came from a spell. Zevara shielded her eyes and then took in the scene in one moment.

The Painted Soldiers stood in a mass in front of a ramp of light, a [Light Bridge] spell used to siege cities. Coming up the ramp was a small unit of Drakes, only a hundred or so strong.

“What in the name of the Ancestors?”

A Drake was riding a horse up a ramp made of light towards Liscor’s walls! She had a spear in hand and she was being followed by the Drakes, four abreast, who were shouting as they charged a wall of Painted Soldiers.

Zevara wondered wildly if they were an attacking force from another city. But—Drakes didn’t attack Liscor! They had no enemies! Liscor was the border city that held the pass from Humans! And it was surrounded by water at the moment! Then her blood ran cold.

Was this an attack by Pallass? She listened to the Drakes shouting as she wavered.

“For Liscor!”

“Wipe the Ants out!”

Liscor? Zevara’s eyes widened. She stared at the armored Drakes, and then put everything together in a sudden rush. She ran towards the Antinium Soldiers, shouting desperately.

“Wait! Stop! Hold! I said, hold!

Too late. Her voice was too weak and she was too out of breath to shout properly. Zevara saw a few Soldiers twitch, but her real target, the charging Drakes, were too far away to hear and too caught up in the moment. Zevara frantically ran towards the Antinium slipping, cursing, as a mild shower of rain pelted her. She had to stop them! If the Drakes killed an Antinium Soldier or the Antinium killed the Drakes it might be war!

She wasn’t going to make it. Zevara knew that and so she paused and shouted.

Stop! Stop! These are friendlies! Stop!

The Drake on horseback didn’t hear. The rain fell. Zevara watched the Antinium brace as one as the Drake leveled her spear at the Soldier with yellow splatters on his body in front. She closed her eyes and heard a voice bellow from behind her.

Soldiers! [Rapid Retreat]! Clear the area now!”

It was a loud voice, louder than Zevara had ever heard Olesm yell before. One of the Soldiers turned. He had a purple smile drawn across his mandibles and face. He saw Olesm pointing, saw Zevara waving her hand, and raised a hand. Every Soldier looked at him and then moved.

The Antinium didn’t hesitate. They instantly turned and charged out of the way, moving with the speed of Olesm’s Skill. The charging Drake pulled up her spear, confused, as she found the battlements ahead of her empty. She wheeled her mount and faced the Soldiers on her left.

“Hold! Hold!

Zevara had finally gotten her breath back. She dashed forwards and nearly slipped. She ran straight at the confused Drake as more [Soldiers] poured over the wall. Zevara could see Drake [Captains] in armor followed by [Sergeants] and regular infantry, screaming wildly as they came over the ramparts and stopping in confusion. The Drake on horseback, their leader, stared incredulously at Zevara.

“What’s going on here?”

Hold! I am Watch Captain Zevara! Tell your men to stand down!”

“Watch Captain? But—”

“Stand down!

Zevara bellowed at the Drake. This [Commander] was young—younger than Zevara herself. She had light red scales, too bright to be called pink, and her spear tip crackled in the rain. Lightning enchantment. Zevara strode towards her.

“Commander, I am Watch Captain for Liscor! Why in the name of the Walled Cities did you decide to attack our walls?”

Confusion and anger flickered across the younger Drake’s face. She gestured with her spear at the Soldiers, who were staring silently at the [Soldiers].

“I—we spotted the Antinium on the battlements. Why are they here?

Zevara groaned internally. Liscor’s army had returned! Part of it. The hundred or so [Soldiers] couldn’t be more than a single company. They would have been a welcome sight about a month ago when the Goblin Lord was breathing down Liscor’s neck. As it was, they had chosen the worst moment to arrive. Which was typical. She should have expected it, honestly.

“I’ll explain everything in a moment. For now, have your men stand down. Antinium Soldiers—”

One stepped forwards instantly. Zevara recognized Yellow Splatters, who Klbkch had introduced her to. He was a [Sergeant] and the fact that he had a class like that was definitely going on her next report. Zevara turned to him almost sheepishly.

“These are friendly soldiers. Liscor’s army. I regret the confusion. Please take your…your men back to their stations. I’ll handle things here.”

The Antinium Soldier stared at Zevara silently and nodded. She had no idea what he thought, if he had any thoughts. The Soldiers instantly dispersed across the battlements. The soldiers glared after them. Zevara clearly heard one of them mutter.

“They’re working with the Ants? Ancestors, what the hell’s happened to the city?”

“Stow it!”

The [Commander] snapped angrily and the soldiers straightened. They’d sheathed their weapons, but from the way their hands hovered near their hilts, they didn’t trust the Soldiers now staring out into the wet, drizzling landscape. Zevara shook her head. Then she turned as she heard more pounding of feet.

“Watch Captain! What—”

The [Guardsmen] coming to reinforce the walls stopped in confusion as they saw the unfamiliar [Soldiers] standing there. Zevara cursed internally. She turned to Olesm.

“Olesm, we need to call off the general alarm.”

“On it.”

The young Drake nodded. Zevara caught his arm.

“Excellent work, Olesm. You saved us there.”

She squeezed his arm. He smiled at her, looking only slightly shaken.

“Just doing my job, Zevara. I’ll have someone blow the all clear.”

He hurried off. Zevara watched him go, and then turned to the [Guardsmen]. One of the Senior Guardsmen, a Gnoll in his mid-forties with black and grey fur, looked relieved.

“So we’re not under attack, Captain?”

“Nope. It was a false alarm. Almost false. I’ll issue a statement in an hour. Get everyone back off the walls—and back in bed if they’re up. This lot spotted the Antinium on the walls and thought the city was under attack.”

“Who would do—oh.”

The Gnoll stared at the Drakes and his eyes widened. He sniffed and growled under his breath, then turned to the other members of the Watch beside him. He conveyed the news in the simplest of terms.

“The army’s back.”

Zevara heard half the [Guardsmen] behind him groan. She saw the soldiers shifting impatiently, and turned to the [Commander] who was looking more and more annoyed.

“Watch Captain, what’s the situation?”

She was asking for a report. Zevara nearly laughed. The Captain of the Watch looked around, at the Painted Soldiers, at the wet landscape and the moth bodies floating in the water, and at the inn visible from the battlements to the west. She wiped some water out of her face and stared up.

Drizzling, but not raining too heavily. That was good. Clear skies would be better for the event later today, but drizzling was clear skies at this time of year. She looked at the [Commander], all military discipline and efficiency and gave her the most unprofessional shrug of her career.

“Where should I start?

 

—-

 

An hour later, Zevara stared at the slight stain on her desk. She was pretty sure that was where she’d been drooling. She wondered if she should get a cloth and wipe it off—or if she could put her head down and get back to sleep. She certainly felt like it. Unfortunately, the visitor in her office was too important to ignore. She wasn’t sitting like Zevara was—she was pacing restlessly, her scales still damp from the rain.

“Did I hear you correctly, Watch Captain? The dungeon—Liscor’s dungeon, which was unearthed just four months ago—has been classified as a Gold-rank dungeon by the Adventurer’s Guilds of Izril? Are you sure that’s not a misclassification?”

“Not at all.”

Zevara watched the younger [Commander] pace back and forth. She wished she were that young. Well, maybe not that young, but she wished she had that kind of energy in her. The young Drake’s scales were bright red and she was in the physical prime of her life. Red scales were rare on Drakes—green was most common, and very bright or very dark scales were the least likely to be seen, especially without patterns.

This Drake might have been considered nobility if her scales had that bright glow or unique flame coloration of Zeres’ nobles. Or if her scales were midnight black like Pallass’ few lines of noble birth. Regardless, this [Commander] must be gifted to be in charge of an entire company at her age.

Unfortunately, youth and genius didn’t make her any easier to work with. The Drake turned back to Zevara, her gaze intent.

“The Guild Master of Liscor’s Adventuring Guild is Tekshia Shivertail, correct? Or has she retired and let someone else take over?”

“It’s still Tekshia.”

“And is her judgment sound? Guildmistress Shivertail is a respected war veteran, but…”

The Drake let the word hang in the air. Zevara scowled.

“Tekshia Shivertail is in full command of her facilities, commander. Moreover, her decision was ratified within a day by the other Adventuring Guilds in all six Walled Cities and by Invrisil! Both Humans and Drakes agree with her classification. I remind you that the battle was seen by most of the known world!”

“Through a magical doorway that is in the possession of an [Innkeeper].”

The commander’s voice was flat. Zevara winced. When she put it like that…

“As I said, this [Innkeeper] is a known asset to Liscor. And her inn contained adventurers who slew hundreds of the moths and one giant one. Not to mention the actions of one adventurer in calling the rain, which may have well saved Liscor!”

And wasn’t that a surprise? Pisces, the [Necromancer] of all people! Zevara could barely believe it, but the reports had been quadruple-checked by her [Guardsmen]. She might actually have to trust that damned mage for all his previous crimes of extortion. Hadn’t Olesm submitted a report about having Pisces clean Liscor’s sewers with an undead? Zevara had shoved it into a pile and told him she’d consider it. Where did she put it…?

“And the Antinium? Manning the walls, sending Soldiers into the streets?”

There was a level of hostility in the other Drake’s voice that Zevara usually only encountered when speaking to other Watch Captains in other cities about the Antinium. But that was Liscor’s army. That was why they stayed away from the city, in large part. Zevara narrowed her eyes.

“The Antinium gave their aid to Liscor, [Commander]. Which I requested. They sent Soldiers to fight the moths and slew thousands of them in the tunnels of their Hive! The Antinium were honoring our contract. They died to hold these walls, Commander. Just like my [Guardsmen] did.”

She stared at the young Drake until the commander looked away. Zevara could see her tail sweeping the ground in long, rapid strokes. She was upset, but not agitated. Good.

“Why wasn’t High Command informed of all these developments at once? The dungeon, the presence of General Shivertail and his departure—not to mention this magical doorway! We had only the report of the dungeon and a belated report of General Shivertail’s departure—a week before his death! Why were reports so sporadic?”

Because I forgot. And I had more important things to do. Zevara grimaced.

“Honestly Commander Grasstongue, the High Command was the least of my concerns given the distance between the army and the city. They were in no position to influence the events taking place here and Liscor’s Council was more than adequately advised by General Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss until recently.”

The mention of Zel Shivertail gave both female Drakes pause. But then the [Commander] shook her head.

“I’m sure the Council was served well by General Shivertail’s input. But a Wall Lord from Salazsar? Why not consult with the High Command? Why trust only his opinion? The High Command deserves to know—”

“And I’m sure they will, now that you’re here to give them regular updates.”

Zevara had had enough. She stood up, pushing her chair back, and rested her claws on her desk as she stared at the red-scaled Drake.

“Commander Grasstongue, I have more important things to deal with. The dungeon could spit out more monsters any day now, and the Floodplains are underwater! This month the city will be stockpiling fish, casting nets—and that’s a chore for two Watch Captains without the danger of monster attacks or Goblins!”

“I understand the issue. But I was sent to secure the city against threats.”

“And I am pleased your company made it here, Commander. Despite being late by a month and arriving with only a single company—rather than the three I originally requested.”

The two Drakes locked gazes.

“We were delayed arriving here. We were besieging Zeres and had to avoid military confrontation with the other armies allied to the Walled City in the dispute between Oteslia and Zeres.”

“A dispute that Liscor’s city does not share. Liscor’s army may be under contract to fight for Oteslia, but I would hope that ties to home matter more than gold, commander.”

The staring contest went on for several minutes as Zevara refused to blink or turn her head. At last, the other Drake turned abruptly.

“You can remove the Antinium from the walls now, Watch Captain. We will take over until the Watch is prepared to resume their duties.”

Zevara folded her arms.

“No.”

Commander Grasstongue whirled.

“Excuse me?”

“The Antinium are trustworthy, commander. I won’t remove them and insult their Hive. Moreover, they are more than capable of holding the walls and reacting to any threat. As your company personally witnessed.”

That was a step too far for the young Drake. She leaned forwards over Zevara’s desk, breathing heavily, her tail curling in frustration. Zevara felt heat at the back of her throat. It was a bad idea to annoy an Oldblood Drake capable of using breath attacks, but this officer was too angry to care. She took a deep breath as she glared at Zevara.

“Watch Captain Zevara, I am Wing Commander Embria Grasstongue, 4th Company Commander of Liscor’s army—”

“And I am Watch Captain.

Zevara cut her off, in surprise as much as anger. Embria? Grasstongue? Wait a second. Grasstongue wasn’t that unordinary a name, but could she be—? No, Zevara had to settle this now. She put steel and fire into her voice, trying not to breathe smoke at the younger Drake.

“Commander Embria, this is my city. Your company has come here at my request to protect your city. Your home. Only it appears that your idea of protection is to start a war with the Antinium. Do you have any idea of what might have occurred if you had slain the Antinium Soldiers in cold blood? At the very least you would have broken Liscor’s contract, which we have honored for nearly a decade of peace, and at the worst you would have thrown us into a third Antinium War!”

Her words made Embria pale slightly. The Drake opened her mouth. Zevara noticed her tail had uncurled and was swaying uncertainly, though.

“I was acting with the best intelligence I had at the time—”

“By attacking Antinium Soldiers? Without hailing the city? They were standing watch, commander! If they wanted you dead they would have been raining arrows at you with Workers! If the city had fallen you would have heard about it! No! I don’t want to hear about the High Command. I’m concerned with this city, and up till this moment I have had to defend it with the Antinium’s help, with the help of adventurers and Pallass and Celum’s help! They sent their City Watch to fight when the Face-Eater Moths were attacking. But there wasn’t a single Liscorian soldier on the battlefield.”

She leaned over her desk and felt a trickle of smoke come out of her mouth.

“Where were you two days ago, when we needed you most? Where was the army?”

There was nothing Embria could say to that.

“We were moving as quickly as we could. If we had been aware—”

“You would have gotten here yesterday. Too late. And now you have the gall to come into my office, into my city and demand to take charge?”

Zevara hissed softly. Embria held her ground, although the air was getting hot around Zevara. Most Drakes would have backed up, but to her credit Embria was no coward. And more to her credit—she wasn’t a fool either. She looked at Zevara and rapidly retrenched. Embria took a few steps back, hesitated, and spoke placatingly.

“Watch Captain Zevara, I apologize for my rudeness.”

Zevara paused. She waited as Embria paused and the room metaphorically and literally cooled down. The [Commander] nodded and studied Zevara as she spoke carefully.

“I would take back my rude words and offer you my sincere regrets if I could, Watch Captain. I realize my sudden arrival may have stepped on your tail, Watch Captain. For that I apologize. We were…hasty in our attack on the Antinium. However, we are here to help, to protect and serve Liscor. That has not changed, although the situation in Liscor clearly has.”

She gestured towards her armor, upon which was emblazoned a symbol of her rank.

“My company is at your disposal, and the Council’s. I will appraise High Command of the new developments, but I expect they will offer you nothing but support, as will I and my officers. I commend your hard work and again, issue you a heartfelt apology.”

Smart kid. Zevara had to admit that she hadn’t expected such a neat turnaround. But this officer was intelligent enough not to want to make Zevara her enemy. She nodded as she felt her internal fires dying down.

“Apology accepted, Commander Embria. Let me also apologize for my statements.”

Which statements they were didn’t matter. Embria smiled politely.

“We are both protectors of Liscor, in our own way. I hope we can work together in the coming months to fulfill our duties, our pasts aside.”

She held out a claw for Zevara to shake. It was a good gesture and would have laid to rest their earlier quarrel. However, Zevara wasn’t yet sure she wanted to take the claw. She hesitated, and then looked sharply at Embria.

“We respect the army and I acknowledge your rank, Commander Embria. But let me make one thing clear first.”

She tapped the desk as Embria withdrew her claw.

“In this city, at this moment, I am the commander of all military matters. A Drake Watch Captain is second only to a [General] in her own city and I won’t have any incidents occurring, especially between the Antinium and your soldiers. Are we clear?”

Embria was silent for a long moment, studying Zevara’s face. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“Absolutely, Watch Captain.”

She held out her claw again and Zevara shook it. There was no posturing, no squeezing too long or staring contest like she had to deal with when she ran up against a male Drake of the same rank who didn’t like her position. But then, there were other daggers female Drakes used on each other. Embria smiled, but Zevara was still a little angry. She was missing her sleep when all was said and done, and she still didn’t trust Liscor’s army.

Dead gods, what will I tell the Council about all this? If I’d known they’d cause me more headaches I wouldn’t have bothered asking for their help in the first place!

“Let me show you downstairs, Commander Embria. I’m sure the Council will want to speak with you soonest, and we can have a longer discussion with our resident [Strategist] when things aren’t so hectic.”

She led the other Drake down the stairs. Embria sounded surprised as she followed Zevara.

“Strategist? I was under the impression that Olesm Shivertail was a [Tactician].”

“Correct. But he recently gained the [Strategist] class. We’re celebrating that fact, among others, later today. Speaking of which, you might want to ready yourself now. I’m sure the Council will insist on your presence later today.”

“What for?”

Zevara halted with her hand on the door to the Watch Barracks. She stared back at Embria, only slightly annoyed.

“You’ve been gone from Liscor for a while, I understand that. But try to remember how we do things. We just survived one of the worst monster attacks in living memory. What do you think we’re going to do?”

Then she opened the door. Embria frowned as she left the Watch House. The [Soldiers] of the 4th Company were waiting for her, lined up, [Sergeants] and [Captains] awaiting her order. The Drakes and Gnolls on the streets were giving them curious looks. The word was already spreading. The army was back! It didn’t exactly seem to be the most exciting news in the world to Liscor’s citizens.

“Commander?”

One of the [Captains] looked questioningly at Embria. She scowled, dropping her polite expression now that Zevara’s back was turned. She nodded to the soldiers under her command.

“Tell the soldiers they have leave for two hours. They can visit their homes or stow their gear in the headquarters. Get those on punishment detail cleaning the place out. Watch Captain Zevara says the place hasn’t seen use since we were last there. But I want everyone back here two hours from now with armor on and polished.”

“What’s the occasion?”

Embria turned. She sighed as she watched Watch Captain Zevara stride back into the barracks and begin shouting at the [Guardsmen]. She had indeed been away from Liscor for a while. Six years since the last time she’d visited, in fact. But contrary to what Zevara might have thought, she did remember how things worked. It was true of every Drake city, really. Embria eyed the drizzling weather and polished the breastplate of her armor with one claw.

“We’re going to a parade.”

 

—-

 

This is how they gathered. They came together, small groups of three and four, sometimes six and sometimes as many as eight. Seldom more. Seldom less. They clustered in their groups, talking amongst themselves. Many were embarrassed, or a mix between pleased and embarrassed so close that there was no dividing line. But none were ashamed. They were proud.

They were adventurers. As Ceria looked around the gathering of Bronze, Silver, and three Gold-rank teams she noticed the rain had lessened. The canvas roof that had been erected overhead had to ward off less raindrops than before.

“Good. Less rain. Means we might not slip and break our necks while we’re walking down the street.”

“That’s hardly a concern. Falling might be, though. I’d watch your step. You don’t want to be the first to trip on an occasion like this.”

Ceria jumped. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until someone else addressed her. Falene Skystrall stood beside Ceria. Tall, glamorous, the picture of what half-Elves aspired to be—in a clichéd way—the [Battlemage] made Ceria feel short and ungainly. Still, they were both half-Elves and so Falene kept talking to Ceria as if they were familiar.

Which they were, if you got down to it. There were certain things only half-Elves could talk to each other about. They supported each other if they could, generally. After all, if you didn’t look out for one another, no other race would.

That meant Ceria could talk with Falene a bit more personally, even if she did think the other half-Elf was stuck up. She made a face as she gestured at the rain.

“You’ve done this before?”

“Eight times.”

Eight?

Ceria’s raised voice attracted attention. She saw three other members of her group drift over. Ksmvr was nervous as he stood alone. Pisces, keeping him company, raised his eyebrows as he walked over with the Antinium. Yvlon was talking to another female Bronze-rank adventurer. Ceria addressed her friends.

“Falene says they’ve done this eight times before.”

Yvlon whistled and Pisces raised his eyebrows. Ksmvr looked blank.

“Done what eight times?”

Falene smiled not-condescendingly, which made her a bit condescending.

“It’s not like we seek it out, but we have had our victories. But haven’t you done this?”

“Once. But it’s not like we rehearsed or anything. It just…happened. Not like this.”

“Ah, well, preparation is rarer. But Drakes like organization and I think it simplifies things, this way. All you have to do is walk. And again, not trip.”

“Not be the first to trip is what you said.”

Falene smiled.

“True! Better not to trip at all, but there’s always a few who fall. It happens and you’ll be laughed at, but the first to fall always gets remembered. Just watch your step—you will be the first to go out.”

The Horns of Hammerad looked uneasily at each other. Yvlon muttered as she adjusted her polished, slightly mismatched enchanted armor.

“I don’t understand why it’s got to be us.”

Pisces shrugged. He was wearing his usual white robes, not having made an effort to dress up. Ksmvr had—he’d donned his magical cape and oiled his body so it shone, and Ceria had messed around with her hair. But Pisces was deliberately casual, as if what was about to happen was just another day for him. Ceria had to admire his guts. And hate them at the same time.

“Politics, I suppose. I am a persona non grata in Liscor, nominally speaking.”

Yvlon frowned.

“A what?”

“Comrade Pisces, please ex—”

“An unwelcome person. That phrase is a remnant of old language, a curious addition to our lexicon which—”

Pisces looked around, sensed his only possible audience was Falene, and gave up.

“Never mind. It’s an expression. Allow me to clarify my statement. What I meant was that since I am unwelcome, the city did not wish to honor me by putting me last in line. However, my contributions to the battle were substantial. I did call the rain.”

“Poorly.”

The older half-Elf smiled as Pisces narrowed his eyes to look at her. He sniffed.

“A spell of necessity that I had never had the chance to practice or cast before? I will accept a poor result if the salvation of Liscor is the price for my inefficiency. In any case, my contributions are recognized, but we are only a Silver-rank team at the moment—”

“So we get to go first. We’re special. I get it. Thanks, Pisces.”

Ceria rolled her eyes. Ksmvr nodded.

“Yes, thank you Pisces for giving us this opportunity. I will endeavor not to slip and embarrass myself.”

“Just relax. This is in honor of us, after all. And you are hardly the only team participating.”

“Exactly! This happens once in five blue moons, so enjoy yourself!”

A loud voice interrupted the conversation. The Horns of Hammerad turned with Falene and Ceria saw a young Drake striding towards them, grinning broadly. She waved at the Horns of Hammerad.

“Hey guys, miss me?”

They stared at her. The Drake spread her arms wide. She had grey-green scales, a scar along the side of her mouth, and a fit body. Ceria was sure she’d never seen this Drake in her life. But Pisces just smiled.

“Ah. Jelaqua.”

Jelaqua?

The Horns of Hammerad jumped. Ceria peered at the Drake and realized the greyish scales weren’t just color—but a lack of it! The Drake was dead and her body—she stared into Jelaqua’s eyes and saw that internal intelligence staring back. The Selphid grinned.

“Aw! Pisces got it! I was betting with Seborn that you’d all freak out. Hey Seborn! I owe you ten gold coins!”

Told you.

A Drowned Man appeared out of the crowd of adventurers, and Ceria saw several teams respectfully part ways to let Moore walk towards them. The half-Giant had to bend over to walk without disturbing the canvas roof overhead. The Halfseekers smiled as they joined the conversation.

“Jelaqua! It’s great to see you. You got a new body?”

Yvlon clasped forearms with Jelaqua. The Selphid laughed, practically giddy with good spirits.

“Sure did! And just in time too, eh? I got this body and it feels great. I can feel things when I touch them! I love fresh bodies. Hey, Ksmvr, poke me!”

Ksmvr did. Jelaqua laughed.

“It tickles! Ain’t nerve endings great? Hey Falene, where’s your team?”

“Talking with the others. I think Dawil and Ylawes are trying to get away from that team, Vuliel Drae.”

Falene pointed and the adventurers saw that Ylawes and Dawil were indeed being mobbed by the female half-Dwarf woman and several other female adventurers. Ceria frowned.

“Vuliel Drae? Oh. The lucky team. I didn’t see them earlier.”

“Huh? Oh, me neither. They showed up with a bunch of wounds after the battle. Apparently they got ambushed by the Face-Eater Moths and had to hide out on their way to the dungeon. Took down a lot of them by themselves by the number of heads they brought in. Anyways, check this out! I’ve got a tail!”

Jelaqua turned around and nearly swept Pisces’ legs from under him. He caught himself and Seborn grabbed Jelaqua warningly.

Hey. Watch it.

“Sorry! I’m just really in a good mood!”

The Selphid grinned. Pisces eyed her tail with interest.

“Do you have to compensate for your new body, or is the process fairly automatic?”

“Hah, spoken like a [Necromancer]!”

Jelaqua had to think for a second as Yvlon and Ksmvr greeted Moore. The half-Giant was smiling, looking pleased at Jelaqua’s wellbeing. He’d refused to leave the stricken Selphid in the Adventurer’s Guild until now, Ceria recalled. She turned back to Jelaqua as the Selphid swished her tail and nearly tripped a passing adventurer this time.

“Nah, it really does feel normal after the first hour. It’ll be harder getting back to a body without a tail, you know? Only problem is I might forget about it and get it ripped off. I did that to my last Drake body.”

The Gnolls and Drakes in earshot winced when Jelaqua said that. Ceria saw more than one team staring at their group with interest. The Horns of Hammerad, Halfseekers, and Silver Swords were pretty much the highest-ranked teams in this gathering. Jelaqua seemed used to the attention, though. She shrugged in answer to another of Pisces’ questions.

“Yeah, the tail’s weird, but I like the scales. Sure they get caught on things, but it’s better than hair. That stuff catches and tears my skin—hey, do you have anything to eat? I want to give these taste buds a workout before they start to decay!”

“Not yet. But Erin’s got an after-party planned. She’s going to have cakes. Multiple cakes, according to her.”

“Whoo! Cake! Alright, let’s get this started!”

Falene interrupted Jelaqua as she headed for the tent’s opening into the street.

“Not just yet. We’ll get word once the City Watch finishes their march. And the Horns are going first, Jelaqua.”

“Right, right. Sorry. Forgot. Oops. Hey, don’t slip you guys! Otherwise Seborn and I will laugh at you.”

“Don’t be cruel, Jelaqua.”

A large hand flicked the Selphid on the back of the head. She staggered.

“Aw come on, it’s funny, Moore!”

“Wait, one thing I don’t get. You’ve been looking for a body for ages, Jelaqua. Why’d you suddenly get one now?”

Ceria interrupted the two Gold-rank adventurers. Jelaqua smiled.

“Oh, that? That was thanks to the law, believe it or not! Remember, I was injured defending Liscor. According to the standing agreement with the Adventurer’s Guild, Liscor is required to provide me with a suitable corpse.”

She gestured at her body.

“This is from one of their [Guardsmen]. A junior one, I think. Just got the job. Her parents agreed to give it to me—they got paid a lot I think. Dead gods, I hope I don’t see them in the crowd, but I explained about how Selphids work and I promised them—never mind. Selphid stuff.”

She sighed, losing some of her good cheer.

“It’s an ideal body. But that poor kid. She died of blood loss after a moth sliced the artery in her leg open. Lost her healing potion or didn’t think she needed it and died on the street. Amateur mistake.”

She shook her head sadly. There was a brief moment of silence as the adventurers all paused, remembering the heat of the battle. Few of them had died, but they were used to fighting and had magical gear. On the other hand, Liscor’s City Watch had paid a price for their defense of the walls. Their moment was broken when more adventurers walked over. Ylawes and Dawil, and the team of Griffon Hunt.

“Looks like you all made it.”

That was the first thing Revi said to the others. She, Halrac, and Typhenous looked no worse for wear despite Ceria not having seen them for a long time. She looked at them, trying to see if they were still in mourning over Ulrien’s death, but if they were they kept it to themselves. Halrac folded his arms and grimaced as Typhenous greeted Moore and Falene.

“Hey guys. Halrac.”

Jelaqua nodded somberly at Halrac as the Halfseekers greeted Griffon Hunt. Halrac just grunted.

“Silver Swords?”

“That would be us. A pleasure to meet you, Mister Halrac. I realize this might be inappropriate, but may I buy you a drink later? I was shocked when I heard of your captain’s death. I knew Ulrien briefly and I regret that such a capable warrior fell to treachery.”

Ylawes stepped forwards and held out a hand. Ceria wondered if Halrac would tense up or leave—the [Scout]’s face had frozen when Ylawes mentioned Ulrien’s name. But he grudgingly extended a hand and shook it.

“He was an adventurer. Heard your team took down a mother moth.”

“As did yours. But we have the Horns of Hammerad to thank for ending the battle. My sister belongs to that team. I believe you’ve met?”

Halrac nodded to Ceria, who nodded back. The [Scout] eyed Pisces.

“Rain spell. Good idea.”

Revi rolled her eyes.

“I can’t believe no one thought of it beforehand. Why not? It’s so damn obvious but—good work. Especially for a Silver-rank team.”

She nodded at Ceria. Typhenous smiled as he stroked his beard.

“Indeed. You’ve shaped up to be a quite decent party.”

“Yeah! They held the line! Those Goblins and the Horns? Whew! I saw what they did when they pulled me back inside! Moth bodies stacked like firewood! Not bad for rookies, huh?”

Jelaqua threw an arm around Yvlon, laughing. The Horns of Hammerad blushed under the praise. Dawil, looking around, grunted with displeasure.

“Enough slapping each other on the backs! I can’t reach and Ylawes has his armor on. Let’s get to the good stuff. Hands up. Who here leveled after the battle?”

He raised his own hand and the Horns all raised theirs. Moore raised his hand, as did Seborn, and so did Halrac. Revi scowled.

“Damnit.”

“You’re telling me you all didn’t level?”

Yvlon stared incredulously at her brother, Falene, and the others. Ylawes smiled.

“I’ll probably level in the next week or month at the latest. But remember, most of us are past Level 30—”

“All of us, right?”

Jelaqua looked around and Typhenous coughed politely. Falene smiled.

“A [Mage] never tells.”

Dawil rolled his eyes as he addressed Yvlon.

“Point is, this lot doesn’t level every time they go into a hairy situation. But if we don’t level today, it’ll be close. But what about Skills? I got nothing.”

He spread his hands. Halrac grunted. Moore shook his head. Seborn didn’t respond when Jelaqua nudged him and the Horns all looked at each other and coughed.

“Aw come on, don’t be coy. Tell us! Or at least participate in the tradition!”

“What tradition?”

Pisces looked suspiciously at Jelaqua. She laughed and it was Falene who answered.

“Tradition is that when adventurers gain their levels as a result of saving a city, clearing a dungeon, or so on, they show off any new Skills or spells during the parade.”

Or just make a scene. Just fire off a spell and don’t reveal your newest Skill. I’m not showing anyone, Jelaqua. Leave off.

Seborn got tired of Jelaqua’s encouraging elbow and stamped on her foot. She yelped.

“Agh! I forgot how much that hurts!

“Wait, we’re supposed to put on a show?”

Revi sighed loudly.

“You’re adventurers. Of course you put on a show! Just do something to impress the crowd. We do it—its how you get people to recognize you! Unless you get your own personal parade. You want to be a famous Named Adventurer? This is one of the things you do! Honestly, newbies!”

She threw up her hands. Typhenous put a hand on her shoulder.

“Steady, Revi. Apologies—she’s just had to field too many enthusiastic adventurers today.”

“Too many admirers?”

Falene gave Revi a teasing look. The [Summoner] just glared.

“Says the big-shots who’ve gone through a parade eight times. We’ve gone five—that’s five total for me. I think Halrac’s at six?”

She looked at Halrac, who shrugged. Both teams looked at the Halfseekers. Jelaqua scratched her head.

“Yeah, funny. We don’t get invited to parades often no matter what we do. I think we’re only two.”

“And the Horns are one. Well, let’s add another to the list. Remember, don’t slip.”

Falene cautioned the others with a teasing smile. She pointed—Ceria could see a Drake jogging towards them and waving at the adventurers in the rain. Her heart began to beat faster.

“Oh boy. I think this is us.”

“Break a leg!”

Don’t.

“You deserve this.”

“Enjoy it!”

“Good job, sister.”

Ylawes caught Yvlon as the Horns began to walk forwards. He nodded at her and she smiled. The four adventurers moved to the head of the group of adventurers, conscious of all eyes on them. Then they walked out into the rain.

At first, it felt silly. Ceria felt a drizzle on her head but didn’t see anyone. She walked down the street—they’d been put at the east gate, at the back of where the parade would start—and began marching down the street  with Pisces at her side and Yvlon and Ksmvr following. No one was there, although she could hear fanfare and drums in the distance.

And then she saw the people. They were lined up on the streets, some covered by awnings, others holding parasols or cloaks in hand. Most simply let the rain fall. Drakes and Gnolls and some Humans, scattered at first. Then, suddenly, a mass of them. All at once the faces turned into a sea and Ceria felt her heart beating faster.

There was noise in the air. Cheering, shouts—and a voice calling names out. Ahead of her Ceria could see the last of Celum’s Watch marching. She spotted Relc, waving a hand and shouting at the crowd. The other Gnolls and Drakes were also marching, waving at friends and family, some still bearing wounds. Missing eyes, a broken limb—one Gnoll had to be helped along. His left leg was gone. But the crowd cheered them, their city’s heroes.

They fell silent as the Horns of Hammerad began their march in the parade. Drakes and Gnoll stared at Pisces. They knew him. They stared at Ksmvr, and at Ceria and Yvlon. Pisces was a [Necromancer]. Ksmvr was Antinium. As for Ceria and Yvlon, they had participated in one of the biggest expedition failures in recent memories. Ceria saw some of the Drakes hiss at Pisces and saw his shoulders go up.

“Give them a show.”

She muttered under her breath. Pisces looked at her. She looked at him. Two images flashed into her mind. Pisces, standing in from of Wistram’s [Mages], shunned. And Pisces, walking down Remendia’s streets, a hero. He was both these things to Liscor.

“Think you can give them a trick or two? No Skills—just magic?”

She asked him challengingly, feeling her words were too loud in the silence. Pisces blinked, and then smiled.

“You first.”

“Coward. Okay. I was going to show you later. Watch this.”

Ceria pulled a wand out of her robes. Conscious of every eye she raised it and pointed it to the sky. The grey skies were drizzling. Ceria concentrated.

“[Frost Bloom]!”

A chill condensed around the tip of her wand, a bubble of hoar frost held for one magical moment. Then it expanded and shot outwards. Ceria heard a gasp as her spell shot out twenty, maybe thirty feet overhead. The crowd cried out in surprise as the water droplets fell to earth as hail, breaking. The ground in front of Ceria was coated with a light layer of frost, a product of the chilling temperature of her spell.

“Not bad!”

Yvlon smiled, took a step, and nearly fell. Ksmvr caught her just in time and Ceria heard a few chuckles. Pisces stroked his chin.

“Well, we can’t have that. Let me try.”

He raised his hand, and green and gold fire shot forwards. The crowd oohed as the flames licked the street, turning the ice back to water. Then Pisces let the flames spiral upwards. They turned into miniature dragons which roared soundlessly before evaporating.

It was a powerful spell—and part illusion. Ceria held her breath as she tried to see if it had gotten the crowd on her side. She heard silence and felt her heart sink—and then heard someone yell in among the onlookers.

“Awesome! Go Pisces! Do more!”

Heads turned. Ceria saw Erin, waving wildly, laughing as Lyonette held Mrsha up beside her. She began to clap as Pisces, bemused, conjured another gout of fire which turned itself into a small horse which galloped through the air.

The Drakes and Gnolls stared at the fire, stared at Pisces, and then they started to applaud. Yvlon, grinning, tossed her sword up and caught it as it rotated back down. That wasn’t a Skill, but it was a good trick. Ksmvr waved all three hands. The applause grew louder. More adventurers followed the Horns down the street.

The crowd applauded more as Ceria and Pisces showed off their spells. Ksmvr leapt into the air, incredibly high, and passed through a hoop of fire Pisces conjured. The people gasped. Then they began to cheer.

The three Gold-rank teams saw the Horns of Hammerad begin to receive whole-hearted applause at last. Jelaqua grinned and punched Moore in the thigh.

“They did it! Told you they could!”

“Our turn.”

Griffon Hunt moved into place before the Silver Swords and Halfseekers. Halrac looked annoyed, Typhenous pleased.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“The Horns did a good job getting the crowd interested. Think we can top that, Revi? Halrac?”

Typhenous pointed at the other Bronze and Silver-rank teams. They were also doing tricks with magic, if less showy than Pisces and Ceria. Some were trying to do tricks with their swords, but the parade was really a place where [Mages] shone. Revi rolled her eyes as she took something out of her bag of holding.

“Rookies. Stand back, you two.”

She held a large piece of amber with part of a moth’s wing encased in it. Halrac and Typhenous stood to one side as Revi strode forwards. The eyes of the crowd were on her. Already many were applauding and calling out their names. Especially Halrac’s.

“Halrac! Halrac the Grim!”

“Griffon Hunt! Show us a spectacle!”

Revi obliged. She tossed the wing in amber up and a flash of light stunned the crowds. Then there were screams. A Face-Eater Moth, glowing green, spread its wings wide and the shocked Drakes and Gnolls stumbled back before they realized what it was: a summoned spirit. They cheered and booed Revi as she climbed on its back and the Face-Eater Moth walked down the street. She waved at them regally, like a [Queen] as Typhenous and Halrac watched her take the lead.

“That Stitch-Girl will be the death of us both, I swear.”

Typhenous tugged at his beard, trying to hide a smile. Halrac just grunted.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Just a moment. Appearances do matter, Halrac. My turn.”

The older mage walked after Revi. He tapped his staff on the ground and smoke billowed up, forming a cloud of Typhenous’ face. It loomed overhead as the [Mage] began to walk forwards, grimacing and making faces that simultaneously terrified and amazed the Drake and Gnoll children watching. Halrac coughed and walked along behind Typhenous, a scowl on his face. The crowd cheered him, though Halrac didn’t so much as turn his head to stare at them. He made it halfway down the first street before he grimaced and stopped.

Halrac paused, took an arrow out of the quiver at his side, and drew it to his bow. He aimed straight up and loosed. The crowd paused and watched the shining arrow fly higher and higher until it exploded with a dull boom and a spray of flames which went out in the light drizzle.

“Waste of a good arrow.”

Ceria heard him complaining as he walked onwards. The crowd cheered wildly, not seeming to mind Halrac’s sour mood. In fact, they cheered him for it.

Next came the Halfseekers. If Griffon Hunt started the show in earnest, the Halfseekers embodied it. Moore was visible over the heads of everyone as he walked forwards. Jelaqua’s pale body and Seborn’s half-crustacean form attracted as many gasps as applause—until they too started performing magic.

Moore struck his staff on the ground and flowers began to bloom in his footsteps. He raised his hand and flowers of every color began to appear over his body and vines grew from his fingertips, twining up his arms and chest. The crowd murmured in appreciation at the gentle spectacle.

The half-Giant left a trail of quickly wilting and vanishing flowers and grass in his wake. By his side Jelaqua threw the bright flowers growing from his body into the crowd, laughing as people caught the magical plants and held them, exclaiming as the flowers quickly faded out of existence. Seborn walked next to the two, looking slightly uncomfortable as people eyed his crustacean half. Jelaqua nudged him.

“Come on Seborn, show the kids a trick!”

I don’t want to.

“We’re both doing our part! Just one?”

Seborn looked around and realized he had no choice. Reluctantly he walked faster until he was in front of Moore and Jelaqua. The crowd waited with baited breaths to see what he would do.

Seborn took two steps, did a flip into the air and unsheathed his daggers. They glowed as he slashed and then landed, rotating once and sheathing his blades before he touched the ground. Everyone oohed and more than one child pointed excitedly to Seborn and asked if they could do that too.

Bringing up the rear were the Silver Swords. They followed the last groups of adventurers and received just as much applause. The sight of Ylawes, Falene, and Dawil was a fixture of the battle and more than one story had been told of Ylawes slaying the giant moth. And true to their reputation, they didn’t disappoint either.

“Haha!”

Dawil roared with good spirits as he lifted the hammer over his head. He strode forwards, letting the crowd cheer him, shouting with unabashed good spirits.

Behind him, Falene rolled her eyes, but smiled and raised a wand. She flicked it, and the audience held their breath. When nothing happened immediately Ylawes glanced at Falene, puzzled, until he heard Dawil cursing.

“You damn Elf! Put me down! Put me down!

The [Knight] saw Dawil cartwheel past his head, weightless, flailing frantically with his hammer in hand. The audience cheered and laughed as Falene made Dawil fly just over the heads of the crowd. The Dwarf cursed her until he started to enjoy himself and pretended to swim through the air. Only Ylawes and the other [Mages] noticed the slight sheen of sweat on Falene’s brow.

“I believe Dawil would call you a showoff.”

“It’s for a good cause. If he’d stop flailing I’d have an easier time not dropping him.”

Falene smiled politely at the crowd as they walked forwards. Ylawes smiled too. He raised one hand and waved as he walked, causing a few Drakes and Gnolls to stare at him admiringly. The [Knight] had no special Skills to show off, but the sight of him walking down the street in shining silver armor was enough for applause.

As the last of the adventuring teams followed the Silver Swords, there was a hush among the crowd. An expectation. The streets behind the adventurers lay empty for a good minute, and then every ear heard the rhythmic sound. Footsteps marching in perfect symphony. The first black body appeared and the crowd murmured as they saw a Worker marching at the head of a row of Soldiers, holding a burning censer in hand. The Soldiers marched in his wake, heads held high.

Silent. The marching of the Soldiers was perfectly uniform, and the cheering crowd that had loved the adventurers was silent. Pawn walked forwards, his censer swaying, his head bowed. A curious feeling stole over the people watching. They had no words for what he was doing, no memory or comparison for the scene they beheld. But the praying Antinium and the solemn procession spoke to them.

The incense wafted through the crowd as the rain fell harder. The Soldiers marched on, their bodies painted in every color. One had yellow splatters across his front, another a terrifying purple smile. Another one had leaves drawn in green as if he were some kind of tree. Yet another was simply marked with a crown of silver. One walking near the edge had no paint at all—until you realized the paint was a black pair of wings on his back, almost invisible in the wetness.

The people of Liscor watched the Soldiers march, silently at first. But then someone clapped. It was impossible to tell who it was in the rain, but it was immediately followed by someone else starting to applaud. More began to clap, and then the applause drowned out the rain.

In the crowd Erin stared around, wide-eyed. She hadn’t been the one who started the applause, and she’d been ready to. But she hadn’t been necessary in the end. Liscor began to cheer the Antinium, and as they marched she could hear voices in the crowd around her. The Painted Soldiers were faceless Antinium, all created in the same image. That was true. But because they were painted, they were all unique. And for the first time those in the crowd recognized individual Soldiers.

“I know that one! The one with the white circles around his eyes? He saved my shop!”

A Gnoll pointed at a passing Soldier. Erin, standing with Lyonette as the rain soaked her, saw Mrsha peer excitedly at Yellow Splatters. She heard more voices of recognition as she applauded, smiling and cheering for Pawn with all the energy she had.

“Hey, that’s the one who killed the moth breaking into our home? Mom? Do you remember? Mom? Mooom!

The Drake child was pointing excitedly at a Soldier who had turquoise on the tips of his clumsy fingers and his antennae, nowhere else. Erin saw the Drake mother wave tentatively at him, and the Soldier turn his head just slightly. He hesitated, and then two of his four hands twitched, a tiny wave back.

The Drake girl waved excitedly. The crowds cheered. Erin stood in Liscor as the rain fell down and for the first time in history, Drakes and Gnolls and Humans cheered the Antinium. It was a moment for history. She smiled until she thought she’d burst.

“What a great parade.”

 

—-

 

“Unbelievable.”

The 4th Company stared at the Antinium passing them in disbelief. They listened to the applause from Liscor’s citizens and practically spat venom when they saw a Drake child waving at a Soldier.

“Is this really what the city’s come to?”

“Antinium? Really?”

“What happened to pride? What about General Sserys?”

“These people, they don’t know what—”

Wing Commander Embria stood next to Zevara in parade rest, her face set, watching the Antinium pass by without a word. Zevara noticed the tenseness in her tail, but the [Commander] wisely kept her opinions to herself.

The parade ended with speeches, as all good parades did. Actually, the speeches were mainly for Liscor’s Council to award the adventurers and members of the Watch with a few awards as many of Liscor’s citizens melted away. But after they’d offered Pawn a brief note of congratulations, the Council turned stage over to Embria. It was, all things considered, a poor note to end the parade on.

“We are delighted to also announce that our 4th Company of Liscor’s Army has returned to safeguard our city! She and her soldiers have marched tirelessly to return to Liscor…ah, I believe Wing Commander Embria has a few words for us.”

The Drake announcing coughed nervously as he abandoned the podium. Embria stepped forwards. The crowd of citizens stared at her. Zevara could already hear the murmurs.

“The army?”

Now? Are you serious? Where were they when—”

“…Better start going to taverns that don’t serve them. Too many damn fights when they’re drunk—”

“We’ve got the Antinium. Why do we need them?”

Zevara winced at that. She could see Embria twitch as she took the stage and feel the anger of the [Soldiers] behind them. But that was Liscor’s army. They had never had a good relationship with the city at the best of times. They brought chaos and didn’t stay long which was good, but as a result, the citizens regarded them as well, a nuisance.

Thankfully Embria seemed to sense the mood, because her words were curt and to the point.

“Citizens of Liscor, we are delighted to return home after so many years! We regret that our company did not arrive in time to witness the heroic defense of the city. I personally offer you my sincerest apologies for our delay—we were unavoidably detained fighting for the glory of Liscor around the Walled City of Zeres!”

Silence. Zevara heard someone cough. Embria frowned.

“We are grateful to all who contributed to the defense of Liscor during her darkest hour. Henceforth the 4th Company shall dedicate itself to defending the city against any threats to it, be it the Goblins, monsters from the dungeon, or—anywhere else.”

She didn’t quite look at the Antinium, but Zevara sensed the ripple in the crowd. Embria was not having a good time on stage and Zevara dreaded the part where she was supposed to ask Liscor to cheer their returning heroes. She saw a number of Drakes and Gnolls break away from the crowd. And then she spotted a Human walking away with another Human and a Gnoll in her arms.

Maybe Erin didn’t intend to be so loud. But Embria had paused and her voice was just a bit too carrying.

“Well, looks like it’s time to go. That parade sure was fun, wasn’t it? Ending sort of sucked, though. Hey, is that really the army? They look like jerks.

Zevara stared at her back as Embria stared at Erin’s back. The Watch Captain slowly covered her eyes and groaned under her breath, a gesture seen by the entire crowd. On the whole, the citizens of Liscor agreed that watching their Watch Captain wince through the rest of the speech saved the parade. The army left with a few thousand patriotic Drakes applauding them and Watch Captain Zevara finally got to get back to her desk to sleep.

And after Wing Commander Embria had finished dismissing her troops she took a personal trip to a certain apartment in the city. She knocked once and didn’t have to wait any longer. The door opened and the owner of the apartment stepped out reluctantly.

Relc, Senior Guardsman of the Watch and former [Sergeant] of Liscor’s army, emerged from his home, scratching the spines on the back of his head. He stared at Embria as she stood in the doorway, spear in hand, dressed in her officer’s armor. He stared at her. She waited.

“Hi…kid.”

“Father.”

She stared at him challengingly. Relc avoided her gaze. He looked at her, sighed, turned his head as if looking for help and then gave up.

“Let’s get a drink.”

 

—-

 

Time went by. The day drew onwards towards night.  Liscor, finished with its parade, celebrated or mourned in its own way. More than one tavern found itself with twice as many guests as normal as Liscor’s citizens decided that eating alone wasn’t for them. They were equipped for the rush of course; any [Innkeeper] or [Bar Drake] worth their salt knew to stock up in advance and every establishment was hopping.

So it was funny and slightly telling that Relc and Embria found themselves turned away from every inn and bar, even the ones that Relc went to nightly. They were recognized on sight, and while one or the other wouldn’t have made the establishments close their doors, the owners had learned to recognize the father and daughter duo like the way a [Herder] learns to recognize a bull charging them across an open field.

“I can’t believe this. You’re a Senior Guardsman. I’m a [Wing Commander]. How many inns have blacklisted you?”

Embria stormed down the street as Relc followed, wincing. The normally upbeat Drake dragged his footsteps as he followed his daughter.

“I uh, drink there all the time. I think they don’t want us in there after last time.”

“That was six years ago!”

“Yeah. But the tavern owner definitely remembers us. Why don’t we go—”

“No.”

The young Drake woman shook her head, glaring back at her father. Relc shrugged helplessly.

“Come on, kid. I know the owner and she won’t kick us out.”

“She’s a Human. She insulted the army during my speech! And don’t call me ‘kid’!”

“To be fair, it was sort of funn—”

Relc saw Embria’s eyes flash and coughed. He shuffled his feet.

“Look, Erin’s a Human, but she’s cool! Really. And I sort of promised I’d go to this party she’s putting on. Klb’s going to be there…”

“Your Antinium partner?”

Embria hissed the word. Relc shrugged. He had a hard time meeting her eye.

“Well, yeah. We are partners. Sort of how it works. Captain Z gave me the day off and everything…”

“You were going to have a party at her inn? Was I not included in your plans?”

Relc raised his claws defensively.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were going to show up! I totally cancelled when Captain Z told me—look, we don’t have to go. But Erin’s got alcohol. And cake! She said there’d be cake!”

He looked longingly towards the western wall, where a doorway had been set into the side of the wall itself. Embria glared at her father and then relented.

“Fine. What’s cake?”

“Oh, it’s this great thing! You’ll love it, promise!”

Relc brightened. He led the way towards the door, talking excitedly.

“It’s really sweet. Erin’s coming up with all kinds of new stuff all the time. She’s got pasta, blue fruit juice—well, she doesn’t have it right now, hamburgers, pizza…uh, Goblins, tons of cool stuff like popcorn, ice cream—have you heard of ice cream? It’s this thing from Terandria and she knows how to make it—”

Embria halted in the street.

“Did you just say ‘Goblins’? Watch Captain Zevara mentioned there was an inn that had monsters working as part of the staff. That’s the inn you’re talking about? Run by that Human?”

The Drake [Guardsman] groaned. He turned pleadingly to Embria.

“Look, she’s cool! The Goblins are…Goblins, but they don’t do anything. Come on kid, let’s get a drink? On me? I’ll introduce you to Erin—you don’t have to look at the Goblins! Or eat cake! I’ll eat your share!”

It was possible that Embria could give her father a more disappointed look. She turned her back, ready to march away. Desperately, Relc played his last card.

“Did I mention that General Shivertail used to eat there all the time? It was his favorite spot!”

 

—-

 

“Hey! Is that Relc? Welcome to the party! Celebration! Whatever! I thought you weren’t going to make it?”

Erin beamed as Relc came through the door. The Drake grinned weakly at her. Erin grinned back, and then froze as she saw another Drake enter behind him. She had red scales, shiny armor, a spear in one hand, and she was giving Erin a death-glare.

“Whoa. Is that your date?”

Relc choked. The Drake behind him opened her mouth angrily and he stepped in front of her. The big Drake cleared his throat a few times.

“Erin. I’d like you to meet…my uh, daughter. Embria.”

At this particular moment Erin was holding a stack of plates and cutlery. It has no bearing on what followed because Erin did not drop what she was holding, but she was very tempted to. She gaped, put her dishes on a table, and then threw up her hands.

What?

“She’s back from the army—”

What?

“Look, we just need a table and a drink.”

What?

“Did I tell you she’s a [Wing Commander]?”

Wha—you have a daughter? Since when?”

Erin’s raised voice made every head in the room turn. Relc winced as he saw three teams of Gold-rank adventurers, Klbkch, Bird, Olesm with all his Drake and Gnoll friends, Krshia, the Horns of Hammerad, Lyonette, Drassi, Ishkr, the Redfang Goblins and Selys and her grandmother look over. Mrsha poked her head up from underneath a table and stared too.

“It’s uh, complicated.”

“Tell me everything! Wait, this is your daughter? Isn’t she the Drake who was leading all those j—oh.

At last, Erin realized where she’d seen Embria before. She paused and gave the other Drake a very sheepish smile.

“Um. Hi.”

The red-scaled Drake folded her arms. She stared at Erin and then pointedly looked away. Her eyes focused on Klbkch, Bird, and then the Redfang Goblins who were sitting at a table, still wearing their ‘Security’ armbands. Her eyes narrowed.

“We uh, just need a table, Erin. Somewhere quiet? Please? And far from the uh, Goblins? And Klbkch? Embria’s got a thing with them.”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed and she stared at Embria who returned the gaze.

“How bad of a thing? Selys’ grandmother already had a ‘thing’ with the Goblins and—”

“Erin. I really need this. Please?”

Relc looked pleadingly at Erin. She relented.

“I can put you over here. Next to the stage. Far, far away.”

She seated the two at a table ten feet away from everyone else. Relc ordered a drink and Embria ordered the same. They sat in ice-cold silence as Erin bustled away. Relc’s tail swished nervously as he grinned at Embria. She did not return the smile.

“So uh, this is the inn.”

“Those are Hobs. In an inn.”

“Right, right. But Erin’s got tons of other people in it! Drakes! You know that guy’s our [Strategist], right? And check out this room! It’s huge. Erin’s new Skill. Isn’t that—”

“Why are there three Antinium here? I thought you only had one partner. The Slayer. Or has the Watch started letting more Antinium in?”

“No…no. That guy’s uh, Bird. He’s uh…Erin’s employee too…”

“I see.”

Embria’s arms were folded. Relc desperately looked around, waiting for Erin. After a lifetime of one-sided conversation, she came back with two full mugs.

“Here you are!”

“Oh, thanks! Great! Hey Erin, what’s for dinner?”

“Ooh, we’ve got tons of stuff. We’ve got beef rolls, lasagna, pizza—”

“We’ll have the rolls. Both of us.”

Embria cut her father off as he began to brighten. Relc sighed as Erin looked at him.

“Yeah. Sure. Two please. And—”

He hesitated and lowered his voice as Embria stared at him. Relc looked longingly towards the kitchen from which tantalizing smells poured forth.

“Can—can I have a slice of cake?”

Erin’s answering smile was like the sun coming back up for Relc.

“Cake? Sure! I baked lots! In fact, you can have tons of slices! Only—ooh.”

She hesitated. Relc’s heart sank.

“Ooh what?”

“Well…let me bring you a slice.”

Erin hurried into the kitchen and came back with a slice of cake. Relc stared at it with dismay. It wasn’t that the cake looked bad—on the contrary, it was vanilla cake (Erin had yet to figure out where chocolate came from) frosted generously with rich icing. However, and this was the deal breaker, Erin had decorated the cake with miniature faces. Of Goblins.

Relc stared up at Erin with hollow accusation in his eyes as Embria glared at him. Erin could only shrug.

“We had this big parade and everyone was getting appreciated—except the Goblins. So I…y’know…thought it would be nice. Everyone likes it. Except Selys’ grandmother. And it’s really good.”

“Is there any cake without smiling Goblins on it?”

“Nope!”

“Right. Well uh, I’ll have a slice. Embria?”

“No.”

The Drake watched her father accept the big slice of cake. Relc coughed and began eating as Erin brought out beef rolls stuffed to bursting with bacon, breadcrumbs, onion, and a spicy filling. She eyed the hot food, suspicious at how fast it had come out, but began eating. Her brows shot up.

“This is good.”

“Isn’t it? I love eating here. I used to eat here all the time before—well, now I eat here sometimes. Not often! Just—sometimes.”

Relc chattered nervously. Embria looked at him and sighed.

“I don’t mind you eating out…dad.”

“Really?”

“I know you can’t cook.”

“Hey! I mean, uh, you’re right. Can’t cook. Totally dependent on other people. I’d starve if I didn’t eat out.”

“But you could make an effort to eat at other establishments in Liscor! Not—”

Embria jerked her head to indicate Erin, who was laughing and offering Badarrow a slice of cake while the other Goblins tried to fight him for it. Relc hesitated.

“Look, Erin’s inn is special. Really. She only got the Goblins recently. I mean, they’ve been around a while, but there was only this titchy one before. And Erin likes Goblins. Dunno why. I got in trouble when I killed these other Goblins, see…”

“Good to see you’re doing your job, despite what the Human thinks.”

“Aw, come on. Kid…she makes good food. Like, really good. Try this cake! Here!”

Relc offered Embria a forkful of cake. She brushed his hand away, raised her fork, and eyed the sugary offering. There was a small Goblin head smiling at her. Embria speared it through the eye and lifted a bit of cake and frosting to her mouth. Her eyes widened.

“Ancestors, what is…”

“It’s good, right?”

“It is.”

It looked like it pained Embria to admit it. She shook her head as she began eating Relc’s slice of cake, much to his relief and chagrin. But at last she seemed to be relaxing. She nodded to Relc.

“So is this what you’ve been doing recently? Eating at this inn and guarding Liscor?”

“Um…yep. Same as always. What about you?”

“I made [Wing Commander] last year. I wrote you a letter. You never wrote back.”

“Oh. I read it. I just…sorry.”

“At least you remembered my birthday. Thank you for the message.”

“No problem. Hey, what’s the army doing now? Fighting around Zeres? Must be tough. Those guys don’t let up.”

“We manage. I was surprised to hear that Liscor needed help. I thought you’d be able to handle anything that popped up.”

“Well, yeah, but we’ve got a dungeon! And moths! And did I tell you about this Named Adventurer that turned out to be a fake? She was murdering people and guess who helped fight her off?”

“Fight? You mean she got away?”

“Um…”

 

—-

 

“At least it looks like she’s talking to him now. There’s a lot of tension in the air, though. You could cut it with a knife.”

“Gee, you think? You could throw a knife over there and it would stick in the air. Just look at the way her tail is moving! She’s really upset with him.”

“You think she’s mad because of me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Selys rolled her eyes as she turned to Erin. They were peeking at the talking father and daughter duo from Erin’s kitchen.

“No, I think she’s totally fine with a Human [Innkeeper] who insulted her when she was giving a speech, asked if she was dating her father, and employs both Antinium and Goblins in her inn. That was sarcasm, Erin.”

“Yeah, I got that near the end. But why’s she so uptight?”

The Drake sighed.

“She’s part of the army, Erin. They’re the strictest hard-tail group Liscor has and that’s saying a lot. They hate monsters—no surprise—but they also hate the Antinium. They refused to go near the city for four years after we made the treaty with the Antinium after the second Antinium War and they’ve only been back twice since then!”

“Oh. That’s pretty bad, yeah.”

Erin stared at Embria. She still couldn’t believe that was Relc’s daughter. She was Erin’s age! And she looked really good, with her red scales and so on. Erin would have loved to talk with her, but from the way Relc kept wincing every few seconds she doubted Embria was in a good mood.

“So she’s Relc’s daughter. Does she like him?”

Selys shrugged.

“He is her father. But what a dad. I don’t envy her. Just look at her. And her name.

“What’s wrong with her name? Embria sounds cool?”

“It is…no, it’s more embarrassing. Embria? Seriously Erin, that sounds like a name of some kind of Dragon. She can sort of pull it off with her scales, but I bet she got teased all the time growing up. Only Relc would give her a name like that.”

“Aw. Poor kid.”

Embria turned in her seat and both Selys and Erin ducked back. Erin looked at Selys.

“So we haven’t gotten to talk much…”

“I wonder why not? Could it be the monster attacks and everyone nearly dying?”

“You’re getting good at sarcasm, Selys. But I wanted to talk to you about all kinds of stuff! Not just work—”

“Good, because my grandmother’s here and she’s going to kick your tail for getting me to try and register those Hobgoblins.”

“Your grandmother? Uh—do I have to talk to her? She’s scary.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Hold on—who’s coming through now? Is that…?”

Selys broke off and Erin got up as she spotted a familiar figure entering the inn through the magic door. Wall Lord Ilvriss and twelve of his followers entered, all of them staring around the inn as if it was a dump. Ilvriss caused a commotion though—he headed over to Olesm’s table as all the Drakes sitting there shot to their feet.

Embria also rose and strode over to the Wall Lord. She saluted as Ilvriss turned to her.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss! Sir!”

“Wing Commander Embria, is it?”

Ilvriss looked mildly surprised as he saluted Embria in return. He glanced at Erin as she hurried over.

“Ah. Solstice. A table for thirteen. Next to Olesm’s table. This is a celebration in his honor. Drinks—water for me.”

“Hey Ilvriss! I didn’t think you’d turn up!”

Embria nearly choked on her tongue as Erin grinned at Ilvriss. He glared at her as his adjutants gasped at her effrontery. Undeterred, Erin looked at Embria, confused.

“Are you Embria’s boss? Sorry, Miss Embria’s. I thought you were in different armies or something?”

Stiffly, Embria turned to Erin.

“Drakes share a common command. We respect each other even when we are at odds. Wall Lord Ilvriss is one of the foremost leaders of Salazsar. He deserves at least a modicum of respect.”

“Exactly. A [General] is still a [General] regardless of which city he hails from. He should be accorded respect in war—not that Humans share our beliefs.”

Ilvriss smiled at Embria who returned the smile, and then looked at Erin.

“The table?”

“Oh! Drassi! Ishkr! Table here! We’ll push it over. So you’re here for Olesm’s party?”

“I promised him I would attend and I am a Drake of my word.”

The Wall Lord replied haughtily. He paused lowered his voice.

“And I was told you were serving…cake?”

Erin grinned at him. The Wall Lord sighed.

“I would like enough for all my followers to eat. Assuming you’re willing to sell me what you have left?”

Erin grinned at him wickedly.

“Oh, I’ve got tons. Only there’s a slight problem…”

When she presented Ilvriss with the cake with Goblins decorated on it, Embria stared at the Wall Lord, waiting for his reaction. Ilvriss eyed the Goblin drawn in frosting and sighed.

“Typical. Fine, I’ll pay for one for every Drake at my table and whatever Swifttail’s bill is I’ll cover for the night. No cake for me. It’s far too sugary.”

“Want some mayonnaise instead?”

Ilvriss sighed.

“Give me your menu, Human. And don’t push your luck.”

He went to sit down at his table. Embria returned to sit with Relc, wide-eyed.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss eats here?

Relc grinned.

“Told ya. Old Zel ate here too, before…you know. People like Erin.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t take offense. What were we talking about?”

“You said you were ordered to come back here. Was it to see me?”

Embria looked frostily at Relc as he gave her a big smile.

“Hardly. I was ordered to return because my company had few wounded and because we could be spared. I would have argued to stay on the front, but I thought I might as well return to give you this. Here.”

She reached behind her and picked up the spear. Relc eyed it and his eyes widened.

“Hey wait a second! That’s mine!”

She nodded.

“Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“I was looking at you! Hey, are you giving it to me? Did you do your old man a favor?”

“No. I’m just delivering it. The army doesn’t need your spear and they’ve decided to let you have it since Liscor’s gotten more dangerous. You sent them fifteen letters—”

“Hah, I knew that would do the trick! Alright, my old spear! Thanks for bringing it, kid!”

Relc was overjoyed. He grabbed the haft of the spear and grunted. Embria hadn’t let go.

“Um. Kid? Hello? Embria?”

His daughter stared at Relc. Her arms didn’t move an inch.

“Dad. You should come back.”

The big Drake froze. He held onto his spear as he stared at Embria. His eyes slid past her.

“What? Nah, nah, I’m good, thanks. I retired, remember? They wouldn’t want—”

“I talked to my commander. He says you could reenlist. You’d have your old rank back. You could join our company in the city and come back with me after the Goblin Lord’s dead.”

“Look, k—Embria. That’s a nice offer, but I’m done with the army. Can I have my spear now? Please?”

Senior Guardsman Relc tried to smile. Embria stared at him, unblinking.

“Tell me why.”

“I told you last time. I like it here.”

“Still?”

“Staying in one place doesn’t make me stop liking it Embria. I like not being in the army more now, actually. It’s restful being in Liscor. Well, mostly. I get to fight and relax, you know?”

Relc tried to laugh, but Embria looked troubled. She shook her head as if unable to listen to him.

“You’re wasted here. You’re a [Guardsman]—”

Senior Guardsman! That’s an important rank!”

“A Senior Guardsmen when you were a legend back in the army!”

Relc’s smile faded.

“I was a [Sergeant], kid. Don’t listen to those other idiots. I was just a [Sergeant]—hell, I got paid like one and never got past that.”

“A [Sergeant] who got awarded an enchanted spear for valor? Don’t lie. You were a hero. You could have stayed and been famous!”

A pained look flashed across Relc’s face.

“I was already famous. I wanted to get old, I told you. I retired—”

“No one just quits.

“Right, they stay even when they’re wounded or old. That’s how your mother died.”

Embria’s eyes blazed.

“She died a hero.

“Yeah.”

Relc didn’t meet his daughter’s eyes. He gripped the spear tighter. There was a creak from Embria’s chair and the table between then. Neither Drake moved.

“Let me have my spear, Embria.”

“Rejoin the army.”

“No.”

“Give it a moment’s thought.”

“I did. And I did last time you came by. The answer’s no.”

A spark of fury entered Embria’s voice. She tried to pull the spear back with both hands, but Relc’s single arm didn’t budge.

“You’re wasting away here! What are you doing, working with the Antinium? With the enemy? Do you know how humiliating it is to know you’re his partner? That you’re the only Drake from the army who—”

He has a name. Klb. Klbkch. He’s my buddy.”

“He’s a monster. The Antinium are a threat to Liscor!”

“No, they’re not. They saved Liscor.”

“That’s not what High Command believes.”

“Oh yeah?”

For the first time Relc met his daughter’s eyes squarely. He pulled and her arms moved an inch unwillingly towards him.

“You think the Antinium didn’t save us? That we beat the Necromancer by ourselves? I was on the walls. I was there, kid. The High Command’s got it wrong. The Ants—the Antinium saved us.”

“They just did that to trick us.”

“Good trick. They could have let us die when Skinner attacked—or when the moths did. They’ve fought for us ever since then. For ten years. You wanna give them a bit of a break?”

Embria hissed.

“Forget about them. Just come back!”

“No. Give me my spear.”

“It’s not yours. It’s the army’s until I let go.”

Relc’s huge arm gripped the spear tighter.

“Then let go.”

Embria pulled back, setting her stance, gritting her teeth as her tail lashed the chair legs.

“Make me.”

 

—-

 

“What are they doing?”

Erin stared at Relc and Embria as they both held onto the spear. She edged over to the Drakes having fun and ignoring the weird tableau that was the subject of attention and at least five bets in the room.

“Psst. Ilvriss.”

The Wall Lord looked up as he paused in laughing at something Olesm had said. He sighed.

“What is it?”

“Speak to Wall Lord Ilvriss with respect, Human!”

One of the Drakes sitting next to Ilvriss glared at Erin, her tail curled around her chair’s leg. Erin gave her a blank look.

“Sorry, but I’m in a hurry. Besides, Ilvriss isn’t my Lord of the Wall or whatever. He’s cool. I’m cool. We’re on a level.”

The Drakes sitting around Ilvriss inhaled sharply. The angry Drake woman half-rose.

“The nerve of—”

The Wall Lord held up a claw and sighed.

“Enough. What is it you want, Solstice?”

Erin nodded to the father and daughter locked in a silent tug-of-war.

“Relc. And uh, Embria. What’s their deal?”

“Hmm.”

Ilvriss stroked his chin and looked around the table.

“I don’t know that Drake personally—he’s a Senior Guardsman, isn’t he? Shivertail seemed to know him, but I don’t recall. Does anyone here know his history?”

He looked around. One of Ilvriss’ more military-looking followers sat up.

“I do, sir. That’s Relc Grasstongue. Former [Sergeant] in Liscor’s army. The Gecko of Liscor.”

Ilvriss clicked his claws together.

“That’s him! I knew I’d seen him before. And he’s a [Guardsman] in Liscor now? Oddities never cease in this city.”

“The Gecko?”

Erin had heard the name somewhere, but she hadn’t fully connected it to Relc as a title until now. She stared at Relc, confused.

“Is that some kind of fancy title? I’ve never heard Relc call himself that. And he brags a lot.

She saw some of the Drakes at the table smirking. Ilvriss spoke calmly.

“It’s not exactly a compliment. Are you aware of what geckos are, Solstice?”

“Sort of.”

Erin frowned. In her mind, geckos were small, quick little things that ran away and shed their tails. And sometimes promoted car insurance. She could see why Relc resented the title.

“They run away, right?”

“Exactly. The Gecko – or rather, Relc Grasstongue – was a known figure in Liscor’s army for his speed and fighting prowess. He was one of their best fighters who ambushed enemy officers and then escaped before he could be caught. A valuable skirmisher in other words, but the title stuck.”

Ilvriss nodded as he recalled Relc’s history. Erin was impressed. If Ilvriss, who was a big shot, could remember Relc, then Relc must have been something! Then again, Ilvriss seemed to have a photographic memory where Drakes were concerned.

“Why’s his daughter mad at him, then? And when did he have a daughter? Why’d he leave his army if he was so great?”

“Ocelos?”

Ilvriss looked at the Drake who’d known about Relc. The officer sat up and nodded sharply.

“More details?”

“As much as the Human wants.”

The Drake drummed his claws on the table before speaking.

“The Gecko of Liscor. Relc Grasstongue. From what I can recall he was never formally married, but had a child out of wedlock with another soldier—a [Major]—when he was quite young. And my understanding is that this Wing Commander Embria grew up travelling with Liscor’s army, so I would assume she was raised by both parents as Liscor’s army travelled from place to place. As for Relc Grasstongue himself, he had a notable career for over two and a half decades until he suddenly retired, an oddity among Liscor’s [Soldiers]. Considered highly dangerous…known for his speed which could match a Courier’s…what else? He never made it past [Sergeant], and in an army like Liscor’s that’s telling.”

“Why’s that?”

Erin was curious. [Sergeant] didn’t sound bad to her. It wasn’t great, but…she saw Ilvriss motion for the Drake to tell her.

“Liscor’s army is unique in that they have an officer for every five soldiers. Generally speaking, [Sergeant] is a worthless rank in an army that has hundreds of sergeants.”

“What, really? Hundreds? Isn’t that too many?”

“It’s a tactic they employ to strengthen their army.”

Ilvriss shrugged as he took a drink. He grimaced—he was drinking water. Erin wondered if he’d be interested in milk instead. The knowledgeable military Drake nodded.

“It’s a trick, but a good one. Liscor fields a very small force—two or three thousand generally. They can rise as high as six thousand depending on whether they’re actively conscripting. But their strength doesn’t lie in numbers. It’s their officers which buff their army to the point where they can fight against larger forces.”

“Oh. I get it. And Embria’s higher-rank, right?”

“Considerably. She’s a [Wing Commander]. That’s a variant of the [Commander] class that specializes in—you could think of her as being a few ranks down from [General], Human.”

“What’s her other class? Solstice, most officers have two classes. Sometimes they have just one, but many have two. Ocelos?”

Ilvriss looked over at Embria. She was still holding onto the spear, as was Relc, but the table between them was starting to creak. Erin thought she saw cracks forming in the wood. She wondered if she should stop them, and then wondered if that would get her stabbed. Ocelos pondered Ilvriss’ question for a moment.

“Her main combat class is…a [Spear Hunter] I believe, sir.”

“I’m not familiar with the class. Is it mobile?”

“Yes, sir. Specialized in mobile offensives—sometimes gained by [Hunters] specializing in spear weapons. It’s an upgrade to the [Spear Drake] class.”

“[Spear Drake]?”

“Our version of [Spearman]. Well, she’s not as adept as her father, then. Not that I’d expect her to be at her age.”

“Wait, how good is Relc, then?”

Ocelos coughed.

“Sergeant Relc…that is to say, Senior Guardsman Relc was known as a formidable [Spearmaster]. He earned the class by slaying another [Spearmaster] on the battlefield.”

“And that’s—”

“Yes, Solstice, that’s good.”

Ilvriss sighed.

“With his Skills and speed the Gecko was a terror to [Strategists] and lower-ranked officers. I don’t doubt he’s just as formidable as he was in the past. What was his level, Ocelos, do you know? Thirty three? Hm. A Level 33 [Spearmaster] plus a Level…well, at least a Level 20 [Sergeant] is a formidable combination.”

“But he retired. Why?”

Ocelos didn’t know. Ilvriss tapped a claw on the table.

“Dishonorable discharge, a desire to stop fighting…it could be any reason which is his alone, Solstice. But his daughter clearly resents his retirement. It’s rare for Drakes to retire from military life to begin with and Liscor’s army takes that example to the extreme. She probably wants him to return to his command.”

“And he doesn’t want to go.”

“You have it correct. Does that satisfy your interest?”

“Yeah. I just wonder though, does she love him?”

“Who?”

“Embria? She came all this way for him. Does she love him?”

Ilvriss paused.

“I don’t know. Perhaps—”

He got no further. There was an almighty crack and Erin’s head whipped around as she saw the struggle between father and daughter end at last. Relc pulled his spear towards his body and Embria let go as the table literally snapped between them sending shards of wood flying everywhere. People ducked and Erin covered her face as Relc raised his spear.

“Hah! I win!”

Embria lay on the ground, staring up at him. She got up slowly as Relc lowered his spear. He looked almost ashamed as he offered her a hand.

“Hey kid, no hard feelings, right?”

She stared at his claw and knocked it aside. She stormed away from Relc as Erin rushed over.

“My table! Hey Relc, what was that about?”

“Stuff.”

The Drake sighed and kicked at a broken table leg. He looked around at Erin, at Klbkch, and grinned weakly.

“Sorry. I’ll pay for that. Embria and I were just…you know. It’s difficult. But hey. At least I got my spear, right?”

He tried to laugh. It didn’t work. Erin looked at him, opened her mouth, and decided not to ask. She pointed at his spear instead.

“That’s your spear? The one you kept talking about? Is it magical?”

“Yup. It pierces magic barriers like cheese! Soft cheese.”

Relc twirled his spear. It had a grooved tip and the haft looked thick and made of a dark brown-grey wood. Beside that it looked completely normal to Erin on first glance. She waited for Relc to go on.

“Wait. That’s it?”

He looked offended.

“What do you mean, that’s it? That’s great! I could take on any Gold-rank adventurer with this! I could have given that jerk Gnoll a run for her money and killed that Skinner dude with this! Okay, maybe not killed him—but I could have poked out one of his eyes! Besides, this spear don’t break! Check this out!”

Relc walked over to two more newly-made tables and tossed his spear on top of the gap between them. He leapt up and balanced on the spear’s shaft as both tables bore his weight, grinning at Erin. He hopped up several feet and landed heavily on the spear—both tables jumped, but the spear didn’t so much as bend an inch. Erin stared appreciatively at the spear.

“Cool. Now get off my tables! They’re brand new!”

“Okay, okay. I’m just telling you. It’s a good spear! And Embria brought it all the way here. She’s cool, that kid of mine. I just—”

Relc broke off as Embria stormed back towards him. The red-scaled Drake looked angry, and she ignored Erin completely as she stopped in front of Relc.

“Looks like I can’t bring you back this time. Keep your damn spear, Dad—no one else needs it.”

The Senior Guardsman looked hurt.

“Aw. Embria—”

“Save it. I’m going back to Liscor. I just wanted to say something before I left. Not to you—to the Human here.”

Embria turned towards Erin. Confused, Erin met her sizzling gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Half the things in your inn, Human. But those Goblins are the worst. Get rid of them. They’re a threat.”

The Drake nodded towards the Redfang Goblins. The sound in the room stopped as everyone looked up. Erin saw Ilvriss glance at the Goblins, and the Hobs immediately grew tense. She scowled at Embria.

“They’re my security! They work here!”

“They’re monsters. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Embria glanced at the Hobs, not a shred of compassion in her eyes. She looked around the room, speaking loudly.

“You might not be aware of this, but after General Shivertail’s death, all the Walled Cities are increasing their bounties on Goblins fivefold. Liscor’s High Command has agreed with that decision and made it policy to hunt down Goblin tribes we encounter—as have the other Drake cities on Izril!”

Her voice echoed as she turned to face the Redfang Warriors. They sat at their table, the five of them, staring with crimson eyes at the red-scaled Drake. Embria’s voice was impartial, distant, as she continued.

“We eradicated two Goblin tribes on the way here. Small ones, not worth mentioning. The Walled Cities are doing the same and a lot of ordinary Drakes have volunteered for temporary military duty to honor General Shivertail. And we’re not alone.”

She pointed towards the north, where the Floodplains and rains ended and the road led towards Celum and beyond.

“I’m told the Human nobility are mobilizing armies against smaller Goblin tribes. Once that Human with the large army moves, there won’t be a living Goblin north or south of Liscor for a thousand miles. These Goblins might be safe until they cause trouble or until I can convince Liscor’s Council that they’re a threat, but soon enough they’ll have nowhere to go. Their tribe will be wiped out. The Humans are already purging the smaller tribes, just like the Drakes.”

Erin’s heart beat wildly. Rags! Embria kept staring at the Redfang Goblins. They met her gaze, and there was a bit of wild in their looks, a bit of hate. She stared back as Headscratcher’s grip tightened on his mug until it cracked, as Badarrow held back Shorthilt and Rabbiteater. Embria pointed at the five Hobs.

“Run while you can, Goblins. And run fast. Because this time everyone in the world is hunting you.”

Then she turned and stormed out of the inn.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.14

The door slammed shut. The Wandering Inn fell silent, and every eye turned towards the five Hobgoblins sitting in a corner. They sat still, glancing around, aware that every eye was on them. The room was tense.

It wasn’t as though Embria Grasstongue had been the one anti-Goblin person in the room. Ilvriss hadn’t so much as glanced at the Hobs once and the rest of his escort kept staring at them. Tekshia Shivertail, the old Drake sitting next to Selys, had been giving the Goblins the evil eye all throughout the party. Then there was Relc, the other Drakes, the Silver Swords…

And of those who were on the Hob’s side, well, it might have been only Erin. She stared at the door to her inn, lips pressed tightly together. Then she sensed the mood and looked at the Redfang Warriors.

“Hey, you guys…okay?”

The Hobs looked at her, surprised. They nodded as one. Erin frowned.

“Embria didn’t bother you? I’m sorry about that. She’s kind of a jerk—”

“Hey!”

Relc protested mildly. Erin turned and he paused.

“She’s my kid, you know? Don’t say it, even if it is true!”

“Right, but how about them?”

Erin gestured. The Hobs looked around and then seemed to realize she meant them. Erin looked anxiously at Headscratcher.

“You think Rags is okay? You uh—you’re sure you’re not mad?”

Headscratcher gave the young woman a long, blank look. Then he shrugged. Erin frowned.

“Really?”

The Hobs exchanged glances and poked each other. Eventually Numbtongue, the subject of the most nudges, grudgingly opened his mouth.

“Everyone in the world is hunting. So what? Nothing new.”

He looked around, sour-faced. Erin let out a slow breath.

“Huh. I guess I didn’t think…okay, then.”

She stepped back and clapped her hands together. Everyone looked at her. Erin gave the crowd a smile.

“Sorry about that, everyone! That was Relc’s not-jerk daughter—”

Hey!

“—who’s not mean and doesn’t totally miss her dad. I don’t think she’s coming back. Anyone want more cake? Don’t leave just yet and maybe save room for some popcorn—we’ve got a play coming on in half an hour!”

The room filled with murmurs as the Drakes and some of the adventurers present looked up. Most of the people in the inn tonight hadn’t ever heard of a play—they’d just come here for the food.

Other adventuring teams had drifted in, ostensibly to eat food but also to socialize with the Gold-rank teams. Among them was the team of Vuliel Drae, sitting and talking quietly amongst themselves. They looked far more dispirited than the other teams, and Erin wasn’t sure why. She swept into the kitchen as she heard the murmuring.

“A what?”

“What’s a ‘play’?”

“Don’t tell me she’s going to have us play a children’s game.”

“Popcorn? Selys, why didn’t you bring me some of that either?”

Ow! Stop pinching my cheek, grandma! You’re going to have some tonight!”

“I would have had some weeks ago if I had a granddaughter who cared about me.”

Erin grinned and winced as she heard Selys yelp. She ducked into the kitchen where Ishkr was washing dishes and Drassi was handing the Gnoll another tray of dishes.

“Selys’ grandmother is tough! Hey Drassi, go serve more cake and see if the Goblins want some first. And then get Selys’ grandma a bowl of fresh popcorn, please? I’ll pop it now.”

“Sure.”

Drassi looked resigned as she grabbed some slices of cake on plates and headed out. She could now serve the Redfang Goblins without freaking out, but she still didn’t like it. Erin busied herself with a kettle and the dried popcorn kernels. She tossed oil in the pot, tossed the kernels in, and held the pot over the fire with mittens, waiting for the first satisfying pop.

“Hey Ishkr, how’re you feeling? Good?”

“Hrr. I could use more sleep. Busy day. Yesterday was busy too.”

Erin felt the first pop in the pot and shook it, keeping the lid pressed down tight. The key was to shake the pot so the kernels wouldn’t burn before the rest popped.

“I know. But hey, we’re making money, right?”

“Lots, yes. And a few of my kindred are here. They wanted to see your play.”

“Oh really? Great! Thanks for spreading the word! Actually, the Players should be here any minute and they’re doing a special play for tonight—”

The popcorn was really exploding now. Ishkr paused in wiping a dish clean and eyed Erin’s pot as she energetically shook it over the fire. She was sweating from the heat, but it was fun making popcorn.

“New play?”

“Yeah it’s—whoops, it’s stopped popping. Hurry!”

Erin dumped the kettle back on the counter and hurriedly poured the fresh popcorn out of the lid and into another bowl. She drizzled melted butter over it, added salt, and scooped out a hand-sized portion with a third bowl. Popcorn required lots of bowls.

“Too bad there’s no yeast. Oh well. Popcorn’s ready!”

“And the [Actors] are here.”

Drassi came back in to take the popcorn and divide it into smaller hand-sized bowls. Erin smiled and hurried out of her kitchen.

“Jasi! Wesle!”

The Players of Celum were already getting ready by the stage. Jasi was dressed up in leather armor and she looked nervous—although it was hard to tell these days. Like Wesle, she had acquired an actor’s mask and had a refined quality to her movements. But her smile was completely genuine as she gently hugged Erin.

“Hello Erin. Good to see you. We’re ready for the play.”

“Great! Oh, did I smudge your makeup?”

“I don’t need any right now. Some blood and soot later on, but it’s refreshing not to be wearing anything. The other [Actors] on the other hand…”

Jasi nodded at Wesle, who was grimacing as one of the stagehands applied paint to his face. Erin whistled.

“They’re going all in, huh?”

“We have been working on it. I’m not sure how the Drakes are going to take the play. Especially with the face paint. But…”

The Drake shrugged. She hadn’t grown up in Liscor, so she often had Human reactions to things, having not experienced her people’s culture. Erin nodded.

“If they complain we’ll see. But I think it’ll be good! Oh! Shorthilt, Badarrow! Done with your meal?”

Two Hobs had appeared behind Erin. Jasi glanced at them a bit nervously, but the Hobs just stood with their arms folded. They were both wearing their ‘Security’ armbands. Shorthilt nodded at Erin. He was the friendlier of the two Goblins, which didn’t mean much. Badarrow just grunted as he eyed the stage.

“Cool. I don’t think there’ll be trouble—just stand there and look good. Or sit! The only thing you’ll have to do is tell me if Relc starts shouting at the stage like last night. Wait—I’ll hear that. You want popcorn?”

They shook their heads. Erin nodded.

“Okay, I’ll let you get ready! Tell me when you’re ready to begin, okay Jasi?”

“Got it.”

The Drake watched Erin stride away, and then checked her belt. She was wearing a sword. She nodded to the other [Actors] around the stage, and at Pisces, who’d drifted over. The Drakes, Gnolls, and adventurers in the room eyed the Players of Celum with great interest and they waited to see what would happen next. In fact, more people started coming into Erin’s inn from Liscor as a few people slipped out to spread the word that something weird was happening at the inn again.

Within twenty minutes, the [Actors] had disappeared behind the curtain. With Pisces. Those that weren’t acting, like their playwright, a former [Scribe] who’d been bitten by the stage, was sitting at a table close to the front. Erin clapped her hands together as someone cast a [Light] spell and the front of the stage glowed brightly.

“Thank you everyone for your patience! You are about to watch a play, a story being told on this stage! None of it is real, and it is meant for your entertainment! Please don’t shout, make noise, or approach the [Actors]! If you want something, raise your hand and the staff will come over! Now, without further ado I’m proud to present to you an original play for the night: The Battle of Liscor!”

There was a surprised susurration throughout the room. Erin heard several people questioning what she’d said as she hurried to one side. Then the curtains opened. The audience saw a tall, grey wall covering half the stage. It was clearly a wall—the stagehands had worked hard on it all week with [Carpenters] to erect and paint the thing. And a Drake stood on the wall.

“Watch Captain Zevara! What brings you up here this early?”

Jasi turned, her head raised high, her posture alert. Another ‘Drake’ took the stage. This one had painted scales over his face. He was, in fact, a Human, wearing a fake tail and armor, just like Jasi. Erin heard murmurs and checked the audience’s reaction anxiously as Jasi replied.

“I have a bad feeling, Olesm. My [Dangersense] went off not five minutes ago.”

“Mine as well, Watch Captain! I was hurrying here to check on the dungeon.”

Zevara scowled.

“That damn dungeon has given us nothing but trouble of late. I hope this is just a lesser alarm—wait, what’s that?”

She turned and pointed dramatically. Erin eyed Ilvriss and Olesm as she edged around the room. Both Drakes were staring. Olesm pointed at the stage as his friends stared alternatively at him and the actors.

“Hey, that’s me! What’s going on?”

“Is this a reenactment? Some kind of travelling troupe, like those [Bards] and [Tumblers]?”

“Must be. But when will they start hitting each other and dancing about?”

Ilvriss’ table was less complimentary. The Wall Lord stared hard at the Human playing Olesm.

“Disgraceful! Is that supposed to be a Drake? The nerve! And this is supposed to be a retelling of the battle? What will they have our citizens fight, crude sticks with wings stitched on? I don’t need to see this! I—”

He half-rose and then jumped as a shriek echoed from the stage. Half the room leapt to their feet as a Face-Eater Moth crawled onto the stage. It wasn’t a prop, nor was it an illusion. It was real.

“Monsters!”

Erin saw a Drake leap to his feet, grabbing at his sword. He was Insill, part of Vuliel Drae. The black-scaled Drake was panicked. He began to shout.

“They’re back! They followed us out! Oh, Ancestors, we have to—”

Silence!

A bellow from the stage shocked everyone into freezing. Zevara, as played by Jasi, ripped her sword from its sheathe and skewered the moth with a single thrust. It fell back, keening, and the Watch Captain turned to Olesm as every eye fell on her.

“Olesm, raise the alarm! We’re under attack! There are thousands of them below! Get the command spells! Call every [Guardsman] in the city to the wall now! Summon the Antinium!

‘Olesm’ dashed off stage, shouting wildly. Zevara turned as more moths crawled up the side of the wall. She slew one and battled another, cursing, as the audience slowly realized what was going on.

“They’re undead.”

Ceria smacked her head lightly as she lowered her wand. Yvlon and Ksmvr glanced at her, and then at the backstage curtain. Yvlon groaned.

“So that’s what Pisces was doing!”

“Dead gods!”

Olesm sat back down slowly as the rest of the room quieted. Erin grinned mischievously. Her idea had worked! Just as Ilvriss had said, fake monsters or illusory ones weren’t much fun to fight. But Pisces could animate Shield Spider bodies and he’d concluded that moths weren’t too hard either. More moths approached the stage as [Guardsmen] rushed forwards. Then, suddenly, both [Actors] and moths paused.

The audience watched, confused. The other half of the stage lit up as the [Light] spells changed position. Erin saw…Erin on stage.

“What a wonderful day. Hey, Ceria, anyone want waffles for breakfast?”

In the audience, Ceria choked on a piece of popcorn as a half-Elf walked forwards. Erin and Ceria traded a few jokes and then turned as the moths shrieking filled the stage again. The audience shuddered and Erin did too. Pisces had managed to recreate the sound the moths made with his spells and it was really horrifying to hear. But then Jelaqua, Ylawes, and Dawil took the stage. The adventurers leapt to defend the inn and then the play cut back to the walls.

“Watch Captain! The Antinium are battling the moths below! We’re cut off!”

Zevara, eyes blazing, turned as the [Guardsmen] bravely fought the moths.

“In that case we’ll hold the walls until they can send aid. [Guardsmen]! On me! Hold them back! For Liscor!”

She dramatically led a charge across the stage as the ‘Drakes’ and ‘Gnolls’ pushed the moths back. It was a good fight too—the undead moths acted realistically and the painted Drakes and Gnolls [Actors] wearing fur over their faces all had [Warrior] classes of some kind. The audience began to get swept up into the battle as Zevara shouted defiance from the walls—pausing for a monologue.

Erin watched, feeling embarrassed and pleased in equal measures. It was so bad! It was so cheesy! And yet, she saw Olesm grinning with delight as a spell blasted apart some of the moths. She turned and saw a sour face in the crowd. Predictably, it was Ilvriss. The Wall Lord glared at her.

“Ridiculous! This isn’t what happened! What of the deaths? What of the sacrifices of my people?  I—”

He was halfway to standing up, probably to leave in a huff when another Drake strode onto the stage as the ‘dying’ [Guardsmen] fell backwards, screaming and groaning.

“Stand! I said stand! Liscor’s wall shall not fall while I am here! A Wall Lord of Salazsar does not retreat! Rally to me, brave Drakes of Izril!”

He unsheathed his sword and there was a crackle of magic that lit up the stage behind him. The audience cheered and Ilvriss paused.

“Is that…me?”

He slowly sat back down as ‘Ilvriss’ charged the Drakes, uttering oaths and demanding to know where Pallass was. On the other side of the inn, ‘Erin’ was arguing with a Drake through a magic doorway, pleading for the Walled City’s help.

“Well, it’s not that inaccurate…ridiculous having a Human play me…hah, but Pallass’ ineptitude is well conveyed. Can we record this? Where’s my scrying orb?”

Ilvriss leaned back in his chair and within minutes was munching on popcorn. The play went on. ‘Jelaqua’ gave a monologue about the duties of Gold-rank adventurers. ‘Ylawes’ drew his sword to heroically dash to Liscor’s defense while ‘Dawil’ made snarky jokes. Erin saw the real Ylawes turn beet-red, much to her delight as the audience cheered and groaned through the retelling of the battle they had all lived through.

It wasn’t close to the truth at all. It was inaccurate, filled with monologues and heroic scenes and clever lines and jokes. It was a lie. And it was what the audience needed. Erin saw Olesm’s eyes shining as he watched himself burn some moths with a spell from Liscor’s walls, and heard Drakes and Gnolls cheering their own roles on the walls. The magic of the stage was that it wasn’t real and it was real at the same time, and if you were willing, you could almost imagine that this was how it had gone. Heroics and tragedy, without the real pain and loss.

For a few minutes. For an hour and a half. In the end, the undead moths Pisces had been using could literally not stand up any more and collapsed. The stage was wet with sweat and not a bit of dead moth gore, and Erin resolved to buy some scented herbs from Octavia for the next performance. Because oh, would there be a next performance!

Ilvriss stood on stage at the last stand, daring the Moths to come closer as Relc, Zevara, and Olesm held their ground. Halrac stood like a lone sentinel on the roof—having had literally one line the entire play. The Drake Wall Lord, played by Wesle, roared at the audience and the moths in fury.

“Cowards, cowards! Enough of this! If Pallass won’t send reinforcements then damn their cowardly tails to oblivion! Liscor will triumph alone! True Drakes know no fear!”

From the audience Erin could see Ilvriss nodding repeatedly.

“Well said. Well said. And I believe I did speak something to that effect.”

She grinned. The play ended with the rains falling, as Pisces playing Pisces strode onto stage with a truly hammy Deus ex machina moment. The [Necromancer] reveled in his moment, delivering a monologue to the crowd before the curtains closed and the audience went nuts. Erin laughed and applauded as the Players of Celum came out to bow and shake hands with the real heroes.

Because of course, that was the point. Wesle stood on the stage and bowed to the applauding audience.

“Thank you! You are too kind! Thank you! The Players of Celum are honored to perform this for the true heroes of Liscor who fought to defend the city. In the audience we have the City Watch of Liscor, Wall Lord Ilvriss, the [Strategist] Olesm, the Silver Swords, the Horns of Hammerad…”

He listed each name as the audience, surprised and pleased, now began to applaud each other. Erin saw Ceria blushing and Jelaqua springing up to give everyone a delighted bow. Moore’s face was almost as red as Ylawes’, and Typhenous couldn’t stop stroking his beard with a smile written all over his face. Wesle kept reading from the little list Erin had handed him, until he reached one of the final entries.

“And last but not least, Vuliel Drae, who bravely slew countless Face-Eater Moths in defense of the city!”

There was more applause and Erin saw the group of adventurers named stand up. She frowned as she saw them wave sheepishly. There was guilt written all over some of their faces. Perhaps the others wouldn’t have noticed it, but this was Erin’s inn and she had learned to read people. She frowned at the group as the five, Anith, Dasha, Insill, Larr, and Pekona, waved to the audience and sat down quickly.

Their leader, the Jackal Beastkin Anith, wasn’t showing much emotion. Nor was the Gnoll, Larr. But Insill’s tail was practically curled into a ball, and Pekona was gripping her sword hilt and looking down at the ground. Dasha was practically chewing on her own beard.

“Now what does that mean?”

Erin frowned at the team until she saw Wesle and the other [Actors] descend the stage. She had to hurry to get them food, and to keep the audience from mobbing them with questions. Not that the [Actors] seemed to mind. They were already giving out autographs and Erin was tickled to see that they were selling the audience pieces of paper so the [Actors] could autograph them.

“Now that’s business for you!”

She smiled and hurried around, rescuing Wesle before Ilvriss could tell him every little thing he’d ‘forgotten’ to add to the play, saving the actor playing Relc from the actual thing, watching Emme, the half-Dwarf woman laughing with Dawil who’d loved every minute of his performance, and ducking an angry Revi, Falene, and Typhenous, all of whom wanted to be included in the next performance.

Erin only caught Jasi for a second as the Drake stood among the other members of her species, and noted how many tails were wagging as the Drakes clustered around her. Jasi looked slightly overwhelmed to be meeting so many members of her species and Erin resolved to rescue her as soon as she could. She had to pause and smile broadly at the Drake, though.

“We’re going to make so much money!”

This was the first play Liscor would see. It would not be the last. And as Erin closed up her inn well into the night, she did so with lighter spirits. The adventurers went to bed in the restored second floor, and Erin had to let her guests through to Liscor and Celum respectively. The inn fell quiet, and Apista and Erin were the last souls in the common room of the inn. The Ashfire Bee swooped down and angrily stung something—Erin saw her killing a tiny Face-Eater Moth and shuddered as she tossed the dead thing outside.

“Good work, Apista. You do that again, okay? Now, I’m going to bed—make sure nothing crawls up my nose!”

She put a bowl of honey water out for the bee, a special treat. She was trying to ration what honey she had left since Lyonette had no chance of getting near the Ashfire Bee nest in the rain and high waters. The bee settled into the bowl, Erin went to her kitchen and laid down. She was asleep nearly instantly, smiling broadly, happy, relaxed. The inn was peaceful.

And in the basement, the five Redfang Warriors sat. They’d been forgotten by the audience, stood quietly throughout the play—which they hadn’t been included in—and had now gathered below. They weren’t smiling at all. They were upset. And only now, hidden away from the dangerous eyes of the others could they show it.

 

—-

 

It was a quiet conversation. In fact, it was a conversation with very few words actually spoken. The Redfang Warriors rarely spoke the Goblin language and only Numbtongue was fluent in the common one. Like all Goblins they spoke through body language, a complex social interaction.

Not that anyone would have to guess what was running through their heads now. Headscratcher pounded on the stone walls of the basement of Erin’s inn, hitting the stone with his fists. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater slumped, heads in hands. Badarrow was fiddling angrily with his arrows and Numbtongue was gritting his teeth. The feeling each one conveyed was different in nuance, but the same at its core.

How? How could they have forgotten? Embria’s words had affected them, deeply. The Goblins hadn’t shown it, but her words had cut them to the quick. They hadn’t known the Humans were attacking their tribe. They hadn’t thought about it. They’d stayed at Erin’s inn, so happy, so content to be fed and not in danger every waking moment that they’d forgotten their tribe.

How could they? Headscratcher punched a wall and then hit it with his head, venting his fury. The Humans were attacking their tribe! Of course they would. And the Goblin Lord would be coming after their tribe! Garen Redfang had sworn to oppose him. Why hadn’t they remembered? His punches were that question given agonized form. Why, why, why—

Of all the five Goblins, Headscratcher was most prone to fits of anger, just like he had grieved deepest at the [Florist] girl’s passing in Esthelm. He took his pain out on the wall, not caring at the damage he did to his own body.

The thud of his fist hitting the stone made the other Goblins look up. Headscratcher stared at his right first. The impact had split the skin across his knuckles. He didn’t seem to care. He raised his first for another blow and Rabbiteater stood up. The shorter Hob grabbed at Headscratcher’s shoulder, gesturing to his hand.

Enough. Headscratcher turned away. He raised a fist and punched the wall, leaving a bloody streak. Rabbiteater grabbed his shoulder, trying to calm the other Hob down. It didn’t work. Headscratcher lashed out at him, a warning. Rabbiteater ignored it. He grabbed Headscratcher’s shoulder again, growling.

Headscratcher snarled and turned. He punched at Rabbiteater. The other Hob took the blow across the chest. He staggered but didn’t fall. Headscratcher paused in shock at his own actions as the other Goblins looked up. Rabbiteater didn’t retreat. He slapped his chest, glaring at the other Hob angrily.

Hit me! If taking a punch was all it would take, Rabbiteater would take as many as Headscratcher had to give. But Headscratcher was ashamed. He held up his hands and backed away, shaking his head. Remorse. Apology. Rabbiteater snorted angrily and turned away.

It wasn’t anger at Headscratcher. Rabbiteater’s hunched shoulders were mirrored by the other three Hobgoblins. The feeling of oppressive helplessness weighed on them. The Redfang Warriors sat quietly. Headscratcher lowered his head, brushing at his face and leaving blood behind. He sat with the others, head bowed as Rabbiteater sat next to him.

It wasn’t as if the others didn’t understand his pain. Shorthilt looked around the dark basement, his crimson eyes glowing in the faint light from the lantern Erin had given them. He pulled his sword out from its sheath. The worn blade was as sharp as he could make it, but terribly used.

It was a testament to Shorthilt’s care that it was usable at all—it was the only sword to survive the battle with the moths. The Redfang Goblins had been forced to fight with hands and feet near the end as their iron blades had broken from the strain of combat. And in Shorthilt’s hands it was a reminder, a symbol.

Duty. The other Redfang Warriors nodded. Badarrow snapped a faulty arrow and laid it on the ground in front of the others. Broken duty. They had come here with a mission. They’d failed it.

Numbtongue looked up sharply at Badarrow and he made a scathing noise. The other Goblins looked at him. Numbtongue folded his arms, his position clear. Duty? Their duty had been to kill Erin. And that was a mistake! Garen Redfang should have never ordered it.

To Numbtongue’s surprise, Badarrow shook his head. The Goblin rearranged the arrow pieces and his meaning, misinterpreted by Numbtongue, became clear. He pointed the broken arrow towards the sword. It wasn’t their mission they’d failed, but their duty to return once they’d realized the error of their orders.

Of course. The other four Hobs nodded and Numbtongue retracted his anger with a flicked finger at Badarrow. The Redfang Warriors sat silently. It was all too true. They had to go back. But how? They had no idea where their tribe was. If the Goblin Lord hadn’t been marching they could have gone north and searched for other tribes who might know where theirs had passed. If the Humans hadn’t been so alert, they could have roamed freely. But now they were targets.

Rabbiteater grinned. It wasn’t a happy grin, but it made the other Hobs look up. He pointed at his chest ironically. They grinned mirthlessly too as they got the joke.

Hobs. They were all Hobs. They’d left as regular Goblins, save for Grunter. Now they were five Hobs. Five! They were a valuable asset—worth just as much as thirteen regular Goblin warriors, elites or not. They were stronger, faster, and thanks to Erin feeding them, probably in better shape than most Hobs of their tribe. And yet—their faces fell.

The problem was—Numbtongue swung his fist and made a whooshing sound. The other Redfang Goblins nodded. The problem was that there was no way to fight this problem. How could you fight distance, and not knowing where your tribe was? And if you did find them, how could you fight an army? They were as useful as five Hobs. As useless as five Hobs, too.

If they used all their skill, all their cunning and all their life they could take out a group…four times their size. If they were ordinary soldiers. If the Hobs had time to prepare, or advantageous terrain. If, if, if.

And as Badarrow indicated with a slow shake of the head, if’s weren’t enough to win a war. And it was a war that had come to the Goblins. It was always a war. They were only five. If they went back to their tribe they’d be of little help.

Headscratcher shook his head. He grabbed for something at Badarrow’s belt. The archer’s dagger. He held it up, brandishing it as Badarrow glared at him. So what if it meant they would die? They were warriors of the Redfang Tribe! Wasn’t death what they’d all signed up for? If it could tip the scales he would gladly die.

Headscratcher’s eyes were wide, desperate. If it would help—he gestured with the dagger at his throat. Badarrow scowled and snatched his blade back. He sarcastically held it up and dangled it with one finger. As if battles were won that way! But he didn’t mock long. Headscratcher’s statement was too genuine, too true to what they were feeling.

If only they could matter. But five Hobs didn’t matter in a war between the Goblin Lord and Humans, in Goblin tribal battles where each side had hundreds, sometimes thousands of Hobs. They didn’t matter.

But they had to leave. They had to go. It was a certainty in the air, only none of the Goblins knew how to express it. Shorthilt picked up his sword, hesitated, gestured with his sheath, frowned, and chewed his lip, unsure of how to say what he meant. He looked at Numbtongue and nudged him.

The other Hob scowled. Headscratcher nudged him from the other side and Numbtongue folded his arms. He didn’t want to speak. Rabbiteater clicked his tongue, but the Hob refused to open his mouth. Out of patience, Badarrow snatched up the broken arrow and hurled it at Numbtongue’s chest. Say it already! Numbtongue sighed, and then grudgingly opened his mouth.

“This place is too…nice.”

The other Goblins listened to the words, mulled them over, and then nodded in agreement. Too nice. That was a phrase that Goblins had no equivalent for. But it was true. Erin’s inn was filled with food. She was kind to them. The Goblins had a place here. She protected them. And if the occasional Drake shouted at them, or Face-Eater Moths attacked, so what? It was heaven compared to the life they’d lived up till this point.

But they had a duty. Headscratcher was the first to look up. He glanced at Badarrow and held his hand up.

How far? The other Goblin shrugged. He raised two fingers and shook them. Really far. Headscratcher nodded. He looked at Shorthilt, pointed at the sword.

How many weapons did they have? Shorthilt sighed. He silently held up two fingers, nodding at the sword on his waist and Badarrow’s bow. Rabbiteater muttered—Headscratcher made a fist and clenched it grimly. Well, that was weapons sorted out. Shorthilt’s sword was still usable and Badarrow had his bow and some arrows. The other three Goblins had fists.

Hundreds of miles, no weapons, and no idea where to go. That was their mission this time. But none of the Goblins mentioned giving up. They didn’t consider it. They looked around, not at each other, but at the missing spots where they sat, the missing faces. Their nicknames rose unbidden into the air.

Bugear.

Justrust.

Orangepoo.

Bitefly.

Leftstep.

Patchhelm.

Rocksoup.

Grunter.

They’d all died on this mission. A pointless mission. But one that mattered. They’d died fighting the undead, fighting the Goblin Lord’s army. Fighting because it was right. To be people. For a young woman’s last words.

For each other. Now the last of their number stood together. Five warriors out of thirteen. Five Hobs. They stood up and faced each other in a circle. They looked at each other. Brothers in battle. Friends. Comrades. The last few. Some of them might die. All of them might die. But they were committed. The five put their hands together.

Headscratcher, hand bloodied, eyes full of tears.

Shorthilt, hand on his sword, eyes sharp.

Rabbiteater, his fist clenched, his teeth gritted.

Numbtongue, murmuring a word, remembering a Human’s song.

Badarrow, scowling, bitterly determined to see it to the end.

They gripped each other tightly, hands clustered in the center of the circle. For a moment. And then it was done. The Redfang Warriors stepped back.

They were resolved. They would find a way back to their tribe. They would become stronger, strong enough to save the others, to oppose the Goblin Lord, to return to their chieftain, Rags. They would do it.

Or they would die. The Redfang Goblins nodded to each other and they lay down to sleep, relieved, at peace at last. There was nothing else to it. That was what it meant to be a warrior of the Redfang Tribe. That was what it meant to be them.

That was what it meant to be a Goblin.

 

—-

 

The next day, the Redfang Warriors got up at the break of dawn and began putting together a plan. They grunted at each other as they went through their morning spar, conserving energy, trying to think.

The problem was that none of them were real thinkers. Oh, Badarrow was cunning and Numbtongue could talk, which was impressive, but in their old group it had been Grunter who’d directed them. True, that was pretty much just the other Hob belching and pointing occasionally, but Grunter had been an older Hob. Hobs were leaders in Goblin tribes, and the older they got, the smarter. You had to be smart to live a while.

They wished Grunter were here. Or Redscar, Garen Redfang’s second-in-command. He was no Hob but he was smart. Or Rags. She was a genius. Bereft of their leadership, the five Redfang Warriors defaulted to what they knew. The first step was to arm themselves. Only two weapons among five was no good. They needed quality weapons. And that meant steal or kill for it.

Only, as Headscratcher pointed out by smacking Badarrow across the back of his head, stealing wasn’t right. Not from Erin. Not from one of two Humans who had ever shown them kindness. The [Archer] Hobgoblin muttered insults as he rubbed the back of his head, but agreed, grudgingly, that it would be wrong. They couldn’t steal from Erin. Besides, she didn’t have enough swords. Lyonette had a sword in her room that she occasionally practiced with, but that was it.

So where could they get weapons? The answer was simple. The magic door.

The Redfang Warriors strode into the inn, trying to look casual. They’d donned their ‘Security’ armbands just in case and they sat at a table as Erin served them breakfast and gushed about last night.

“Wasn’t it great? I’m sorry you guys couldn’t be in the play, but you didn’t say anything and the Players said it would be easy to leave you out. Are you mad? I hope you aren’t—Typhenous and Revi and Falene really wanted to be in the play! I think the writers are going to amend it. Anyone want more bacon? Toast?”

Every hand went up. Erin hurried into the kitchen and the Goblins immediately looked at the magic door. That was the ticket. They were realistic about their chances of sneaking into Liscor day or night—Drake cities were well-guarded and the Goblins would have to swim through the water to get there, already risky since they didn’t know what lived in the waters. But Celum and Pallass? They had a doorway into both cities!

However, getting weapons would still be a trick and a half. It wasn’t as if [Blacksmiths] and [Merchants] left out good swords for anyone to take! It was a hazy plan, but the first step was seeing if they could actually get away with it.

Rabbiteater slid over to the magic doorway while Erin was busy in the kitchen. This early in the morning only Lyonette and Mrsha were up and she was feeding the Gnoll breakfast and trying to get Mrsha to eat with her utensils. The Redfang Warriors casually looked away as Rabbiteater picked up the yellow stone in the bowl by the door.

He’d watched Erin use it enough times to know exactly how it was done. He placed the stone on the door and cracked it open a hair. Pallass’ bright sunlight illuminated his face just for an instant. Rabbiteater paused. If they went through they’d go at night, when—

Death.

It was an immediate reaction, a sense in Rabbiteater’s head that made him freeze instantly. The Hob leaned back from the doorway and shook his head at the others. They froze and Numbtongue got up. He hurried into the kitchen to stall Erin.

“Oh, Numbtongue, you want something?”

“Beets.”

Beets? Well, I’ve got some—wait, what do you mean, ‘beets’? Beets as in breakfast food? Is there a breakfast that has beets in it?”

The other Hobs listened as Numbtongue desperately distracted Erin. Lyonette looked over, but Rabbiteater had sunk down and she missed him. He listened, his ear to the door. His [Dangersense] had warned him—now he used his senses to confirm what he knew to be true.

The door was open just a crack, but that was enough to let the sounds of Pallass filter into the inn. Headscratcher could hear people walking about, talking, and more distance noises. He filtered that out and listened, his ears twitching. And then he heard it.

Breathing. Perhaps only Rabbiteater would have heard it. The Hob had learned to hunt rabbits in the grass, become the stealthiest of the group by honing his skills in order to feed himself. He raised a hand, pointed a finger left. There was someone watching the door in Pallass to the left.

Badarrow got up slowly and came over to listen. Erin was clanging around in the kitchen.

“What goes well with beets? Potatoes? Eggs? I never knew Goblins liked beets!”

Her voice surprised the listener on the other side. Badarrow and Headscratcher listened to the breathing pause for a second and then go on normally. Perhaps the guard thought the door had opened by accident? Rabbiteater raised two fingers. There was more than one watcher. The two Hobs listened. Breathing. Breathing and then a cough. Sloppy. Badarrow rolled his eyes and mimed putting an arrow through the doorway. Rabbiteater held up a hand. He waited. Then he peeked the door open a tiny bit more.

The Goblin had only a sliver of light to look through, but he pressed his eye to the door for five minutes, until Erin came out of the kitchen with a pan full of fried beets, potatoes, and eggs all made into a hash. By that time the Goblins were sitting down and they happily ate the food while Rabbiteater held up four fingers when no one was watching. Shorthilt shook his head.

Four watchers, then. Probably with a vantage point on the door, ready to summon others. The Redfang Goblins could rush the door, but they’d never get anywhere in the Walled City. They’d be dead within minutes. No good to steal things there. And they didn’t want to cause trouble for the Human.

If that was no good, they had to try the other city. This time they waited until Lyonette was in the kitchen with their dishes and Erin was complimenting Mrsha on the Gnoll’s dutiful watering of the flowers. The Goblins changed tables and Headscratcher opened the door to Celum. They listened and heard someone muttering.

“—hah, show those bastards what’s what! They want to play rough? I’ll buy up all their supply and sell my potions through Liscor! I’ve got two markets to work through—they’ll burn through their coin while I turn a profit! Just gotta get Erin to give me another idea. How in the name of good stitching did she and Ryoka know about matches, anyways?”

Octavia’s voice was tiny through the crack in the door. The Goblins listened, nodded, and Headscratcher closed the door right as Erin turned around. They conferred as she blinked at them.

“Did you switch tables?”

Badarrow nodded. Erin stared at him.

“Okay then.”

She turned away. The Hobgoblins conferred. Octavia’s shop was definitely less guarded than Pallass. They could definitely steal some potions from the [Alchemist]. The question was—could they get away with anything else? They’d have to do some nighttime reconnaissance. Assuming the Human [Guardsmen] weren’t too alert, the Redfang Warriors could locate a blacksmith, scope it out, and break into it.

Then there was securing an escape route. Maybe they could leap over the walls and try not to break anything? Or they could try the gates. They’d have to move fast. None of the Goblins was confident they could break into a shop and get away without being spotted and they couldn’t bring trouble back to the inn.

They’d have to steal food before they went. And build some rucksacks. But it was a plan. A bad one, granted. Badarrow kept wrinkling his nose in distaste. They’d have decent weapons if all went well, food, and potions. That would help, but so what? They’d still be woefully outmatched by any Gold-rank team and maybe some Silver-rank ones.

The Redfang Warriors had had a lot of time to observe all the teams that had gone into the inn, and they’d concluded that while they could take some of the adventurers if they got the jump on them, they might not win even if they took the others by surprise. Moore and Jelaqua, for instance. No matter how many times Shorthilt, their fighting expert, went through scenarios, they always ended up dead before they could take out the Halfseekers. No wonder they were Garen Redfang’s old team.

And there would be many groups equivalent to a Gold-rank team between them and their tribe. Still, that was their only plan. The Goblins sighed and then jumped as one when Erin addressed them.

“Hey. Do you have a moment?”

She stared at the Redfang Warrior’s startled faces.

“It’s cool if you don’t have time. If you uh, want to sit around that’s fine. But I thought you might be bored. So…wanna see what’s outside?”

They stared at each other. Erin had never asked them to do more than lift heavy things or help defend the inn. They’d agonized over whether eating her food and guarding her from non-existent threats was really repaying her kindness. Without a word all five Goblins stood up. Erin smiled.

“Cool.”

 

—-

 

It was still raining outside, but mildly compared to before. Erin stared around at the water. It was twenty feet down from the top of her hill where her inn stood. According to Selys, the water would drain rather than rise farther—there was apparently a finite amount of height the waters would rise. But it had well and truly engulfed the Floodplains now. And part of Liscor.

“Oh my gosh, look at that. Liscor’s half underwater!”

Erin pointed at Liscor in the distance and the Hobs muttered. Liscor didn’t sit on a hill as high as her inn, and so the waters had risen around the city, reaching halfway up the walls! Only the faultless stone kept the waters from rushing into the city, as well as the sealed doors. Erin finally understood why Liscor had solid slabs of stone rather than an easier-to-use portcullis—it was to keep the water out during the rainy season!

“But how do they get out of the city, do you think? They can’t stay inside forever. Right? I mean, they’d want to leave. So how…?”

Headscratcher grunted and pointed. Erin looked in the direction of his finger and blinked.

“Oh. That makes sense.”

Drakes and Gnolls were descending Liscor via rope ladders and a wooden ramp! They’d made a floating dock and were literally walking off the battlements down into the water, where a small fleet of boats had already been built. Erin saw several Drakes pushing the boats through the water with spears and nets in hand.

“Are they fishing? Gotta be. There must be monsters in the water. Relc said they were coming.”

“You hear that Mrsha? That means no playing by the water, understand?”

Lyonette had joined the group outside. She raised Mrsha to peer out into the water. The Gnoll wriggled and tried to get free, but Lyonette held her, despite the rain soaking both of them. Erin frowned at the skies.

“Yuck! Does it ever stop raining during the spring? Hey Lyonette, at least we don’t have to get water from the stream, huh?”

“That’s one good thing. But I’d be careful about getting near to the water’s edge, Erin. Remember those flat fish? If they’re in the waters…”

“Ooh. Yeah. Not good.”

Erin shuddered and then saw something move in the water in front of her. She frowned.

“What the heck?”

Something tiny poked its head out of the water. Erin stared. The Goblins stared. Numbtongue pointed.

“Fish.”

It was indeed a small fish! It looked like, well, it looked like a porcupine had merged with a mackerel. The little fish had spines sticking out of its body as it looked up at Erin and the other land dwellers.

“Careful. Don’t get too close! It could be poisonous!”

Erin cautioned the others as she slowly reached for her frying pan. All five Goblins stared at the tiny fish. The spiky little thing gave them all the fish-eye, which looked remarkably like a stink eye. It did not look happy.

“I’m gonna see if I can catch it. I bought this net from Krshia. Why don’t I go inside—Lyonette, take Mrsha inside. I’ll sneak up on it and—”

Erin turned her back. The fish stared at her, and then two of the quills on its back rose threateningly. The Redfang Goblins reacted instantly. They dove out of the way and immediately took cover. Too late, they realized they weren’t the target. The tiny fish shot two of the spines on its body. Straight at Erin.

“Ow!”

The young woman shouted in pain as two spines stuck out of her back through her clothes. Lyonette shouted and Mrsha barked in alarm. The Redfang Goblins cursed and before Erin could move Headscratcher and Rabbiteater grabbed her and charged back into the inn with her carried between them. She heard Lyonette and Mrsha yelp and then all of them were back in doors. Badarrow slammed the door shut as two more quills bounced off the side of the inn.

“What was that?”

Erin twisted, feeling a stinging pain in her back. She grabbed for the quills, but Numbtongue caught her hand.

“No. Dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

Erin stared at him until she realized what he meant. Her eyes widened.

Oh my god! Is it poison? Acid?”

Mrsha began to howl. The Goblins put Erin belly-first on the table as Lyonette ran to Celum’s door.

“Octavia, get in here quick! Erin’s hurt!”

“What?”

They heard a crash and swearing as Octavia rushed through the door. She halted when she saw Erin’s back.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know! This little fish shot me! I didn’t know that fish could shoot things? Do I need a healing potion or an antidote?”

Erin waved at Octavia. The [Alchemist], who’d been pale-faced with worry, paused.

“A fish.”

“Yeah! A small one, the size of my hand!”

The Stitch-Girl passed a hand across her face.

“Stitches, don’t do that to me, Erin! You mean you got hit by a small fish outdoors, right? In Liscor? Those are Quillfish. They shoot little needles at you if you get near them. They can kill other fish underwater. They’re not poisonous. They’re barely a danger to other fish their size!”

Erin paused. Lyonette stopped wringing her hands. Mrsha stopped howling. The Redfang Goblins stared at the [Alchemist].

“Oh. So they’re not dangerous?”

“Only if you get a quill in your eye. Can I go?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The [Alchemist] sighed and walked back into her shop, grumbling about idiots who didn’t know a Quillfish from a poisonous Roxian Bloater. Erin sheepishly looked around.

“Well…now we know. Be careful going out, guys! There’s more than Quillfish in the water, and if there’s a lesson to be learned it’s that nowhere is safe! Even on land! I—ow!

She broke off as Mrsha pulled both quills out of her back. The Redfang Goblins exchanged a look.

Okay, so maybe leaving Erin alone was dangerous after all. She’d been smart enough to avoid the water, but she didn’t have the instincts of a Goblin, or the reflexes. The Redfang Warriors peered into the waters, wondering what other creatures had swum into the lake basin. They could see other fish darting around, probably feasting on the Face-Eater Moth’s corpses, but nothing bigger.

Yet. Didn’t the giant Rock Crabs live in this area? The Redfang Warriors had seen them scuttling about. Were they underwater, waiting to attack anything that swam past them? Now that would be dangerous. The Redfang Warriors engaged in a healthy debate, trying to cover up their embarrassment about running scared from a harmless fish with spikes.

It was Rabbiteater who saw the tiny blip of movement that indicated the Quillfish’s return. The Hob peered into the water and saw the spiked head staring at him. It seemed the tiny fish objected to any presence on the hilltop. He stared at it. The fish stared back. It raised its spines and Rabbiteater charged.

He dove into the water. The Quillfish was lining up a shot and realized the Hob was going after it too late—it tried to dive just as Rabbiteater’s hand closed over it. The Hob cursed and Erin threw open her doors to see what was happening. She saw Rabbiteater struggle out of the water and then come up the hill towards her. He was holding the Quillfish, which flopped and gasped as it shot its quills into his palm.

The Hob shyly offered Erin the dead fish. She stared in horror at the spines sticking out of his palm.

“Lyonette, get me a healing potion!”

 

—-

 

Twenty minutes later, Erin had discovered that Quillfish were in fact, edible, and made for a nice snack once you removed the spines. She still scolded Rabbiteater for getting hurt—he’d actually tried to refuse the healing potion! He was definitely playing up the tough guy act, just like the other Redfang Warriors.

But they were helpful in discovering what else lay in the waters around her inn. They peered into the waters, pointing and keeping a respectful distance with Erin. Mrsha was allowed to watch, but from further back.

It turned out that Goblins had a practical approach to wildlife. They asked a few simple questions about everything they met. Can it kill me? Can I kill it? Is it edible? And sometimes, how much effort is it worth dealing with this thing? And they refused to take risks. Which was good, because it turned out that Liscor’s waters had more than just a few Quillfish in its stock of predators.

Erin stared as a large, black shape circled the water beneath a school of tiny silvery fish. Its shape twisted and she jumped as she saw a tentacle shoot out of the water and nap a fleeing morsel.

“That’s an octopus fish. Literally an octopus’ tentacles on a fish. It’s huge!”

The fish was probably fourteen feet long and it gave Erin a very, very dangerous vibe. She kept a distance as Badarrow trained an arrow on it and Shorthilt muttered and held his sword. The fish circled the hill and then tried to climb it.

Holy crap, it has legs! Run!

Erin screamed as the fish propelled itself onto the grass with eleven black tendrils, each as thick as her leg. She rushed Mrsha inside and the Redfang Goblins howled and charged the fish. To Erin’s horror, only Shorthilt had a sword. She waved at them as the fish began grappling with the cursing Goblins.

“What are you doing? Get your swords! Where are your swords?”

Badarrow cursed as he shot the fish in the side. It didn’t make a sound, but from the way it jerked it didn’t like his arrows, or when Shorthilt stabbed deep into its side. The tentacles grabbed Headscratcher as he kicked the fish in its face and lifted him up. The Hob got a good look at a mouth full of teeth as the other Hobs tried to pull him back. Shorthilt cursed and kept cutting and Badarrow reached for another arrow. Erin was rushing outside with frying pan and knives when she heard a voice from overhead.

“[Piercing Shot].”

An arrow shot down from the rooftop. It went straight through the black fish’s head and lodged somewhere in the middle of its body. The fish jerked and then died as Shorthilt followed the arrow up with a stab right through its brain. Its tentacles drooped and Headscratcher fought his way clear of them, cursing, his skin torn by the suckers on the tentacle. Erin looked up.

“Bird?”

The Antinium was sitting on the second floor of her inn. He waved at her cheerfully.

“I got a new Skill. Hello, Miss Erin. Hello, Security Hobs.”

Everyone looked up. Bird had somehow managed to clamber up through the destroyed third floor and found his way onto the roof. There he sat as the rain fell around him, humming and watching the skies, oblivious to the waters surrounding him. It took Erin a few minutes to find her voice.

“Good shot, Bird!”

“Thank you. I just got up here and saw the fish. It is a strange fish. It has long grabby things.”

“Those are tentacles, Bird.”

“They are not as good as wings. Will more fish attack the inn? I will shoot them with my new Skill. It takes a while before I can use it again, but it is a good one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! It even works with my old bow.”

Bird waved his bow and Erin saw he was indeed using his old bow, the crude handmade one.

“What happened to your new bow, Bird? Oh—”

Her eyes widened as she recalled. Bird hunched his shoulders and rocked back and forth on the roof.

“It was broken. The moths broke my bow. I am sorry, Miss Erin. I broke the lovely bow you gave me. It was such a nice bow.”

“Oh, Bird—it wasn’t your fault.”

“Really?”

He perked up. Erin nodded. The Redfang Goblins were busy kicking the dead blackfish and sniffing it, probably for edibility. Erin debated climbing up to hug Bird, but decided she’d just slip off the roof and break her neck. She called up at the Worker.

“You need a new bow, Bird! And a new tower! The Antinium should be sending a group to repair the inn today!”

“That is good! Will I get a new bow, too?”

Bird looked hopeful. Erin hesitated and kicked at a tuft of grass.

“Um…maybe. I’m so sorry your old one got broken. I’d like to buy you a new one, but they’re expensive and I don’t think Krshia will give me another discount.”

“Oh. That is okay. One bow was enough for a lifetime.”

Bird’s casual words made Erin’s heart hurt. She peered up at him and raised her voice.

“Tell you what, if the Players of Celum pull in enough coin I’ll buy you a new one as soon as I can and take the rest out of your paycheck, okay?”

The Antinium paused.

“I get paid?”

Erin gaped at him.

Bird! What did you do with all the coins I gave you last week?”

“I…used them as bird bait.”

“What?”

Bird nodded enthusiastically, his mandibles opening and closing in a smile.

“They are shiny. If I put them out, birds fly down to grab them.”

He paused as Erin covered her face.

“That isn’t what they’re for? Oh. Buying things. I got in trouble for losing coins when I was a Worker in the Hive, too. I was punished. Will you punish me?”

“No, Bird. Just don’t let birds swallow—you know what? I’ll just save up money for your bow, okay?”

“That is good.”

Erin nodded. Then she turned and shouted at the Redfang Goblins, who jumped.

“And you! I forgot to give you your pay!”

They stared at her. Headscratcher raised a finger and pointed at his chest. Erin grinned.

“Come on inside!”

 

—-

 

The Redfang Goblins had never had coin to their name. Oh, they’d taken coin off of dead adventurers and so on, but only to give to Garen Redfang. Goblins had no real use for coin, but Garen would sometimes sneak into rural Human towns and trade for things. It was a risk, even for their Chieftain and so the Goblins had treated coins as toys, good for nothing but ammunition in a sling, or distracting adventurers.

But there was something about the silver and one gold coin that Erin pressed into their hands that was special. The coins felt warm, unlike the bloody metal they’d fished out of dead corpses’ pockets. The Goblins stared at the coins and Erin smiled at them.

“I wanted to give it to you a few days ago, but then the moths tried to kill us. Sorry it isn’t much, but you get this much plus the same amount tomorrow! I pay everyone on the weekend, see.”

Erin paused. The Redfang Warriors stared at her, and then at the coins in their palms. She smiled sadly.

“I had another employee once. I never paid him. I’m not making the same mistake this time.”

The Goblins stared at her. Headscratcher brushed at his eyes. The others just looked…Numbtongue hesitated and opened his mouth. The taciturn Goblins hesitated, and then spoke.

“We have never—”

The door slammed open. All five Goblins dove beneath a table, coins scattering. They had weapons in hand—chairs and Shorthilt’s sword as they rose. Erin whirled. It wasn’t the door to her inn. It was the door to Liscor. The Silver Swords stood in the doorway, faces grim. Griffon Hunt was behind them, and sandwiched between the two Gold-rank teams was Vuliel Drae. Erin stared as Falene stepped into the inn. She eyed the Goblins and the coins scattered across the floor, and then looked around.

“Apologies, Miss Erin. Are the Halfseekers present?”

“Them? Oh—they’re still asleep, I think. So are the Horns of Hammerad. They had a late night and—what’s wrong?”

Falene’s lips tightened.

“We have a situation. Rouse the Halfseekers, please. We need them present to hear this. The Horns of Hammerad too, I suppose.”

She gestured, and the other teams walked through from Liscor. The Silver Swords took a position near the doors, and Griffon Hunt a table. The five members of Vuliel Drae sat at a table across from them. Their faces were pale. Erin saw Insill, the Drake, shaking. None of the adventurers talked.

She hesitated, and then ran up the stairs.

 

—-

 

The Redfang Warriors had no idea what was happening. Neither did Erin, but she knew a bit more and explained it to them as the Halfseekers came down the stairs with the Horns of Hammerad, looking confused and sleepy.

“Okay, you see that team there? The five of them? They’re a Silver-rank team. Vuliel…Drae. Or something. They’re sort of big shots in Liscor. They’re not as good as a Gold-rank team, or the Horns of Hammerad, but they’re famous, you know?”

She looked at the Hobs. Rabbiteater gave her a bewildered shake of the head for the others.

“You don’t know. Right. Well, Vuliel Drae they went into the dungeon and uh, got this fancy mace thing. They’re the only team who’s come out with treasure, and it was a powerful magical artifact.”

The Redfang Goblins stirred. Jelaqua was talking quietly with Ylawes and Halrac and glancing at Vuliel Drae as Ceria hovered next to her. Numbtongue exchanged a sharp glance with the others and spoke carefully to Erin.

“Magic artifact? They found?”

“What? Yeah, in the dungeon. I heard it was Gold-rank gear. But why are they here? Could it be because of last night? No—that look. Could it be…?”

The silence in the inn was clearly getting to Vuliel Drae. Each one of the group was looking around nervously, even Anith, their leader. The other adventurers watched them silently, except for the Horns of Hammerad. Pisces was staring at Ylawes’ lips moving while Yvlon and Ksmvr just waited for Ceria to tell them what was happening. As it happened, Insill’s nerve broke first.

“It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have suggested we go down that corridor!”

“Insill—”

The other members of his team groaned as everyone looked at the Drake [Rogue]. Anith shook his head.

“Wait until we have a chance to speak—”

“Screw that!”

Dasha slammed her fist on the table angrily.

“We didn’t know what would happen, alright? If we had known—”

“But we should have said something earlier.”

That came from Pekona. Her head was bowed. The other adventurers just watched her. Dawil had his arms folded and a look of anger on his face that Erin had never seen before. Halrac’s gaze was flat and emotionless, but Erin could sense anger coming off him. Jelaqua cursed and stomped over to Seborn and Moore, who bent their heads to whisper to her.

“Look, would someone just say what’s happening? The Silver Swords seem to know, but none of us do!”

Revi burst out angrily as she glared around the room. Ylawes and Halrac looked up from their discussion. It was the [Knight] who nodded and stepped forwards.

“Apologies, Miss Revi. We were discussing it, but we think it’s better that everyone know. Briefly, let me explain. I was approached last night by Insill after the play…he came to me secretly about a crime his team had committed.”

Dasha growled and Larr sat up. The Gnoll glared at the Drake who shrunk in his seat.

“You spineless worm. We said we’d agree to talk about it!”

“I thought he—I couldn’t keep it to myself—”

Insill fell silent as Ylawes held up a hand. The [Knight] took a deep breath and went on.

“He didn’t want to give me details, but this morning he returned. With his party leader, Anith.”

Every eye turned to the Jackal who nodded quietly. Ylawes sighed.

“They told me of a—a misdeed, a mistake their team had committed. I immediately shared what I had learned with my team and we decided this had to be addressed. At once. I called the other teams here to listen to this—”

He broke off, shaking his head. Falene’s eyes were fixed on Vuliel Drae. Dawil growled. Halrac, Ceria, and Jelaqua all stood silently, their eyes shadowed. The other adventurers looked confused and worried. Pisces just closed his eyes.

“Well, out with it then. What did they do?”

Revi looked suspiciously around at the silent adventurers. No one wanted to say it. At last, Insill spoke.

“It was—you know the Face-Eater Moths? How they attacked Liscor? Well, we didn’t know.”

He shut up, as if too afraid to go on. Yvlon raised one eyebrow.

“You didn’t know? You mean, you weren’t here for the battle? But you claimed you were.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Anith’s voice was shaky. The others looked at him, and he fell silent, afraid to go on. Erin felt her pulse racing, although she wasn’t on trial.

“What then?”

Typhenous frowned over his staff. Moore and Seborn joined the circle standing around the team of Vuliel Drae. Behind them the Goblins were whispering, pointing out one of the windows towards a spot covered by water. The dungeon.

“It was—look, we had no idea—we were just in the dungeon, and we found a—a corridor, okay? It was filled with eggs and we thought they were d-dangerous, so we—”

Insill gulped, his voice wobbling too hard to go on. The other adventurers stared at him blankly. Erin gasped. All eyes turned towards her.

“Oh no. I get it.”

“What?”

Revi was uncomprehending, whether because she didn’t want to understand or because the fractured sentences didn’t make sense. Erin stared at Vuliel Drae, but none of them could raise their heads. She spoke slowly.

“They were in the dungeon the day the Face-Eater Moths attacked. They were exploring and they found a bunch of eggs. And they—smashed them. Right?”

All eyes turned back towards the group. Dasha’s voice was quiet.

“How were we supposed to know it’d piss all them off? It was that masked woman who did it first. And we thought—”

Yvlon raised her head and uttered the longest, foulest expletive Erin had ever heard from the woman ever. The other adventurers just stared. Seborn leaned forwards.

You mean to tell us that you set off the attack on Liscor? By destroying the Face-Eater Moths’ eggs?

It was Pekona who replied. She tried to keep her voice level as she met Seborn’s eyes.

“We hid in a tunnel with the masked adventurer. They kept coming but we had this stone wall we could slide under. We were there for a day and a half, just killing the small ones that came through. We had no idea they came out of the dungeon. We didn’t know—”

Her voice broke.

“We had no idea.”

Dead silence filled the inn. The adventurers stared. Erin’s heart thumped loudly in her chest, the only noise in the world. They’d done it. They’d caused the attack.

Revi looked around. Her face was calm. It was probably the only one that was. Dawil was glowering, Falene’ eyes were flashing. Ceria, Typhenous, Yvlon, Moore—all looked furious. Halrac’s glare spoke volumes. Jelaqua couldn’t look in the direction of Vuliel Drae. Ksmvr was just waiting. Ylawes’s head was bowed, Seborn and Pisces silent. Revi nodded.

“Okay. Thanks for telling us.”

Everyone looked at her. The Stitch-Woman gave Vuliel Drae a smile. Her hand strayed towards her belt. Halrac’s head shot up and Typhenous started. They moved as Revi leapt.

I’ll kill you, you fucking—

The Stitch-Woman’s wand sizzled with magic. She would have leapt on Insill, but her team caught her before she could complete her attack. Typhenous dragged her backwards with Halrac as Revi’s wand shot a missile past Insill’s ear. The Drake shouted in terror and knocked back his seat. The other members of Vuliel Drae shot up.

Let go of me!

Revi was screaming. Vuliel Drae clustered together. Dasha stared towards the door to Liscor and Falene raised her staff.

“No one else move.”

“I should kick your heads in myself!”

Dawil shouted. Ylawes blocked him.

“Calm yourself, Dawil.”

“Bugger calm! You heard them—”

Across the inn, Ceria was breathing hard. She looked at her team.

“Pisces, Ksmvr, hold me back. Yvlon—”

“Don’t ask me to do anything.”

The woman’s voice was strangled with emotion. Ksmvr obediently grabbed Ceria’s arms. Pisces shook his head.

“No thanks. Put an [Ice Spike] spell through their heads if you’re going to do it, Springwalker.”

“I’m about to. Hold me back.”

Ceria’s eyes flashed as her hand frosted over with magic. Pekona gave her an alarmed look. Erin wondered if she should block Ceria—she was more concerned about the Halfseekers, who hadn’t so much as twitched. The way they were staring—

Pisces just walked forwards and faced Ceria. The [Necromancer] was calm as ice.

“They made a terrible mistake. If you can’t forgive it, kill them now. But I would tell you not to.”

“They got hundreds of people killed!”

Ceria’s voice was murderous. Pisces nodded.

“Yes. And as I recall, you eventually forgave one fool who unleashed wrath upon the innocent.”

She hesitated. The fury went out in her eyes.

“That’s not—”

Silence!

Typhenous had had enough of Revi’s curses. He let go and pointed his staff at her. Webbing shot from the tip and engulfed Revi. She struggled and cursed, and then went still as the thick spider webs bound her tightly. Typhenous looked around, angry, his face red.

“We aren’t savages. If anyone else wants to take a swing at this group, do it now while I still feel like casting webs and not something stronger.”

He glared around. To Erin’s surprise it was Pisces who raised his voice in dissent.

“I beg to differ, Typhenous. If this will end in bloodshed, it would be preferable to end it now, rather than later. Is anyone for that motion?”

He looked at Revi, Ceria, and Halrac in turn. Dawil stared uneasily at the [Necromancer].

“Are you serious?”

Pisces nodded, but Jelaqua shook her head. The Selphid’s voice was cold as she looked at Pisces.

“If we were going to do it, it’d be before you asked, Pisces. If Revi had gotten them it would be trouble. If we do it now, it’s murder. Which is a pity, but the Halfseekers don’t kill idiots. We’re unpopular enough as it is. Shame Griffon Hunt doesn’t either.”

The Selphid folded her arms. The implication of what she’d said took Erin’s breath away. But Moore and Seborn didn’t say a word against her. Ylawes stepped forwards.

“No one is killing anyone. This is a meeting to discuss what should be done in light of the truth. Nothing more.”

He looked at both Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers as he said it. Both teams nodded. Reluctantly. Ylawes looked around the rest of the room and sighed. His gaze passed over the Redfang Goblins, who were quietly listening from a corner of the room, past Lyonette who was trying to get Mrsha to come upstairs, past Erin, observing it all quietly. He looked from face to face of each adventurer. This was their scene. Ylawes nodded.

“Let’s sort this out.”

 

—-

 

Vuliel Drae’s account of the dungeon took over an hour to run through. It covered everything from their decision to leave the ropes at the dungeon’s entrance to their encounters with the mysterious masked swordswoman to their run through the dungeon before everything went south. They told the story in parts, voices faltering, while the adventurers listened.

Mainly in silence. Sometimes questions were asked. Those who couldn’t keep their emotions in check left the room or were thrown out. That number included Revi, Dawil, Yvlon, Ceria, Jelaqua, Typhenous, and, to everyone’s surprise, Seborn. The adventurers went outside to cool off—or shoot spells into the water and shout while the trial went on.

Because that was what this was. A trial. Erin listened with her hands shaking, trying not to let her emotions get control of her. She couldn’t believe it. It was so wrong. Not only had Vuliel Drae done what the other older adventurers described as incredibly stupid, but they hadn’t told anyone! They hadn’t told anyone after Liscor had—

She understood. She did. Every child knew the feeling of getting in trouble and not wanting to be found out, and this was that feeling times ten thousand. But still. It was wrong.

There were more than just accounts of the mistake in the dungeon, too. Vuliel Drae had been successful in their own way. They’d been led by the mysterious masked woman—someone the Silver Swords, Griffon Hunt, and the Halfseekers all wanted to meet—through a good section of the dungeon, avoiding traps and monsters. Halrac was working on a map of the dungeon based on their account. Erin thought he was doing that so he didn’t punch the Silver-rank adventurers. But the gem of their discussion came when they recounted a corridor they’d passed.

“It had a treasure room at the end. A real one. I’d only heard of them before, but we saw a pedestal and artifacts lying on it!”

Dasha’s eyes were wide as she gestured. The other adventurers leaned forwards. Falene looked down her nose at the team as if she were staring at something small and disgusting.

“Why didn’t you attempt to take it?”

Vuliel Drae looked at each other. Insill spoke nervously.

“The masked woman. She stopped us. We wanted to try—Larr was halfway into the room, but she kept pulling us back and shaking her head. It was real, I think. But trapped. We were going to go back to it, or see if we could ask for help when…”

“Treasure. Dead gods, and the rift entrance is a hundred feet underwater.”

Jelaqua closed her eyes tightly. Anith cleared his throat.

“And there’s more.”

“What, besides enough moths to take out a city’s worth of people?”

Revi’s sarcastic tone earned her a look from Halrac. She stomped outside. Anith nodded.

“There’s something down there. Those Gnoll-things—”

Raskghar. What about them?

The other adventurers leaned in. Vuliel Drae gulped as one. Pekona spoke up.

“They’re organized. There are other monsters down there, but those things—they knew we were down there the instant we arrived and we fought then twice! The masked woman helped us evade them, but there are far, far too many.”

Insill nodded rapidly.

“After the moths left they were hunting us! Our friend lured a group away and we barely got out but—there are kill teams patrolling the dungeon. They fight any monsters they come across—the ones they can see, anyways. Sometimes they pass by a group of monsters and don’t see them. And they hunt adventurers. That’s how all the other teams went missing, I think. Most of them.”

“Huge monsters nests, intelligent dungeon dwellers…this just gets better and better. Sure you don’t want to mention a Dragon or two?”

Dawil growled and spat. Erin glared at him and the Dwarf flushed. Halrac leaned forwards and Vuliel Drae leaned back. He’d spoken three times so far, and each time he’d nearly made the adventurers wet themselves.

“This treasure room. Where is it?”

“We can’t tell you that!”

Dasha looked horrified. The part-Dwarf woman looked around.

“It’s our secret! I mean, we made a mistake, but fair’s fair—”

She shut up as Jelaqua leaned over the table. The Selphid was glaring and her being angry was as scary as Halrac.

“I think you’ve forfeited the right to whatever secrets you’ve found. We’ll cut you a deal—you tell us everything and we’ll try to stop Liscor’s citizens from lynching you.”

“Wait, you’re not planning on telling them? You can’t! We live here! They’ll tear us apart!”

Larr and Insill paled dead white. Jelaqua grimly shook her head.

“Oh, they have to know. You think we’re keeping this secret? The first time I get questioned under truth spell I’ll have to talk about this. And the Adventurer’s Guild tests Gold-rank adventurers regularly for corruption.”

“But they’ll kill us!

Ylawes raised his head. It had been bowed for the last twenty minutes. Now the [Knight] looked grim as he stepped next to Jelaqua.

“If we talk to the Guildmistress of Liscor—and Watch Captain Zevara—we might be able to keep it secret. Make no mistake, you will pay for your mistakes. But it won’t be public knowledge. That’s what we can offer you. If you tell us what you know.”

Faced with that, there was really no choice. Vuliel Drae hesitated, but then Anith spoke.

“It’s off the corridor with the blade trap. Secret door. It’s an illusion you can walk right through.”

The other adventurers paused and looked at Halrac. He made a note.

“Got it.”

There was a sigh. The adventurers exchanged glances. Who would claim that treasure? Would it be a race? Troubled, Ylawes shook his head.

“Let’s settle this later. Now, I think it’s time to discuss what will happen next.”

Erin leaned back in her chair, exhausted. Vuliel Drae had to be just as tired, but they tensed as the team leaders conferred. Erin looked towards her kitchen and realized it was already past lunchtime. She should make people food! Not that anyone looked hungry. She looked around to do a headcount and frowned. Erin’s head swiveled the room. Once. Twice. Then she stood up. She went upstairs. Then she opened the trapdoor to her basement. Then she looked outside.

“Miss something?”

Ceria looked up, exhaustedly, staring blankly in the rain. She’d shot two Quillfish with her [Ice Spike] spell and they were floating belly-up in the water. Erin nodded.

“Have you seen the Redfang Goblins?”

“Them? I saw them take off around the inn a second ago. They were…”

Ceria frowned as she got up to point. She stared at the empty Floodplains behind the inn. Erin stared around. She got a bad feeling in her stomach.

“Where’d they go?”

 

—-

 

This was where they went. The Redfang Goblins swam towards the dungeon entrance, keeping from hill to hill where they could. Fish swam around them; the Goblins kept a wary eye in the water, but they were taking a risk so they moved fast and trusted to luck. They reached the spot near where the rift in the dungeon was located and paused on a hilltop. The Wandering Inn was almost out of sight. The Redfang Warriors looked at each other.

Five of them. Shorthilt had a sword. Badarrow his bow, wrapped to avoid getting wet. The Goblins had nothing else. But they did know where the treasure was.

Treasure. A Gold-rank treasure had come out of a dungeon. A weapon. The Goblins stared at each other. It had been a wild thought. But it made sense the way nothing else did.

They were worthless, the five of them. They were Hobs, but that wasn’t enough. They couldn’t sway a battle themselves; they were just warriors when all was said and done. Five Hobs was a force to be reckoned with, but it was a small reckoning.

But what about five Gold-rank adventurers? What about five warriors armed with magical artifacts? What about five Hobs. Five warriors who’d trained under Garen Redfang himself? He’d been a Gold-rank adventurer, once. Five Garen Redfangs, or five Hobs half as good as Garen Redfang…now that might do it.

The Goblins stared down into the turgid waters below. They were black as a cloud passed overhead, and dark shapes swam through the water. And the dungeon was filled with darker things yet. Monsters. The moths were the least of the dangers in there. And the Goblins had two weapons. No plan.

They could all die down there. They could waste their lives. The Redfang Warriors stared into the abyssal depths. It was Numbtongue who spoke.

“Death below. Or useless death above. Shame-worse-than-death.”

They nodded. There was no choice, really. They grabbed the one thing they’d prepared. Rocks. The Goblins stepped into the water, swam towards the center of the rift, and then stopped swimming. They dropped through the water sinking as things drew around them, wondering if they were food.

Fat, dead moth corpses floated around them, half-eaten, disintegrating. Thousands of shapes nibbled at them. Larger things scooped up the bloated bodies. The Redfang Goblins stayed very still. The rift was a gaping black maw below.

Downwards, downwards. They held their breath for a minute. Then two. They were in the rift now, still dropping. They knew the waters would give way to air. They hoped.

They might not make the trip back up. But they had to try. For Goblins. For their tribe. For each other. The Redfang Warriors strained not to breathe.

Downwards.

The dungeon waited below, filled with darkness and dangers. The Goblins sank, their breath dwindling, blackness closing in. Above, something swam and dozens of glowing eyes opened to stare down at them. The rift’s walls drew in closer and the dungeon’s depths swallowed the Goblins.

It was a place of nightmares. A place where only the bravest went in search of adventure and treasure. It was a place of death, a place of monsters. The dark, unexplored heart of the world. It was meant for heroes, meant to kill them and torture the living.

But the Redfang Warriors were no adventurers. They were Goblins. They were monsters. And so they fell. Into the dungeon. And they felt it. They had never been here before, never walked this place before. But death they knew. Danger they knew. At last, they left the inn behind. This was where they belonged.

They were home.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.15

His name was Tyrion Veltras. And to some he was a legend. To some he embodied the pride of Izril. He was a hero in that sense; the scion to the Veltras family, a military expert who commanded one of the most powerful private armies on the continent.

He had defended Izril from every threat that had encroached upon its soil for decades, and protected Humans, his subjects, first and foremost. There were those who admired him. Admired, but did not love. Tyrion was a hard man to love, for all his accomplishments.

Others thought of him as the embodiment of all the negative qualities of a [Lord]. They called him the closest thing to a tyrant as Izril had ever seen. A war hawk who was a match for the worst of the Drakes in his unwavering pro-Humanity stance. A man who looked down on diplomacy as a weaker alternative to war, who viewed other nations and continents as adversaries in a global competition for which there could be only one winner.

And yet those who hated him had to admit that he had his own sense of honor. The man was tyrannical, harsh, unrelenting, and merciless, yes. But he did not employ [Assassins] like the leading [Lady] of Izril, Magnolia Reinhart. He kept his word. If he was your enemy he came at you on the battlefield with lance in hand. It was a small comfort to those who had died on the tip of his spear or sword, but it meant that no one watched their backs around Tyrion Veltras. They were too busy watching their fronts.

All of this was meaningless to the man himself, of course. Tyrion Veltras had an opinion about himself and as far as he was concerned, it trumped whatever anyone might whisper about him. He did not waste time with idle self-doubt. He thought of himself as a soldier, a leader, a strategist and general and administrator; a [Lord] in short. He rarely thought of himself as a father.

But as Tyrion Veltras sat in his war camp, listening to the rain patter down on the roof of his tent he spared a thought for his sons. They were young—of course, Sammial was eight and Hethon was…twelve? No, he would be thirteen now. His birthday had been two weeks ago.

“I sent him a dagger. Or was it something else? Ullim took care of it. We spoke on the matter.”

The man restlessly shook his head and stood. His [Majordomo] would handle the matter. His sons were well protected and being raised properly. As properly as they could be, at any rate. He didn’t need to think of them when there were more pressing matters.

But Tyrion’s thoughts did stray back to his sons just once more. It wasn’t guilt that invaded his heart, but something more akin to resignation. A cold fact. He would not see his sons for at least another month or two, possibly many more. This campaign would take a while.

But that was necessary. So Tyrion strode out of his tent, grimacing as warm rain instantly buffeted his clothes. Of course his rings protected him from the rain as they would arrows, but Tyrion disliked rain. It was too nostalgic.

“Lord Veltras!”

The [Soldiers] standing guard around his tent immediately straightened as the [Lord] came out. He nodded to them, and then paused when he saw the other man standing in the rain. He had patiently been awaiting Tyrion—that was clear from the rain that had soaked his bright silvery steel chainmail shirt and clothes beneath. But Yitton Byres was not the sort of man to wait with parasol in hand, or have someone else hold one for him. That he had no rings like Lord Tyrion was simply a matter of finances.

“Lord Yitton.”

“Lord Veltras.”

Yitton Byres, head of the Byres family, lowered his head slightly as his grey-brown hair and careful beard dripped with water. Tyrion, who was clean-shaven, eyed the man and nodded in return. He gestured and the two men began striding through the camp.

“You should have entered my tent. Waiting in the rain hardly befits a [Lord] of the realm.”

“I preferred to wait outside. I’m sure you were occupied in preparing for our strategy meeting.”

“Considerate of you.”

Lord Tyrion’s reply was cold and clipped, although that didn’t reflect his feeling towards Yitton Byres. The two men headed for a larger pavilion across the busy camp. They strode past [Soldiers] who saluted, [Knights] who turned and bowed, hurrying [Servants] and [Porters], [Cooks] and [Handlers], hearing the hustle and bustle of a massive army moving around them in the rain.

This was the largest force Izril had seen gathered all year. Tens of thousands of armed retainers and forces from Human cities had come at Lord Tyrion’s command and more arrived each day, by the hundreds or sometimes thousands. It was a massive host, sustained only by the equally large volume of supplies they’d brought with them. And they had been camped in this place for over half a month now.

Over three dozen [Lords] and [Ladies] and other leading figures of Izril had also come. It was they who Tyrion was headed towards now. As the two men walked, Tyrion considered that it was fortunate that Yitton was part of the strategy meeting they were headed towards.

Of course, Yitton Byres was a [Lord], but he was a lesser one. The Byres family was small and the man had brought over a thousand retainers, but it was almost all his house could spare. He was hardly as influential as Lord Tyrion, whose personal army had more than twenty thousand horse in his vanguard. He would not have been readily welcome in the smaller gathering that Lord Tyrion was headed towards normally.

However, Yitton Byres’ fortunes had changed in the last few days. Markedly so. It was nothing the man had done himself, but the incredible images from Liscor had caused his influence to rise sharply. That two of his offspring had helped vanquish the Face-Eater Moths that had besieged the city had made his political value soar to the point where he was included in the discussions as a matter of course. The Byres family had also been approached by several buyers looking to order their signature silver and steel arms, according to the reports Tyrion had glanced at.

That was all welcome to Lord Tyrion. Yitton Byres was known to him and if they weren’t friends or even that close, Tyrion respected the man. He was a good [Lord]. Solid. Unpretentious. He sensed Yitton Byres looking at him before the older man spoke.

“We’ve been camped for nearly three weeks now. Are we to move out within the week, or should I order my men to prepare for a longer wait while the Goblin Lord keeps razing settlements?”

He was also brave. Yitton had said what other, more powerful nobles would have hesitated to mention. Tyrion nodded to himself. Three weeks they’d been camped here, waiting. Any sane strategist would question why. After the Goblin Lord had defeated Zel Shivertail and the army formed by Magnolia Reinhart in battle they had expected Tyrion to march on the wounded Goblins at once. He was known as a decisive attacker, one who didn’t hesitate. But Tyrion had his reasons.

“I intend to keep your men waiting a while longer, Yitton.”

The other [Lord] eyed Tyrion sideways as they walked across the muddy ground.

“How long?”

“Possibly less than a week. I intend to move some of my forces ahead of the rest. I’ll take some of the horse and a few [Mages]. But the main army waits.”

“Why? To keep levying more forces? Is the Goblin Lord that dangerous?”

Tyrion paused.

“He slew the Tidebreaker in combat. Isn’t that enough for caution?”

“For caution, yes. But this seems excessive.”

It did. But Zel Shivertail’s death had given Tyrion a useful excuse. No one had expected Zel to fall in battle. Tyrion hadn’t, for all he’d hoped Zel Shivertail would lose the battle and be forced to defend Invrisil instead. His death was an unexpected boon.

“I have my reasons, Yitton. As you’ll hear shortly. I’m aware the nobility is chafing at the delay. But I will lead the army in the best way I deem fit.”

“Which doesn’t include informing those under your command of your thoughts?”

“At the moment. There are too many factors I must consider.”

Yitton’s eyebrows rose.

“Such as?”

“Rain.”

Lord Tyrion looked up. The rain didn’t fall into his eyes; it flowed away from an invisible barrier a few centimeters away from his skin. Yitton looked up, shading his eyes.

“Rain. Hardly ideal for marching, but you’d have this army wait for weather?”

“I await a single, precise moment, Yitton. Give it time. The Goblin Lord is doing damage, but he’s on the move.”

“Marching towards that so-called ‘Great Chieftain’ in the mountain. I can’t believe he was living under our noses this entire time. If they combine forces…silver and steel, Veltras, tell me you’re not going to let that happen!”

“We’ll move out, Yitton. Trust me.”

“I do. But you have to understand that I have questions.”

It was a dramatic statement, coming from a Byres. They were normally staunch supporters of the Reinharts, who had strong ties to their family. But Yitton had placed his trust in the better commander. Tyrion intended to honor that trust.

“I’m afraid your questions will have to wait. This strategy meeting will be resolved shortly, to no one’s satisfaction, I suspect. But I do have one piece of information that might make us move out faster.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently there’s a new province just southwest of Invrisil.”

“A new [Lord]?”

“An [Emperor].”

What?

“The reports are confirmed. An [Emperor] has appeared and he has a rather unusual holding.”

Yitton had to shake his head as he avoided a large puddle of water.

“[Emperors] and Goblin Lords. What next?”

Tyrion smiled. The report he’d received had been intriguing. Possibly helpful. So Magnolia thought she could use him as an ally?

“More to consider, Yitton.”

“But not act on? The Goblin Lord is growing in strength. His forces were down to sixty thousand by most estimates. He’ll replenish his numbers heading north. And if he takes the mountain—”

“Patience, Lord Yitton.”

“An odd word to hear from you.”

“Perhaps.”

Lord Tyrion paused in front of the pavilion. He looked up again. The rain was still falling. It fell over his camp, where countless Humans awaited his order. But he held his ground. He waited, as the continent of Izril and the world waited and wondered why. Soon the rains would stop. And then, or perhaps before then, Tyrion would make his move. He just had to wait. For the right moment.

At least Liscor was hot on everyone’s lips, distracting them from pressing him too hard. The events in the city had truly been newsworthy. Lord Tyrion was keeping a careful eye on the developments there. But he could have had no idea what was going on in the dungeon that very moment.

 

—-

 

They fell through the water. Down. Into the rift. Into the dungeon. Their descent was not unnoticed. The dungeon waited for them. As the Redfang Warriors neared the bubble of air that marked the point at which the dungeon began they swam towards the edges of the rift, dropping the stones they held, moving quickly before they ran out of air. The blackness of oxygen deprivation swam around their thoughts.

They gasped as their heads broke out of the water and gravity asserted itself. The Redfang Goblins clung to the sides of the rift as the stones they’d dropped floated downwards through the water. They fell into the dungeon, bringing a small splattering of water from overhead. The Goblins grunted as they watched the stones fall, and began to climb down.

Into a trap. At the bottom of the rift, hidden further back with bows trained on the opening leading upwards were monsters. People.

Raskghar. The huge, furred beasts were larger than Gnolls, stronger, and their hunched forms and long claws and teeth made them look like a cross between an upright bear and lion. But for all their brute strength and muscle, they were intelligent. They held crude bows and they were armed with arrows coated with poison. The Raskghar were not mindless monsters; they had noticed this entry point to the dungeon and begun ambushing adventurers that came down.

The weak ones, at any rate. The Gold-rank teams the silent hunters left alone. But eight out of ten teams had fallen to the ancient Gnoll kin before leaving the entrance point to the dungeon here. Now the Raskghar waited, listening as the stones dropped and cracked on the stone floor.

The adventurers were coming. The not-Gnolls waited as the telltale droplets of water cascaded down from above. The Raskghar kept their poisoned arrows aimed at the stone walls. Waiting. They could pick off the climbing adventurers like flies. They just needed to see all of them. They waited. And waited. And…

After two minutes, the furred hunters began to grow restless. They didn’t do anything as foolish as make sound, but they did look at each other and silently urge each other forwards a few steps. Had the adventurers not come down after all? Had they decided to return above? The sentries had spotted something swimming down through the water above. But why were they taking so long?

Eight of the Raskghar were shifting positions and two had come closer for a furtive look. The lead not-Gnoll edged forwards and peered up at the rift. He moved a few feet forwards—

An arrow sprouted from his eye. He dropped without a sound. The other Raskghar stared at him in alarm and then stared at the rift. They saw something move right where ceiling met dungeon. A head dropped down. Something flashed.

Another Raskghar dropped with an arrow in his chest. He had time to choke and try to roar before he fell. The remaining six immediately scattered. They aimed back at the rift, but the archer had disappeared! They waited, and then the body appeared again—from another spot. The [Archer] aimed, spotted a Raskghar, and loosed. The not-Gnoll howled in pain as an arrow took him in the side. The other Raskghar loosed arrows at the spot where the [Archer] had been—too late. The face disappeared out of view again.

The howling Raskghar fell silent as one of his companions struck him with a clawed hand, silencing him. The five hunters aimed their bows carefully, waiting. Waiting. Then they saw a flicker of movement. A head peered down out of the hole. Crimson eyes blinked at the surprised not-Gnolls. Instantly, all five Raskghar loosed arrows. The head pulled up. The arrows broke against the wall and then another torso dropped down. The Hobgoblin holding the bow loosed an arrow as the Raskghar realized too late that they’d been baited to shoot!

An arrow took one of the Raskghar in the side of the head as she turned to duck. Another struck the wounded Raskghar in the leg. Now there were four of the ambushers left. They saw the Hobgoblin disappear again and looked at each other.

What was happening?

In the rift, hanging from the walls of the cliff leading up, the Redfang Warriors were completely silent. They gestured at each other, communicating the spots of the remaining four archers to their lone sniper.

Badarrow. The Hob hung upside down as Shorthilt and Headscratcher strained to hold his legs steady. He growled a soft order and they lowered him—he shot, cursed, and kicked both legs. They instantly hauled him upwards as more arrows missed his position.

Six shots. Four kills. The seventh elicited a brief howl and then silence. Badarrow raised a finger as Numbtongue poked his head down below and answered with a hand sign. The wounded Raskghar was dead. Three arrows had finally done it in.

Three left. The Hobgoblins didn’t hesitate. They dropped off the cliff walls, landing hard as the hunters began to retreat. The Raskghar hadn’t expected that either. Shorthilt and Numbtongue charged one of the not-Gnolls while Rabbiteater and Headscratcher rushed another. Badarrow’s eighth arrow cut down the third Raskghar.

It was over in a second. The two archers fell to Shorthilt’s sword and the dagger Headscratcher had borrowed from Badarrow. They were strong and quick, but faced with two Hobs each they went down fast, the victim of multiple cuts. In the silence, the Redfang Warriors looked around swiftly. There were no more monsters. The ambush team had well and truly been ambushed.

It had been an easy victory. Perhaps too easy, but the Raskghar had grown accustomed to easy pickings. Silver and Bronze-rank adventurers were easy targets. After all, who expected to be ambushed the first second they entered a dungeon?

Goblins would. Goblins always expected a trap. Badarrow sneered and kicked a twitching claw away as he inspected the arrows the Gnoll throwbacks carried. He grunted as he found fourteen he liked and tossed the bad ones at Rabbiteater along with one of the bows. The other Hob grunted and slung it over his shoulder.

The Redfang Warriors spread out, searching the bodies, still not making a sound. They came away with crude stone axes, one genuine steel waraxe—probably looted from an adventurer—and several iron and steel daggers. No swords though—it seemed the Raskghar preferred axes. The Hobs grabbed the bows and arrows and nodded to each other.

Well, now they had weapons.

 

—-

 

This was the dungeon. It was dark. Quiet. But not silent.

The Redfang Warriors walked single file down a corridor. More like a tunnel. They could see well in the dark, but the blackness was oppressive. They could hear distant sounds, echoing down the corridor. The dungeon was filled with life.

But the things that moved in the dungeon didn’t move about loudly. Not unless they were the biggest and most dangerous thing. And that was a relative term. The monsters were all predators and they stalked each other until they met in a brief, loud flash of violence.

Sometimes the Goblins thought they heard a trap go off. The sounds were so faint they were practically inaudible over their heartbeats. But the Goblins kept their breathing silent, their footsteps invisible as they pressed forwards.

This was home. They were used to this. Not this dungeon, but this. Danger. Death. The Raskghar hadn’t known what hit them. They were used to adventurers, not Goblins who’d lived in the High Passes.

This is how they moved. Silently, five walking relatively spaced out down a corridor, following each other’s tracks exactly. Rabbiteater took point. As the only Goblin with [Dangersense], he was suited to checking for traps. But he was aware of his limitations and opted for a different method than Halrac’s precise techniques, or Seborn’s expertise at spotting tripwires and pressure plates and concealed magic runes.

Rabbiteater followed the tracks on the ground, the places where dust and debris had been stirred by passing. Because monsters had obviously learned to avoid the traps. So Rabbiteater followed those spots. That meant of course they would run into monsters, but that beat stepping on something nasty.

These are the things they carried. Healing potions and alchemical weapons, stolen from Octavia’s shop. Weapons from the Raskghar. A hemp bag, three of them, in fact. A bed sheet, stuffed into Headscratcher’s pack. Sharp rocks, a handmade sling of Rabbiteater’s.

Nothing else. No food, no artifacts. To adventurers they would have been horribly unprepared but the Redfang Goblins followed the Goblin way of doing things. Travel light to hide and run. They weren’t here to explore. They were on a mission.

Find the treasure. They’d memorized Vuliel Drae’s explanation of where to go. The Redfang Goblins had to cross about eighteen corridors between the entrance and the dungeon. They made it down two corridors, one filled with flame traps, another completely cleared, according to Vuliel Drae.

It wasn’t. The Redfang Goblins paused as they spotted something oozing its way down the corridor at a distance. Badarrow raised his bow, training his arrow on the…slug? Coming their way. Then the Goblins realized it was a lot of slugs and backed up.

They were headed down an intersection, dozens upon dozens of the long, oozing things. They were giant slugs with razor spines on their fronts. They were following something. The Redfang Goblins peered at the wounded, shambling giant thing that was stumbling from them. A…moth?

A Face-Eater Moth. One of the big, wagon-sized ones. It looked like it had been chewed apart. It was bleeding as it fled. The slugs pursued. The Redfang Goblins exchanged a look. How many moths had survived the battle at Liscor? Had they lost their position in the dungeon? Were things hunting them?

No time for questions. They moved on. This tunnel was odd. It was devoid of traps according to the scattered tracks, but it looked as if that was because it was part of some kind of crossing. The corridor split eight ways, two of the paths sloping downwards. The Redfang Goblins paused. Vuliel Drae had gone left here. They crossed to one edge of the corridor.

Rabbiteater peeked around the corner of the intersection swiftly. His first glance showed him nothing so he moved forwards. The other Hobs kept an eye on the other directions. They moved swiftly, each one tracking a different direction. This was like a hunting expedition in the High Passes.

They watched their surroundings, checking for camouflaged monsters. In the High Passes it was common to run into Gargoyles hiding in plain sight. And that was only the outer layers. Further in there were things that could kill two Goblins in the middle of a patrol without anyone noticing.

This corridor led to a labyrinth of doors, a maze of interconnected rooms. The Redfang Warriors slowed here and made even less noise than before. They crept along, silent, wary. They had to pass through this section—Vuliel Drae had fled though here, pursued by moths and Raskghar.

There were no moths today. But there were many, many doors. The Redfang Goblins paused at the first one. They stood back from it, in the center of the corridor. Their eyes narrowed.

Each Goblin was different. Erin had said so and she was close to the truth. They were all low-level, compared to adventurers at least. None of them had passed Level 20, for all they were elites. Goblins seldom lived long enough to level that high, so Garen Redfang had created Goblin warriors who trained hard and relied on their skills as much as their Skills.

Headscratcher was passionate. Angry, prone to fury in combat. Strongest of the five. Badarrow was an archer. Rabbiteater was a tracker, swift. Numbtongue could speak. And Shorthilt? He was a weapon expert. His sword had been the only one not to break from use against the Face-Eater Moths. He had a Skill, [Keener Edge], which allowed his iron blade to cut flawlessly for the first few blows. It was he who made the first move.

The door was old. Wooden—it looked like someone had broken it, and then rebuilt it with scraps. The Goblins eyed it. Shorthilt moved slowly towards it, his blade held in one hand. He paused, five steps from the door. He eyed it, and then darted forwards. He stabbed through the old wood at knee-height and was rewarded with a scream. The Goblins instantly charged forwards.

They hadn’t known something was behind the door. They’d guessed. The other doors flew open as Raskghar charged out. The furious beast people looked around for their prey—and saw them running down the corridor. They were escaping! Rabbiteater took the lead, dashing from safe spot to safe spot. The other four Hobs raised their bows and loosed arrows, making the Raskghar duck back under cover, snarling.

One, two, ten…there must have been over twenty of them waiting in ambush! They howled as they followed the Redfang Goblins. But the Goblins’ arrows forced them to stay back. And the Goblins knew where to go.

Forwards, down the corridor! Then left, though a low tunnel! Up a ramp—skirt the suspiciously clean section of flooring there. Now, through the right corridor. The howling of the Raskghar followed them. The Goblins ran as fast as Rabbiteater could move. They saw a figure appear out of the corridor behind them. Badarrow snarled, shot. The figure dropped.

He was no ordinary [Archer]! He was an expert, a marksman! Badarrow’s fingers plucked another arrow and he loosed it as more Raskghar poured around the wall.

[Shattershot]. His arrow struck one of the Raskghar. It should have fragmented into deadly shrapnel, but the not-Gnoll was armed with a wicker shield. Badarrow snarled as the Raskghar roared at him.

More arrows flew. This time back at the Hobs. The not-Gnolls charged down the tunnel. Shorthilt, Numbtongue, and Headscratcher went to meet them as Rabbiteater moved backwards, scouting the path forwards.

Raskghar. They were huge, taller than the Hobs, but hunched. They outweighed the Goblin. They wouldn’t have out massed Grunter, but all five of the Redfang Warriors were thinner. The first charge nearly knocked Headscratcher off his feet as Shorthilt cut his enemy. Numbtongue hacked at a Raskghar and was unpleasantly surprised as his axe barely cut through the fur and flesh. The muscles of the monster were thick!

And it had claws. And a stone mace. It struck Numbtongue on the shoulder and he shouted in fury. His axe struck the Raskghar across the face and it threw him backwards. The monster charged and Numbtongue swiveled. Rather than stand up he waited for the Raskghar warrior to leap at him and kicked.

It was a strong blow. The monster’s leap was diverted and it smashed into a wall. Quick as a flash, Numbtongue was on him. He swung with all his might—his iron axe bit into the Raskghar’s shoulder and stuck. It snarled and slashed at him with its claws. Numbtongue felt it lay open his arm and let go of his axe. He punched back, snapping the thing’s head back with powerful blows.

But it was too much beast. The Hob felt the Raskghar’s claws open up his chest, side—he stumbled back and the Raskghar chased him. Right into Shorthilt’s sword. The other Hob had dispatched his foe with a precise cut to the belly and face, hitting the vitals. He stepped back as Numbtongue garbled a word of thanks. They spun—Headscratcher rose from his foe. His steel waraxe was buried in its chest, having splintered the monster’s shield first.

Strong foes. The Hobs exchanged a glance as more Raskghar warriors and archers poured up the ramp. They turned. Rabbiteater shouted—the Hobs ran after him, following his trail.

How many tunnels had they gone down? Badarrow snapped a question as he grabbed Headscratcher’s quiver of arrows. Rabbiteater counted. Six? Twelve more to go! They had to lose their pursuers. The howling of the Raskghar was drawing attention their way!

Time for a diversion. Numbtongue asked a quick question as he splashed part of a healing potion over his injuries. Rabbiteater pointed. Numbtongue grabbed a bag from his belt and opened it. He tossed it to the ground as smoke began to billow forth.

A smoke bag. One of Ryoka’s specialty items, in fact. Only two gold coins and three silver at Octavia’s shop. Free, if you grabbed it when she wasn’t looking. The Raskghar coughed as the smoke obscured the Goblin’s progress. One snarled and charged through the smoke—and howled in agony. The other Raskghar paused and backed up.

The smoke lasted for a minute. Two minutes…it began to clear. They spotted their fallen comrade. He’d ventured onto the trap in the corridor—a pressure plate that had swung part of the wall out and sent a series of needle-sharp spikes into his body. The Raskghar growled and sniffed the air. They coughed. The smoke was getting in the way. But they had their prey’s scent. They followed, cautiously moving down the safe parts of the corridor they knew.

The Redfang Goblins had used their time to flee further. Rabbiteater was working off of Vuliel Drae’s directions still, but he had to check for traps. He was sweating with the effort of his work. Speed or safety? He hesitated, and then ran down a section of the corridor he thought was safe. He didn’t die. The other Hobs followed him.

Rabbiteater was an expert at running fast. He’d caught rabbits, hence his name. He was as close to a [Scout] as the Redfang Warriors had—he would have been one, but he was a better warrior and so Garen had promoted him. Now he ran forwards with reckless abandon. There was a trick to traps. If you were fast enough—

A glow underfoot. Rabbiteater dove and the snaking whip of light went right through his side, rather than his chest. He cried out as the other Hobs paused. They checked the right hand side of the corridor, rushed over to him.

The lance of light had gone right through Rabbiteater’s side. It hadn’t cauterized the wound, strangely. It was just light, not heat. Rabbiteater was already bleeding. He let Shorthilt pour a healing potion into the wound and got up. Headscratcher grabbed his shoulder. Rabbiteater nodded.

Not dead. So long as they weren’t dead, the Hobs could trust to the healing potions to mend their wounds. They’d get tired and lose blood, but they could go on. They’d stolen two potions per Hob. An extravagant amount for the Redfang Warriors, who’d grown used to having one or two healing potions between a group of thirteen.

On! The Raskghar had to be following. Numbtongue had heard a distant howl. The Hobs moved on as Rabbiteater slowed his rapid advance only marginally. They were so preoccupied with advancing that they nearly didn’t hear the heavy tread of echoing footsteps until it was too late.

The Hobs froze. Something was coming. This tunnel had a few alcoves to hide in, so the Goblins did just that. They hid as something came towards them. Whatever it was, it was metallic. Headscratcher saw a huge suit of enchanted armor come walking towards him. It paused as it saw him and raised an old sword. Numbtongue leapt on it from behind and Rabbiteater tackled its legs.

The suit of armor was strong! It threw Numbtongue, but was too slow to stop Shorthilt. He grabbed its right arm. The enchanted armor raised its left and Badarrow grabbed that. It struggled—both Hobs grunted as they used their strength to hold it still. Rabbiteater was holding the legs together and Numbtongue raced to help him. They held the armor still as Headscratcher raised his axe.

The first blow made the armor’s pauldrons ring with the impact. Headscratcher snarled and struck it again with the axe. The blow was heavy with all his force behind it, but the armor barely buckled. The armor was magical! But the Hobs held on and Headscratcher hit it again. And again! And again!

He had lost too many friends. Headscratcher had always been strong, but the grief of losing Bugear, the fury of battle—it had all made him stronger. As a Hob he was twice, perhaps three times as strong as he had been as a Goblin. The third blow bent the armor and Badarrow swore as the impact made his arms go numb. Headscratcher saw the suit of armor struggling to be free. The visored head swiveled back and forth from Badarrow to Shorthilt, outraged, as if demanding to be given a fair fight.

The Goblins didn’t believe in fair fights. Headscratcher raised his axe again.

The sixth blow finally split the armor’s right shoulder. Whatever binding was on the pauldrons came loose and Shorthilt ripped the arm off with a roar. The armor stumbled. Headscratcher abandoned his axe and grabbed the armor’s leg with Rabbiteater as Shorthilt tossed aside his arm and grabbed the head. All five Hobs nodded and they all pulled simultaneously.

The magic resisted the Hobs for a few seconds, and then the weakened enchantment gave. The Hobs tumbled backwards as the suit of armor came apart in a rending screech of old metal. They stumbled upright and grabbed the armor.

Now they had armor. They discarded most of it. The heavy chest piece would slow them down. The suit of armor had been built for a true giant among men. Or some other species. But the gauntlets, the greaves, and other smaller pieces? Loot that could be reused or resized perhaps. The Goblins each took a piece. Numbtongue tried the helmet on and grunted. Too big. He took it anyways. A helmet could save a life when arrows were flying at your head.

The battle had taken minutes. Long. Far too long. The Hobs had expected the Raskghar to appear behind them at any second. But as their heartbeats slowed and the pounding of blood stopped rushing through their ears they realized something was off. They couldn’t hear the howls of pursuit.

Had they escaped their pursuers? They’d run through at least one intersection. But—no. Hunters didn’t give up that easily, and this was the Raskghar’s territory! So why could they hear nothing?

The Hobs listened. Rabbiteater frowned. He had the best ears. And he could hear nothing. Not one sound.

Had something scared the Raskghar off? Or had they found other prey? Were they sneaking up on the Goblins? The Redfang Warriors exchanged a glance. Badarrow drew a finger slowly down his arm and pointed. Rabbiteater nodded. He took point while Badarrow and Numbtongue both watched their backs. This time the Redfang Warriors moved slowly, listening hard.

They knew this game. The Raskghar could be circling around, moving ahead and setting up an ambush. They advanced slowly until the tunnel widened and they entered…a bath house?

The Goblins paused as they entered a larger room. In the center was a long, deep pool filled with water. It would have looked like a swimming pool, if the Goblins had ever seen a swimming pool before. They could only compare it to a bath house, which was in itself a rather abstract concept to them.

It was strange. The Redfang Warriors had listened to Garen Redfang’s exploits time and time again and they were familiar with dungeons. Dungeons came in many forms. Some could be ruined castles, old mansions or cities lost to time. In such places you’d naturally find homes and other rooms once intended for leisure. But this dungeon was clearly a killing field meant to channel adventurers towards monsters and traps. Why was there such a room here?

Perhaps it was for the monsters. They had to drink and eat. The Redfang Goblins edged into the room. Vuliel Drae had described passing through here, but like the Redfang Goblins they’d refused to go anywhere near the water. It looked innocuous enough, but what might be living in the pool?

Something stirred near the far edge. The Goblins froze. They saw something hop backwards and then scuttle out of the room. The Redfang Warriors exchanged a glance and moved on.

How many corridors left? Ten? Eight? They were over halfway there and they hadn’t run into anything after the suit of armor. The sounds of pursuit were gone. That worried them, actually. Numbtongue kept glancing over his shoulder. Of the five Hobs he was probably the weakest, as his duel with the Raskghar had shown. That still meant he was a strong warrior, but if he had a role in the group, it was being smart.

Just…being smart. The fact that Numbtongue could read and speak the common tongue quite fluently made him unique even among other Hobs. He was better at reading and speaking than Garen Redfang, in fact, and it was rumored that he’d learned how to write in both the Human and Drakeish scripts. He was smart. But he was a warrior, which was more important in the Redfang Tribe.

It was Numbtongue who’d memorized every line Vuliel Drae had spoken and pointed left down the next intersection. He was good at remembering. He could remember every word from Erin’s song, the plays he’d listened to…it wasn’t that he had a perfect memory. It was just that he cared about important things. And Numbtongue also thought ahead. He wondered how they’d retrieve the treasure. Apparently it was trapped. Would they have to do the Goblin thing in retrieving it?

Another corridor, a long one. It felt like actual rooms were few and far between. This was a labyrinth, whereas the area that the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt had so patiently attempted to disarm were room after room of challenges. The Redfang Goblins crept onwards. Shorthilt covered the back as Badarrow glanced down a side passage. The Goblin paused as he saw something behind him.

A face. A head. It was low to the ground. Peeking around the corner of the hallway they’d just passed though. It was…too low to the ground. As if whomever was there were lying on the ground and peeking around the corner. But. Shorthilt’s blood chilled. The distant face didn’t look…right.

It was a Human face, eyes wide and staring. A man’s? Shorthilt thought so. Instantly he spoke a word. Three Redfang Warriors whirled while Rabbiteater kept an eye ahead. They stared at the spot Shorthilt was pointing towards.

But the head was gone. The Goblins glanced at Shorthilt. He pointed, spoke a word.

Head.

It was the first word anyone had said since entering the dungeon. The Redfang Warriors exchanged looks. Shorthilt had said ‘head’. Not person. That was because Shorthilt wasn’t sure about what he’d seen. Headscratcher pointed, jerked his thumb. Head back and see? The other three considered it, shook their heads. Badarrow raised a finger and circled with it. Too risky of being snuck up on. He pointed. Rabbiteater nodded.

They moved on. But this time Shorthilt and Numbtongue kept an eye on their rear. They passed down another corridor, lingering to check to make sure nothing was headed towards them. Then they strode into another room.

This one had writing on the walls. Numbtongue paused to stare at it. It looked like…a story? Some kind of warning? He was familiar with Drake writing, and Human writing, and this was neither. It looked vaguely similar to Drake writing but there weren’t any distinguishable words. He shook his head as the others moved though the room. They were on track—Vuliel Drae hadn’t mentioned the words on the wall, though. Numbtongue turned and then cursed.

There was a head staring at them. It disappeared as the Redfang Warriors turned again. It had been fast. Numbtongue had barely seen it. But it had been a head alright.

Head?

Shorthilt looked questioningly at Numbtongue. The Hob nodded.

“Raskghar.”

Shorthilt stopped. Numbtongue looked at him, sensing the Goblin’s sudden change in wariness. He raised his shoulders. What? Shorthilt hesitated and pointed back down the corridor.

Human.

The other Goblins stared at him. Shorthilt had seen a Human head. Not a Raskghar, staring blankly at him. Numbtongue’s skin crawled. He looked at the others. Headscratcher pointed. He shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the two. He wanted them to explain.

“Head. Low. Here.”

Numbtongue bent down and showed the others what he’d seen. A staring head, low to the ground. Too low. Peeking around as if…as if something was watching them. A Raskghar? But it had looked so…

The other Redfang Warriors looked at Numbtongue’s pantomime as Shorthilt nodded. They looked at each other uneasily. That didn’t look right. Headscratcher pointed. He walked two fingers back slowly and pointed at Badarrow. The Hob nodded.

Slowly, the Hobs left the room. Badarrow took a position at the doorway, watching the entrance. He waited as the other Hobs proceeded down the corridor, and then backed up. Not once did he turn around. Back down the next corridor, Numbtongue urging him backwards with low words. Badarrow did not want to get too far from the group. He kept staring. Now they were far from the room they’d left. He didn’t blink. And as he heard the other Hobs taking a few more wary steps he saw it.

A head, poking around the doorway. This one was a Human head. Male. Balding. Was it the one Shorthilt had seen? It peeked out, not turning but—Badarrow swore and loosed an arrow.

The head vanished before the arrow was halfway towards it. This time the Redfang Warriors froze. They heard the arrow crack against a distant wall. And then silence. They were ready for something. Anything. But the head didn’t reappear. Badarrow muttered. He looked at Numbtongue, gestured. The other Hobs waited for Numbtongue to make sense of it.

“Head not turn…not…not moving right?”

Numbtongue spoke quietly. Badarrow garbled an answer, nodded, showed Numbtongue what he meant. The Hob’s conclusion was quiet.

“Head not turning. Peek out—can’t move. Not like that. Not if it was attached to body.”

The Redfang Warriors looked at him. Headscratcher tightened his grip on his axe. Of course, they hadn’t expected adventurers to act like that. But what could it be?

What was following them? Had it killed the Raskghar? The Redfang Warriors came to a quick conclusion. If it had scared away or done in thirty of the Raskghar…they were no match. Headscratcher pointed towards Rabbiteater, uttered a command.

Faster. They picked up the pace. Down one corridor, around another. They watched their backs. The head popped up every time they rounded a corner. It felt like the head was watching them. And it felt like whatever was following was moving faster each time. A bit faster.

Creeping up on them. And what could they do if it decided it was time? The Redfang Goblins searched for a spot to take cover, to use as a chokepoint. Advantageous terrain. But they were following Vuliel Drae’s directions. And as they were all suddenly, painfully aware, they could find the treasure room. But getting back would mean taking a new route and getting lost—

Or going back and confronting whatever was behind them. Shorthilt nudged Rabbiteater, mimed asking about his [Dangersense]. Numbtongue thought. He made a strangled noise. The Hobs walked faster.

Too soon, the Redfang Goblins were walking down a long corridor when Numbtonuge called a halt. Badarrow muttered an oath—the head was peeking. He raised his bow and the head disappeared. Then two came back.

Raskghar and Human. Both leaned out from around the corner as all the Redfang Warriors stared. Both heads, practically on top of each other. If they had been alive the Raskghar would have had to be lying on the Human.

If they had been alive. But neither face blinked. Badarrow drew an arrow to his string and hesitated. The heads were waiting. Just staring.

“Here.”

Numbtongue’s voice didn’t quite shake. He pressed a hand to a section of wall and it vanished. He strode down the corridor. A long corridor with an open doorway to the left. A secret passageway.

With no way out. The Redfang Goblins hesitated, but there was no other option. They backed into the passageway. It could hold two of them abreast. Better, perhaps. They could hold off an enemy, let Badarrow shoot while they held whatever it was off. But on the other hand…

It was almost an afterthought to see the treasure room. Almost. Numbtongue stared at the pedestal in the center of the room, through a doorway without a door. Pedestals, in fact.

Three of them. One held a bundle of white cloth tied up with golden string. The second, a bell made of bronze and blue metal, half and half. The third? A necklace, a stone darker than obsidian with something carved on it, held on a long chain of glowing silver metal. All three objects made Numbtongue’s breath catch in his throat. He didn’t enter the room, though. He wasn’t an idiot.

The room was trapped. Trapped and deadly, according to the masked woman Vuliel Drae had met. And it must have been some trap to keep adventurers from going for the treasure. Rabbiteater could sense the danger too—he was grabbing at Numbtongue’s arm and shaking his head vehemently. The five Goblins all peeked at the treasure as Shorthilt and Headscratcher stood in front of Badarrow, facing the corridor.

It was coming. They had to make a plan. Fight, obviously. But grab the items first? The Goblins had no idea what the trap was, but they did have a solution. Rabbiteater pointed towards the objects. He could run in and grab one, throw it out and then try the others. It was a maneuver that would mostly likely kill him. But that was what the Goblins had agreed they would try.

A Goblin’s life for an artifact. Any Goblin would call it a good trade. They had had other plans they could execute. Trying to grab the artifacts with a rope, knocking them off the pedestals with an arrow—using a monster or Raskghar to get it. But they had no time.

And they didn’t know how far the trap extended. The five hobs glanced at each other. Rabbiteater’s face was set. It was Badarrow who grunted and shook his head.

Don’t risk it. He pointed towards the end of the corridor. It was coming. Rabbiteater hesitated. He raised his hand and tapped his head. The others looked at him. Rabbiteater made a sound. It was a small scream.

His [Dangersense] was telling them—the Hobs looked at each other. Numbtongue bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. He looked around.

Narrow corridor. Treasure room. No way out except the way they’d come. That thing was already waiting there. It had heads. It was—

An uttered oath. Headscratcher had seen a head poke around. Not the ones from earlier. This one was Drake. Female. Staring. It peered at him and Badarrow loosed an arrow. The head vanished. The arrow broke.

So quick! Numbtongue’s blood chilled as he readied his axe. There had to be something they could do! He was smart. This was his job. He studied the group. Healing potions, rocks, sling, bags. He saw Headscratcher arming himself with a vambrace from the enchanted suit of armor. Armor, a scant defense. But there had to be something more! Rabbiteater had his sling out. He was a better shot with that. Badarrow had his bow—

Sheets? Shorthilt tossed his bag to the ground, readying himself for a single decisive strike. The head poked around the corner again. A staring Human with hair. And then a Raskghar. The balding Human. The Drake. And a Gnoll. Five heads. One for each Goblin. They stared blankly. Not smiling, not frowning either. Just staring with wide, wide eyes. Unblinking.

The Goblins waited. Their pulses rose. Badarrow aimed from head to head, but didn’t waste the arrow. Numbtongue’s mind was empty. Heads. Monster. Rabbiteater was groaning, his [Dangersense] telling him what was waiting there. Numbtongue glanced at the treasure room. Salvation was one of the artifacts. But which one? Cloak? Necklace? Bell? He looked at the heads. They pulled back.

Now—Numbtongue turned. He threw something into the treasure room with a crash. Shorthilt’s gaze shifted over, flicked back. He saw something move around the corner—

 

—-

 

Darkness. Headscratcher woke up on the floor. He stared up. He could see the corridor above him, dark, the ceiling ten feet overhead. He could hear a shuffling sound. But he couldn’t see what it was. And neither could he move. He lay on the ground and realized he was propped up on something.

Shorthilt. The other Hob was lying at an angle, eyes wide, body slumped against a wall. He was alive—Headscratcher could feel his pulse thundering wildly. But he couldn’t move.

None of the Hobs could. They lay where they had fallen, puppets filled with life as something shuffled around the corner into the secret tunnel.

It was Badarrow who had the best view. He’d fallen into a sitting position, his bow awkwardly propping him up. He saw a head appear around the corner, the bald Human’s. It stared at him, and then moved out more. Badarrow saw the neck come out—and then nothing. He stared as the head seemed to disappear past the neck. Then he realized it was attached.

It was on a stick. The staring Human’s face stared at Badarrow. It was joined by the Raskghar head and the Drake head. And followed by a hand.

It was large. Brown. Not furred, but leathery, a cracked, huge thing with long, thick fingers. And then an arm, as large as Badarrow’s chest. A torso—a—body—

Something shuffled around the corner, holding the heads. Five, three in the left hand, two in the right. It was leathery, skin cracked and old. It had two thick arms with six claws each. The claws were opposable, and gripped long sticks that were jammed into the neck of each head. And the thing that held them?

It had no head. No neck. Just a rounded upper torso with two gaping holes where the eyes should be. The sockets were dark and Badarrow couldn’t see if there were actually eyes in them. They were gaping ruins in its face. And it’s legs. It shuffled closer on stumps of legs. Then Badarrow realized.

It was kneeling. To enter the small tunnel the thing was kneeling. It was tall. And though it looked thick, if it stood to its full height it would be long and—Badarrow struggled with all his might to move.

Move! Raise his bow! Loose an arrow at it! But he couldn’t. He was paralyzed. Forced to stare. The thing rotated a head towards him. Badarrow saw a blank, staring Drake’s face, her eyes wide, unmoving. Was that how it saw?

Then he saw the sack. It was bloody, stained. The thing pushed it slowly over with one hand as it intruded in the corridor. It crept closer, shuffling on its…knees? The gaping sockets peered at the five Goblins.

A claw rose. Badarrow saw the thing stuff the heads it carried into the bag. It crept closer. The Hob struggled. Move a finger! Open his mouth to shout! Something.

Anything. He couldn’t do a thing. Badarrow could see Headscratcher and Shorthilt lying in front of him. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue were next to him. Their chests rose and fell but the Hobs were still. And the thing was creeping closer. It reached down and Badarrow saw it touch Headscratcher’s neck. It traced a line down his neck as beads of sweat ran down Headscratcher’s face.

Slowly. Lovingly. The thing had no talons. Just brute fingers. It bent and Badarrow saw into one of the gaping sockets. It went back too far into the thing’s head. Ruined flesh. And in the depths, something bright and dark. It swiveled to look at him. The thing turned.

It lifted Shorthilt up, a hand on the Hob’s chest, another around his neck. The thing squeezed gently and Badarrow saw the Hob’s eyes widen. Shorthilt’s entire body gave the weakest of twitches. Nothing more.

The fingers of the hollow-eyed thing began to close. They constricted slowly around Shorthilt’s neck, squeezing. Tighter. Tighter. The Hob was trying to move. Badarrow could see Headscratcher’s chest rising and falling faster. He tried to move—

“Nn.”

A voice. The thing turned. It stopped squeezing Shorthilt’s neck, dropped the Hob. It turned to look past Badarrow.

At Numbtongue. It crept forwards, over Headscratcher’s body, past Shorthilt. Badarrow heard the Hobs’ bodies creaking as the thing shuffled over them. It brushed him aside and lifted Numbtongue up. The Hob made another sound.

“Nn.”

It was all he could do. Slumped now, Badarrow saw the Hob staring defiantly into the thing’s sockets. It held him, fingers pressing slowly into his neck. Numbtongue’s face darkened. His flesh deformed. His eyes bulged. And moved.

Something happened. Badarrow saw the thing pause. It stared past Numbtongue. At…what? At something beyond him. In the treasure room. Slowly it dropped Numbtongue. Badarrow struggled to move, to see! He saw the thing shuffle past the Hob. Into the treasure room! It hesitated as it squeezed itself in. And then it passed the threshold—

There was a sound like a sigh. Suddenly Badarrow sat up. He heard a cry, saw Rabbiteater leap to his feet. The Redfang Warriors scrambled up and Badarrow lurched towards the doorway—

And froze. The thing was standing on the doorway, two six-fingers hands pressed up against a shining barrier of light. It was trapped in the treasure room! And whatever effect it had had on the Goblins had ended when the magic trap activated. Now it was pressed up against the barrier. And it was holding something in one hand.

A helmet. A steel helmet. A closed visor. If you looked at it right you could almost imagine it was a…head. Badarrow stared at Numbtongue. The Hob was gasping, coughing as he backed away from the room. The thing inside, the collector of heads, stared at the Redfang Warriors. Just stared.

And then the trap began to activate. At first, all the Hobs could see was a fine mist descending from above. Then they saw the thing’s flesh began to slough off. The acid poured down in a mist, melting the thing. Then fire burned. It engulfed the room, a searing blaze. The thing stood, its flesh smoking, not burning. Its hide was tough.

And then there was a hissing sound. Magic arrows blasted every corner of the room, avoiding the pedestals. The thing stood. The wind turned to blades. Water filled the room as the trap continued. It was melting, dying, its body disintegrating. But it just stared.

At the Redfang Goblins. From face to face, as if it was memorizing them. The five Hobs stood, watching the trap continue.

Water became acid again. And then fire. The trap continued. It didn’t stop. And as the second cycle began, the thing seemed to realize it couldn’t outwait the trap. It drew back a fist and struck the barrier. The Hobs heard a dull thump. The magic shimmered brighter but didn’t change. The thing drew back both hands and struck again.

Thump. The barrier held. The thing hit. Thump. Badarrow backed up from the doorway. The other Hobs drew their weapons as the thing struck again. Thump.

Thump. It was melting. The brown leather had flaked off, revealing something red and yellow underneath. Some kind of skeleton? Something else? It was a mess of blood and melted flesh. It struck the barrier. The blow was heavy.

Thump. Badarrow thought he saw something shift around the doorframe.

Thump. The thing’s hands were melting. It didn’t have—the fingers—Badarrow thought it would quit. Then its torso drew back. It slammed against the magical barrier.

Thump. The stones shook. A puff of powdered masonry dislodged itself. The Hobs backed up against the far wall nervously.

The trap was killing it. But the thing was still alive. Fire consumed its body.

Thump.

Arrows of light tore pieces of it away.

Thump.

Water drowned it. It didn’t breathe.

Thump.

It was staring at them. The barrier was fading. The acid had melted it. Its head was deformed. It was exposed, its brown leather exterior revealing a yellow and bloody red mess. The eyes—

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The Redfang Warriors backed up. Thump. The thing was staring at them. The magic faded. The thing pulled back its melting head. Part of it sloughed off. It slammed its head. Thump. Thump.

Th—

 

—-

 

This time it was Numbtongue who woke up first. He saw the empty room, felt a burning pain on his legs and shouted. The other Hobs were up in seconds. They stared around wildly.

The thing was gone. The magic barrier in the trap room had broken, as had the walls. They were partially torn open, stone bricks lying on the ground. The room was still filled with dissolved flesh, part of the thing. But it had gone.

And it had left behind the sack of heads. The Hobs stared around. Badarrow ran out into the main corridor with Shorthilt. The thing had left a trail of flesh and acid. It stopped after twenty feet. The Hobs looked at each other. Headscratcher opened the bloody bag. He stared into it and silently showed what was inside to Rabbiteater. The two Hobs stared into the bag and closed it. They refused to let the other three Redfang Warriors see what was inside. They left the bag where it was and refused to go near it.

The trap room was still filled with traces of acid. Numbtongue had gotten some on his legs and stomach. From where the thing had crawled over him to get away? The healing potion neutralized it, as did scrubbing fiercely at the spots with Erin’s bed sheet. Numbtongue looked into the trap room and took a deep breath. The three objects were still standing on the pedestals. He stepped into the room and waited.

Nothing happened. The magic had been broken. Slowly, Numbtongue reached for the bundle of cloth. He didn’t touch it, but rather poked it into one of the hemp bags, using the handle of his axe. He did the same for the necklace and bell, storing them in separate bags, making sure, very sure that the bell didn’t ring.

Then the Goblins looked at each other. They’d done it. They’d found the treasure. But they didn’t feel relieved. They had no idea whether that thing with the heads was dying or dead. They stared at the sack lying on the floor. Then they turned and ran.

 

—-

 

They didn’t run far. That was a way to die. But the Goblin did march quickly back down the corridors. They stared in every direction and Badarrow kept looking behind him. Waiting to see a head peeking out from a corner. He never did, but that didn’t stop him from thinking he did. The other Redfang Warriors moved in silence, shaken.

What they’d seen—what that thing was—it was like something from the High Passes. One of the dark things. Far worse than Crelers. Why had it collected heads? Were there more of it? Why—

It was easy to trace their steps back. But in their haste, the Redfang Goblins nearly walked into the pile of dead Raskghar. Only Rabbiteater’s strangled exclamation warned them before they walked into the silent forms. The Raskghar lay where they had been killed, headless. Nearly thirty of them. The Redfang Warriors avoided the corpses and hurried back. Badarrow kept looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t dead. It wasn’t dead. And it had looked at them. At him.

Memorizing his face. Was it hiding? Why hadn’t it tried to kill them? Maybe it was too injured to keep them paralyzed for long. Maybe—

Two corridors away from the exit of the dungeon Badarrow saw it. A face. It peeked out of the corridor. He screamed, raised his bow and loosed an arrow. In his fear, his shot was wide. The arrow flew past the face and Badarrow heard an exclamation. The head twisted and he realized it wasn’t a disemboweled head! It was a—Goblin.

A Goblin. The small, pallid thing had far paler skin than the Redfang Goblins, and it was small, malnourished. But it was clearly a Goblin. The Redfang Warriors stared. The small Goblin stared at them. It had a sling in its hands. It whirled it and threw. The stone shot past Headscratcher. He stared.

Then they heard a howl. Behind the Goblin a dark shape bounded forwards. A Raskghar, followed by more of its kin and smaller Cave Goblins! They were armed and the Cave Goblins rushed forwards with uncertain shouts, staring wide-eyed at the Hobs.

For a second the Redfang Warriors were stunned. Then their reflexes kicked in. They turned and ran as the Raskghar hunting party pursued them. There were dozens of Raskghar and countless more Cave Goblins. They flooded the corridors, scaring the other monsters away. The Redfang Warriors ran, tracing their route back. Death came flooding down every corridor. But it was almost a relief. They spotted the rift and ran towards the walls leading up. But there were no ropes! They would have to climb.

Badarrow spun and raised his bow. He loosed an arrow and dropped the Raskghar in front. Headscratcher boosted Shorthilt up and turned. He punched a Goblin so hard it dropped, raised his axe, and then changed his mind and kicked another Goblin. They backed away as Headscratcher and Badarrow lashed out with fists, pummeling the small Goblins rather than slaughtering them.

Arrows were flying through the air. Numbtongue cried out in pain as one pierced his shoulder but he kept climbing. Headscratcher swore and pulled something from his belt. Another smoke bag? No, they’d stolen—

The vial broke and Badarrow gagged as Octavia’s stink potion exploded in his nostrils. He nearly vomited there and then, and saw the Cave Goblins staggering back, gagging. They were able to move though and one took a slice out of his calf with a dagger. Badarrow clubbed the Goblin with his bow.

The effect on the Raskghar was ten times stronger, though. The Hobs heard a howl as the Gnoll’s distant cousins writhed in agony, covering their noses, vomiting, or simply running to get out of range of the deathly odor. The Hobs took that opportunity. Badarrow and Headscratcher leapt for the walls, kicking Goblins swarming after them. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater were already at the water’s edge. They raised their arms and pulled themselves up into the water. Shorthilt followed and Headscratcher climbed after him.

Badarrow was about to enter the water when he felt a thud in his back. An arrow from one of the Raskghar! He twisted and another struck him in the shoulder. Headscratcher looked down at his friend and shouted. Badarrow grunted. He didn’t feel—

His grip slipped. He nearly fell, but Headscratcher grabbed him. The Hob hauled him up and somehow pulled Badarrow into the water as the Cave Goblins tried to pull him down. Headscratcher roared and then took a breath. Weakly, Badarrow did the same. Their heads plunged into the water overhead.

And then they were swimming. Or rather, Headscratcher was. One hand stroked and he kicked with both legs as he carried Badarrow with his other arm. Badarrow tried to paddle as well but he felt—tired. Poison? Right, the arrows had been…

It was a long way to the surface. Nearly a hundred feet overhead the light was shining dimly, obscured by moving shapes. Fish. Headscratcher strained, pulling his body and Badarrow’s up with every laborious kick. He struggled towards the light. But it was so far.

And there was blood in the water. Fish were attracted to Badarrow’s wounds. They swam around the two Hobs, some biting, others curious. Headscratcher tried to ward them away as he swam. But he was out of breath. He could swim a hundred feet up if he’d been by himself and hadn’t been exhausted. But two people?

A hand on his arm. The one that was gripping Badarrow. Headscratcher felt Badarrow trying to make him let go. One of them could make it. But Headscratcher refused to loosen his grip. Never. Never again. He’d rather die than…than…

Blackness. Again, creeping at the thoughts. Darkness. Headscratcher felt weary. It wasn’t fair! They’d done it. They’d come away with the treasure. But two wouldn’t make it. At least Numbtongue had the artifacts. At least…

So this was it. Headscratcher struggled, but the sky was far, far away. It was a good trade, in the end. They’d done it. Survived a dungeon. Sacrificed, taken treasure adventurers couldn’t get. That was worth it. That was a good Goblin death. That was good. Wasn’t it?

He wished he could see Erin again. One more time. Say something. Anything. He could almost see her face, smiling, asking him if he was really okay. It was funny. Headscratcher thought he was having a vision of her in the water. It looked like she was right there. Swimming towards him—

Erin reached down and grabbed Headscratcher. He stared at her, the blackness consuming him. Erin pulled something off her finger and clumsily fumbled it onto his. Headscratcher stared. And then he inhaled.

And he felt oxygen flood into his lungs. Pure, clear, air! Only it wasn’t air! It was water! But he could breathe it! He stared at the ring on his finger as he gasped, and then grabbed Badarrow. The Hob’s eyes were closed, but as Headscratcher shoved the ring onto his pinkie finger the Hob’s eyes widened suddenly. He gasped and Headscratcher realized his lungs were full of water. He began to choke and saw Erin was doing the same. Then he felt something yank him up.

Headscratcher, Erin, and Badarrow were pulled up through the water faster than any of them could swim! They passed by a swimming Pisces, making the water boil around a fish, Jelaqua, grappling with one of the giant black octopus-fish, Seborn, nimbly stabbing a swimming Raskghar as he breathed the water like air, and a sinking Dawil, flailing with hammer in hand. And then they broke out of the water and hung, vomiting water and gasping fresh, cool air.

The rain stung Headscratcher’s face. It was pouring! He turned and saw who had carried them out of the water. Falene, Typhenous, and Moore, standing on a hilltop! They pointed and Erin and the two Hobs floated towards them. By their side Ceria was shooting [Ice Spikes] into the water and Revi’s summoned warriors were shooting arrows with Halrac at the fish hounding the other Redfang Warriors and adventurers in the water.

“There they are!”

“Quick, get them out of the water! Damn it, someone get Dawil!”

“Where’s Ylawes!?”

“He’s got a Raskghar! Pull him up!”

The [Mages] were shouting as the other adventurers surfaced and pulled themselves into boats manned by scared-looking Drakes and Gnolls. The waters were churning with motion. The two Hobs and Erin were unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Headscratcher landed and scrabbled for a healing potion for Badarrow. He poured it over his friend, slapping Badarrow’s face urgently until the Hob punched him back. Then Headscratcher just lay back.

“Hey.”

A voice made Headscratcher sit up weakly. He saw Erin, still breathing hard, panting and looking at him as the other adventurers struggled out of the water. She pointed to the ring on Badarrow’s fingers.

“Give that back to Ksmvr later, will you? That’s his. He lent it to me.”

Headscratcher stared at her and then fumbled with the ring. Erin shook her head.

“Later…you okay?”

Slowly, Headscratcher nodded. Erin gazed at him, then she punched him weakly.

“Don’t do that. Don’t…”

She trailed off weakly. Headscratcher hung his head. He hadn’t thought anyone would notice they’d gone. But somehow, Erin had. And she’d known exactly where they were.

“You did it. You actually did.”

Erin’s voice roused him. Headscratcher looked up and saw that she was staring at Numbtongue. The Hob looked drowned like the others, but he was holding the three bags filled with the artifacts tightly to his chest. The other adventurers were staring at him incredulously. Erin breathed out.

“Adventurers. I said you were, and Selys didn’t believe me.”

Headscratcher blinked. He pointed to himself questioningly, then at Badarrow. Erin nodded.

“That’s what you should be. That’s what I tried to get Selys to do. You should be adventurers. Goblin adventurers.”

Adventurers? Headscratcher couldn’t believe his ears. Like Garen Redfang? Like…them? He looked at his friends. His companions. Badarrow, sitting up groggily, Rabbiteater, still coughing up water. Shorthilt, the most unscathed but hopping mad because he’d dropped his sword while swimming, and Numbtongue. The one who’d saved them with a clever trick. All they’d done was go into a dungeon and loot it. Stole from it, really. Goblins were good at stealing things. But wasn’t that what adventurers did? When you really thought about it…

Adventurers. He had to admit, it had a nice ring to it. But it was too much to take in. Headscratcher lay on the grass. He stared up at the sky as rain hit him on the face. It was still raining. He was exhausted, hurt, and still frightened of what he had seen. But he was alive. The Hob lay there and began to laugh. After a while, Erin started laughing too.

They were alive.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.16 S

“Uncle?”

The Drake was dozing, or just daydreaming absentmindedly. He looked up, startled, and then smiled.

“Selys! I was wondering when I’d see my favorite niece.”

“Your favorite one? What about all the others ones you have?”

Selys Shivertail smiled a bit as she walked over to the table, passing by a white Gnoll cub lying on the floor and snoozing. She sat at the table and eyed the cup and pitcher the Drake was drinking from.

“Drinking alone? Or am I interrupting?”

He chuckled and pulled a chair out.

“Hardly. But don’t drink from the pitcher—it’ll knock you off your tail. I’m always glad for company—I was just sitting and reminiscing.”

“Sounds good to me. And yeah, Erin makes weird drinks. You should have seen this blue fruit drink she used to make.”

Selys sat at the table. It was quiet in the inn, the only sound being the low buzz of Mrsha’s snores. Zel Shivertail looked at Selys with a smile. She smiled, a bit awkwardly.

“It’s been a long time, Uncle Zel. When was the last time you visited? Four years ago?”

“Could be. I’d visit more, but you know how it is. Duties and so on.”

“You mean, fighting a war between the Trisstral Alliance and Salazsar?”

“Ah. You heard about that?”

Selys rolled her eyes and her tail curled slightly in mock annoyance.

“Uncle, you picked a fight with a Walled City! Of course everyone was talking about it!”

“It was more of a trade dispute. Salazsar was trying to enforce its claim over its gemstone monopoly and I was asked so…I won the dispute, as you may recall.”

“And then the Goblin Lord showed up and you followed him here. You stay pretty busy, don’t you?”

“If I said I came here to visit you and your aunt, would that win me any points?”

The young Drake woman laughed. Zel grinned as he eyed her from head to tail. She hadn’t changed much. Selys was a young Drake in her prime, just past twenty years of age. She didn’t look much different from other city Drakes her age.

She was dressed stylishly despite the winter chill—contrasting colors was in—and she was a hard worker, stubborn at times, opinionated at others. But a far cry from Zel who was older, a [General] who still wore his armor in the inn out of sheer habit. But they were family, however distant.

“Favorite niece. I thought you were just humoring me whenever you visited when I was young, but Tekshia told me you’d like me to say hi.”

The younger Drake looked thoughtfully at her Uncle. He shrugged, a bit awkwardly.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that or it’ll cause some kind of incident. But I do mean it. Of all the Drakes claiming to be related to me, you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a hero or a symbol.”

Selys frowned.

“Really? There’s got to be one…”

Zel smiled.

“That would be you.”

“Huh.”

The two Drakes sat at the table for a little bit in silence. It wasn’t a bad silence; for all they were part strangers, they had known each other too long to be uncomfortable with each other.

“That’s not good. If I’m your favorite niece, how’s the rest of the family? You see me once every year at most.”

The Drake [General] grimaced and turned his face. Selys still saw it. He replied casually as he could.

“Intimacy leads to strife. At least, among the Drakes. There’s not a single older member of my family who I’ve had a half-decent conversation with. Well, except for a few distant relatives. Your Aunt Tekshia is one of them I’m glad to say.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed.”

“…Did you see her? She said she’d talked to you.”

Zel nodded. He traced a pattern on the grain of the table’s surface with one claw.

“I visited her on the second day I arrived at Liscor. She kept asking me whether I’ll have grandchildren. Aside from that it was cordial.”

Selys paused. An unspoken secret floated between the two. Zel knew that Selys knew, but Selys avoided the topic as adroitly as any [Receptionist].

“Grandmother is like that. I hope you had a good time otherwise. She likes hearing war stories, you know.”

“I did entertain her with a few tales. She liked me talking about knocking out Wall Lord Ilvriss. He’s in the city, you know.”

“I heard. Why’s he in Liscor? Didn’t he lose his entire army to the Goblin Lord? Is he coming north for revenge too?”

Zel hesitated. Selys didn’t need to hear about his mysterious meeting with Ryoka Griffin or the dark news she had imparted to him. She was a [Receptionist], not an adventurer. Ancestors, a [Receptionist]. It was such a mundane job. And he had known her parents…

The [General] caught himself glancing at Selys, only to realize she was staring at him from the side. She looked away, blushing, her tail twitching. Zel eyed her, and then sighed.

“Ask.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“No, but you were thinking it. I won’t be offended. Believe me, I’ve met Drakes with far less tact than you’re showing, and that was my father. What’s on your mind?”

The Drake waited as Selys mustered her thoughts. He expected any one of a hundred questions for her to ask. He hoped it was nothing that would open a rift between them, but she had been younger when he’d seen her last. And too afraid then to ask. So he waited.

When Selys did come up with a question, it surprised Zel.

“Are you…lonely?”

The Drake blinked at her. Selys looked back at him. He wavered.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have anyone in your life. And you keep moving from city to city. Everyone always talks about you like a hero—unless you’re telling the Walled Cities how stupid they are for fighting and not dealing with the Antinium, that is. But is it lonely? You don’t have subordinates. You used to teach other [Generals] like Garusa Weatherfur. But now…”

Selys trailed off. Zel looked at her and felt old. What a question. Four years ago Selys was a junior [Receptionist] in the Adventurer’s Guild still arguing with her grandmother. Now she was an adult. He blinked and realized she was waiting for his answer. Zel coughed and replied after a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m a soldier, Selys. A [General]. I don’t have time for personal relationships most of the time, and I’m not inclined to cause a stir.”

“I know. But if—no, never mind. Why are you staying at Erin’s inn, anyways? She said you liked it here because of her cooking. But is that really it? You could stay at any inn in Liscor you wanted.”

Selys’, tail twitched as she smiled at her uncle. She wanted to ask him more, he could tell. But maybe she wasn’t ready. Selys turned the conversation away and Zel felt a pang. Maybe in two more  years he could talk to her about—well, it wasn’t as if he needed someone’s shoulder to lean on, especially not his niece. But he smiled as he replied.

“I like it here. It’s peaceful.”

Selys half-turned in her chair to eye Mrsha.

“That’s true. But only half the time. Erin’s inn always has something weird going on, Uncle. Have you seen her do anything crazy?”

He laughed.

“Occasionally. But I still appreciate staying here. Despite her mistakes, Miss Solstice is quite caring, and her staff works hard. The little Gnoll also keeps me on my toes. I…well, it’s better being here.”

“So you’ll stay here longer? Or are you going? No one asked you to fight the Goblin Lord, you know.”

“No. But it’s my duty.”

Selys’ forehead wrinkled. It reminded Zel of her growing up, making the same expression when she was vexed.

“Don’t you get a break? You’re a hero of two Antinium Wars! Don’t you wish you could tell everyone to leave you alone for a while?”

Zel paused. He’d taken a sip of the drink in his cup and the inn pressed down on him for a moment. He lowered the cup and sat quietly for a moment.

“Sometimes, Selys. Sometimes. But whatever I want doesn’t matter. I have to be the shield of the Drakes—I am that symbol, for however much I’m ignored politically. Drakes are a curious people. We fight, we squabble and tear each other down, but we sacrifice for each other too.”

She looked at him, ready to be angry. But that anger drained away as she looked at her uncle’s face. Zel shrugged self-consciously.

“Sorry about the philosophy. I suppose I’m just nostalgic. Miss Erin served me what she calls her ‘faerie flower drink’ and it’s quite something.”

“Oh, that? Don’t drink that!”

Selys reached over and pushed the cup away from Zel. She rolled her eyes.

“Honestly! I told Erin that’s not a drink you give—are you okay, Uncle?”

“Never better. And I’m quite alright, Selys. Don’t worry about it—it was an interesting experience.”

Zel sat up in his chair as Selys regarded the pitcher with a disgusted look. He smiled.

“Enough about me. I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories—most of them untrue, I’ll wager. What about you, Selys? Tell me about your job. Are you still working in the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Yes. And there’s nothing interesting about it, Uncle. It’s just a job.”

“Tekshia tells me you work hard.”

“Hah! She never says that to my face! Look, I get paid and then I have fun. It’s nothing, Uncle. I’m not a child anymore.”

“So you’ve given up on being a dashing adventurer?”

Selys’ scales reddened, standing out on her green complexion.

“That was when I was twelve Uncle!”

“I still remember you practicing with a sword and begging me to teach you how to claw fight.”

“Ancestors, please don’t bring that up!”

The young Drake woman covered her face in embarrassment. Zel laughed and relented.

“Very well. Your job is satisfyingly boring, then?”

Selys nodded in relief.

“The most excitement I have is coming here. Did you know I met Erin the first week she arrived here? She walked into the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Really? Tell me about that.”

“If you insist. Okay, I was working at the desk when she just walked in and asked if this place was a smithy! She didn’t read the sign or anything. Which, if you know Erin is typical of her…”

Selys scooted her chair closer to the table. Zel smiled as he abandoned his drink and his quiet mood. He let Selys talk about meeting Erin, her job, her attempts at dating, the fights she’d had with her grandmother, and then they ate dinner together. They were more friends than uncle and niece and when Selys said goodbye, it was fondly, with a kiss on the cheek.

“Next time you can visit me. Just not when I’m at work, okay, Uncle? If you walk into the Adventurer’s Guild, every Drake and Gnoll will want to shake your claw or kiss your feet or something.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Zel smiled as Selys bade him goodbye. Three days later, he left for the north. Selys heard of his alliance with Magnolia Reinhart two days after that. She never talked to him again. But sometimes she remembered what her grandmother had told her. And she wondered—

 

—-

 

“Selys?”

The Drake jerked and sat up. Selys Shivertail looked around as memory was upstaged by reality. She saw Erin looking at her, and realized half the adventurers in the room were looking at her. Guiltily, Selys sat up.

“Sorry, what’d I miss?”

“We were getting to the monster—or thing these Goblins found in the dungeon.”

Typhenous stroked his beard as he stood with his team around the table. Selys, sitting at another table Erin had pulled closer, glanced at the five Goblins sitting in the center of an audience of people. Five adventuring teams filled the inn—the Silver Swords, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Horns of Hammerad, and the team of Vuliel Drae. Added to them was Olesm and Selys, both of whom had been summoned at the news of what had transpired in the dungeon—between the Goblins and Vuliel Drae.

It was a headache and Selys was already wondering how her grandmother would take the news. Probably by telling Vuliel Drae to go right back in the dungeon and get eaten. She glanced at Olesm, wondering how the [Strategist] was taking the news. Then she realized the Goblins were talking.

Well, sort of talking. Between the five of them they’d said very little. Their ‘speaker’, the Goblin that Erin said was named Numbtongue was reticent, and the others preferred to gesture with their hands and bodies. They’d plotted a course through the dungeon, pausing to answer questions from the adventures of what they’d seen. It was the mundane descriptions and pausing to ask ‘what does that mean?’ that had made Selys trail off.

Now however, the adventurers were focused listening to the description of Face Collector, the monster that the Goblins had met. The name was what Erin had dubbed him and it bothered Selys that his description was so close to Skinner’s. It bothered the other adventurers too.

“Tell us again what you saw. And one of you answer in words. I’m sick of sign language.”

Revi glared at the other Goblins. They glanced at each other and four of them poked Numbtongue. He glared, but answered.

“Head. Sticking out from around corner. Watching us. Like this.”

Headscratcher got up and hurried over to the inn’s door. He opened it, stared at the rain pounding down, and then hurried into the kitchen instead. All of the adventurers stared as Headscratcher’s head poked out, wide and staring. Selys grimaced as she imagined that staring at her down a dark tunnel.

Erin shuddered.

“That’s creepy! You said there was a head staring at you? Just like that?”

All four Goblins nodded. Halrac looked at Jelaqua.

“Ring a bell?”

The Selphid shook her head.

“Nothing. And I’ve seen freaks in Baleros who collect all kinds of things. But that’s [Soldiers] and [Bounty Hunters]. Not a monster. Ylawes, you run into something like this?”

“Not us. And that paralysis effect—”

“What did the heads look like?”

Yvlon interrupted the Gold-rank adventurers. She stared hard at Numbtongue. He hesitated.

“Bald. Man. Older. Beard.”

He looked at the others and they nodded. Yvlon turned to Selys. The blond woman was grim.

“Does that match any of the descriptions of the missing adventurers?”

All eyes turned to Selys. She hesitated as she flipped through her notes. Adventurers came and went, but she had a few written descriptions of some of the adventuring teams who’d gone into the dungeon and never come back.

“Uh—bald? Human? It could be one of two adventurers that went missing in the dungeon. Oh wait—one of those is female. Probably this guy, then.”

She nodded at the others. The adventures listened as she read a description out and the Redfang Goblins confirmed it. Selys saw two of the members of Vuliel Drae look at each other in horror. It was a grim meeting, for all the Goblins had emerged from the dungeon with treasure.

Treasure! Selys would have been shocked at the latest developments, but today she couldn’t find the energy. She was…occupied. So much so that the continuing discussion was just wearying to her, rather than important.

Raskghar ambushes, some kind of guardian monster with a paralysis effect—and an excessively punitive magical trap. Think this dungeon’s anything but a vengeance dungeon, Jelaqua?

Seborn looked up as he sat on a table, cleaning one of his daggers. Jelaqua sighed.

“It’s got treasure, Seborn.”

I know. But we might be in over our heads.

Falene cleared her throat politely.

“Let’s focus on what we know before we worry about the dangers. These Goblins acquired the treasures Vuliel Drae noticed—”

“Right! Which means they should belong to us!”

The short Dwarf woman burst out angrily. Everyone turned to stare at her. Anith, the Jackal Beastkin, covered his face.

“Dasha, please don’t embarrass us.”

“What, don’t we get a cut?”

Ylawes looked at his team members.

“That is a fair point.”

“Right. How about we give money to the idiots who didn’t tell us they caused the attack on Liscor?”

Revi looked like she could spit iron. Typhenous sighed.

“Revi, please let it go for the moment.”

“No! Honest adventurers come clean about their mistakes! What do you think would happen if we lied about a disaster like that?”

Ylawes glared at her.

“That doesn’t mean they don’t have rights to compensation for information, Miss Revi.”

“Up yours, Byres!”

The adventurers broke out into loud arguments punctuated by angry flashes of magic crackling through the air. Halrac breathed out slowly, irritation written all over his face.

“Hey.”

Selys felt a tug at her arm. She turned and saw Erin gesturing towards her kitchen. Grateful for a reprieve, Selys followed her friend into the kitchen as the argument got louder. Selys sighed in relief.

“Thanks Erin, I could use a break.”

Erin looked at her Drake friend.

“You alright, Selys? You were spacing out.”

“Spacing…out?”

Selys frowned. Erin corrected herself.

“Going like this.”

She gave Selys a vacant, unfocused look. Her Drake friend looked dismayed. Erin grinned.

“It wasn’t that obvious. But you seem distracted. Something wrong?”

“Oh. It’s…well, it’s a bit of bad news, Erin. Sorry, I know I should be invested. This is my job, after all. But it’s just that—well—”

The [Receptionist] grappled with how to tell Erin. The [Innkeeper] waited patiently, occupying herself by finding a keg she’d stored in one corner of her kitchen.

“Look, it’s—”

“Hey Erin! Revi’s about to pick a fight! Can you do something—oh.”

A Drake edged into the kitchen, looking nervous. It was Olesm. The [Strategist] saw Selys and Erin and broke off. Selys bit her lip and her tail twitched in agitation. Erin sighed.

“Darn it! And I was just about to bring out my secret weapon. Hey Drassi! Help me lift this!”

Another Drake hurried into the kitchen. She waved at Selys and Selys waved back. Drassi was one of her good friends, but the [Barmaid] was on her shift so she headed back out of the kitchen at once with Erin to calm the fight with a stiff drink for everyone. It worked on Revi because, according to Erin, she was nicer drunk than she was sober.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Olesm looked somewhat awkward. He and Selys weren’t friends except through Erin. She shrugged. Selys had a bad feeling in her chest, like a cold lump.

“Forget about it. I was just telling Erin about what’s happening tomorrow. You know, right?”

“Tomorrow? Oh—”

Olesm paused. He looked at Selys.

“You know about that? I got a classified report, but how do you know?”

She glared at him. For a [Strategist], Olesm was an idiot.

“What’s my last name, scales-for-brains?”

“Um. Oh—I’m so—”

The Drake turned red and stammered. Selys shook her head.

“Forget about it. I guess it’s just as well that I had to come here—on my day off—to deal with this. It’s not like my week can get any worse.”

“I’m sorry about that. It’s my day off, too. But this is a matter for the city and you are the best [Receptionist] in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“How wonderful for me.”

Selys’ mood was dark and she really just wanted Olesm to follow Erin out so she could have a minute to herself. The last thing she wanted was to talk. Unfortunately, Olesm’s sense of tact was horrible.

“I know this is a bad time, but uh, did you get a chance to bring up my proposal? The paperwork’s all done, but I haven’t gotten back a reply from the Adventurer’s Guild. I sent two follow-up requests via Street Runner—”

She couldn’t deal with this right now. Selys flared at Olesm.

“I’m working on it, Olesm! It’s not my call to make! You can recommend your idea as much as you want, but since it involves an adventurer and monsters, my grandmother has to sign off on it. And you know she’s not going to.”

“But the proposal—”

“Take it up with her, Olesm!”

Selys stalked out of the kitchen, her tail lashing so hard it nearly smacked into Lyonette. The [Barmaid] stopped as she held Mrsha.

“Sorry.”

“It’s nothing. I was just taking Mrsha out of the line of fire if there’s another fight. Mrsha, here’s Selys! Say hi!”

The Gnoll blinked at Selys. She’d been running about excitedly ever since the adventurers had come back smelling of blood and adrenaline. Now she was tired out. She waved at Selys and the Drake found the energy to smile at her.

“Hi Mrsha. Are you sleepy?”

“I think she’ll have a nap upstairs. Excuse us.”

Lyonette hurried off as Selys reappeared back in the room. Everyone was drinking, and the flames of anger had reduced to dim embers, so to speak. Selys noticed Pisces hovering next to the three artifacts that had been collected. A bundle of cloth, a bell, and a necklace. No one had dared to unwrap the artifacts, but he was having a go at trying to discern what they did.

“Okay, okay. Let’s agree that the artifacts are the Goblin’s. I guess. Dead gods, that’s insane to say! But what if we paid for them?”

“Up to them.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t be—”

“That’s the law, Revi.”

“They’re Goblins.

Jelaqua stirred as Revi dragged her fingers through her hair.

“Excuse me, but our team had a Goblin in it. Not a good example, I know. But the Halfseekers have had this argument before. What applies to Goblins gets tossed at Selphids and Drowned Men more than you’d think.”

The Stitch-Woman colored.

“I didn’t mean your team! This is different!”

“What is different? Species? Gender? If you make an exception for those you call monster, how soon until that label applies to us?”

Moore raised his head as he spoke slowly. No one had a reply to that. Revi looked like she wanted to stitch her mouth closed in embarrassment. Selys was wondering whether she should ask what was happening to Vuliel Drae when the door to Liscor swung open.

“Watch Captain!”

Olesm looked surprised as Zevara entered the room. She nodded to him and halted as she eyed the Goblins. And Vuliel Drae. She didn’t comment on either though, and instead made a beeline towards Erin.

“Miss Solstice, I hate to interrupt, but I need a word. Excuse us.”

The adventurers let Erin walk away with Zevara, into the kitchen again. Knowing what this was about, Selys followed. She saw Zevara talking with Erin.

“No, your Goblins aren’t in trouble as far as I know, Miss Solstice. Ancestors, there’s no law forbidding Goblins from raiding a dungeon! And no, I’m not discussing Vuliel Drae either. This is—incredibly—another matter that involves your inn.”

“Really? What?”

“We need to reserve your magic doorway. All day tomorrow and probably the day after that. We’ll have people coming through. We’ll pay you for the time and we’ll work out the mana costs, but I’m telling you now. I know it’s sudden, but—”

“Why? Is something big happening?”

Zevara looked surprised. The Watch Captain glanced at Selys.

“Miss Shivertail didn’t tell you?”

Erin turned to look at Selys, who avoided meeting her gaze.

“No…”

The Watch Captain paused. She glanced from Selys as if asking whether she’d prefer to say. Selys shrugged, so Zevara went on after a lengthy pause.

“I don’t know if you’d heard. But General Shivertail’s body was recovered from the battlefield by the Humans after the Goblin Lord retreated. Magnolia Reinhart took charge of preserving and transporting it. It took a while due to the situation in the north, but a carriage is due to arrive in Celum tomorrow. We will be requesting the use of your door to transport the…remains here.”

Selys felt a jolt in her stomach. She pressed her sheaf of parchment to her chest and closed her eyes. She heard nothing from Erin, and then a faint voice.

“Oh.”

There was a sudden noise that made all three women look up. Upstairs, Mrsha suddenly began howling. Selys closed her eyes.

It was hard to be alive, today.

 

—-

 

She couldn’t stay. Not after all that. Mrsha had heard Zevara’s comment despite being upstairs and the ensuing commotion had caused chaos at Erin’s inn. Not least because there were five Goblins in her inn. Selys was still—she couldn’t believe that Erin—she knew that—

Her head was a mess. The [Receptionist] left through Erin’s door to Liscor and stomped through the wet streets. Her wet cloak was being used to shield her notes from the rain, so Selys got drenched on the way back to the Adventurer’s Guild. It was raining. It always rained in the spring. Selys had no idea why, but something about the spring and the fact that Liscor was surrounded by mountains caused the intense rainfall each year. Or maybe it was a magical effect. All she knew was that it made her mood worse, for all the skies reflected her feelings.

The storm drains leading into Liscor’s sewers were overflowing in parts and Selys had to splash through backlogs of filthy sewer water and rain. Something was clogging the drains—dead moth corpses, probably. It was a nightmare because without those drains Liscor would flood, surrounded as it was by water on all sides.

And that was a problem that took top priority in Watch Captain Zevara’s books. So she’d given Selys an order to follow up on Olesm’s request to the Adventurer’s Guild, which had, incredibly, made Selys feel even worse.

“Damn Watch Captain, giving me orders. Stupid tail-wagging idiot. I’d like to see her try and reason with—”

Selys kicked into the Adventurer’s Guild, letting the door rebound off a wall and slam shut behind her. She saw a few heads look up. No one wanted to be in the guild on a night like this. There was a [Receptionist] at the desk and a few Bronze-rank adventurers trying to claim bounties on Quillfish. Selys would have happily stabbed them all to death if it meant having an hour’s peace.

Sadly, that was not to be. The [Receptionist] behind the desk was a younger Drake with pale pink scales named Nolsca. She opened her mouth to either comment about Selys dripping onto the floor which she’d have to clean up, or ask for help with the desk. She met Selys’ gaze and shut up.

“Is the Guildmistress still here?”

“Yes, Selys.”

“Good, I’ve got to see her.”

Selys stomped up the stairs to the second floor, wishing a pox on the idiot who’d decided to put a four copper coin bounty on Quillfish. Drakes were supposed to be filial towards their elders, but Selys didn’t care. A pox probably wouldn’t even slow Tekshia Shivertail down.

The elderly Drake was sitting in her office when Selys kicked the door open. Her grandmother was sitting in her chair, going over reports—and holding a spear in one hand. Selys paused as Tekshia lowered the spear that had been poised to throw at her granddaughter’s chest.

“Selys, what have I told you about knocking? I could have thrown this!”

The old Drake scowled at Selys. Selys, whose heart was slowly coming down out of her mouth, spluttered.

Thrown it? Who did you expect was coming in here?”

“Anyone. [Assassins], a hired thug, some kind of monster—you don’t get to be as old as I do without being prepared! What have I told you about knocking? And why are you wet? Didn’t you bring a cloak?”

Selys ground her teeth together.

“I did. I got wet covering all the documents you made me take with me.”

“You should have put them in a carrying case! Honestly Selys…here.”

Tekshia tsked as she got up from her chair and fished around her desk. She had a hand towel for some reason and offered it to Selys. Grumpily, Selys accepted the towel and began to dry herself. Tekshia sat back down and eyed Selys disapprovingly.

“Well, how bad is it? Do I have to send a [Gravedigger] out?”

“No.”

“Not enough pieces? An [Undertaker] to record the names, then?”

“No, Grandmother. No one’s dead!”

“You mean they haven’t killed that Vuliel Drae team? What kind of soft adventurers do they let into Gold-rank these days?”

“They’re not murderers, Grandma!”

Selys was mildly horrified at what Tekshia was implying. Her only response was a snort from the old Drake. Tekshia had shrunk with age so she was shorter than Selys, and her appearance was deceptively frail at first glance. She still had far too much muscle for someone her age and her faded and patchy scales were the only real sign of her age. Tekshia had been a beauty in her youth and she liked to say that she was still a match for Selys, much to her granddaughter’s horror.

She was far different from Selys in many respects, not least of which was her old-fashioned views. She had grown up in a time when everything was tougher and Drakes took matters into their own claws, according to her. Selys didn’t doubt it. The younger Drake sighed as she tossed her dry notes onto Tekshia’s table.

“I don’t see what everyone’s so mad about. Yeah, Vuliel Drae caused a disaster, but why are they getting treated worse than the adventurers who survived Liscor’s crypt? We nearly lost the city that time, too! What’s the difference?”

Tekshia’s brows shot together. She picked up one of the scrolls of parchment Selys had written on and tossed it to one side before glaring at her granddaughter.

“The difference, Selys, is that the Horns of Hammerad and the other teams went out fighting. They retreated and immediately tried to hail the city—after all but one team had fallen fighting the undead. They took responsibility for what they did. As you’ll recall, they forfeited all their possessions to the city. This team hid from the moths they provoked and then lied to everyone after they escaped the dungeon. There is a difference.”

“Okay, but…killing them? Really?

The old Drake shrugged as she played with her spear. It was a normal spear as far as Selys knew. Barbed, a wicked weapon but not the worst thing Tekshia had owned. She used to use an enchanted glaive—but she’d switched weapons for fear of her prized artifact being stolen. Selys couldn’t imagine anyone stealing from Tekshia and living to tell the tale.

“There was a saying back when I was an adventurer, Selys. ‘The weak grow strong. Cowards are fine. The only hero is a dead one. But traitors and liars die first.’”

“Okay, but that was then. Are you really saying Vuliel Drae lying about what happened is the worst thing they did?”

Tekshia shook her head.

“Running away is acceptable—Named Adventurers will flee just like Bronze-rank ones. Even incompetence can be understood. Disasters happen. But failing to take responsibility for your actions? Lying to your fellow adventurers and your Guild? That is the one sin we do not tolerate.”

Selys gave up and threw her claws in the air.

“Fine. If it’s such a bad crime, you can figure out what their punishment is. They’ve confessed to everything—I have Olesm’s statement and his signature, and witnesses from three Gold-team leaders like you wanted. And the Goblins got a bunch of treasures, by the way. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“I don’t care about them. If they found out more about the dungeon, write up a report and I’ll decide who should know what. But those Goblins are not adventurers.”

Tekshia looked pointedly at Selys as she said that. The younger Drake flushed. She had gotten into so much trouble when she’d tried to spring Erin’s crazy proposal on her grandmother.

“They went into a dungeon, Grandma. And got treasure. Three artifacts! Why not let them be a team?”

“I will not have a band of monsters roaming around as a sanctioned adventuring team. This was your Human friend’s insane idea and I don’t have to listen to it.”

Come on, Grandma! Please?”

Selys didn’t know why she was arguing on Erin’s behalf. That was friendship for you. She could see why Erin wanted it for the Goblins—they’d be allowed to take requests and collect bounties on monster parts. A Goblin team? That would make them…halfway respectable. But Tekshia was more stubborn than a Gnoll with a bone.

“Give me some assurance, Selys. Just one and I’ll agree to it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Figure out a way. Now, was there anything else? It’s late and you should be in bed.”

Tekshia eyed her granddaughter sternly. Selys tried not to scream. It was unfair. Tekshia still treated her like a child, despite Selys being the most experienced [Receptionist] in the Guild! Not that that was saying much—it was hard to work for Tekshia, and the Adventurer’s Guild had been a quiet place with little opportunity to advance one’s class until now. But for all she’d worked hard, Selys’ opinions never seemed to matter to Tekshia. She could argue as long as she wanted, but Tekshia never agreed to try out any of Selys’ proposals.

Aggravating. But at least Selys had one card left to play. She smiled angrily at her grandmother.

“Just one thing, Grandma. Watch Captain Zevara and Olesm want me to get you to sign the proposal letting Pisces put undead in Liscor’s sewers.”

“No.”

The reply came back instantly. Tekshia didn’t so much as blink. Selys groaned.

“Come on, Grandmother! The sewers are flooding! I walked through two streets filled with water! There are rat corpses clogging the tunnels, more of those damn moths—none of the adventurers are going to do it!”

“I don’t trust necromancers. Neither should you. This Pisces is a former criminal. If his creations go rogue—”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know? What happened to that skeleton the [Necromancer] made? The one that has an open bounty on it?”

Selys bit her tongue. Why did the facts have to get in the way of every argument?

“That was different! This is a small undead…thing. He’ll let it work and it’ll be under his control. He’ll check on it regularly, that’s what the report says!”

The old Drake leaned over her desk.

“Really? Do you trust him? Will you take responsibility if things go wrong, Selys? Because it is my job to do just that. And I do not know, nor do I care to know this necromancer.”

Selys met her Grandmother’s gaze for as long as she could. It was impossible to stare her down. At last, Selys had to look away.

“I don’t know him, but he says—”

“That’s what I thought. Until you’re willing to give me something, you can tell the Watch Captain what I told you.”

The young [Receptionist] was about ready to punch her Grandmother, family or not. She resisted the impulse, not because violence against the elderly was abhorrent to her, but because she knew that if she took a swing, Tekshia would probably knock her senseless and spank her. There had been an…incident when Selys was eighteen.

Instead of physical confrontation, Selys resulted to words.

“Watch Captain Zevara says she’ll authorize it if you don’t. With or without the Guild’s permission, it’s going to happen, Grandma.”

“Does she now?”

Tekshia’s eyes narrowed. Selys knew her Grandmother was trapped and took bitter satisfaction in this small victory. The Adventurer’s Guild had a say in the city’s affairs, but the Watch Captain could overrule them. It was messy politics, but having a proposal go over Tekshia’s head wasn’t good for her influence. The [Guildmistress] of Liscor’s Adventuring Guild muttered several extremely vulgar insults about Zevara’s tail and other body parts, and then looked up.

“Fine. But you’re supervising him the entire time he and his creation are down there.”

Me?

Selys had been all ready to gloat. She felt as though someone had placed a rug under her feet and yanked it out from under her. Tekshia believed in hardwood floors. Easier to clean and they didn’t stain. She gaped at her Grandmother.

“Why do I have to follow Pisces into the sewers? Wait, why does he have to go into the sewers? The entire point is so that none of us have to be down there!”

“I want you to make sure his creation is doing its job. Watch it work for an hour. Or two.”

An hour—

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“But that’s—”

“Watch him. That’s an order, Selys.”

Tekshia didn’t give her granddaughter a chance to shout, scream, or throw a fit. She had a Skill she employed in moments like this—[Implacable Order]. When she said something would happen, it would happen and Selys could only obey or try to refuse, not argue about it. For a moment Selys considered refusing. Then a minute. Tekshia looked over Selys’ notes, grunting at the mention of the Face Collector as Selys fought internally. At last, she heard her granddaughter sigh.

“I hate you.”

“Thank you, my dear. What’s this about a monster that collects heads? Face Collector? Why not call it Head Collector instead?”

“It doesn’t sound as good? I didn’t come up with the name.”

“Pah. First this Skinner creation, now this. It makes me wonder what insane group built the dungeon. This fixation with flesh and body parts…it speaks to a disturbing trend. See if you can find any mention of an older Drake nation that focused on necromancy and the like. Or have that [Strategist] do it. I’ll write him a note. Or you can ask this [Necromancer] you like so much.”

“I don’t like him, grandma. He’s an arrogant snob. Although…”

Selys smiled wickedly as she remembered something that would get under Tekshia’s scales.

“…he is a good kisser.”

The elderly Drake looked up sharply. Selys looked innocent. Tekshia breathed out slowly, and then her mood changed. She glanced out her window at the rain pelting the streets below and shook her head.

“Tomorrow at midday will be the time when Zel’s body arrives. Selys, I want you to come, but only if you’re willing.”

Selys froze. She’d nearly been able to forget about that for a moment. She looked at Tekshia and gulped.

“Come? For what? To see…”

“Only if you want to. But I meant after that.”

There was a painfully kind look in her grandmother’s eyes.  She got up slowly, her bones creaking, and walked towards the window.

“His…condition will be a matter for Watch Captain Zevara and I. You don’t have to see that.”

“I want to see.”

“Very well.”

Tekshia’s shoulders were stiff. She paused and went on.

“What I meant was afterwards. Wall Lord Ilvriss has agreed to lend us his scrying orb, so we’ll be in touch with the rest of the family.”

“The rest of—oh.”

There were only two Shivertails living in Liscor. There had once been four—Selys’ father and her mother, who had married into the family. They’d settled in Liscor, but there was a large extended family that Selys had never met. There had been nothing particularly special about them until Zel Shivertail had made their name famous. Now they were considered lesser nobility in some respects, Selys understood. She had never so much as exchanged a [Message] or letter with one of them. And she knew her grandmother didn’t speak to her relatives that much either.

“What will they—what do they want?”

“Aside from seeing him? Legal matters. They’ve moved quickly. Too quickly, the greedy idiots. Couldn’t they have waited…? You’ll need to be present while it’s read to us by the [Mage] they hired.”

“Read what?”

Tekshia looked at Selys, irritated until she saw the honest confusion.

“His will. It’s a matter of deep interest to your relatives.”

Selys closed her eyes. The dull nausea flooded her chest again.

“Of course it is.”

 

—-

 

“A will? I didn’t know you had those.”

The next day, Selys was eating breakfast at Erin’s inn, a rare occasion. She had the morning off and Selys really didn’t feel like eating in her small apartment or having a meal with her Drake and Gnoll friends. So she’d come to Erin’s.

In retrospect it was just as bad as hanging out with her friends and eating alone. Erin was helpful, solicitous and she made an amazing omelette, but she didn’t understand Drake culture and Selys had to explain it to her.

Maybe that was better, though. Talking to someone helped. There was also Mrsha to consider. The Gnoll was lying on Selys’ lap, her head being stroked gently by Lyonette. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but not red—Gnolls didn’t have whites so the difference was harder to spot. But sadness? Sadness was easy.

Selys shifted and offered Mrsha a bite of her cheesy omelette. The Gnoll just curled up, though Selys could hear her belly rumbling. Lyonette shook her head and Selys guiltily ate another bite.

“Of course we have wills, Erin. What do you think we are, savages?”

“Hey, I don’t know what—you don’t have lawyers, well you do, but they aren’t called—look, I thought it was new—although we probably had them in the Middle Ages, so…”

Erin grumbled to herself. Selys waited until she started making sense.

“So you have wills. Got it. And that’s really important in Drake society?”

“Everyone over the age of thirty has one, Erin. Everyone with anything to give away has one. I don’t have one, but that’s because I barely have more than a few gold coins saved up. I should probably make one.”

“Wow. That’s so dark.”

“Dark?”

“Yeah? Why are you thinking about all that? Is it important to Drakes?”

“Of course it is! Erin, how have you lived near Drakes and Gnolls for so long without understanding this?”

Erin looked bewildered. She glanced at Lyonette who was nodding.

“Okay. Someone explain this to me. Why do wills matter so much?”

Selys smiled ruefully. Trust Erin not to get it. She was so observant—and yet, she didn’t like to believe the bad in people either.

“Erin, we’re possessive. Haven’t you noticed?”

Erin blinked.

“Well, yeah. Sometimes I hear about Drakes being greedy and fighting over stuff. But that’s normal, right? Humans do it too.”

“Not like Drakes.”

“Sort of like Drakes.”

Erin—whatever Humans do, however greedy you get, I don’t think you understand how bad Drakes can be. Remember how I said we have wars between cities all the time? And how we’re descended from Dragons?”

“Okay, so you’re greedy. But is it really…?

Lyonette was nodding. Erin glanced at her. The young woman cleared her throat.

“Someone once said that if the world was destroyed and there was only dust left, Drakes would fight over who had the most dust.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Erin, you’ve only really hung around Relc, me, Drassi, and Olesm, haven’t you? And there’s not much to fight over in your inn. Sorry, but there isn’t.”

“‘S cool. I know I don’t have much. Wait, so what do you fight over?”

“Things that are ours. That’s why it’s not bad in your inn. But let’s say I was living in an apartment with my grandmother. Which I used to. We’d fight over pillows, cups, chairs—and since it was all Grandma’s to start with, she’d kick my tail if I tried to keep it!”

Selys’ own tail lashed angrily at the memories. Erin winced.

“Okay, you fight over stuff. But I mean, that happens…”

“I think we need an example.”

Lyonette leaned over to Selys. The Drake nodded. She and Lyonette barely knew each other, but the Erin education team was a group effort. She cast around and saw a Drake eating breakfast by himself.

“There.”

She pointed at Olesm. Erin frowned.

“Olesm? But he’s nice! He never gets greedy. At all.”

Selys smirked.

“Oh really? Olesm’s not nearly as bad as most. But he does it too. He doesn’t share his food, have you noticed?”

Erin opened her mouth to object, and then closed it. Selys could see her running through all the times when Olesm had been eating here. Slowly, she got up and walked over to his table. Olesm looked up and smiled at her.

“Hey Erin, thanks for the meal! This burger and fries thing is really good for when I’m in a hurry.”

She smiled at him.

“No problem, Olesm! Hey, I’m a bit hungry. Mind if I have a fry?”

She reached for a fry. Olesm gently covered his plate.

“Sorry Erin, but I’ve got to eat and run. Captain Zevara wants me on duty and uh, they’re my fries.”

“I know, but it’s just one, right? Let me have a bite from your plate, come on.”

“Ah…”

The Drake hunched over his plate as Erin edged around him. Erin looked perplexed.

“Just one? I made them.”

“No, come on, Erin…

Selys and Lyonette watched Erin try to sneak around Olesm and him gently protest while shielding his plate. He was as sociable as ever, but no matter how Erin tried she couldn’t get him to part with a fry and Olesm was gobbling them faster and faster. Eventually she gave up and returned to Lyonette and Selys.

“Okay, I think I get it. But Olesm wasn’t so bad! And it was really funny.”

Selys just looked at her friend.

“Erin, you tried for five minutes. Did you get a French fry? Even one?”

Erin opened her mouth. Then she stood up.

“Hey Olesm! Give me a fry!”

“No!”

Olesm practically shoved the rest of his food into his mouth. He ran out of the inn as Erin tried to get the food. Selys watched Erin try to tackle the Drake and sighed.

“And that’s Olesm. There’s a reason why Drakes have wills and it’s to stop blood feuds over inheritance.”

Lyonette looked at her sympathetically and Mrsha raised her head. Selys sighed.

“Do you think it’ll be important, you being there?”

“No. I’m just a distant relative. But Drake laws says that we should be present or at least told, so…”

Selys shook her head. She got up as Erin tried to pin Olesm to the ground to steal one of his French fries. He punched her and then apologized. Erin rubbed her cheek and decked him.

All in all, it was a fitting start to the day. And it was still raining.

 

—-

 

Somehow, for some reason, Selys still had to work at her desk for the morning. Tekshia Shivertail had given her the rest of the day off, but Selys had to cover the first shift. It made her angry. So what if the guild was busy? Her uncle’s body was coming today! Why couldn’t her grandmother give her a day off? Just one?

It was a miserable day, filled with wet adventurers complaining about monsters and petty problems. There was something about the smell of wet Gnoll that Selys couldn’t ignore, no matter how long she stood at the desk. If there was one mercy, and it was a small one, it was that no one mentioned her uncle to her. They complained to her face, loudly, like any other [Receptionist].

No one had ever really connected Selys’ name to the great General Shivertail, the Tidebreaker, hero of the Drakes. It wasn’t as if she’d gone around telling people her last name, anyways. Selys lived in Liscor, far from the city where Zel Shivertail had first risen to fame defending against the onslaught of the Antinium. And Tekshia Shivertail was a known figure, a former adventurer who’d retired and run the Adventurer’s Guild for over three decades now.

So no one knew or cared. And they were rude and annoying, so Selys could vent some of her anger on them as well. She glared at a Human woman who was protesting how she’d been refused service by a Drake [Shopkeeper].

“And then he called me a smelly Human! I told the Watch and they didn’t do anything!”

Selys rolled her eyes.

“So what?”

“So what? I’m a Silver-rank adventurer! That Drake should open his shop to me! What if it was an emergency?”

“Was it?”

“No, but—”

Selys sighed. Loudly.

“Right, well you can file a complaint. Or drop it. And let me tell you that if you file a complaint, no one will care.”

She watched the Human’s face go red.

“This is outrageous! In Celum—”

Again, Selys took a bit of satisfaction in cutting the Human off.

“This isn’t a Human city, Miss. Adventurers don’t get special treatment and [Shopkeepers] can choose who they sell to. If you want your potions so badly, try Krshia. She’s a Gnoll—has a lot of good potions for a low price. You can find her on Market Street every day running her stall.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah. Did you want something else?”

It was like watching one of the fish in the waters around here gape. Selys watched the mouth open and close and then leaned around the woman.

Next!

For a second she thought there might be trouble. But the female adventurer just stalked off after making a sound like a dying Razorbeak. Selys waved to the next adventurer impatiently.

This was her life. It wasn’t glamorous or fun. It was just a job and Selys took a minimal amount of pride in it. She wasn’t an insane [Innkeeper] like Erin who could reach Level 30 in half a year. Neither was she an adventurer.

Selys had learned to use a sword and bow at her aunt’s insistence, and she had completed her mandatory training course and earned her Level 1 [Soldier] class as all Liscor’s citizens were obligated to do. But she wasn’t about to join the army. She was a [Receptionist], Level 18, thanks. Higher than average, but she hadn’t leveled in…Ancestors, was it eight months, now? She just worked with no expectation of anything, really. She was a normal person.

Or she had been, right up until her uncle had come to Liscor. Right up until she’d met a girl named Erin Solstice. Selys closed her eyes. Now she was running about and the Adventurer’s Guild was suddenly flooded with people.

All this new responsibility was bothering her, too. Her Grandmother was giving her a lot of work. She wasn’t letting Selys give any orders for now, but…she was old. Selys knew her bones hurt in the morning. She wasn’t young. If what was happening was what Selys thought was happening…

She was just a normal Drake. Why did she have to do more than she already did? Selys’ life used to be simple. Work, get off work, go to parties, flirt, have fun. That was all she wanted out of life. When monsters attacked, Selys did her part and hoped that the City Watch or adventurers could handle things.

She wasn’t special. She had a special, unique friend. But her? All her life Selys had known only one claim to fame. A secret she was proud of. She had an uncle who was a hero. A living legend who sometimes visited her and told her stories and gave her money for treats.

And now he was dead. Selys looked at the Gnoll in front of her.

“What do you want?”

 

—-

 

Work passed by slowly. As Selys noted the position of the sun she grew more and more impatient. By the time she’d signed out of work and had met her grandmother by the door she was trembling slightly.

“Steady.”

Tekshia’s voice was soft as she led Selys through the rainy streets. Both Drakes kept their cloaks over their heads and they headed towards the city council’s administrative building. Watch Captain Zevara was waiting there to meet them, with a small escort of [Guardsmen]. Selys looked for a…a coffin or shroud and saw nothing.

“It’s already inside. I haven’t touched the bindings. I…will have to be present, but I’ve insisted that no one else be in the room.”

“Thank you, Watch Captain.”

Tekshia Shivertail kept her back straight as she walked into the building. Selys followed her, conscious of the [Guardsmen]’s eyes on her. They had to know what they’d carried. There was an eerie silence to the building. It was never that busy—Liscor ran itself a lot of the time. And it was in the conference room, on the meeting table that they saw—

Selys gasped when she saw the casket. It was black wood, not furnished with any decorations. But the wood was expensive and it seemed to take up the room. Zevara cleared her throat several times as the Drakes stood around the room in silence. A [Guardsman] closed the door behind them.

“This is—I believe it came from Magnolia Reinhart. She was the one who sent the coach.”

“Kind of her.”

Tekshia’s voice was without emotion. She hesitated as her claws touched the lid.

“Did that woman say anything about what…the condition of my nephew’s body is in?”

“She warned us not to touch it. Apparently there were complications with retrieving the corpse. And…no, nothing more. But he died in battle. Miss Shivertail—Miss Selys, that is. Are you sure you want to see this?”

Selys had had that same question. She hesitated, then nodded.

“I want to see. I have to see.”

“Very well, then. I’ll open the casket.”

“I’ll take this end.”

Zevara and Tekshia reached for the lid. Selys couldn’t breathe. She saw a flash of light as the two women lifted the lid—the preservation runes to keep the body from decomposing. She heard a sound as Tekshia lifted her end of the lid and an oath from Zevara.

Then silence. Selys stared into the casket. She was too far back. She saw a leg. A leg she recognized. Then a flash of—gold? Trembling, she stepped closer. Her breath, her heart, everything—stopped.

“Uncle.”

Zel Shivertail lay in the casket, his arms folded, his face staring up towards the sky. What remained of it. Half of his head was gone. His body was—damaged. There was no describing it. His arms and legs looked torn, and his scales had changed color from their regular greenish hue. As if they had been bruised or he had suffered some kind of internal damage before dying.

His body was ravaged. And yet from his neck down to his waist, there was only a single, unbroken piece of armor. A chest plate. It glowed in the dark room, shining gold and red with magic. It was beautiful. But Selys only had eyes for her uncle.

“What happened?”

Selys had seen the dead. She had seen injures. She had never seen so many wounds on a single body. Zel Shivertail looked like he had been burned, cut, battered, and attacked from every angle. But it was his head that Selys couldn’t stop staring at. That had been the blow that ended his life. How had it happened? Who had—

Selys didn’t realize she was standing at the casket’s edge until she was there. She knelt over Zel’s body, too afraid to touch him. His face. His head! What had happened?

Tekshia’s face was pale. The old Drake stared down at her nephew and her voice shook, the first time Selys could remember ever hearing such a thing.

“A Goblin Lord did this? Goblins?”

“Ancestors.”

Zevara was just staring. Tekshia’s claws clenched. She stared at Zel’s closed eyes. He almost looked like he was smiling. It was just half a smile. Regret? Relief? Selys couldn’t tell. Her heart hurt.

Drakes were talking. She heard two female voices a she stared at her uncle. If she ignored the missing part of his head, he almost looked—

“Watch Captain, I want every Walled City to form a strike force. I don’t care what the Humans do. Drakes must answer this ourselves.”

“Guildmistress Tekshia, I’m sure they’ll listen, but that armor—

“The armor?”

Selys blinked and looked away from Zel. For the second time she looked at the armor and finally took it in. Her eyes widened. Tekshia frowned at the metal.

“Zel never had an artifact so powerful. And this is no common breastplate. What in the name of Izril is—”

She breathed in sharply and backed up. Zevara and Selys looked at her. Tekshia’s voice was a whisper.

“That scheming Human woman had it. This is it! The Heartflame Breastplate!

Both Drakes gaped at her. Zevara stared at the fiery metal, her eyes round.

“That can’t be! It was lost centuries ago! You’re telling me the Reinharts had it? And she gave it to General Shivertail? Why didn’t she take it back?”

“I don’t know. But it must be. Look at the metal. It’s unscratched! She gave this relic to him. And still—”

Tekshia’s voice broke.

“She left it with him. Why? To honor him?”

“To apologize, maybe.”

Selys’ voice was soft. Both Drake women looked at her. Zevara shook her head, her wonder broken by the reality of the moment.

“If she did—I’m sorry Miss Shivertails, but this has to be reported. An artifact like this—it was General Shivertail’s, but I don’t know what will happen to it after his death.”

“Nothing simpler. It will go to his heirs. His home city, perhaps. Or maybe he left it to a Walled City? Another [General]?”

Tekshia’s voice turned bitter. She flicked her claws at the armor, staring again at Zel’s face.

“It doesn’t matter. It is a pretty gesture. That’s all, Watch Captain.”

They stood in silence again. Selys didn’t know how long. She just stared at Zel’s body. Part of her wished she could imagine him getting up. But she couldn’t. He was dead. And the reality of that was smell and sight and…what was she supposed to do?

Zevara was the first to speak.

“I’ll have someone remove the—the armor before the funeral.”

She sounded guilty, as if ashamed to say it. Selys and Tekshia nodded absently. Taking armor and the possessions of the dead was standard practice. Few people were buried with their artifacts, and those that were, tended to construct entire dungeons to protect their treasures. Grave robbers would loot any corpse for the smallest of treasures and this armor would see every graveyard in Liscor dug up within the week. Selys knew that, but she hated imagining someone touching Zel’s body.

“I…suppose we should attend the next matter. We’ve taken a while as it is. Guildmistress Tekshia, Miss Selys. With your permission I’d like to activate the scrying orb and…let General Shivertail’s family observe.”

“What? Oh.”

Selys started, remembering what Tekshia had said. Her grandmother nodded.

“We might as well. Activate your orb, Watch Captain. And may the Ancestors give them the decency to speak well of Zel.”

That was a curious thing to say. Zevara paused before she lifted the palm-sized scrying orb. Selys didn’t see what she did or said—she was too busy staring. Again. It felt wrong to look at her uncle. She wanted to cover the casket, as if he was naked. She shouldn’t have looked at him. She shouldn’t have been here.

“—Watch Captain. Tekshia. And is that your daughter?”

“My granddaughter.”

A voice made Selys look up. She stared into the scrying orb. An older Drake, perhaps ten years younger than Tekshia, was standing at the head of a crowd of Drakes, all with green or some variation of green scales. The most distant coloration Selys saw was a pale yellow and a light blue.

The Shivertail family. They stood awkwardly, not one cohesive whole. But Selys recognized some of them anyways. If not by name, by the way they stood. Some were dressed richly, others in common clothes. One wore armor, another looked like he was a [Soldier] off-duty. They stared into the scrying orb, crammed too tightly together owing to the constraints of the artifact Zevara held.

“Ah yes. Your granddaughter. I forgot she was living with you.”

The old male Drake nodded at Tekshia. She nodded back without any real love in her eyes. A Drake woman, younger than the male speaker, raised her voice impatiently.

“We didn’t come to exchange pleasantries. We came here to read my brother’s will.”

“And see his body.”

The old Drake looked at her with a scathing glance. She returned it. They were both dressed finely. Was the female Drake Uncle Zel’s sister? Then who was the…?

Zevara cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“The casket has been opened and we have identified General Shivertail. I should warn you, though, Mister Shivertail. Your son’s body is—”

“Show me.”

The word was a command. Zevara hesitated, and then slowly walked over to the open casket. She tilted the orb and Selys heard a gasp of shock from the assembled Drakes. One stumbled back, laughing nervously. Selys heard a scream and saw two Drake children staring at the body, pale-faced. The girl hid behind her mother. The other Drakes closed their eyes, or turned away.

But Zel’s father, if that was who he was, made no such reaction.

“Ah.”

The oldest Drake stared at his son for a second. The sound he made was a bit surprised, but nothing more. Selys waited, but the Drake just looked lost as he gazed into the casket. He looked around blankly at the other distraught Drakes and a flame seemed to ignite in him.

Stand up. Don’t turn away!”

The other Drakes obeyed him, straightening, forcing their heads back to grimace at the sight in the coffin. Some of them had never seen a dead body, Selys realized. It was something she had seen, however rarely, but these Drakes lived in a place where that was an alien concept.

Until now. Zel’s father stared into the casket while the rest of his family fidgeted or looked away. Only the military Drakes could watch. Selys saw tears in the eyes of the one wearing armor. She envied him. All of hers had gone far away.

“That’s enough. Close the casket, Watch Captain. I’ve seen—my son is dead.”

The elder Shivertail’s voice rasped hoarsely. Zevara nodded to Tekshia and put the scrying orb down for a moment. The lid closed. Selys stared at the black wood, remembering what was inside.

“What was he wearing?”

That came from Zel’s sister. She fanned at her lips with a handkerchief, looking pale. Watch Captain Zevara hesitated.

“That was the armor General Shivertail was wearing when he fell, Miss Shivertail. It was a gift to him by Magnolia Reinhart, I believe.”

“A powerful artifact?”

“Yes, ma’am. Guildmistress Tekshia believes it may be…the Heartflame Breastplate.”

Selys heard a gasp. She saw several Drakes lean forwards and one stared at the casket.

“Can you remove the lid so we can take another look?”

“You greedy hoarder!”

Another Drake exclaimed in disgust. Zel’s sister fanned her face.

“Why didn’t Magnolia Reinhart take the artifact back?”

“I believe she meant it as a sign of goodwill. It was the possession of the Drakes’.”

“And it was lost to war. We forfeited the claim to it as per the rules surrounding artifacts. If my brother died with it on, does that mean it was his?”

Zevara exchanged a look with Tekshia.

“Perhaps, Miss Shivertail. But we really can’t decide—”

“That’s a matter for the will.”

Zel’s father cut in harshly, looking at his daughter. Was she his daughter? There was no lost love in the glance she shot back at him.

“Ah, yes, the will. That is the reason why we’ve all gathered here. Well, let’s open it. We have a [Mage] and my brother’s last written will.”

She gestured to one side and Selys saw a Drake in [Mage]’s robes come forwards. He looked nervous to be at the center of attention.

“My lord Shivertail, my ladies Shivertail…Watch Captain. May I take it that you are the—the witness for the reading of General Shivertail’s last will as to the distribution of his possessions and wealth?”

“I am.”

Zevara nodded, looking pale but standing straight. The [Mage] nodded. He pulled out a sealed bit of paper and showed everyone the magical wax seal on the top.

“This will has not been opened or tampered with in any way. A Wistram [Mage] has certified this fact, as have I. With all members of his immediate family present, I will read the will’s contents.”

“He didn’t leave anything to anyone else?”

Selys blurted the words out. Everyone stared at her. The Drake [Mage] shook his head.

“No others were listed in General Shivertail’s will.”

“To whom else would he have given his possessions?”

Zel’s father stared hard at Selys. She opened her mouth to reply. His friends? Then her throat closed. Her uncle had never mentioned his friends. He was a [General]. He had allies. But he was always busy. After a moment the elder Shivertail looked away from Selys.

“Continue. Please.”

“Very well, I will read the will from start to finish. This was personally dictated by Zel Shivertail…eight years ago, I believe. A long time, but the will is still quite valid. Ah, please save your questions until after I’ve completed the reading. Everything I read is certifiable by truth stone. And I shall begin.”

The Drake cleared his throat a few times and read in a slightly trembling voice. Selys wondered if he was afraid of getting something wrong, or just conscious of whose will he was reading. His voice was a drone though, monotonous despite the moment.

“‘I, Zel Shivertail, do record this will freely of my own will and choice, that my last wishes be recorded and executed to the best of the ability of those individuals who should take possession of my remains…’”

The [Mage] ran through a lengthy and complicated opening to the will, specifying Zel Shivertail’s assets be used to pay for any debts he might have incurred, and that his property be distributed to the best of his ability. Selys had heard the same clauses a thousand times in other Drake wills. Of all the laws in Drake society, wills were treated as the most ironclad. When a Drake gave away their possessions, few laws in any city could challenge that right.

At last, the [Mage] came to the first real line of Zel’s will. He read it slowly as all the Drakes listened closly.

“‘To my family who have gathered here, I know not how I passed away or how I died. I trust I have died in service to Drakes, and wish for only the protection of my people in the times to come. I—’”

The [Mage] choked on his words and Selys saw his eyes glistening. A few of the Drakes behind him looked moved—some did not. That was worst of all, seeing the impatience on some faces, the greed.

How dare they? Selys felt a bit of anger, the first real emotion in her chest since seeing her uncle’s death. Slowly, the [Mage] collected himself and went on.

“‘I have but one request that I hope you will honor. Bury me with my—’”

He paused. This time some of the Drakes made audible sounds of impatience.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. The will states: ‘I hope you will honor…bury me with my…’”

Now all the Drakes were staring at him. The [Mage] read and reread the line in silence and his face went pale. He looked around. Zel’s father stared at him.

“Read it.”

Slowly, the Drake read the rest of the message. There was a perfect moment of shock after he’d finished. Selys’ heart skipped a beat. But that was nothing to the uproar on the other end of the scrying orb.

“He said what?

“Does he mean—”

“That can’t be right! That has to be a mistake! He doesn’t—”

“Unacceptable.”

Zel’s father stared hard at the [Mage], who was shaking. He snatched the will and read it himself, then looked away.

“That is what the will says. It is a request, not a condition. It doesn’t have to be fulfilled.”

The [Mage] hurried to assure everyone. Selys stared at him. He had to know. Or to guess by everyone’s reactions what Zel’s final request meant. The rest of the Shivertails were outraged.

“Well, it may be a request, but it’s in poor taste to add to his will!”

“It’s his will, aunt! Where else should he put it?”

“We can’t honor it. There is no way. The scandal it would cause.”

“You’d think he wouldn’t cause trouble in his death. But no!”

“Be quiet!”

“Why should I? When we have a, a turnscale—”

“Silence!”

Selys saw the elder Drake whirl, heard a dull thump, and saw another young Drake stagger. The older Drake was furious. He raised his hand and the young male Drake retreated.

“Speak such slander at my son’s funeral—over his body again and I will cut you down. Any of you!”

He whirled, his angry eyes looking through the scrying orb at Tekshia, Zevara, and Selys. Zel’s father looked around, and his voice was iron.

“This will is sealed. No one is to breathe a word of it, understand me? My son’s possessions will be divided up according to his wishes—this line was never written.”

No one said a word. Zel’s father stared at the blank casket.

“We will remember him as what he was. A hero. Nothing less.”

There wasn’t anything Selys could say. Zel’s line burned in her mind. So. Tekshia had told her the truth. She didn’t know what to think. After a while, the [Mage] went on.

“‘To my father, I leave what lands I have been granted, as well as a portion of my estates.’”

There was a mutter from Zel’s sister. The other Drakes seemed to sigh. Selys relaxed slightly. The will was taking place. No doubt these rich Drakes wanted to see what they’d get. Zel had already made them rich, but who would get the rest? He was a [General] and one of the wealthiest Drakes in all of Izril. This is what most had come here for, hoping for a small bit of his legacy.

“‘The division of my monetary wealth held in the respective cities I have placed my earnings with is to be as follows. To my father, I give…’”

It was a lot of money. Zel didn’t name numbers, except in the case of a few Drakes whom he gave a certain amount of gold to, or an artifact, but the sums involved made Selys’ head spin. One Drake alone—and this wasn’t even the father or immediate family—would walk away with at least six hundred gold pieces. And from the disappointed look on his face, he’d been hoping for more.

Tekshia wasn’t named in Zel’s will as the [Mage] divided his money up, and his lands. Nor was Selys. They were distant relatives and it would have been strange indeed for Zel to leave them more than a few tokens. Selys didn’t want anything. But as she looked at the smiling sister—or as Zel had named her, sister-in-law, she felt strongly that no one should have anything else either. If Zel could see this, what would he say?

Would he care? Or just be disappointed? Selys shifted from foot to foot, her tail curling around her leg with her desire to leave until the [Mage] reached the last few lines of the will. It was a simple statement from Zel.

“‘To my Aunt Tekshia, I give her the spears in my armory along with any of my monetary investments, holdings, or other wealth placed in Liscor.’”

“Not much, I fear. We’ll send the spears to you, if you wish.”

Zel’s sister-in-law looked triumphantly at Tekshia. The old Drake just stared back, looking fed-up. The [Mage] coughed and went on.

“‘Any other properties not accounted for in my will shall be turned over to my father or my sister-in-law or nearest relative in order of relation. However, I give whatever personal effects were on my corpse to my niece, Selys Shivertail, in hopes she will one day become an adventurer—’”

Selys heard a gasp. She stared, uncomprehending, as the [Mage] paused. Every eye turned to her.

“‘—or to use as she desires. If said artifacts are lost due to war or the circumstances of my death, I give Selys a blade of her choosing from my personal armory and a sum of coins to equal—’”

“Ancestors.”

Someone breathed the word, interrupting the [Mage] again. Selys just felt blank. An adventurer? He’d actually remembered her. She looked at the casket, and then heard a shriek.

“He did what? That can’t be!”

Selys stared at the sister-in-law. She was pointing at Selys, her eyes bulging and rolling in her head. Why?

“Selys.”

Tekshia, Zevara, everyone was staring at her. Selys didn’t understand. Her mind felt too slow, as if she were underwater. She looked at Watch Captain Zevara.

“What? What’s so important?”

The Watch Captain stared at her. Slowly, Zevara raised a hand and ruffled the dark purple spines at the back of her neck. Her pale blue scales seemed almost ghostly as she looked at Selys. She spoke, her lips pale, her voice shaking.

“Miss Selys. If General Shivertail left you the possessions on his body…that means you are the inheritor of the Heartflame Breastplate and any other artifacts he owned.”

Selys heard the words. She didn’t understand them. She looked at the casket as the Drakes in the scrying orb shouted. She remembered the burning armor. She remembered her uncle’s smiling face. She knew it was important, but she was just empty. She looked around.

“Me?”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.17 S

“Me?”

Selys stood in a dark room. A flame in an oil lamp gave it light, but it was too dark. A black casket lay on the long hardwood table in the center of the room. It seemed to absorb what little light there was. Outside the rain fell, turning everything dark and obscuring the sky. Selys stood, listening to the screaming.

“Check it again. I don’t care. Check it again! That can’t be what he wrote!”

The [Mage] standing in the scrying orb was being besieged by all sides. He held up the will like a shield as the angry Drake woman shouted at him.

“General Shivertail’s will is perfectly clear! Miss Shivertail, he left his personal equipment to one Selys Shivertail. That would include the—”

His gaze flicked towards Selys, towards the casket. Selys remembered the brilliant armor. But she also remembered her uncle’s face. She didn’t know what to say. Her face was pale. Her knees felt weak. She knew she should be shocked, and she was. But another thought was surfacing in her mind, cresting all the other thoughts.

Why? Why did you have to do that, Uncle?

Her first reaction wasn’t gratitude. Selys wasn’t agog at her good fortune. For a moment, just a moment, she was angry at Zel, angry at her uncle, for putting her in this situation. And then she was ashamed. She looked at the casket and then at the angry Drakes, fighting over Zel Shivertail’s possessions. His sister-in-law was pointing at her and screeching.

“Unacceptable! Unacceptable! That Drake girl isn’t one of the main family! She didn’t even know my brother!”

“Selys.”

Someone shifted the scrying orb. Selys saw Watch Captain Zevara hold the noisy magical artifact away from her. She edged over to Selys and whispered.

“Why did General Shivertail leave…?”

She looked stunned. Selys stared at her and shrugged.

“That’s Uncle Zel for you.”

Watch Captain Zevara gaped. Selys laughed a bit bitterly.

“He must have written the will years ago. Back when I wanted—well, I used to want to be an adventurer. He remembered it and never said anything.”

“Typical of him, really.”

Tekshia looked only a bit shaken. She glanced at the casket and shook her head. She looked almost fond for a second.

“He would accidentally leave you something like that. He never wore fancy armor and he had few magical artifacts compared to other [Generals]. Did you hear that part about giving you a sword? I bet he thought…”

All three Drakes winced as they heard an angry squawk from the orb. Zevara looked at Selys and made a rapid decision. She cleared her throat loudly and stared into the scrying orb.

“Ladies and gentledrakes, I’m afraid I must interrupt. Am I to assume that the contents of General Shivertail’s will have been read out?”

“Yes! And there’s nothing I can do to change it!”

The beleaguered [Mage] was shielding himself from several angry members of the Shivertail family. Zevara nodded.

“In that case, I, Zevara Sunderscale have borne witness and will oversee the distribution of General Shivertail’s will within Liscor.”

“Oh no you won’t.

The angry sister-in-law strode up to the scrying orb. Selys got a good look at her nostrils and angry mouth as she grabbed it and glared into it.

“That will cannot apply to the armor! Where is this Selys Shivertail? Is that her? Come over here! Renounce your claim to the armor—”

“Enough, Xalia!”

Zel Shivertail’s father angrily grabbed for the orb. He glared into it and stared at Selys.

“This will be a matter for our cities to decide. Watch Captain Zevara, I want you to hold onto the armor until—”

“You don’t give orders here! Give that back to me!”

Xalia fought with her father over the orb. Zevara regarded the skirmishing Drakes with a look of revulsion. She spoke loudly as she held the scrying orb away from her face.

“The will is clear. Zel Shivertail has left his possessions to Miss Selys Shivertail. You may dispute the will’s contents as you please under the law, but until then, I’m afraid we have pressing business to attend to in Liscor. I apologize for the necessity, but we really must go.”

“Don’t you dare—

Zevara muttered a word and the scream was cut short. The room was suddenly very quiet. Selys looked at Zevara. Tekshia sighed.

“Ancestors, what a mess. Now I remember why I haven’t seen my sister in twelve years.”

“What’s going to happen?”

Selys looked around, her tail twitching uncertainly. The two older Drakes looked at her and Selys was dismayed to see that neither of them had an answer for her. The awkward silence was punctuated by a door opening.

“Watch Captain? Is everything alright in here?”

A Gnoll [Guardsmen] glanced inside quickly. He must have heard the shouting. Zevara looked at him. She glanced at Selys, hesitated, and then snapped an order.

“No. Get me every [Guardsman] you can spare and secure this building! I want Relc, Klbkch—and get me Wall Lord Ilvriss and Embria!”

She turned to Selys and Tekshia as the Gnoll barked an order and someone started running. Zevara sighed.

“You’d better take a seat. This might take a while.”

They looked at Zel Shivertail’s casket.

“Elsewhere. I’ll find you a room.”

Selys stared at the Watch Captain as she strode out the door. Then she looked at the casket as her grandmother began muttering about Wall Lords and the army. A [Fireball] had just landed right in the middle of Selys’ normal life and blown it to pieces. But it had already been shattered.

Zel Shivertail was dead. Her uncle was gone. All that followed seemed oddly appropriate in light of it. Selys took a seat and waited. What else was there to do?

 

—-

 

“The Heartflame Breastplate. A national artifact and a symbol of the Drake people. Mentioned in several stories and older myths…the last known sighting was over two centuries ago in a war between the Humans and our people. General Ironscales had possession of the armor and it was deemed lost when she fell in battle.”

Ilvriss stood with his back to the window. His eyes blazed. He was a Lord of the Wall, but he looked as excited as a child who’d peeked into the Adventurer’s Guild for the first time. His tail swished back and forth as he spoke.

“We know the legends. The stories of it stopping an enchanted lance thrust to the heart? It never being broken? All confirmed by history. Of course, I haven’t had the time to properly investigate all the old tales—and Liscor lacks an archive. But every [General] knows the stories.”

“Stories. Myths. An artifact from the legends was sitting in the Reinhart armory for two hundred years. And turns up now.”

Tekshia sat in a chair, looking older than Selys could remember. Ilvriss nodded and the spark went out.

“True. It didn’t save General Shivertail. He—must have been truly cornered to have fought so hard.”

He looked towards the door. They were sitting in another room. Ilvriss had come at once and he’d seen Zel’s body. He looked—Selys had heard of his animosity with Zel, but Ilvriss looked truly unhappy. He shook himself, as if trying to wake himself.

“Speculation about his death is…in regards to the armor, I concur with Watch Captain Zevara’s assessment. It does belong to Selys Shivertail by law.”

“You’re serious?”

Selys looked up. She stared at Tekshia and Ilvriss.

“This had better not be a joke. Grandma, if this is anything like that prank you pulled on my 20th birthday, I swear I’ll—”

“This is no joke, Miss Shivertail.”

Ilvriss stroked at his chin with a claw as he spoke. Selys shut up. It really was intimidating to be around him. Not only was Ilvriss classically handsome in all the Drake ways, he was a Lord of the Wall. That was practically royalty to Liscor, who had no nobility of their own. And Erin had thrown a pan at him? Selys was too nervous to do anything but listen as Ilvriss spoke with the confidence of his station.

“Drake law is specific. We lost the Heartflame Breastplate in a war with the Humans. Whomever had a claim to it lost that claim and it became a possession of Zel Shivertail when Magnolia Reinhart gave it to him. He gave it to Miss Selys via his will, so it is legally hers.”

“Is there a specific law that states that? My extended family will fight tooth and claw if it isn’t.”

Tekshia looked at Ilvriss. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“‘Lands, property, and possessions lost to war are forfeited. A city, group, or individual cannot claim ownership over an object they used for the purpose of making war.’ The Agreement at Osthia, ECL. 426.”

“What a weird law. Why would we give away anything we lose in war?”

Selys shook her head. She’d just had a conversation with Erin about that very thing. Ilvriss smiled drily.

“If that law didn’t exist we’d go to war more often than we did. Like wills, these laws were put in place in order to prevent fights over lost treasures.”

“And conveniently, it means that Miss Selys’ case is rock solid. Anyone who wants that armor will have to overturn universal law to get it. Even a Walled City would have trouble making that case.”

Watch Captain Zevara sighed as she rubbed her eyes. She looked at Ilvriss.

“…And that means we have a national-grade artifact sitting in the other room. Ancestors. I’ve got Relc watching General Shivertail’s body with his partner, but I’ll need more than that if word gets out.”

“I will send my men to secure the building.”

Ilvriss nodded at once. Zevara raised a weary claw.

“Thank you, Wall Lord. But Wing Commander Embria insists her men take that duty. We’ll move everything to a safer location within the hour, as soon as a [Healer] arrives to…”

She broke off delicately. Tekshia snorted.

“Rob my nephew’s corpse? Did you have to tell that army hothead what was happening?”

“I didn’t have a choice! I’m a Watch Captain, Miss Tekshia. It’s my duty and they would kick up a fuss if I didn’t mention it. And I’m sure they’ll want to speak with Selys about…”

All eyes turned to Selys. She looked around.

“My armor?”

Her armor. The Heartflame Breastplate. Selys wanted to think about it, but the image of Zel’s face kept flashing through her mind. Why was no one talking…? Probably because this was easier to talk about. Because this was something they could actually do something about. The older Drakes talked, arguing about what should be done. Selys sat still, not really listening.

She felt like throwing up. Why was all this happening? Before she knew it, it was dark and Tekshia was turning to her.

“Selys, dear. Go back home and sleep. We’ll sort this out.”

“Gee, thanks, Grandma.”

Selys tried to be sarcastic, but her heart wasn’t in it. Ilvriss turned.

“I’ll send someone—”

“Forget it. The rain’s not going to kill me.”

Selys got up and walked out of the room. The older Drakes looked at each other. Zevara sighed.

“But someone else might. Do you think Miss Selys understands what just happened?”

Tekshia sighed.

“She’s young. And she just saw her uncle’s corpse. I don’t think she’s grasped it yet.”

“Well, what should be done?”

Zevara looked from Ilvriss to Tekshia. All three Drakes eyed each other. They were on the same side. Nominally. But the image of that artifact shone in their minds. What would happen next?

Selys didn’t know. She walked through the street, not realizing that half a dozen shadows were following her. She walked into her small apartment, took off her soaked clothes, dried herself, changed, and lay down in her bed. She was too tired. Too tired to…

Selys slept.

 

[Heiress Class Obtained!]

[Heiress Level 4!]

[Skill –  Increased Income obtained!]

[Skill –  Lingering Presence obtained!]

 

“Ancestors!”

Selys shot out of her bed, her face lighting up with sudden surprise and happiness. Then she sagged.

“Oh.”

She stared out the dark, rainy window and then covered her face with her claws and wept.

 

—-

 

Everything happened too fast. Selys woke up after a night full of troubled dreams. She walked around her apartment, swearing and eating the dried meat and stale bread she had in her cupboards. She opened the door to her house to collect some rainwater to wash, and realized her house was being guarded. The big, burly Gnoll standing right outside her door tipped her off.

She stared at him. He nodded to her and adjusted his helmet. He was standing beneath the eaves of her doorway so the rain didn’t hit him.

“Miss Shivertail. Watch Captain Zevara sends her regards, yes? She would like to speak with you as soon as you’re willing. Before the funeral.”

Selys just looked at him. There were so many things she could say in reply, but none of them came out. Her usual biting remarks were missing. The funeral was today.

“When is it?”

The Gnoll glanced towards the sky.

“Hrr. Four and a half hours from now if I’m a judge. The bells will ring from every wall twenty minutes ahead of time. Everyone will be there. I do not think anyone would miss it, no.”

Selys didn’t think so either. She closed the door and put on her rain gear. She didn’t feel like showering. When she left her house the Gnoll [Guardsman] followed. They met Watch Captain Zevara in Liscor’s largest plaza. The Watch Captain looked like she’d been up for hours. She looked tired and grumpy as she drank a stamina potion.

Selys knew what that was like. Erin had talked about something called ‘coffee’, but all Selys knew was that if you were flagging, a stamina potion would keep you awake long enough to finish your shift. You just felt like you were dead inside the entire time.

“Miss Shivertail. Apologies for the guard. In light of recent events I thought it was best.”

“What’s all this?”

The plaza was full of people. A stage had been constructed in the center of the plaza and Selys could see wet flags, wood barricades already holding back groups of civilians…

“The Council wanted the funeral to be public.”

“Funeral. But I thought we were going to send off his body—”

Zevara paused.

“We were. But a compromise was reached last night. General Shivertail’s family have no objections to holding the funeral here. A delegation from Pallass will arrive and General Shivertail’s funeral will be seen by all the Drake cities. His ashes will be sent to his home for burial.”

Bury me with my—Selys blinked. That was the compromise? She met Zevara’s eyes and the Watch Captain nodded ever so slightly. Then Selys fixed on something else she’d said.

“Ashes? You’re going to burn him? Why?”

The Watch Captain hesitated. She gestured at the Gnoll standing behind Selys and he backed up. Zevara walked closer and lowered her voice, although the rain drowned out the sound of her voice.

“There’s been a concerning development. I’ve kept it quiet, but I thought you and your aunt should know. We had a [Healer] remove the…armor from General Shivertail. However, the Drake complained of an odd feeling and diagnosed himself as sick shortly after touching General Shivertail’s body. He fell ill and passed away within the hour, despite the use of healing potions and antidotes.”

What?

Selys stared at Zevara in shock. The Drake woman nodded grimly.

“We’ve decided to cremate General Shivertail’s corpse in light of these events. Magnolia Reinhart did warn us—I exchanged a [Message] spell with her people and they’re convinced that whatever that was only affects those that touch the body.”

“Won’t anyone mind burning…?”

“It’s standard procedure with some burials. It won’t be out of place. We can claim it was in his will. I know this is all very hard—”

“For me?”

Selys stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain nodded uncertainly.

“It must be hard to deal with.”

She saw the [Receptionist] narrow her eyes in the rain. Selys spoke slowly.

“My uncle’s dead. That’s my business. I’m not the one dealing with his dead body killing people. I’ll be fine, Watch Captain. You do your job. I’ll be fine.”

She turned and walked away. Zevara stared at her back. She turned and found someone to glare at. The Gnoll [Guardsman]. He flicked his ears unhappily as the rain pattered off his armor and helmet. Zevara glared at him. Damn Gnoll hearing.

“You didn’t hear anything.”

He saluted.

“Not a thing, Captain.”

 

—-

 

Everything was a blur. Meaningless, but inescapable in its own way. Selys stood in the wet square as people worked around her. In silence. The crowd that had gathered was tired, wet, but determined to be there. They weren’t openly mourning—they had shed all their tears a week ago. But they came, Gnolls and Drakes and Humans.

Erin came. So did Mrsha, Lyonette, and the adventurers. Selys couldn’t face them so she stood next to Zevara as the Watch Captain kept the center of the plaza clear. Selys was allowed to be there. She was a relative. People stared at her, and Tekshia when she appeared.

Zel’s funeral was a production of the highest order. He was a war hero and this event mattered. It had to matter. So Liscor had pulled out all the stops it could. So had Pallass. The Walled City had sent a company of [Soldiers] to match Liscor’s own 4th Company. Embria and her men stood in the rain, presenting her arms. Pallass’ dignitaries and senators from their Assembly of Crafts stood with Liscor’s Council for the world to see. Every Drake city was watching.

And yet, there was a limit to how much they could do. When all was said and done, this was a funeral. It couldn’t be a parade and so the grandeur and effort of the cities was in appearance. The funeral itself was shorter. Somber. Quiet, save for the rain.

It happened too quickly for Selys. Pallbearers of the city’s finest Drakes carried Zel Shivertail’s body through the streets, past silent crowds. Ilvriss, Zevara, Embria…a [General] from Pallass, other officers Selys didn’t know, carried the casket. They laid Selys’ uncle down on a pyre of wet wood. Then they gave speeches.

Selys hid behind Zevara. She would have stood behind her grandmother, but Tekshia was too short. There was no such thing as a [Priest] in this world, not anymore. It was more fitting to let Watch Captain Zevara, Embria, and the other Drake leaders give speeches anyways. Zel Shivertail had been a soldier, and this was a military burial.

She didn’t listen to the words. She just stared at the blank casket and the dried brushwood and logs soaked in oil. Liscor didn’t have much wood—they usually imported it and hoarded what they had to last through the winter and spring. They’d had to get this wood from another city. Not from Celum. Pallass had insisted on providing high quality timber, as if it made a difference. Despite the rain the fire would burn hot and bright—courtesy of an [Alchemist] mixture.

After the speeches were done, Watch Captain Zevara stood and spoke Zel’s last rites. She spoke of heroism, of courage and sacrifice, of a [General], a legend. The Tidebreaker. Nothing about Selys’ uncle. She finished with a question Selys had heard once.

“Who will stand to avenge him? Which Drake will honor his memory?”

It was a question asked after Drakes died in battle. It was customary for someone to speak. Selys waited, numb, wet, and cold, and saw the eyes of the crowd.

They were staring at her. Selys turned white with shock, and then red. She was standing in the small crowd around the casket. And she was the youngest Drake there. That sent a cold shock down Selys’ spine. They were expecting her to—

Rumors had already spread about Zel’s will. But even without them, the stares of the crowd—Selys saw a [Mage] transmitting the scene—her face—to the world. She wanted to disappear. Again, Zevara asked the question as was custom.

“Who will stand to avenge our fallen? Who will rise for Zel Shivertail?”

The eyes. Selys felt like they were all focused on her. But what was she supposed to do? She wasn’t an adventurer! She was just—

Ordinary. Selys looked down at her feet in silence. Zevara raised her voice.

“Who among you will answer the call?”

“I will.”

For a heart-stopping second Selys thought it was her. But it wasn’t. Ilvriss stepped forwards, his face grim in the rain. Selys saw some of Pallass’ senators glare at him. Then Embria stepped forwards.

“I will.”

“As will I.”

More Drakes stepped forwards. Some in the crowd, others among the dignitaries. They shouted vengeance upon the Goblin Lord, heroes of the Drakes who wouldn’t let the Tidebreaker’s death rest.

It was a pretty scene. Selys wanted it to end. After the shouting had died down, Zevara turned. This was the final moment. She accepted a torch from a [Guardsman] and Selys saw two other Drakes take the brightly burning torches.

Tekshia and Embria. They had been chosen. No one had asked Selys. It was a custom. An officer for Zel from Liscor. The Watch Captain of the city. And Zel’s relative. Tekshia. They approached the pyre.

The casket was closed. Selys could remember what lay in it. Only, Zel’s body was stripped of the armor now. She wondered what he looked like.

The armor. Her armor. Selys wondered why it was hers. He’d given it to her so she could be an adventurer. She vaguely recalled telling him she wanted to be one. Years, oh, years ago.

It had been just a child’s fancy. But he’d remembered it. She stared as the three Drakes stepped forwards. They stood around the pyre. Waiting.

Tekshia Shivertail was the first. She gently placed the burning torch on the pyre. Zevara was next. She held her burning torch to her side until it ignited and stepped back. On the other end, Embria laid her torch on the wood reverentially.

The fire sputtered in the rain, but the alchemical mixture had been mixed well. There was a moment of silence, then the fire engulfed the casket with incredible speed. Selys heard a sigh from the crowd. She stared at the burning wood.

The flames danced in the rain, searing vision, a bright, living thing in the dark landscape. The pyre burned brightly for a long time, and then the rain reduced the fires to ash, then steaming embers. Selys stood in the rain, watching the ash smoke and fizzle until someone touched her arm.

Tekshia. The old Drake woman leaned on Selys’ arm. She’d stood so straight, so proudly during the funeral. Now she looked tired. Selys unconsciously offered her arm and Tekshia took it.

People were leaving. The after speeches went unspoken. No one wanted to say anything. Rather than leave all at once, the crowd in the plaza just trickled away. Many stayed, staring at the place where Zel Shivertail had been put to rest. Tekshia’s voice was soft as she and Selys walked down the street.

“I’m too old, Selys. Too old to do this again.”

“It wasn’t the same.”

Selys whispered the words. Tekshia looked at her.

“The same as what?”

“As Mom and Dad’s funeral.”

The elderly Drake paused.

“No. It wasn’t.”

That was all they said. Selys walked her grandmother back to her apartment, a lovely spacious one she’d had longer than Selys had been alive. She saw her grandmother off, stood in the rain. Until she realized someone was waiting for her.

“Do you get tired of bothering people?”

Wing Commander Embria stood stiffly in the rain. Her red scales reminded Selys of the embers. She saluted stiffly.

“I apologize for my interruption.”

“Good. For you.”

Selys glared at her. Embria hesitated.

“Miss Shiv—Miss Selys. I know this must be hard for you, but there are some matters we must discuss in regards to your—to General Shivertail’s will. If you’ll come with me?”

 

—-

 

The armor sat on a stand. It was a breastplate made of some kind of gold metal. There was really a limit to what you could say about it. Whatever [Blacksmith] had made it had engraved faint patterns into the armor, but the rippling fiery enchantment over the armor made it hard to see. When you stared at it, it was a breastplate that shone like fire and gold, like the dawning sun.

Like a pyre. If Selys hadn’t known what it was she would have thought it was a beautiful artifact, worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer, maybe even a Named One. But because she knew what it was it looked…almost cheap. You would have thought a legendary artifact would light up the entire room or make everyone that stared at it fall to their knees in awe. But it was just magic.

Just magic.

“It’s yours.”

Zevara awkwardly gestured at it. She stood in the small room—one of the unused rooms in Liscor’s city hall—with Embria and Ilvriss. Selys looked at the others.

“Mine.”

“That’s correct. There was an argument—a battle, really—over the contents of the will. But the law was clear and Salazsar and Pallass both backed your right to the armor. The other Walled Cities couldn’t protest, and while the Shivertail family was noisy…well, it’s yours.”

Selys stared at the armor. The Heartflame Breastplate. Just last week she’d had trouble meeting her rent since she’d spent too much on jewelry. Now she had this. This.

“I didn’t want it. I don’t want it.”

The Drakes looked at her with varying degrees of shock. Selys looked around. Military people. [Warriors]. They probably dreamed about getting artifacts like this. But she was a [Receptionist]. What was she supposed to do, wear it in case she was assaulted at her desk?

“This is mine?”

They nodded. Selys looked at the armor.

“What the hell am I supposed to use it for? A paperweight?

Watch Captain Zevara cleared her throat.

“Miss Selys, I know this is a lot to take in. But this armor—you need to do something with it. We can’t keep guarding it forever. One of the Shivertails let it slip that it was bequeathed to you, and there are already hundreds of [Message] spells asking about it. Soon there will be [Thieves] and people trying to take it at all costs.”

“Someone already tried.”

Everyone looked at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord nodded to the armor.

“Last night one of my people caught someone lurking around the side of the building. They escaped, but there was an attempted break in an hour later. A [Burglar], a local criminal, according to Senior Guardsman Relc, who apprehended him.”

“It’s already started. And it’s only going to get worse. Artifacts like this attract people like flies. And this one—Miss Selys—”

“I heard you. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Sell it?”

What?

Selys looked at Ilvriss. He studied her and the armor with a quick, appraising gaze.

“I would like to offer to buy the armor from you, Miss Selys. I realize I can’t offer you fair compensation for a legendary artifact without a known value, but consider it. You could sell the artifact in exchange for coin, goods, services…this could make you a very wealthy Drake.”

“Wall Lord! Miss Selys hasn’t had time to process any of this. Give her time—”

“It’s an offer, Watch Captain Zevara. I have no doubt Miss Selys will receive countless others by the time the day is done. I simply want her to be aware that I can pay my price up front and out of pocket.”

Ilvriss’ voice was calm. Selys couldn’t imagine how much he was talking about. Ten thousand gold coins? No, for any powerful artifact—

“The army could use the breastplate. Miss Shivertail might consider choosing to give the armor away to someone allied with her interests, rather than an outsider.”

Embria slid smoothly into the conversation, smiling politely at Selys. If she hoped to be friendly it didn’t work. Selys eyed her and Ilvriss. Zevara raised her claws.

“Wing Commander, Wall Lord! Please, let Miss Selys decide for herself.”

“You mean, to sell an incredibly powerful magical artifact. Just like that?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Zevara coughed.

“Not right away. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Your grandmother is sure to have an opinion on the issue.”

“You don’t have to make a decision today. We can defer the issue.”

“The issue of guarding it will of course be undertaken by my [Soldiers].”

“And my people. There’s no cost of course, but there is a limit—”

“A representative from Pallass is waiting to speak with you and you have [Message] spells from—”

It was like rush hour and she was alone at her desk. Selys looked from face to face as the Drakes who were far, far too important to ever speak with her normally jostled each other for her attention. Then she had a thought.

“I can’t. I’d love to ask—but I can’t. I have to go. I have an appointment. My job.”

“Doing what? I’m sure it can wait.”

“No it can’t. My grandmother gave me a task and it’s today. Now, in fact.”

“Doing what?”

Selys wanted to laugh hysterically.

“I’ve got to go supervise a [Necromancer] in the sewers.”

They stared at her as if she were mad.

 

—-

 

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

Selys walked down the street. Pisces glanced up and sniffed. He was standing next to a sewer entrance. He wasn’t wet. A barrier of air shielded him from overhead, keeping his spotless robes nice and dry.

“I would complain, but given the circumstances I will refrain.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

Pisces glanced at Selys, and then his eyes flicked down the street. Selys didn’t have to turn to know that a group of figures was not-so-discreetly loitering there.

“I assume that those following you are friendly in some sense of the word?”

“They’re [Guardsmen]. And Liscor’s [Soldiers]. Oh, and I think some of them are Wall Lord Ilvriss’ people.”

“Ah.”

Pisces glanced at Selys, and then at the sewer entrance. It was an iron doorway set into a tunnel that went all the way down to the sewers, Selys knew. It was locked, but Selys had a key. Pisces glanced at Selys again. She just glared at him. She was wet. She didn’t like Pisces that much and she didn’t want to hear a single acerbic comment out of him. She wasn’t Erin who had the patience to deal with weirdos all day. But to her surprise, Pisces cleared his throat.

“I could do this myself. Or we could postpone this task for another day.”

The Drake [Receptionist] blinked at him.

“I have a job to do. And I have to follow you and make sure you’re doing it right.”

“Yes, but if you’d like to take a break I would be more than willing to relegate this errand to a later date. I understand today might be somewhat stressful…”

He trailed off and Selys realized what he was getting at. He was actually being tactful. She paused.

“I’d never hear the end of it from my grandmother if I shirked my duties.”

“You could tell her I failed to turn up. Or that I requested an extension.”

Why was he trying to be helpful? Selys tail curled with stress.

“I—appreciate the offer, Pisces. But Zevara, Olesm, and everyone else are breathing down my tail to get the sewers cleared. Let’s just get this over with.”

“As you wish. I assume you have the key?”

“Yeah. Move over.”

Selys fished around and came up with an old key. She unlocked the doors while Pisces stared over her shoulder.

“Please tell me that your escort isn’t going to follow us into the sewers. Fifteen Drakes and Gnolls crowded down there would be—”

He paused.

“—Fairly entertaining, actually.”

Selys bared her teeth.

“I don’t think they get paid enough for that. Besides, we’re not going in far, are we? Here we are.”

The sewer doors opened and let a terrible stench out. Pisces covered his nose and coughed. Selys gagged. She heard the [Necromancer] mutter a word, and a breeze blew past her. The smell vanished.

“Huh. Thanks.”

“Wind spell. A shame I never mastered scent illusions. Are you alright, Miss Shivertail?”

She was getting sick of being called Miss Shivertail. Selys eyed Pisces.

“It’s Selys. I’ll live. Where’s your undead creation?”

“In here.”

Pisces patted a bag of holding at his side. He hesitated. The steps leading down weren’t wet, but the rain was blowing in and there was a good amount of moss coating the old stones.

“You really needn’t come down with me. Neither of us need be here, to be honest.”

“I’m going. Stop trying to talk me out of it.”

Selys glared and walked past Pisces. She took the steps down as the stench of the sewers grew worse and worse. The steps led down to a very large, very flooded sewer. Selys had been down here only once before, back when she’d wanted to become an adventurer. One hour in here had disabused her of that notion.

The sewers of Liscor. Every decent city had sewers, at least in Izril. It rained too much not to invest in such things. But sewers brought trouble. They were a breeding ground for disease and pests, for one thing. Monsters had a nasty habit of invading the sewers, and as such, it was considered a rite of passage for most adventurers to start at Bronze-rank by slaying giant rats, slugs, slimes, and other monsters in the sewers for copper and silver coins. It was disgusting work, but it was plentiful.

If Liscor’s sewers were different from other sewers in other cities, it was in size. To manage the runoff of water, the sewers had been built larger to withstand the heavy rains that came every year. Selys could see black and filthy water rushing down the main tunnel as she descended the steps.

You’d expect sewers to be filled with green sludge, or resemble some kind of bog. You would be wrong. These sewers were meant to send the water out of Liscor. If they were clogged something had gone wrong. And in fact, it was that very issue Selys was here to address with Pisces.

“Ancestors, what a stench.

“It’s certainly pungent.”

Pisces seemed more immune to the horrendous smell down here than Selys. He wrinkled his noise and covered his face with one sleeve, eying the moss and lichen growing on the walls of the ancient stone. Selys breathed through her mouth.

“According to Olesm, the sewers are getting clogged thanks to moth bodies and rats. Those damn things stop water flow with their nests. Fortress Beavers do it too sometimes. I saw several streets being flooded since the drains are blocked.”

“That was my understanding. Olesm commissioned me to solve the problem, and I offered the use of my undead. I have my creation ready to deploy. Should I…?”

“Yes!”

Selys just wanted to be out of here. Why was she here when she had just inherited a magical artifact? If she sold it, she’d never have to work in the sewers again. She watched as Pisces rummaged around in his bag of holding, and then produced a handful of bones. He tossed them to the ground and pointed.

“Rise.”

Selys had never seen anyone animate an undead before. She watched in horror—and fascination—as the bones floated upwards and rotated, joining together to create a skeletal…thing on the floor. It was definitely not the skeleton of anything that had once been alive.

It resembled a dead animal that was half dog, half cat, and somehow, half rat. There were too many bones, and it had tearing jaws, long claws, and ‘spines’ of sharpened bones. It looked like it had been born to hunt down other creatures its size. Selys shuddered.

That’s your creation?”

“Please don’t be alarmed. This creation is totally under my control. It is a variant of a Bone Horror, scaled down for utility. It will not approach you or harm you in any way.”

Pisces spoke quickly, holding his hand out as the bone hunter…thing flexed its body, raising a clawed leg and opening and shutting its mouth. Selys stared at Pisces and then at the undead horror he’d made.

“I’m not scared of it.”

“You aren’t? Ah, well, that is good. As I told Olesm, it won’t take any action without my command and it will follow my instructions most precisely. You need not look at it.”

The thing appeared to be checking its body for faults. Selys stared at it, and then at Pisces. He was half-shielding it from her view.

“Are you afraid I’ll faint or something?”

He sniffed.

“I am aware of your people’s fear of the undead. I would not wish you to faint or become hysterical, especially given our proximity to the water.”

He stared at her with a mixture of disdain and condescension. Selys felt her blood boil. He thought she was going to run away screaming? She’d heard from the other [Receptionists] that they were terrified of him. Selys glared at Pisces. She stared at his Bone Horror and raised her foot. Then she kicked it into the water with a splash.

Pisces gaped at her. Selys glared at him.

“What? Don’t tell me it’s too fragile to take a kick?”

“No, but—that—”

Selys folded her arms.

“I’m not afraid of the undead. I just don’t like them. Is it going to get to work or do I have to kick you into the water after it?”

It was cathartic to see the [Necromancer]’s jaw drop. Pisces raised a finger, and then turned and pointed. Selys saw the water shift, and a dark shape moved out of sight. She waited, and then saw  the undead thing clamber out of the water and lope down the elevated walkways.

“Good.”

Pisces watched it go, and then eyed Selys. He almost looked impressed. Selys got the impression that no one had ever kicked his creations before. She just glared at him.

“What?”

“Er, nothing.”

“Good to hear. How long until that thing gets to work?”

“It should already be hunting down rat nests, ah, Selys. It will locate them, climb into their dens and eradicate them. If it senses a blockage it will excavate the offending area.”

Selys raised one of her brows.

“Excavate?”

“It will, ah, disassemble any corpse or blockage it finds. My creation can dissect most creatures quite quickly.”

“Gross.”

Selys sighed. Well, adventurers did the same thing. That was one of the reasons why it was so hard to get people to do sewer work, despite the higher pay. It was a disgusting job where you had to haul dead and rotten body parts around. And if you fell into the waters—well, if there hadn’t been rain for a while it could get nasty.

“Just show me when it kills things. I’ll stand here, say that you’re not creating an army of undead in the sewers and go home. You can leave and I can go, okay?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan. Selys.”

“I know.”

The Drake folded her arms. Pisces blinked at her, still looking off-guard and raked a hand through his hair. They stood together in silence as the waters flowed past them. There really wasn’t much Selys wanted to look at. After a while, Pisces spoke.

“If occurs to me that we haven’t spoken at length before now.”

“I don’t hang around Erin’s inn that often. And you don’t show up in the Adventurer’s Guild too much.”

“Yes, well, I am aware when my presence is unwanted.”

“Maybe if you stopped making undead and sneering at everyone we’d all like you more.”

Pisces’ eyes flashed.

“My pursuit of necromancy is my choice to make! My spells are useful—even if only a few individuals are willing to acknowledge that fact. The fact that the Adventurer’s Guild refused to consider my reasonable offer after Olesm had approved it reflects more poorly on you than I. Or am I incorrect in thinking you resorted to my services due to a lack of interest in your ‘tried and tested’ methods of clearing the sewers?”

His voice was hurt and waspish. Pisces sniffed haughtily and immediately regretted the action. Selys just sighed.

“Yeah, you’re wrong. I said it was okay.”

Pisces paused.

“You did?”

Selys nodded, keeping her eyes on the dark waters. Why was she here?

“Yup. My grandmother was the one who objected. You know her? Tekshia Shivertail? She hates all [Necromancers].”

“But you don’t?”

The young man in white robes peered at Selys, looking suddenly a lot more interested and a lot less standoffish than before. Selys frowned.

“I don’t like [Necromancers]. Or the undead. But I thought Olesm’s idea made sense. It’s for the rats. I hate those things.”

“More than the undead.”

Selys’ tail curled around her legs with distaste.

“Have you ever woken up to a giant rat creeping around your kitchen?”

“Not as such. But I see your point. Well. I withdraw my former complaint. Am I to assume that it was your intervention that allowed this project to continue?”

Selys shrugged uncomfortably.

“I talked with my grandmother. Don’t thank me. It’s just that we have a sewer problem and I live here. Better a [Necromancer]’s creations than sending adventurers down to deal with it. Do you know how many adventurers die each year in the sewers?”

“I believe that would be a rhetorical question.”

Pisces backed away as Selys raised her foot threateningly. She glared at him and sighed.

“Two. On average, two idiots lose their footing and drown. Or actually die if the rats swarm them. I know that’s not a lot and it really only happens if someone’s careless. But that’s two reports I have to make—two dead bodies someone has to explain to their families. That’s why I’ll tolerate your damn undead, even if I hate them.”

“I see.”

The necromancer fell silent and Selys kicked at a crumbling bit of stone. Pisces was not her ideal talking partner. She’d be happy if they never talked, actually. It wasn’t that he was that unpleasant—not once you took him down a peg—but Selys could live her entire life without needing to engage him in conversation. But here she was. She’d actually kissed him once. Why? Oh yeah. The mistletoe.

If Pisces recalled that incident he didn’t seem to remember. Or care. He was focused on what Selys had said, frowning over her words like a true debater.

“While I appreciate your pragmatism Selys, your statements raise a question for me. If you can see the utility of the undead, why do you despise them? Because of their appearance? Their nature?”

The question didn’t so much hit Selys in the gut as bounce off her scales. But it wasn’t a fun question, either. Selys stared past Pisces, wondering if she shouldn’t answer, evade the question, or kick him into the sewers. But no—that wouldn’t be fair. She sighed.

“My parents died when the Necromancer attacked the city.”

“Ah.”

The young man froze. Selys eyed him.

“Are you going to tell me you’re sorry?”

He wavered.

“I would like to express my condolences. Yes. But it was not my undead that killed your parents.”

Selys’ tail uncurled and lashed a bit.

“I didn’t say it was.”

“No, but the implication is there. And I understand your animosity towards all undead. But if I may—I would place the guilt on the Necromancer.”

Not the undead?”

Pisces spread his hands.

“They are monsters. Some think. Most are mindless. But they hunger after the living, and yes, cause death and destruction if not stopped. But they are a force of nature, Selys. And to a [Necromancer], they are tools. Servants. And sometimes, yes, sometimes, valuable creations. Works of genius.”

“That killed my parents.”

Pisces shoulders hunched.

“Yes. In that sense the undead can be weapons. And they can be horrific. But it was the Necromancer who made war on Liscor. I don’t ask you to put aside your hatred, but look at my creation and see it as a tool, however disgusting, Selys. I see value in it. I know the bone and shape frightens others, but there is a craftsman’s pride in my creation.”

“That’s what you say. All I see is a horrible bone thing.”

Selys turned away. She heard a sigh. Pisces looked at her back, but didn’t pursue the topic. She felt…well, not angry. Not really. She’d gone over her parent’s deaths too many times to flare up at Pisces. After a while, Selys couldn’t help it. She looked over her shoulder at Pisces, who was busy reading a spellbook he’d pulled out of his bag of holding.

“You should have given it armor.”

“Excuse me?”

He looked up. Selys gestured around the sewers.

“Some of the rats and monsters you see here get big. They’ll smash this thing with their bodies if it provokes them, no matter how many claws and spines you give it.”

“Really?”

“You ever seen a three hundred pound rat body slam someone? They’ll crush your little bone horror. You should have given it armor. And a ranged attack.”

Pisces closed his book.

“That’s not exactly possible with most undead, Miss Selys.”

She snorted.

“Yeah, not with skeletons. But what about Crypt Lords? Skeleton archers? Ancestors, you’d probably have done better than your bone horror if you just animated three skeletons and given them bows and swords!”

That stung his pride.

“My Bone Horror was customized to fight in narrow spaces!”

“By a [Necromancer] who’s never ventured into the sewers in his life! What happens if it runs into a slime?”

“Well—I ah, suppose it would destroy the slime’s core.”

“Not if it’s engulfed entirely. Did you give it a way to deal with armored rats?”

Armored rats?”

“They get weird. You could have made your bone horror better.”

He flushed.

“And I suppose you have a better idea?”

Selys did, actually.

“Yeah. Armor. And a projectile weapon. Let it shoot bone spikes. There are some undead that do that, aren’t there? That way, it might survive an encounter with some of the nastier things down here. And make a bigger Bone Horror too. Something that can hunt down the huge monsters. That way you can have the little one flush out the tiny monsters while the big one patrols the sewers.”

She pointed down the sewers. The main water tunnel branched off down the intersections, but there were walkways on both sides of the canal where something could patrol. Selys looked back at Pisces and saw him staring at her. She smirked at him.

“If you’re going to create an undead monster, Pisces, do it right. Can you make more?”

The [Necromancer] had to fumble to reply.

“Um. Yes. I can. I lack the bones, but assuming my creation secures enough corpses…I can create another later tonight if that is acceptable. A variant like you described—I haven’t tried—bone spikes, you said? Which undead uses…?”

“Ever heard of a Spiked Stalker?”

“I—well, I’ve heard the name, but I’ve never encountered one…how do you know about them?”

Selys rolled her eyes mockingly.

“I’m a [Receptionist] for the Adventurer’s Guild. I have to memorize monster weaknesses and variants. You’re the [Necromancer] here. What’s your excuse?”

She saw him blink at her, and then, surprisingly, grin.

“My apologies, Selys. I will be sure to brush up on my knowledge of the undead. Am I to take it that you’re approving my creation of more undead to patrol the sewers?”

Selys wavered. Tekshia hadn’t given her permission. But Tekshia wasn’t watching a bit of poo float down the sewers. She nodded firmly.

“Yeah. Do that. Four should be enough if they’re working around the clock.”

“I’ll draw up new plans. And speaking of work—I believe my creation has already cleared out a nest. Would you like to inspect it?”

She was feeling a little better. Selys sighed.

“Might as well. Lead the way.”

Pisces took her down two corridors and into a gap in the sewer walls where the stone had crumbled away and enterprising rats had built a nest. Right up until a certain undead had found them, that was. Selys looked at the ravaged rat corpses with disgust. Blood was already running into the waters. Design flaws aside, Pisces’ creation really was good at its job.

“Alright, I think I’ve seen enough. I don’t need to watch it disembowel a moth corpse to know it’ll do it.”

“Excellent. And there are bones here for me to use. I’ll ah, get to work after you leave.”

“Considerate of you. Well, thanks Pisces. I’ll tell grandmother—I mean, the Guildmistress—that you’re doing a good job.”

Awkwardly, Selys turned away from the bloody nest. She looked around the dark sewer tunnels with dismay. Pisces had created a [Light] spell, but the only other light came from the drains that let a little light in from above.

“Which way leads out of here? I’ve got a lot to do and I can’t stand around watching crap float by with you. However much more fun that might be.”

“Ah. I’ll guide you out. Am I to take it that you’re deliberating on your current predicament?”

Pisces stood up and pointed. Selys followed him, frowning.

“My ‘predicament’? What would you know about what I’m up to?”

She heard a sniff and a cough as Pisces walked in front of her, shining the light orb so they could see where they stepped.

“Gah! An unfortunate habit—Miss Selys, I would wager that the entire city knows the contents of General Shivertail’s will, at least what pertains to you. He left the Heartflame Breastplate to you, and it is no leap of the imagination to assume that every important figure in the south of Izril desires it badly. Have you had many offers to sell?”

Selys bit her lip.

“Two, so far. Well, one to donate to Liscor’s army. Apparently I have more [Message] spells waiting for me. And people.”

“Hmph. No doubt. Well, I would hate to offer my advice unsolicited, but I do hope that you take care in choosing what you do with the armor. Leaving it be is obviously untenable, but selling it or giving to the wrong faction would be politically risky.”

Pisces’ knowing tone made Selys glare at his back.

“What do you know of Drake politics?”

He shot an amused glance over his shoulder.

“Enough to understand that strengthening Wall Lord Ilvriss’ position would undermine Pallass’ authority to restrict his travel through their Walled City. Salazsar and Pallass are currently at odds, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were immediately approached with a counteroffer to sell the armor to Pallass. And if you don’t agree, I would imagine Pallass would quickly put pressure on Liscor and you to sell the armor to them or one of their allies.”

Selys gulped. That did sound likely, now that Pisces said it. Her little sewer adventure meant she’d missed speaking with the important people waiting to talk to her. Was that really what they’d do?

“You’re sure?”

“Well, I suspect that if you didn’t give away the breastplate within the day, multiple factions would start forming alliances to compete for the armor. Pallass doesn’t have to have the armor—neither does Oteslia, or any of the other Walled Cities. Simply denying it to their adversaries would be enough, and you would be caught in a whirlwind of competing influences, so to speak.”

“Is there a best move?”

Selys felt dizzy at the thought of all that. Pisces laughed.

“For you? For your finances? Or for Liscor? If you are worried about your safety and would rather see this taken care of efficiently, I would gift the armor to Liscor’s army for a small sum of gold. They can hardly afford to outbid a Walled City, but you would be considered a patriot and would offend the fewest number of parties that way.”

They’d reached the stairs leading up. Selys shook her head.

“How do you know all this? Wait—you’re just making all this up! You can’t know all this.”

“Can’t I?”

Pisces gave her a superior glance. He began walking up the stairs backwards, looking down at her as he rattled off a list of facts.

“The Heartflame Breastplate. Last in the possession of General Ironscales of Oteslia. Lost in a conflict with the Reinhart and El family over a dispute regarding trade from Chandrar that resulted in a clash north of Liscor, a rare exception to the traditional conflicts on the Blood Fields. The armor and General Ironscales were lost when her command was routed and she disappeared in the chaos. The Heartflame Breastplate is known for its keen defensive properties and was considered to be unbreakable whether by magic or physical force…”

He trailed off as Selys stared at him. Pisces shrugged.

“Artifacts are of extreme interest to [Mages], particularly ones that haven’t been discovered yet. I confess, I did listen to the gossip. As for politics, I have studied Drake culture as a matter of interest. I am sympathetic to your circumstances, Selys. You have been thrust into an unpleasant dilemma.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Selys groaned. She could smell damp, refreshing air from above. She climbed out of the sewers with Pisces and locked the metal doors. She stank and she wanted a hot bath, but she’d have to make a report. Selys glanced sideways at Pisces.

“Okay, you’re smart for all you don’t know undead as well as you think you do. What would you do if you were in my boots?”

“Me? Do you mean, who would I sell to? No one. Not at the moment.”

“What do you mean?”

The young Drake woman frowned at him. Pisces rolled his eyes heavenwards, a gesture that reminded Selys of herself.

“Simply put, the desire for you to sell or give away one of the most precious artifacts known to Drakes does not seem to be in your best interests, is it? Artifacts appreciate in value. And this artifact, well, it is an unknown quantity in part.”

“How so? It’s the Heartflame Breastplate. Everyone knows about it!”

Pisces smirked.

“Ah, yes, everyone. Tell me, Selys. How much do you know about the artifact you possess? Its history? All of its magical effects? You know a few rumors passed down by Drakes around a mug of ale. Are you certain you know everything about such a legendary artifact? Just like that?”

Selys nearly bit her tongue. She hadn’t thought of any of that. She was still grappling with the idea that the armor was hers! She looked hard at Pisces.

“I don’t suppose you know a lot about it, then?”

He hesitated. Pisces stroked his chin and looked at Selys. He seemed to waver, and then shrugged to himself. He drew closer and Selys heard him whisper as the rain soaked them from above.

“I know where we could find out.”

 

—-

 

There was a crowd of Drakes passing through The Wandering Inn. They first came through the door to Liscor, waited impatiently as the connection was switched to Pallass, and walked through without so much as looking around the inn. Sometimes the Drakes would come the other way, and they were forced to wait in queues as they travelled from Pallass to the inn to Liscor.

None of them had much good to say about Humans today, and the [Innkeeper] in charge of changing the doorway from place to place was pretty fed up with it all. She’d just opened the door to Pallass for the umpteenth time when someone spoke her name.

“Hey Erin.”

Erin Solstice looked up in surprise.

“Selys!”

She waved at Selys, who smiled as Drakes poured past her into Pallass. The Walled City was windy today, without a cloud in the sky. Erin eyed the lovely weather longingly. Selys glanced at the doorway.

“Lots of traffic?”

“Everyone wants to come through and back and through again!”

Erin rolled her eyes as a group of Pallassian [Soldiers] in yellow armor marched past her. She lowered her voice.

“Hey Selys, want something to eat? No one’s hungry and they’re all glaring at me. They just want to travel to Liscor which is good because I have the you know whos in the basement.”

She pointed and Selys glanced at the trap door to her basement. It was open a crack and she saw a crimson eye staring at her before the trap door closed. Erin grimaced.

“I feel really bad, but it’s like—you know?”

She waved her hands to indicate that Hobgoblins in her inn was not a safe move right after Zel Shivertail’s funeral. Selys nodded. She edged towards the door.

“I’m not hungry, Erin. Actually…I’m going through to Pallass. Do I need to sign something or can I just walk through?”

“Oh? Well…no one’s signing things today. Go on through, I guess. I’m going to have to let people go to Liscor in a minute, but if you wait you can get back in. I think.”

Erin gestured to some of the Drakes and a pair of Gnolls who’d come into the inn and were waiting impatiently. Selys nodded.

“How long do I have? If I want to stay in Pallass for a while?”

The young woman had to think.

“They’re holding the door open for the next…six hours. Just come back by then, okay? I feel really bad for the [Mages]—they’ve got to work really hard.”

She pointed to a sweating Drake standing by the door in the inn. There were more on Pallass’ side and they were rotating in shifts. Selys nodded. She glanced casually over to her right at a patch of empty air.

“Well then. I’ll see you later, Erin.”

“Sure! And—wait a minute! What’s this about you inheriting—aw, she’s gone.”

Selys had already left through the doorway. Erin sighed and looked at the [Mage] standing by the door. He was frowning at Selys’ back, or rather, the air to her right, but he looked up as Erin sidled over. She leaned over conspiratorially as the Drake glared at her suspiciously.

“Psst. Want a snack?”

The [Mage] stared at her. He glanced around at the unhappy Drakes and then at her inn, perhaps realizing for the first time that it was an inn and not a waiting zone made into his own personal hell. He hesitated, and then replied in a whisper.

“…What kind of snack?”

 

—-

 

Selys walked through Pallass, trying to look casual and not gawk. A Walled City! She’d just walked through and now she was here! She looked around and jumped as a young man strolled across the street next to her. Pisces smiled pleasantly and whispered.

“Don’t jump!”

“I thought you were invisible!”

“I just kept the spell up long enough to enter Pallass. Humans aren’t unheard of in the city. I just wanted to avoid suspicion at the doorway, a sentiment which I thought you would share.”

The Drake [Receptionist] glared at him. She was on pins and needles just having walked into Pallass. The idea of it! But Pisces had been so sure. And he’d been right! No one looked twice at Selys. Everyone was entering and leaving Pallass, and so the normally vigilant guard on Erin’s inn had been slack enough for Pisces and Selys to slip through.

Now they were walking down the street, mingling with the crowd—of which there were a few Humans, it was true—looking for a building. Selys followed Pisces as he read signs. The [Necromancer] practically exuded confidence as he walked down the street, as if he had every right to be here.

“Hm. I think that building is it. Right up ahead. The architecture matches what we might expect, anyways. Ah yes, here we are!”

He pointed. Selys saw Pallass’ Archive, the repository of books and Drake knowledge, looming in front of them. It wasn’t so much a library as a treasury of texts. Drakes certainly couldn’t just walk in and take out books. They hoarded their valuable scrolls and books. Normally Selys would have been turned away at the door, but again, Pisces had a solution.

“Name?”

“Selys Shivertail.”

The Drake on duty at the desk looked down at his parchment, did a double take, and stared at her. Selys smiled weakly. He stared at her, opened his mouth.

“Uh—Shivertail?”

“That’s right. I’m uh, visiting Pallass for the day. I was hoping I could read a few books…?”

Selys let the question linger in the air. The Drake stared at her and then at his parchment.

“You’re not on the approved list. But uh—you’re—I saw you on the scrying spell! You were at General Shivertail’s funeral! Standing right there!”

He gestured. Selys felt a pang in her stomach. She felt a nudge in her side and elbowed the air. Hard. She heard a muffled yelp. The Drake librarian didn’t notice.

“That’s right. I couldn’t stay in Liscor, so I wanted to visit Pallass. It’s an amazing city. I know I’m not on the list, but I thought I could just…”

The Drake fumbled for his papers.

“We’re not supposed to let anyone in. But you’re—I mean, you knew—I don’t see what the harm is. If you’re just looking. I can just write you in as…well, I don’t know if I need to write this. Purpose of visit? Why not? I was devastated to hear about General Shivertail passing. Those damn Goblins.”

Selys nodded and made appropriate sounds, sensing someone move past her. Within five minutes she was past the front desk and moving down the shelves. The helpful Drake had even pointed her in the direction of the texts she’d wanted to find. She paused at a shelf and whispered.

“Are you there?”

“You hit me.”

Pisces’ injured voice was a whisper. He needn’t have bothered; few Drakes were in the archive and none of them were in their section. Selys glared in the direction of the voice.

“Be glad I didn’t do worse.”

“Be glad the [Invisibility] spell didn’t fail right then and there! Physical contact makes it break!”

Pisces retorted angrily. Selys paused.

“You should have mentioned that.”

“I didn’t expect to be attacked! Now, take that book off the shelves in front of you. The one with the green cover. That’s the one we’re looking for, or so I believe.”

Selys did so, carefully. She opened the book, noting the title. General Ironscales, Assorted Myths and Factual Accounts.

“Huh. I didn’t know there was a book like this.”

Pisces’ voice was dismissive.

“Opportunistic [Writers]. This one appears to be a compilation of gossip more than a piece by an accredited [Historian]. But myth may be what we need, so long as it’s detailed. Open it.”

Selys did. The words on the page were tightly written and she read quickly. A [Receptionist] had to have the [Speed Reading] skill or go insane. Pisces was almost as quick and he quickly helped her locate the section they were looking for.

“Here we are. The Heartflame Breastplate. Rumored to be worn by…part of a complete set…a complete set? Really?”

Selys glanced up. She felt an invisible hand turn the page of the book she was holding. Pisces voice was animated.

“Fascinating. I had no idea! This armor was known for far more than its defensive properties. Look at this passage. ‘One rumor attributes the armor’s defensive abilities to more than just its intrinsic toughness. Legend has it that General Ironscales would walk into battle surrounded by a barrier of flames that could turn aside arrow and spell alike. This rumor may have been due to her ability to breathe fire, but a separate and verified historical entry notes her ‘protection of flames’, rather than ‘protection from flames’ or other wording.’”

“Is that what you were talking about?”

Selys’ heart beat faster. The Heartflame Breastplate was more than just a powerful piece of armor? Pisces sounded excited.

“This is why I told you that research was essential. No doubt other cities are looking into the myths as well. Too often people assume to know everything, when in fact the truth is only a fraction of the whole! Let’s see if we can find any more references to the armor.”

Selys paged through the book, noting every reference to the Heartflame Breastplate she could. There were more books that mentioned the legendary artifact, and with the helpful Drake librarian’s help, Selys went through lists of Drake artifacts, accounts of wars involving the breastplate, and more fables about Ironscales and the artifact.

“This is incredible.”

Hours later, Selys found herself leaving the archives, head spinning. She had learned so much about the Heartflame Breastplate. It had been part of a set, it had a power—all of the stories pointed to it having some kind of flame enchantment that was activated by means of some kind of secret command—and yet there was so much she didn’t know. She walked down the busy street, talking quietly with an invisible Pisces.

“I had no idea it was this famous. I mean, sure you hear children’s stories, but there are so many! Like the Spear of Kissle, or the tale about Hessca the [Dragonslayer]. None of that’s real.

“And yet, there is a nugget of truth in some legends. You possess the Heartflame Breastplate. An artifact worthy of any Walled City, any hero. You do. Is that not enough to make you believe in some of the mythology?”

“Yes. No. It doesn’t seem real.”

Selys kept her voice low. Anyone looking at her would just think she was talking to herself. Pisces’ voice was thoughtful.

“You are taking this quite calmly. Are you sure you’re not in a state of shock? I can hardly believe your levelheadedness myself.”

Selys shook her head.

“I don’t know. The Heartflame Breastplate? Me, owning it? Thanks to Uncle Zel? I—I still haven’t really felt like it was mine, you know. It’s so sudden. They just showed me the armor, said it was mine, and told me to give it to someone.”

She walked past a burly Drake who was walking her way and sensed Pisces shifting closer to her. There was a group of Drakes walking and he had to move to avoid them. Selys paused until she felt him nearby and went on.

“It’s all too fast. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me, you know? Maybe to Erin. But not me. I just knew my uncle. And he was a hero, but I—it’s too sudden. I can’t believe it happened. And the armor only belongs to me because he’s gone, you know? It’s like everyone’s forgotten that. But I—”

She looked around and realized she couldn’t sense Pisces’ robes swishing  by her side. Instead, the burly Drake she’d just passed had turned and was walking her way. Too close to her. Selys walked away from him, irritated, but he was right by her side. What was his problem? She turned and glared at him.

“Hey, some personal space here?”

“Selys Shivertail?”

He looked down at her. He had dark orange scales and a scar over his snout. Selys paused.

“That’s me. How do you know my name?”

She looked at him, and realized the big Drakes she’d passed were also standing behind him. A lot of them. In fact, they looked like they were all following her. Selys backed up a step. The Drake with orange scales nodded.

“That’s her. Do it.”

Selys turned and shouted.

Hel—

Something hit Selys on the back of the head. She sagged and someone caught her. Selys heard a panicked shout from someone across the street, and then a voice.

“Let’s move!”

The world turned black as Selys felt herself being carried away at speed. She saw the empty street as her head lolled back and Drakes staring at her in alarm, but no one was following her as the thugs ran with her. No one was coming to save her.

No one at all.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.18 S

“What’s it like, being a [General], Uncle Zel?”

“A general? Hm. That’s a difficult question. Why, are you planning on becoming a [General] instead of a Named Adventurer, Selys?”

“No…I don’t want to join the army. Grandma hates them. I do too. Every time they come home they cause trouble. They tried to kill some Antinium.”

“Ah. I heard about that incident. How is the city adapting to them?”

“Dunno. They’re weird, but I don’t see them often. There’s one in the City Watch. Did you know that?”

“I…did.”

“He’s really strange. He’s always polite and everyone avoids him. Why are we talking about the Antinium? What’s it like being a [General]? Huh? Tell me!”

“What part of being a [General] interests you, Selys?”

“Um…what’s it like being famous.”

“Famous?”

“You know. Everyone staring at you. Grandma said you led a huge army against a Gnoll Tribe last month!”

“The Vaskia Skyhunter Tribe. It wasn’t that large of an army. But yes. I had to do that.”

“So? What’s it like?”

“…What?”

“Being at the center of attention! Is it fun?”

“It’s not exactly like that, Selys. I’m a [General], not a hero. People take orders. It’s not like being an adventurer or a celebrity.”

“But they do pay attention to you, right?”

“They do.”

“I wish they did that to me. No one ever pays attention to me. Grandma’s famous. So are you. I’m just Selys.”

“It’s not everything you might think it is, Selys. Fame is a one-way street. Once you go down it, you can’t go back.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Er—being stared at by everyone isn’t always fun, Selys.”

“Why do you do it, then?”

“…Huh.”

“Wait, you don’t know?”

“I’m thinking. Hush for one second.”

“Okay.”

“…Why do I do it? Well, I don’t like being famous. Having everyone’s eyes on you, being trusted to lead an army…that’s a heavy responsibility. There’s something unique about being the one person in the world everyone’s watching. That’s true.”

“What’s it like, Uncle Zel?”

“Indescribable.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Does it feel good?”

“That’s hard to say too. Being in command, taking charge…some love the feeling of doing that. Others hate it. I do it because there’s no one else. Because it’s my duty. Because…it must be done.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I bet that I’ll like it. When I’m a Named Adventurer I’ll visit you all the time, okay? I’ll be more famous than you are!”

“Hahaha—”

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry, Selys. I know you are. I was just thinking that might be pleasant. When you’re more famous than me, come visit me anytime. It would be refreshing to have a niece more famous than I am.”

“Just you wait. I’m going to do it. Grandma’s teaching me how to use a sword, and I can go into the sewers when I’m fifteen! Evvy’s parents are going to let her try when she’s fourteen, but Grandma says I’m too reckless. I’m not.”

“I’m sure she’s just being careful. And she is the Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild, Selys.”

“Yeah. Anyways, I’ve been practicing with those claws you gave me! Look, I brought them!”

“Oh. Well done. I suppose if you’re here, I should teach you another trick. Unless you want to use a sword?”

“Nope! I’m gonna learn how to do everything. Teach me another trick!”

“Alright. Stand back and give me some room. You’re going to want to be a bit back from your opponent when you do this—”

“Wow! Let me try!”

“Careful. It’s not easy. And remember what I told you?”

“Don’t do this to anyone I know?”

“Right. But the second part—”

“‘Stay out of trouble.’ I know, Uncle.”

“I’m just concerned for my favorite niece.”

“Really? Your favorite?”

“Well, maybe my second favorite—”

“Uncle!”

 

—-

 

­“Wake up.”

Someone smacked Selys with a claw. She jerked, felt the binding on her wrist and stared at a Drake. He had an ugly, flat face, like a Human’s. And he was standing too close to her. She tried to back up, nearly fell, and realized she was sitting in a chair. Her hands were bound to the back with rope. She saw other Drakes in the room, huge, thickset ones and thought of the worst.

“Touch me and I’ll—”

“Shut up.”

The Drake in front of her glared at her. He had dark orange scales, greasy and uncared for. He also had a knife. Selys realized that when he brandished it. She eyed the blade, but kept talking.

“If you lay one claw on me, I’ll bite your hand off, got it?”

The Drake exchanged a glance with his buddies.

“Cooperate and you won’t be harmed.”

“Yeah. Cooperate or we’ll have to persuade you. Which would be fun for us. And not for you.”

Another Drake leered at her. Selys stared at him. He was shorter, with brown scales. She glanced around. This was bad. Really bad. What was—

The Drake in front of her slapped down a piece of parchment. Selys stared at it. The Drake put down an ink pot and quill. He pointed.

“Sign.”

Selys stared at him. She stared at the contract. It was hard to make out since the only light in the room was a single lantern. But she could make out what looked like a legal contract. ‘I, Selys Shivertail, hereby authorize Watch Captain Zevara to relinquish the artifact in my possession to the bearer of this document. Said artifact is known as…’

The pieces flew together in her mind. The Drake [Receptionist] looked at the parchment, at the thugs, and then relaxed.

“Ancestors, that’s a relief.”

Her reaction caught the Drakes off-guard. They stared at her. Selys glanced around. Dimly lit room, about eight Drake guys—okay, one female skulking near the back, although she was twice as big as Selys so it was an easy mistake—she’d jumped to a far worse conclusion. Not that this wasn’t bad. But Selys felt better. She glared at the Drake.

“You hit me.”

“Sign the document. You won’t be hurt. We’ll keep you here until we obtain the artifact, and then you’ll be let go. Unharmed, if you cooperate.”

“Oh yeah?”

If looks could kill, Selys would have been Liscor’s most-wanted years ago. She glared around and then yanked at her bindings.

“Hey! My hands are tied. How am I supposed to sign anything if I’m tied up? Are you idiots?”

The [Thug] in front of Selys stared at her. She glared at him.

“Untie my hands! Unless you want me to sign that parchment with my tongue? I can’t tail-write, you know!”

Her response caught all the Drakes in the room off-guard. One of them coughed.

“What, you’re just going to sign? Like that?”

“Uh, yeah? I’m not stupid. I’m locked up in this room and you’ve got knives. Give me the quill.”

The Drakes exchanged glances as Selys glared at them. What did they think she was going to do? Resist torture? An artifact wasn’t worth that, no matter what it was!

“Fine. I’ll release you. Don’t move. And don’t try to run.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. And watch my claws! I got them polished the other day!”

“She can’t be serious.”

One of the other [Thugs] muttered as the Drake with the knife began sawing through Selys’ bindings. Selys tried to breathe normally. She was being mouthy, but she was terrified. She waited until she felt the bindings fall off her claws and then grabbed the quill.

Everyone in the room tensed. Selys stared at them.

“I’m signing the document.”

Slowly, she dipped the quill into ink and scrawled her name across the bottom of the parchment. The Drakes blinked. Selys pushed the parchment back towards the Drake with the orange scales.

“There. How long until you let me go.”

He looked at her.

“Uh—”

The [Thug] picked up the parchment, frowned at it, and looked around.

“We have the signature. Let’s go—pick it up?”

His companions looked nonplussed. The short Drake looked bewildered.

“I thought we’d have to torture her.”

“Why don’t we leave a guard—”

“Just like that? Okay, what if we—”

“You think you’re going? Not a chance. I’ll go with—”

Selys watched them argue, feeling a sense of unreality to the day. First she’d been to a funeral. And she’d been given armor. She’d gone into the sewers, then gone to Pallass, been kidnapped…

She’d been to a funeral. This morning. Selys could barely remember the smell of smoke and long speeches now. It felt distant already. But at the same time—

Her uncle was dead. Zel Shivertail was gone. Those were the facts. Everything that followed, all of this—it was over his armor. The Heartflame Breastplate. Selys had barely seen it more than a minute. Who cared about it? Why was this happening?

She lowered her head as her tail curled around her legs. Dead. But his ashes weren’t even buried and Drakes were fighting over his legacy. That was the worst of what they could be. That was what she’d tried to tell Erin. Drakes were descended from Dragons, yes. That was true. But where Dragons were greedy, Drakes could be so petty.

“Alright! We’ll do it like that!”

Selys looked up. The [Thugs] had come to a decision. Five went over to the door, while two folded their arms, looking annoyed. The one with orange scales came over to Selys.

“We’re going to take the artifact. Where is it being held?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

Selys glared at the Drake’s incredulous face.

“Do you think I had time to put it somewhere? Zevara has it! I don’t know where it is!”

“You must have seen where it was last.”

“Yeah, but they moved it! I don’t know where it is!”

Selys folded her arms. The hired muscle looked at each other. One growled.

“Maybe she’s lying.”

“I’m not.”

The young Drake [Receptionist] stared at the thug. He narrowed his eyes and came over.

“I don’t like the way she’s talking back.”

“Oh y—”

Too late, Selys’ mouth finally got her into trouble. The other Drake caught her arm and she yelped as he gripped it hard enough to bruise.

“Tell us where the armor is. You know where they put it. You’re just lying to us to buy time. I want to know where.”

“I don’t know! Let go of me!”

Selys grabbed the arm holding her, but the Drake was far stronger than she was. He grabbed her other arm and spoke menacingly a few inches away from her face. His breath stank.

“Think really hard, Miss. Or else I’m going to have to—”

The Drake gasped and jerked. Selys felt him let go, and saw him jerk backwards. Something was protruding out of his shoulder. The silvery tip of the rapier pulled back as the Drake cried out in agony. Pisces appeared behind him.

“I would ask that you refrain from threatening Miss Selys, good Drakes of Pallass. Or I might be forced to harm you.”

He turned as the Drake he’d wounded grabbed at his shoulder. Pisces whirled, and the [Thugs] in the room cried out in shock. Pisces smiled, his white robes shining in the lantern light, his bloody rapier held at the ready.

“It appears that degenerate behavior is not simply a Human trait. I would have expected this in Terandria. Or Wistram. But here? Is there no regard for grief, no respect for mourning?”

They hesitated. Pisces flicked his gaze from Drake to Drake. There were seven of them, spread out around the room. The [Necromancer] backed up towards Selys.

“I would advise you to lay down your arms. You are outmatched. I am a Silver-rank adventurer and my team—”

The Drake he’d stabbed rose up, punched Pisces with a roar, and the other Drakes charged. Pisces yelped, and Selys saw him stagger back. The injured Drake charged him—

“[Stone Spray]!”

–And received a face full of razor-sharp stone shards. He screamed and fell, clawing at his eyes. Pisces whirled. A Drake charged him with a club. The [Mage]’s form blurred and he lunged—the thrust of his rapier went through the Drake’s chest and out the other side. The Drake stumbled, dropped. Pisces backed up, cursing, as he tried to withdraw his fragile blade.

“He’s a [Mage]! Rush him!”

The Drakes charged. Pisces looked up, let go of his rapier’s handle, and flicked his fingers.

“[Flame Jet]!”

A gout of fire blasted from his fingertips, catching two of the Drakes. They screamed and dropped to roll about on the ground and Pisces turned, forcing the others to back up. He fumbled for something at his belt—

“Watch out!”

Selys shouted. A [Thug] was throwing one of the knives he held in his claws. Pisces blurred as something dropped and appeared three feet to his left. The knife missed him and the [Mage] flicked his finger. Selys saw a ring on his finger glow, and a bolt of white light shot across the room and struck the knife-thrower in the chest. She heard a crack and the Drake folded up with a hole in the upper right hand part of his chest.

“He’s got artifacts!”

It burns!

“Get around him!”

The Drakes were shouting. Selys was standing up, but she had no intention of getting into the fight. She backed towards one wall as Pisces looked around. Five Drakes remaining, two of them burned badly. They dodged as he raised his hand and shot a stream of crackling electricity towards them. One had a buckler and caught the electricity on the wooden frame, grimacing. Pisces backed up towards a corner.

“I would advise you all to surrender.”

“Oh yeah?”

It wasn’t witty repartee, but the murder in the eyes of the Drake who’d spoken did a lot for the delivery. Pisces sighed.

“Yeah. Look behind you.”

Amazingly, one of the Drakes actually did turn his head. That saved him. The others were just readying themselves to charge when the long scythe of bone shot out and buried itself in the back of the first Drake’s head. He fell. The others turned. And screamed.

A tall, tall creature of bone stood behind them. It had no face, just a torso without neck or head. Its arms were long whips of bone ending with a curved scythe. It had long legs and a strange, ball-like waist from which it could rotate and bend it’s upper body freely. It did so now, leaning low to the ground and slashing at the other Drakes with its arms, cutting their flesh as they screamed and backed up.

“Ancestors, an undead!”

“He’s a [Necromancer]! Run!”

One went for the doors. The Bone Horror tangled him with its arms, cutting him over and over with whipping strikes that flayed the Drake. Another slashed at it, but Pisces’ creation simply ignored the blows. Pisces blasted a third Drake with a spray of stone, making her scream and back up—

“Nobody move!”

Someone grabbed Selys. She hadn’t seen the fourth Drake running towards her. She’d been too focused on Pisces’ creation. Now the Drake grabbed Selys with one hand, keeping his club raised towards Pisces. The [Necromancer] whirled. The air around his hands frosted with cold as he pointed at the Drake.

“Let her go.”

“Back away or I’ll club her brains out! Tell that thing to leave!”

The Drake was gripping Selys’ arm hard, his claw slippery with sweat. He was shaking. Of his seven buddies, five were dead and the other two bleeding badly. He tried to pull Selys towards the door.

“Don’t be foolish. You have nowhere to run. Let her go and I’ll spare your life.”

Pisces’ voice was cold and somehow, larger. The Drake gulped.

“I won’t fall for that! I’m not turning into a zombie—back off!”

He was shaking with fear. Pisces stared at him. The light from the lantern in the room flickered suddenly, though there was no breeze. The [Thug] jumped.

“Don’t move! You cast a spell and she’s dead, you hear me?”

Let her go. Do not make me ask twice.

This time Pisces’ voice was deeper. It echoed and cracked with dark intent. The Drake holding Selys whimpered. Pisces took a step and he raised the club.

Touch her and you will suffer long after death. Don’t mistake me for a common [Necromancer], fool. I could do things with your body that would make you scream to hear about.

“S-stay back!”

The Drake nearly let go of Selys in his panic. He stared at Pisces. Now the [Mage] was grinning horribly, and the shadows behind him danced on the wall. There was a stench of graveyard rot in the air, and he seemed to grow as the Drake retreated.

I could make you a puppet in your flesh. Would you like that? Let her go, or I will ensure you live…forever.

“I—I—”

The Drake was panicking. Selys stared at him. She stared at Pisces. Neither male was focused on her. Selys looked at her captor and tapped him on the shoulder with her free hand.

“Hey. Look at this.”

“Wha—”

The Drake looked down. Selys’ hand shot up. She raised her index and middle finger and jabbed them into her captor’s left eye. Her claws went into the Drake’s eyeball. He screamed and let her go. Selys stepped back and wiped her claws on her clothes. Then she kicked him between the legs. The Drake fell, screaming. Pisces turned to Selys. She stared at him. He blinked.

“Huh.”

 

—-

 

Half an hour later, Selys sat in Watch Captain Venim’s office. She had a cup of hot tea in her claws and Venim was downstairs, supervising the capture of the thugs that had kidnapped her.

Well, capture and cleaning up. Of the eight, five had died to Pisces or his Bone Horror. The other three were badly wounded, and it was a testament to the bloodshed that the one with the least amount of injuries was the one with a missing eye and bruising in the groin. The surviving Drakes were being arrested downstairs. Meanwhile, Pisces stood next to Selys in the office, looking around with interest.

He’d been interviewed at length as soon as the Pallass Watch had arrived. They’d come within minutes of Selys walking out into the street and shouting for help—apparently someone had seen her kidnapping and they had already been canvassing the city. They hadn’t expected Pisces to arrive first, though.

The [Necromancer] hadn’t given Venim or his people much of an explanation as to how he’d saved Selys. He’d made the Bone Horror vanish into the bag of holding he held before the Watch had arrived. With just his rapier in hand he’d greeted the City Watch. They knew he was a [Necromancer] somehow—perhaps from Liscor’s Watch, but they’d been impressed and disturbed by his nearly flawless victory nonetheless.

Now the two waited in silence for Venim to come back to the office. Selys heard Pisces’ robes swishing as he looked around. He walked behind Venim’s desk and eyed a stack of papers.

“I wouldn’t touch that.”

Pisces started and sniffed.

“I’m just investigating. A Watch Captain shouldn’t leave classified documents lying around.”

Selys eyed him severely.

“It’s generally considered polite not to snoop.”

“Polite, but not informative.”

The [Necromancer] sighed, but he backed away from the desk. He looked at Selys.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

Her head had been treated with a splash of healing potion and she was fine, albeit a bit shaken. Selys sipped at her tea.

“How are you? How’s the face?”

Pisces rubbed at one cheek, where the shadow of a bruise was forming. He shrugged.

“A minor injury. I’m more embarrassed about it, in truth. I shouldn’t have let my guard down.”

“Yeah. What was that?”

“What?”

“That! That—appearing and stabbing that Drake before facing them all down. What were you thinking?”

Pisces looked surprised and a bit hurt.

“I was trying to intimidate them.”

Selys glared at him. Her nerves were shot.

“By yourself? You don’t give speeches, you idiot! You’re lucky that Drake on the floor didn’t stab you while you were showing off! You should have stabbed him in the back and laid a trap, rather than played the shining [Knight] in armor!”

The young man blinked at her.

“That’s strangely pragmatic of you.”

“I’m not an idiot! But you were, rushing in there! You could have been killed! [Mages] die after being stabbed, and taking on a bunch of [Thugs] with knives is a death sentence! What were you doing?”

Pisces hesitated. He rubbed at his cheek and glanced past Selys.

“I was…concerned for your safety.”

“Oh.”

Selys sat back. Pisces hesitated.

“I thought that I could distract their attention from you, or ambush them once they’d left. I grew worried when the Drake grabbed you.”

So he’d stepped in to protect her? Selys regretted shouting at him. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Well—thanks.”

“I only regret that I didn’t stop your kidnapping.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

He shrugged.

“No, but I was there. Invisible, yes. I could have cut the first Drake down, but I elected to follow you.”

The gratitude infusing Selys’ heart faded slightly. She looked up over her cup’s rim at him.

“You what?”

“I thought it best to know the scope of the threat before I stepped in.”

“So you let them drag me away?”

“It was that or fight them all in the street. I had to know their numbers.”

Selys glared at Pisces as he hunched his shoulders. She opened her mouth, thought better, and closed it.

“Well. That was smart of you.”

“You think so?”

“It was the smart thing to do. There was no telling how many of them there were, or if they had more friends. So yeah, good job.”

Selys grudgingly agreed with Pisces’ decision. He blinked at her, looking slightly pleased.

“Well, I’m happy to help. Unfortunately, I fear that this is only the first event of many. I’m sorry you were targeted—although I noticed you were able to defend yourself. That was an ah, appropriately vicious attack you performed.”

“What? Oh, poking that guy in the eye? Yeah…he deserved it. And I wasn’t about to wait for you to scare him into letting me go.”

The Drake [Receptionist] wiped her claws on her clothes for the umpteenth time, shuddering as she recalled the feeling. Pisces flicked his eyes towards her claws.

“Nevertheless, it was an adroitly done maneuver. Did someone teach you how to do that?”

Selys paused.

“My uncle taught me how to fight when I was growing up. I was never good at claw fighting, but he showed me how to defend myself.”

“Ah. By poking eyes out?”

“Not everyone has time to learn how to use a rapier. Anyways.”

The young Drake woman cleared her throat awkwardly. She looked at Pisces.

“Thank you for saving me.”

It was the first time she’d gotten to say it. Pisces shook his head slightly.

“It was nothing.”

“Really?”

False modesty was somehow annoying on Pisces, who was often the exact opposite of modest. Selys raised one of her brows at him. He caught her glance and smiled slightly.

“Well, it wasn’t nothing. But I considered it my responsibility. I did invite you to enter Pallass. I should have considered the risks.”

“The risks. You mean, more of that might happen?”

“Perhaps. You are the inheritor of the armor.”

“Yeah. Damn it.”

Selys closed her eyes. All this, and she’d only held the armor for a day! She was about to ask Pisces who he thought had hired the Drakes when the door opened and Venim walked in.

“Apologies for the delay.”

He glanced at Pisces and nodded to Selys.

“We’ve arrested the surviving Drakes who kidnapped you, Miss Shivertail. We’ll interrogate them—after they heal up a bit.”

“Oh. Thank you. Do you know um, who told them to get me? Or was it just them?”

Venim hesitated.

“That’s unclear. The Drakes didn’t say much—well, only one was conscious, so we’ll have to rely on truth spells when the other two wake up. We’ll charge them for kidnapping and attempted extortion, but my guess is they’re just hired [Thugs] and [Rogues].”

“Do you have any clues as to who might have organized their kidnapping of Selys?”

Pisces leaned forwards over Venim’s desk. The Drake Watch Captain frowned at Pisces.

“No. It could have been anyone.”

“Anyone?”

Selys’ heart sank. Venim nodded.

“You are the owner of the Heartflame Breastplate, Miss Selys. And while I’d like to assure you of your safety…things are moving quickly in Pallass. I’ve informed Watch Captain Zevara and she’s requested that you immediately return to Liscor. I just need the rest of your statement and your…bodyguard’s before you go.”

“My who? Oh, Pisces? He’s not my bodyguard—”

“Oh. Then what was he doing in Pallass?”

Venim frowned at Pisces. The [Mage] smiled calmly.

“I came through. No one stopped me, so I assumed the passageway between Liscor and Pallass was free for public use on this day.”

“You just walked through?”

“Mm, yes. In a crowd.”

The Watch Captain flicked his gaze to Selys, who shrugged, keeping her tail still. Venim grunted.

“Well, the door is open, but I’ll have to ask you to refrain from visiting Pallass without requesting permission first, Mister…Pisces.”

Pisces bowed slightly, smiling.

“Oh, I believe I’ve had my fill of Pallass. What do you think, Selys?”

Selys looked around. Her head didn’t hurt. But she had a headache now. She raised her clawed hand.

“I think I’ve had enough too. Can I go back to Liscor now?”

 

—-

 

A large group had formed in Erin’s inn, waiting for Selys’ return. Watch Captain Zevara, Ilvriss, Tekshia—and a member of Liscor’s council! He was the Guildmaster of the Merchant’s Guild and he practically knocked over Pisces when Selys walked through the doorway.

“Miss Shivertail! I’m terribly glad to see you. What an affront, to be kidnapped while walking Pallass’ streets? I want you to know that Liscor did everything in its power to ensure you were found as soon as—”

“Thank you, Guildmaster Fleiss. Please, give Selys some room.”

To the [Receptionist]’s relief, Zevara stepped in and forced the heavyset Drake back. She nodded to Venim.

“Thank you, Watch Captain.”

“My pleasure, Watch Captain.”

He saluted her and left. Selys looked around, bewildered, as the others clustered around her. Erin tried to push past Fleiss.

“Selys, are you okay? I heard about what happened! Are you hurt? Did you—”

“Drakes first! Please! Miss Shivertail, we really must speak about your inheritance. I hate to bring up the subject so soon—”

Silence!

Tekshia raised her voice. The others fell silent. The Guildmistress stepped closer to Selys and inspected her granddaughter. She nodded.

“I heard you poked an eye out, Selys. Good job. Next time try ducking before they hit you.”

“Thanks, Grandma.”

Selys rolled her eyes. Tekshia nodded at her.

“Looks like you’ve had a rough time. All these Drakes want to speak with you. I just came to tell you that you can have tomorrow off. But I’ll expect you back into work at noon the day after, understand?”

“What? Grandma—

“Enough. Don’t whine, it’s unbecoming. Now, I’ll be going. Innkeeper?”

“Yes?”

“Give me another one of those ‘cookies’ you made. A bag, actually. I want to share them with some of my friends.”

Tekshia turned. She paused and glanced over her shoulder at Pisces. He was standing behind the others, forgotten. Tekshia met his eyes.

“Necromancer.”

“Guildmistress Shivertail.”

He bowed very politely. Tekshia snorted and walked away. Selys saw the others looking after her. Zevara cleared her throat.

“You’re ah, well, Miss Selys? Don’t take Miss Tekshia’s words too seriously. She was quite insistent you be found when Pallass informed us of the kidnapping.”

Selys smiled wryly.

“Don’t worry, I know. That was her being considerate and caring. I think. Trust Grandmother not to give me more than a day off for being kidnapped.”

“Speaking of kidnapping…”

Ilvriss broke in. The Wall Lord looked around, his tail wagging furiously.

“This is a disgrace. A citizen was kidnapped in Pallass on the streets? What kind of Walled City allows that kind of crime?”

“The kind that has an inheritor of the Heartflame Breastplate walking its streets, I think.”

Zevara glanced meaningfully at Selys, who flushed. She consulted a piece of parchment.

“Watch Captain Venim tells me they were local thugs, hired to kidnap Miss Selys and force her to sign a waiver allowing them to take the Heartflame Breastplate. They’d take it, drop it at a safe location and receive their payment. Forty thousand gold pieces, allegedly. Not that they saw any of it—they may have intended to take the armor for themselves once they had it.”

“Dead gods, plots already?”

Fleiss shuddered. Zevara just shook her head.

“It was a shoddy plan that never would have worked. Whoever hired them must have panicked when they saw you in Pallass and didn’t think things through. If I’d have seen the document I’d have arrested the Drakes and found out where you were being kept. Fortunately you didn’t have to wait that long.”

She glanced at Pisces, who smiled politely.

“I was accompanying Selys and happened to be in the area, Watch Captain.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Zevara nodded at him and turned her back on Pisces. Ilvriss glanced at the [Necromancer] and then at Selys. He looked quite a bit kinder as he went over to her.

“Miss Selys, I understand you must be shaken.”

“A bit.”

Selys wasn’t going to lie—she was more than a bit unsteady. Wall Lord Ilvriss nodded sympathetically.

“I just wanted to let you know that my offer still stands. I don’t want to force you into a decision, but perhaps it would be best if you allowed some of my people to escort you—”

Selys’ eyes narrowed.

“Ancestors, I just got kidnapped and you’re already trying to buy the armor from me?”

Her raised voice made the others look at her. Selys turned red with embarrassment and anger. Her voice cracked as she shouted at Ilvriss.

“I don’t know what to do with the armor! Leave me alone!”

She turned and ran out of the inn. Zevara called out after her.

“Miss Selys, wait!

Her voice had the authority of command in it. And she used a Skill. Selys stopped unwillingly. Zevara looked a bit ashamed of herself. She cleared her throat.

“You’re going to need an escort.”

 

—-

 

Selys hated everyone and everything by the time she got back to her room. There was a [Guardsman] outside her door—a pair of them, actually—and four had had to walk her back through the rainy streets. Zevara had suggested putting Selys up in an inn—and Ilvriss had immediately offered the Tailless Thief. Selys had turned them both down instantly.

She was miserable. She sat in her bed, tossing her wet cloak to the floor and stomping into her kitchen. She reached for a mug, opened her cupboard, and realized she had nothing to drink.  No tea leaves, no bottles, nothing. She’d forgotten to go shopping.

Lizard’s eggs!

Selys shouted. She turned and saw Pisces sitting at her table. He offered her a cup of dark red wine.

“Try this.”

For a second Selys considered poking his eye out. Her heart beat out of her chest. Pisces seemed to realize and coughed.

“Sorry. I should have announced myself.”

She stared at him.

“How did you follow me?”

“As a point of fact, I slipped in before you got here. Watch Captain Zevara made an error. She posted a guard who checked for invisible or concealed intruders before the escort brought you here. There was a window of opportunity as you opened the door. I followed you in.”

His self-satisfied explanation made Selys clench her fists.

“Pisces, I’m not in the mood.”

“I understand that. And I will leave instantly. I just wanted to give you this, actually.”

The [Necromancer] stood up and reached into his bag of holding. He produced a bottle of wine, a plate of steaming spaghetti and meatballs, and a bowl of salad. The salad had spilled a bit and he shook a few leaves of lettuce off of the bowl.

“Apologies. Bags of holding are tricky to use. It’s practically impossible to put a cup of water inside and not spill it all.”

“What?”

Selys just looked at the food and wine, and then at Pisces. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had lunch—she’d barely eaten breakfast. The sight of food made her feel faint. Pisces shrugged and smiled a bit as he explained.

“You are under a version of house arrest. Ah, pardon me. I misspoke. You’re being ‘protected’. I thought you wouldn’t wish to eat dinner or go shopping—or subject yourself to a public setting—so I asked Erin to make you dinner. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.”

He looked at her questioningly. Selys made her mouth work as her stomach made a motion for food.

“No, that’s—considerate of you, actually. Thank you.”

He offered her a crooked smile.

“Consider it further recompense for putting you into harm’s way in Pallass. I should have considered the risks. I will leave you alone now, if you’ll open a window to let me jump out.”

Selys hesitated. She looked at the food, and at Pisces.

“You don’t have to go. In fact—here.”

She went and grabbed two cups from her cupboards. She offered one to Pisces. He looked at it, surprised. Selys gestured at the table.

“I’ll let you have the salad.”

 

—-

 

It was an awkward meal. Selys had never talked to Pisces, not in any intimate way. She barely knew him, and yet he’d been around Erin’s inn as long as she had. Longer, really. He wasn’t what Selys would call an ideal dining partner, but she needed someone to talk to. She was upset.

“Look, there’s threats to my life, people wanting to buy it from me—I just want to be left alone! Why is that so hard? Why does everyone have to bother me? And it’s just for the piece of armor my stupid uncle left me!”

She was on her fourth cup of wine. Pisces his second. He ate silently as Selys gnashed down a bite of food. Selys paused.

“I didn’t meant that. Uncle Zel—it’s not about him! That’s the problem! I just—I didn’t ask for this!”

“Some might call it good fortune.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the back of my head! And how good is this fortune? Am I just supposed to sell the armor? Get rich?”

“That’s the theory, yes.”

Selys snarled.

“I’d do it in a heartbeat if I didn’t think it would get me in trouble. But everyone wants it. If I sell it to one person, I get in trouble with everyone else.”

“A tricky conundrum, yes. But you would be rich.”

“Rich doesn’t help if everyone hates your guts!”

“You seem certain that would be the case.”

Selys rested her head on her hands and nearly poked herself in the cheek.

“It’s politics. I’ve seen it happen. If you’re not a patriot to your city, if you’re not a good Drake—you get treated like a traitor. If I get in trouble in Pallass for instance, I’ll get blacklisted until the end of my life and treated like a criminal. I don’t need that kind of drama.”

“And yet, you have an obligation to do something with the armor. Surely there is an optimal choice for you.”

Pisces’ reasonable tone made Selys angry. She jabbed a fork at him.

“What would you know? No one likes you! And everyone wants to be my best friend now!”

She paused. Pisces looked hurt. It didn’t show in his face, but his eyes reflected it. Selys paused, ashamed, and her tail drooped.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—I’ve had a hard day. You have no idea how bad it’s been.”

“I might, actually.”

Pisces shifted in his chair and got up. He walked past Selys to fill his cup—not with wine, but with some water from a jug. It was stale. He grimaced, but sipped it anyways. Selys looked at him, confused.

“How do you mean?”

The [Necromancer] sat awkwardly, resting his weight on Selys’ kitchen table. He studied Selys.

“Well, it’s true that I am a pariah in Liscor. But I would argue you seem to be one too, although your fortunes are the inverse of mine.”

“What?”

Selys sort of got what Pisces meant, but the wine was making actual cognition difficult. Pisces saw this and flicked his fingers.

“Let me speak plainly. I attract attention because I am a [Necromancer]. A criminal. An undesirable element and perhaps not least, a Human. This is not a new experience for me. I have long been a noteworthy individual worthy of contempt. However, you are the same. Everyone knows you as the bearer of the Heartflame Breastplate. A Drake inheriting Zel Shivertail’s will. They all want something from you. But they do not care about you, do they?”

“No. They don’t.”

Selys bowed her head. She was just an ordinary person, changed by circumstance. Pisces nodded.

“So. I understand the feeling. It is not pleasant, even if the attention is envy, or intrigue, I imagine.”

“No. How do you deal with it?”

The young man pondered the question for a moment, sipping from his cup.

“There are many answers. Many personalities would react differently. I ignore the scorn. I weather hatred as ignorance. I am myself. I will not change for societal pressure. But you do not have that luxury, I fear. They want your inheritance.”

“They can have it. It’s no good to me.”

Selys slumped at her table. She heard Pisces sigh. He sat across from her.

“That attitude is defeatist.”

“Consider me defeated. What am I supposed to do?”

“Be honest.”

The words made her look up. Selys frowned at Pisces.

“I am being honest.”

“Are you?”

He challenged her. Pisces looked in Selys eyes. He had gray-green eyes, not vibrant, a dreamer’s, perhaps. But they were serious.

“You have been reacting to all that has happened, Selys. So much has changed for you. I understand that it must be…impossible in many respects. But have you truly taken a step back to think about all this?”

No. There was no stepping back in a hurricane. Selys shook her head. Pisces tapped the table with his cup.

“Then allow me to help. If you would.”

“I would.”

If he could make sense of it all…Pisces nodded.

“Let us ask one question then, and one question alone. Do you want the armor?”

Selys paused. Her instinctive reaction was to say ‘no, of course not’, but that wasn’t a true answer, was it? She spoke slowly.

“I don’t know. I haven’t really looked at it. I didn’t know what it was. Now I know. You showed me those stories in Pallass. And they were amazing! I had no idea that was what it was. I knew it was valuable. But it’s still like—I haven’t looked at it, you know? I didn’t care. When I saw my uncle, lying there—”

Her throat closed. Pisces looked at her. Sympathetically. Had Selys ever seen him look like that?

“Of course you didn’t pay attention to it. And that is the problem. You don’t know what others are so fixated on. You were cursed Selys. Cursed with a conscience. Cursed with affection. You cared about your uncle’s passing more than the armor. If you were greedy and selfish, you would not be in your predicament.”

Like the rest of the Shivertail family. Selys shuddered. That was true, though. She’d watched her uncle’s funeral this morning. It was too soon. But Pisces was also right in that she had to face it.

“Okay. Do I need the damn armor? I don’t know. I want to look at it.”

He nodded.

“Then perhaps you should. That would be an adequate first step. Do you wish to see it now? Or later?”

Selys stared at him.

“Wait, what? You mean…go to it now?”

Rain was pattering on the shutters of her window. Pisces nodded.

“Why not?”

Selys opened her mouth. It was under lock and key! It was being guarded! It was valuable!

And it was hers. She closed her mouth. And stood up.

 

—-

 

Watch Captain Zevara was not happy that Pisces had emerged from Selys’ apartment with her. Nor was she happy that they’d forced the [Guardsmen] assigned to her to bring them to her and the room the armor was being kept in. The Watch Captain stared at Selys.

“You want to do what?”

“I want to look at it.”

“Now?”

Zevara was probably off-duty. But she’d come hurrying as soon as Selys had made the request. The Drake folded her arms.

“It’s mine, isn’t it? I want to look at it.”

“Yes, but the security is there for a reason, Miss Selys.”

“And it’s still my armor. Unless you’re not going to let me see it?”

Selys stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain backpedaled immediately.

“No, it’s just that—of course you can look at it. For how long?”

“Is there a time limit?”

Perhaps she didn’t deserve this. Zevara’s jaw worked silently. She looked at Relc. The [Guardsman] was leaning against the wall next to the iron door, snoozing. The [Mage] that Ilvriss had assigned to the door was glaring at him, clearly envious.

“Relc. Wake up.”

“I’m up! Do I get to stab anyone?”

Relc jerked awake. He looked comical as he fumbled to attention and Zevara chewed him out, but Selys suspected that anyone trying to sneak into the room behind him would find that Relc was more attentive than he seemed. Zevara sighed as she looked at Selys.

“Take as long as you like, Miss Shivertail. Relc and Wall Lord Ilvriss’ people have the room warded and under guard.”

“Good.”

Selys put her hand on the door knob and heard the [Mage] mutter something. She paused.

“He deactivated the ward spell. Don’t be alarmed.”

Pisces nodded at the Drake [Mage]. She eyed him warily. Zevara turned towards Pisces with a frown.

“Thank you for brining Miss Shivertail dinner…Mister Pisces. But I’m afraid that this is a restricted area.”

“He can come in.”

Selys thought Zevara might actually inhale her tongue. The Watch Captain turned towards her. Selys put her claws on her hips.

“It is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yes! But do you—”

Zevara bit her tongue on the rest of the sentence. Do you trust him? Pisces pretended not to hear. Selys sighed.

“Please let us in, Watch Captain.”

Zevara was in a bad mood. She looked at Selys, threw up her arms and stalked away. Selys looked at Relc. He yawned.

“Go on in, Selys. Hey, bone-guy.”

“Guardsman Relc.”

Selys and Pisces entered the room. It was fairly large, a meeting room, in fact. It had no windows and someone had cleared out the table and chairs to put a single stand in the center of the room. On it hung a shimmering, golden piece of armor.

Selys’ heart skipped a beat. She stared at the Heartflame Breastplate, taking it in. This was the legendary armor. This was the artifact everyone wanted.

She still thought it looked sort of cheap. It was gaudy. Gold metal, shining colors—it was impressive, yes, but—

Pisces’ inhalation of breath was more fitting for the moment. He stared at the armor as Relc closed the door and began flirting with the [Mage] on duty. The [Necromancer] approached the armor, stepping around it to stare from every angle. He reached out, hands shaking, and then looked at Selys.

“May I—?”

“Go ahead.”

For some reason Selys’ voice was hushed. She held her breath as Pisces touched the armor. Then she felt silly and walked forwards. The metal was warm to the touch. That was all. There was no zap of magic, no aura of power. It was just armor.

But it was magical. Pisces ran a finger over the armor, seeing something that Selys could not. He murmured to himself as he inspected it.

“Warm. What exquisite spellcraft. And the metal—it’s alloyed with gold, but what the rest of the metal is…adamantium? Some spell-metal, perhaps?”

“It’s impressive. I can see why the legends say it was indestructible. It doesn’t have a scratch, even when—”

Selys’ throat closed. Pisces looked up.

“Your uncle—General Shivertail. Was his body…damaged by the battle?”

“It was. It was horrible. Part of his head was missing and his body was cut and burned like—”

Selys felt like she shouldn’t talk about it, but she had to. The words spilled out and Pisces listened.

“Ah. Those wounds are…incredible. But also a sign of the armor’s power, I think. General Shivertail was renowned for his durability and toughness in battle.”

“He was. He could block an unenchanted axe strike with his scales! But still, he—”

Selys broke off, shaking her head. Pisces peered at the armor and coughed.

“Ah, look here. I had wondered about the name, but this truly is a breastplate and not a cuirass, isn’t it? Curious that such a powerful armor would lack rear protection.”

He indicated the armor. It was indeed just a breastplate. In that it only covered the front. Selys was no armor expert, but she knew that a cuirass covered both front and back. It was a strange design flaw. She wondered if that was one of the reasons why Zel had—

“Maybe they lost the other half?”

“It wouldn’t be called the Heartflame Breastplate if it were. Artifacts are seldom so easily dismantled. No, this is simply an oversight. Quite a curious one. One has to wonder why the Drakes who made this didn’t think to shield their backs.”

“Drakes do not run.”

Selys regretted saying the words as soon as they came out. It was such an instinctive response, the kind of thing you heard the army say all the time. General Sserys had coined the phrase and it was a saying among the Drakes. But it was so…

Pisces raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“Drakes might not run, but presumably they do turn around at some point. I believe my point stands.”

She glared at him, and then laughed despite herself. Pisces smiled. That was it. He always seemed to be laughing at his own sense of humor, his mockery of the world. For the first time, Selys was laughing with him. She stopped as soon as she realized.

“Okay, tell me, Mister Intelligent. Why would the Drakes make a mistake like this? Unless they didn’t have enough metal for the back?”

Pisces stroked his bare chin.

“Hm. That is a theory, but I suspect we’ve already obtained the answer. Do you recall the revelation of the Heartflame Armor’s abilities we uncovered in Pallass’ library? It had an enchantment. A fiery ward that sprang up around the armor and user.”

“Huh. That does seem likely. So it would have protected the back. But are you sure it came from the armor?”

Pisces nodded. He gestured at the shining breastplate.

“It seems realistic to assume that the fiery protection on the armor was an effect of the Heartflame Breastplate, especially considering the motif and name.”

That was true. Selys stared at the armor. But no one had mentioned her uncle using the ability, and both Ilvriss and Zevara had just thought the armor was…well, legendary. They hadn’t wanted to test the ability, and she was sure they would have tried had they known.

“Do you know how it could be activated?”

“No, and I suspect Magnolia Reinhart herself may have lacked the information. The true powers of artifacts are often hidden from public knowledge. That is why I considered research—it may have more abilities lost to time.”

“So uncle wouldn’t have known how to use it?”

Pisces hesitated.

“He may not have had time to research it, if he had thought of it. An [Enchanter] would have known to ask such questions, but would a Reinhart have let him inspect the armor? Well…we shall never know if it was inspected before. As for now…”

He pondered over the armor, checking its front and back as Selys gently ran her claws over it. It was warm. Soothing.

“Spell activation is tricky. If it were a ring, it would be activated by twisting, but usually armor is activated by contact or some other set of rules. Touching it in a certain place, striking it with enough force…but the myth of the armor seems to indicate that the protection effect could be triggered at will. Why don’t we try a few activation phrases?”

“You know some? And it’ll work? Don’t you have to put it on?”

Selys couldn’t imagine…it was hers, but could she…? No. And Pisces was shaking his head.

“Simply uttering the right phrase should work, Selys. It’s actually quite difficult to make the armor ‘sense’ who is speaking, so personalizing the command trigger to only activate when the wearer speaks is usually not included in the enchantment’s features.”

“Really?”

Pisces nodded conspiratorially. He smirked.

“In fact, keeping the secret phrase of an artifact hidden is quite vital unless it has been truly customized to a certain vocal pattern. Otherwise an enemy could trigger the enchantment in battle. It has happened on more than one occasion, historically speaking.”

“Okay, then what are some command phrases?”

“Well…why don’t we keep inspecting it? Perhaps there are hidden touch-mechanics. And I will utter as many phrases as I know. Thankfully, we know the common language has remained unchanged forever, although written text often replaces itself. So any phrase would work. It’s the key that could be anything. A phrase, a single word…there are a number of mage-sounds that I will try first. And I will have you do the same.”

“What? Why?”

“It could be that the armor only activates for a Drake. That would be a tricky enchantment, but it is possible. Keep your hands on the armor. Also, if you know any archaic Drake expressions, they would be the most likely activation code.”

It sounded impossible, and yet, exciting, too. A mystery to solve. Selys placed her claw on the armor.

“How about this? Drakes do not run.”

The armor was warm underneath her claw. Selys waited, but nothing happened. She heard a cough. Pisces looked away from her.

“Ah, Sserys’ famous line probably postdates the creation of the armor by at least six hundred years…why don’t we try a few older phrases? Allow me to begin.”

He made a sound and had Selys copy it. She came up with a phrase—nothing happened. Pisces ran through over a hundred different mage-sounds, some of which Selys found nearly impossible to copy. Nothing happened. The two gave up when their voices went hoarse after about two hours. It was a fruitless two hours, but for some reason Selys felt much better afterwards, albeit with a sore throat. She’d had fun laughing at some of the phrases and sounds Pisces came up with.

“Ah, well, activating an artifact is an extraordinarily difficult task in the best of circumstances, and I am no [Enchanter]. A true shame, really. I always wanted to learn that discipline, but I never got the chance in Wistram…”

Pisces was chatting to Selys as he closed the door. Relc stood to attention, as did the [Mage]. Selys didn’t have to look at Relc’s red cheeks to know she’d shot him down. Or slapped him.

Or both.

“Thanks for helping, Pisces. I’m going home—but I appreciate you giving me that advice.”

He smiled at her and hesitated as the sleepy [Guardsmen] marched over to escort Selys back to her apartment.

“I could come back tomorrow. This is a fascinating artifact, and if you would permit me to try and discover the key…”

Now it was her turn to pause. Selys looked at Pisces. He really had been helpful today. Surprisingly so. She found herself nodding.

“Sure. Why not? I owe you one.”

The smile he gave her was surprised, but he made a show of bowing to her as he bade her farewell. Relc muttered about ‘showoffs’ until the [Mage] standing next to him gave him a look. Pisces grinned impudently.

“Good night, Miss Selys.”

She smiled wearily.

“It’s just Selys.”

He nodded and strode into the rain. Selys watched him go, and then looked up. It was raining, still. It was always raining. And then she felt tired. Good moments were only that.

Moments.

 

—-

 

The next day Selys woke up, went outside, and visited her friends. She had to. She had to be social and normal or she’d go crazy. To her relief, she managed to find her usual gossip group and circle. Or rather, they found her. They walked through the rain from shelter to shelter as the [Guardsmen] followed, laughing and talking.

Today Selys was the topic of conversation. Drassi was off work so she was here, as were eight of Selys’ female friends and eleven male ones, even the ones Selys didn’t talk to this often. Even the ones she’d been fighting with, and an ex-boyfriend. They all wanted to make up and talk with her. No guesses why.

After fifteen minutes Selys was sick of it. The other Drakes were wagging their tails, agog over the gossip about Selys being approached by a Wall Lord and other cities to sell the armor. They wanted to know everything about it, what the reaction had been when the will had been read out loud. No one asked Selys about who had been wearing the armor.

“Can we…see it?”

One of the male Drakes suggested that quickly. The others leapt on his suggestion. That would be so rude! Selys was busy—and Watch Captain Zevara had it under lock and key. Guarded. No one could see it. But if they could…

“I think Zevara wants to keep everyone away. There are [Thieves] who want it, and there was an attempted break-in already.”

Everyone sighed in disappointment. Drassi nodded, though.

“There was another [Thief], Selys! They caught her this morning! Alive!”

“Really?”

Selys stared at her friend. But Drassi would know. She had both earholes to the ground and she caught rumors like a lizard caught flies. That analogy had caused a fight the last time Selys had jokingly said it out loud.

“Well, I’m sure Zevara can handle it. And Ilvriss. And Embria. I’m so done with talking about it.”

Instantly everyone took the cue. One of Selys friends looked around in the rain.

“I know, right? It’s so tiring talking about politics? Why don’t we go to a bar and relax instead?”

“It’s only just past morning!”

“Well—what if we—”

The others started arguing over the favorite place Selys might like, picking all of her favorites. Selys listened gloomily. It was a bit sickening. And depressing. Selys knew her friends and she wasn’t surprised by how they were behaving. She’d probably act the same way. At least Drassi was open about it.

“All I want to do is tell people I know you, Selys. Everyone’s asking me to introduce them to you, and they want to see the armor! I bet you could get a date with any guy in the city—even the married ones—if you promised to let them touch it. By the way, did you hear about the Goblins in Erin’s inn? They got their own artifacts—”

“No one wants to hear about Goblins, Drassi!”

One of Selys’ female friends, Wuvisa, glared at Drassi. The [Barmaid] rolled her eyes.

“They’re not bad Wuvisa. They don’t cause trouble—or try to slap your tail or butt like the Drakes in the bars I used to work at! They’re really scary, true, but listen—”

“Miss Selys Shivertail?”

A voice interrupted Drassi. All the young Drakes turned. Watch Captain Zevara strode up to them. She was in full uniform and Selys saw more than one of her male friends eye her tail admiringly. What was the saying? There was nothing like a Drake in uniform. Or something. Selys just sighed. She had no time for tails, and neither did Zevara. The Watch Captain nodded to Selys.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to borrow you, Miss Shivertail. There are a number of dignitaries and officials waiting to speak with you. In connection to your inheritance.”

The other Drakes oohed and tried to pester Zevara with questions. Selys didn’t. She looked at Zevara’s unhappy face and sighed.

“Okay.”

 

—-

 

Zevara led Selys through the city and into Liscor’s city hall. There was a small meeting room set up, with snacks and drinks. The Watch Captain offered Selys a seat and after a moment, showed a Drake in. Selys rose as a Drake from Pallass—a senator from the Assembly of Crafts—walked in and gave Selys a bright smile. She was the first of a series of Drakes who had requested to meet Selys. All about the armor she owned. Selys sat, nibbling on her snacks and sipping from a cup, bewildered, listening.

Each Drake wanted something from her, and each one phrased it differently. A Senator from Pallass, a [Mage] representing Wistram, a Drake speaking for Zeres, one from Oteslia, a trio of Drakes from lesser cities, Wing Commander Embria…

That last conversation stood out to Selys. At least Embria was short and to the point. She didn’t beat about the bush or offer Selys condolences for her loss or compliments. She walked in, gave Selys a firm handshake, and got straight to it.

“We want the armor.”

“So does everyone else.”

Selys’ arms were folded. Embria nodded.

“I’m well aware of the politics, Miss Selys. May I call you Selys?”

“Nope.”

“Very well. I’m sure you’ve had any number of offers for the armor. Trades, bargains—and threats, no doubt.”

Selys was silent. More than one Drake had hinted not quite overtly that there could be trouble if the armor didn’t come their way. That was a scary threat, especially when it came from an entire Walled City. But a [Receptionist] could at least do a good blank face, so Embria got nothing more than the others. Embria went on without missing a beat.

“I want you to know that your safety is my priority, and the priority of Liscor’s High Command, regardless of what your decision is. Obviously, the army would appreciate the use of such a powerful artifact. We could reimburse you some of the cost, although I’m afraid purchasing the armor outright would strain a Walled City’s military budget.”

“So what’s your incentive? You’ll protect me if all the bad Drakes get angry?”

Embria’s face didn’t move, but her tail gave the tiniest of twitches, telling Selys she was getting to the Drake.

“We hope you could think of your civic pride. If not to us, then perhaps you might consider relinquishing it to the city’s custody? It could still be your possession, but be put to use defending the city itself as the situation demands.”

“Only it’d be yours. I get the point. Thanks, Wing Commander, is it? You can skip the part where I’ll end up dead in my bed if I don’t give the armor to you. I’ll just assume you said it, okay?”

Selys saw Embria’s eyes flash. The Drake stood up.

Now listen here you ungrateful—

“Wing Commander Embria!”

The red-scaled Drake snapped to attention. Zevara opened the door, giving her a frown. The Wing Commander’s red cheeks turned darker. Selys waved at Zevara who gave her a resigned look. She’d had to stop Drakes from trying to throttle or attack Selys three times before now. Selys was in a bad mood and she was inclined to share it.

“I think that’s enough for now, Wing Commander. Don’t you?”

“Yes. My apologies, Miss Selys. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Consider my offer carefully. Liscor’s army is here to serve the city.”

“We didn’t see you when all the moths were trying to eat us!”

Selys shouted at Embria’s back. She heard the door slam and sat back with some satisfaction. Zevara eyed her as she took a seat—and a handful of dried fruit.

“I thought [Receptionists] were supposed to be welcoming.”

“Not in the Adventurer’s Guild. And it’s my day off. How many more do I have?”

Selys sighed. She was tired. Zevara shook her head.

“None for now. Ilvriss declined to take up your time. He just wants you to remember—”

“He’ll buy the armor. Yeah, yeah. And if I sell to him, Pallass might send an arrow into my skull.”

Zevara grimaced as she chewed.

“That’s a threat. I’d like to say it’s an idle one. If they do that, it’ll be a war.”

“Doesn’t help me if I’m dead. All these Drakes—you know, Oteslia offered me thirty thousand gold pieces and food for life? Just that. Food. They’ll feed me. What am I, a [Gourmet]?”

“It’s hard to compete with sheer wealth. Salazsar is rich, Oteslia less so. Other groups will offer you different incentives.”

“One of the Drakes offered me slaves. Is that legal here?”

“It’s rare, but not unheard of. There are strict rules about them, though.”

“Whatever. I don’t want slaves. I don’t want Wistram’s lesser artifacts or the gratitude of Liscor’s army. What should I do?”

Selys looked pleadingly at Zevara. She wasn’t that much older than Selys. Maybe seven or eight years at most. But the Watch Captain felt older. Zevara hesitated.

“I have no idea, Miss Selys. It’s a tricky situation with a time limit, as you know.”

“How long do I have?”

“I’m not sure. Wall Lord Ilvriss is protecting the armor and I believe his escort can ward off any potential thieves. I have Relc and Klbkch on guard duty as well, but Wall Lord Ilvriss is a member of Salazsar when all is said and done. There is some question about him influencing you…”

“Politics. He helped us defend Liscor.”

“My thoughts exactly. And he hasn’t given me any reason to doubt his word. It’s just that giving him aid—and by proxy, Salazar—would put Liscor in a tricky spot, especially with this doorway to Pallass. I can’t make a decision for you, but you should know what might occur.”

Zevara offered Selys a sympathetic look. She glanced at Selys’ empty cup and reached for the tea pot.

“You could just sell it. The amount of gold you’d get from an heirloom like that would set you up for life.”

“But if I sell it to Ilvriss—”

“Sell it to Wistram. Or the army. Those are the safest bets. They might not be able to outbid a larger city, but you’ll get the least amount of trouble for it. I think we Drakes would be happier if none of us had it, rather than one of us.”

“Great.”

Selys buried her head in her hands. Zevara looked at her and cleared her throat a few times.

“Look at it this way, Miss Selys. Make a decision and you’ll be rich for life.”

“However long I have left.”

There was nothing Zevara could say to that.

 

—-

 

It was too hard. Selys lay on her grandmother’s desk, groaning. Her grandmother looked at her, and then pushed her off.

Ow!

“I have work to do, Selys. This is your day off. Enjoy it.”

“How? I can’t go anywhere without an escort, and I have a magical artifact under lock and key! What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop lying on the floor. It’s dirty.”

Selys got up. She felt wretched.

“What do you think I should do, Grandma?”

“Sell it. Or give it away. I don’t particularly care.”

Tekshia sighed as Selys groaned and flopped back onto her desk. She rapped Selys on the head with a knuckle.

“You’re making too much of a fuss about this, Selys. The armor is armor. You’ll make enemies no matter what you do, so take the best deal and live with your choices! I had someone after my head when I was eleven! You’ll manage.”

“But Grandma—

“You need to decide for yourself. No moping! Get out there and make a choice, young one! And don’t let me catch you bothering the adventurers downstairs!”

“I know one I can bother.”

“Then go find them. But stay out of my Guild! Until work tomorrow. I expect you on time, escort and armor or not.”

 

—-

 

There was no good way out. No right decision. Selys was trapped. And she hated everything. Right now she hated Pisces, despite him being very helpful of late.

“Try these command phrases next. ‘Ia curim law’. ‘What is will be and shall ever be the will of flame.’ Um…‘Drakes rule.’”

Pisces paced back and forth as Selys kept her hands on the Heartflame Breastplate. She looked up at him.

“Seriously? Drakes rule?”

“Any phrase could work, Selys. Any one at all. It’s the most nonsensical that would be chosen so no one would guess.”

“There’s no point. I give up.”

Selys leaned her cheek against the metal, not caring about smudging the legendary artifact anymore. Pisces turned to her.

“Don’t say that. Isn’t this exciting? The challenge. Imagine it! You could unlock the secrets of a powerful artifact today!”

His eyes gleamed. Selys just made a thbbting sound.

“It doesn’t matter. Someone else is going to get the armor. Let them have it.”

“Ah. So you’re inclined to sell?”

“I’m inclined not to die. Which means I have to sell at some point, only there’s no one I can sell it to that won’t make someone else mad! I’ll have to sell it and hire a [Bodyguard] for the rest of my life. How is that good?”

Pisces shrugged.

“You don’t have to sell it.”

“What? And keep it? Zevara won’t guard it forever—Relc’s already complaining about his job. [Thieves] will take it, or someone will kidnap me for it—what other options are there?”

“You could lend it—”

“Hah! That’s the same problem!”

“Not necessarily—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got no choice.”

Selys turned her head away. She knew Pisces was trying to help, but she was just done with it all. Erin could handle something like this, but normal Selys had nothing. She’d just sell it to Embria. Or give it to Wistram. That was safe. Then she’d ask Zevara for protection…

What a mess. Selys leaned against the armor as she sensed Pisces coming over. He sat next to her quietly.

“Do you recall what I told you yesterday?”

“It’s not helping, Pisces.”

“Perhaps not. But you never gave me an answer. I asked you if you wanted this.”

“I don’t. Problem solved. Okay?”

Pisces didn’t move.

“That’s not a truthful answer. Truly, honestly, without the issue of pressure, do you want this armor?”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“I believe it does. You should make a choice that is honest to yourself.”

“Honest? Myself? Honestly, I don’t want this! I’m not special, Pisces! I’m not an adventurer like you!”

Selys raised her head. She wasn’t crying, but she was angry. She glared at the [Necromancer].

“I’m not meant for this. I’m just a [Receptionist]. This shouldn’t happen to me.”

“And yet it did. You may be Selys Shivertail, a [Receptionist], but your uncle was Zel Shivertail.”

“Don’t mention him. He’s not like me. He lived in a different world.”

Pisces raised his voice.

“So? You were part of that world. You can’t deny it! You may have only been his niece, but he cared about you enough to give you his armor!”

“It was a mistake!”

“It was his will. And you were part of his life! Enough so that he gave you this, even by mistake! You were part of a legend’s life, Selys. You can’t deny it.”

“Shut up!”

Selys thrust Pisces away. He retreated a bit, hurt. But he didn’t give up. He called at Selys as she wrapped her tail around her body.

“If you want to be ordinary, you can claim ignorance, but you know that you’re at least related to—”

“I said, shut up!

Selys screamed at Pisces. She was so frustrated and angry that she actually hissed at him. The sound was loud in the small room, an angry viper’s hiss. Selys felt hot with embarrassment. No—not hot. Warm. She saw Pisces staring at her, pale-faced, and felt awful.

“I’m sorry.”

“Selys.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to—you should probably go.”

Selys!

Pisces was pointing, his finger shaking. Selys looked at him. Then she turned.

Behind her, the Heartflame Armor blazed. It was on fire. Flickering, ghostly pale red and orange flames licked across the armor, burning without smoke. There was heat without sound, motion without fuel. Selys stared at the armor as it blazed.

“Huh?”

“You did it!”

Someone hugged her from behind. Selys yelped and looked into Pisces ecstatic face. The [Necromancer] danced about the armor, happier than Selys had ever seen him.

“That was it! That was it! Of all the sounds! What genius! What simple—”

“What? What was it? ”

Selys was confused until she recalled what she’d done. Her eyes widened.

Hissing? But that’s—”

“So simple! Isn’t it? You wouldn’t expect it to be a phrase, and if you heard it in the heat of battle—and it’s something only a Drake would do! Do it again! Turn it off!”

“I’ll burn myself!”

“Try touching it from the inside!”

Cautiously, Selys did. She could feel the heat of the flames, but the inside of the breastplate was simply warm. Selys hissed, feeling embarrassed, but to her astonishment it worked! The flames immediately vanished. Pisces whistled slowly.

“Incredible. Hissing. A simple command, not lengthy, easy to activate and so simple that it would be overlooked by anyone attempting to guess the password. I suspect you can subvocalize the noise and activate the enchantment.”

“Sub what?”

“Make the sound so small, so inaudible that no one can hear it but you.”

She tried it. The flames flickered into life across the armor though the hissing sound barely passed her lips. Selys jumped. Pisces smiled widely.

“Wondrous.”

Selys just stared at the armor. The flames licking across the metal were hypnotic. They weren’t just fiery red anymore—they had shifted to become slightly purple with a white core. As if the flames were reacting to something? It was magical fire, and a magical effect. Selys felt someone standing next to her. Pisces.

“And so I ask you one last time, Selys.”

She stared at him. Pisces pointed to the burning armor.

“Look at it. Selys. This armor was given to you. It was your uncle’s will that you have it. I have but one question for you: do you want it?”

Selys stared at him. She looked at the armor. She closed her eyes. She didn’t need to think of the answer. She’d known it all along.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Selys nodded.

“It’s mine. It’s what my uncle gave to me. It’s mine.

She reached out and turned the enchantment off. Selys touched the warm metal slowly. Mine. Hers. Of course she wanted it. What Drake wouldn’t? And there was a part of her that remembered. She’d wanted to be an adventurer, wanted to be a hero.

Maybe her uncle hadn’t thought of it. Maybe he hadn’t updated his will. But he had known the Goblin Lord was coming. Maybe he hadn’t cared.  Or maybe he’d remembered and decided to do nothing anyways.

“What’s it like, Uncle?”

“Excuse me?”

Pisces was staring. Selys turned her head. There was an epiphany in her mind, a rushing roar of understanding. She felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest. Everything was slow and fast at the same time. Dreamlike.

“What a strange world we live in.”

“Go on.”

That was Pisces for you. He stared curiously at Selys, waiting for her to elaborate. She stared at the armor.

“Is this real? Or am I dreaming? It doesn’t feel real. It’s like a fantasy. Something I’d imagine. How could this happen to someone like me?”

There was no answer. There never was. Selys was ordinary Selys. A Drake without aspirations, without ambition. Only, that wasn’t true. She’d had all those things, once. She’d just given up on them.

The armor was heavy. Probably six pounds. Which was heavy, for the average breastplate. But it was balanced well. Selys lifted it off the stand. If you wore it, it would be easy to move around in. Far lighter than if you had a back plate too.

It felt like it should be heavier. Selys lifted the armor up. A legend’s armor. It had been worn by General Ironscales, by heroes of the Drakes. It had been worn by the Tidebreaker, and it had seen more battle and glory than Selys could ever imagine. It was an artifact worthy of myth.

And it still looked a bit tacky. Selys inspected the Heartflame Breastplate.

Then she put it on.

Pisces gasped. Selys fastened the straps around her body, feeling the metal shift to fit her form. It was a perfect match, despite having been on Zel’s chest before now. It fit like a glove. And it was—comforting. Selys turned and Pisces backed up. His eyes were wide. He looked awed, in wonder and happy with it. Another emotion she’d never seen in him. Selys smiled.

“I’m going. Are you coming with?”

“Where?”

She laughed. And pointed.

 

—-

 

Liscor was busy in the rain. People walked to and fro under awnings, grumbling about the rain but accustomed to the season’s weather. There was a lot to do. Business was business and there was actually more business in the spring. A lot of Drakes were on boats outside the city, hauling in prodigious catches of fish and watching out for aquatic monsters. Others were fishing from the walls, casting their lines into the water and returning with buckets of fish of varying sizes, shapes, and taste.

So there were plenty of people on the streets. Plenty of people who were going about their ordinary days doing what they thought of as mundane things. They looked up when they heard the shouting. They saw an ordinary Drake striding down the wet street. An ordinary Drake, a young woman. A [Receptionist].

Wearing the Heartflame Armor.

Selys heard the shouting. She’d been hearing it since she’d left the room with Pisces following. She had a crowd in her wake. Angry Drakes, [Guardsmen], officials. Shouting at her. Telling her all kinds of things.

“Stop!”

“You can’t do that!

“Put it back!”

“Who do you think you are?

Noise. Selys walked through it all. She stopped in the street as Drakes and Gnolls paused, looking at her. The Heartflame Breastplate was warm on her chest. It shone. It would make a good nightlight. But that wasn’t all it could do. Selys took a breath, her heart pounding. Then, ever so softly, so quietly even the Gnolls couldn’t hear it, she hissed.

And there was fire. It sprang around Selys, covering her hands, her tail, her face—but she could see straight through the flames. It was only when she looked at her body that she saw the blue flame. She heard the angry shouting go silent. And then there were voices raised in awe.

They didn’t matter either. It was just Selys, standing in the street. She stood and felt the armor burning.

Heat. Selys closed her eyes. She felt warm. Only, it wasn’t heat. The burning flames around her didn’t touch her scales. She didn’t feel the temperature. But her heart—

Her heart beat fiercely in her chest. Her blood rushed. Selys opened her eyes and felt alive. She looked around and finally took in the crowd.

People were staring at her. Hundreds. Some were running, others shouting. A Drake had fallen to his knees. A Gnoll was staring mesmerized into the flames. Another Gnoll was shaking her head, pinching herself. So many eyes, so many faces.

All turned towards her. It was surreal. Selys had been at the center of attention in the Adventurer’s Guild. She had made announcements, shouted for attention—never this. This was something else. This was a moment she couldn’t forget, a brief window in time where a part of the world had stopped to stare.

At her. Selys looked around and then started walking. She had to. She had to move. The crowd parted before her and trailed in her wake. Selys walked through the rain as it burned and turned to steam on her armor.

She walked with her knees shaking, her head light. Every head turned towards her. Selys felt the world passing slowly. For a second, a minute, she was the center of the world. It was terrifying. Amazing.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. They were staring—Selys shook like a leaf. But she was warm. And that gave her the courage to go on.

Down the street. Through the crowds as every person in Liscor came to a stop. Whatever they were doing, whatever they had planned—Selys occupied their attention. Zevara came running down the street and stopped. Embria paused as she and Ilvriss ran forwards. They became part of the audience.

Left at the intersection. Walking the same path from her apartment she’d always done. Selys looked around, trying to remember this feeling. Trying to capture every moment for the rest of her life.

There was a two-story building ahead of her. The doors were worn with age. Selys put her hand on the handle and opened it. Adventurers rose to their feet. The [Receptionist] on duty fell out of her chair. Selys walked into the Adventurer’s Guild.

Her home. She heard the crowd press at the doors. She saw an elderly Drake walk down the stairs and waved at her. Tekshia stared at her granddaughter, blazing, on fire. Selys walked past the line of wet adventurers, seeing them flinch back from her. She saw the Halfseekers turn. Gold-rank adventurers, staring at her just the same as the children.

The [Receptionist] at the desk backed away. Selys rested a claw on the wood and saw it begin to burn. She lifted her claw and turned. A room full of faces stared at her.

Ten minutes. That’s how long it had taken for her to come here at a slow walk. Ten minutes. That was enough.

For ten minutes she had been a hero. Selys looked at her grandmother and saw Tekshia looking at her with an expression Selys had never seen on her face. Wonder? Awe? Respect? There were no words. Selys stepped behind her counter. She ran a claw over it and saw smoke rising. Then she leaned on the desk. She hissed and the flames died out.

In the silence, the smoke drifting from the desk drifted upwards and vanished. The Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, and other adventurers stared at Selys. She stood at her desk, wearing the Heartflame Breastplate. She smiled as wide as she ever had.

At the head of the crowd was a young man in white robes. Pisces stared at Selys. She beckoned him forwards, as if he were in line. He took a few hesitant steps. Selys leaned towards him.

“So what comes next? Huh?”

Pisces blinked. He stared at her, and then around the room. She didn’t have to say it. She knew he was thinking the same thing. Sometimes, just sometimes, it was good to be the center of attention. At last, Pisces smiled. He looked at Selys, that challenging, excited gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t know. But I’m eager to find out.”

 

—-

 

Selys stood in a room with an odd group. Watch Captain Zevara. Wall Lord Ilvriss. Pisces. None of them were people she’d normally talk to. Well, maybe Pisces, but that was so new as well. And yet, she didn’t feel afraid of talking to them anymore. Instead, Selys was all business.

When you wore the Heartflame Breastplate, people listened to you. Sometimes it was because you were on fire. But it was also because you’d dared. Dared to put it on. Even Ilvriss hadn’t dared to try. It was Selys’ armor. Hers.

And she was talking about giving it away. Pisces stood with a sheaf of parchment in hand, reading through his notes, talking animatedly. He’d been using [Message] spells all day. He’d taught himself the spell, apparently.

“…and in light of the new enchantment’s trigger being discovered, all of the cities are bidding desperately. They regard the armor’s powers—correctly—as something that could turn the tide of battle if used to full effect. A [General] wouldn’t need to fear danger and take to the front lines with far more certainty with such a powerful protective enchantment.”

“If my uncle had known how it worked, I wonder if it would have helped him.”

“There’s no telling. But the armor—”

Ilvriss stared at the breastplate. Selys had put it back on the armor stand. People also tended to stare at your chest if you wore it while talking to them. And it got heavy. Pisces nodded.

“I have noted your increased bid for the armor, Wall Lord Ilvriss. Backed by your Walled City, you are of course fielding one of the highest bids for the armor, from a pure monetary perspective.”

“One of the highest? Who else is bidding?”

Ilvriss swung around to stare at Pisces. The [Necromancer] smiled.

“Confidential, I’m afraid. Some of the potential buyers wish to preserve their anonymity, I’m sure you understand.”

Ilvriss narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t exactly sneer at or ignore Pisces. The young man cleared his throat.

“However, yours is certainly an alluring bid. And Pallass is aware of it. They are concerned about Wall Lord Ilvriss’ ties to Liscor and have come up with a counteroffer, Selys.”

He turned to Selys and smiled.

“They’re willing to offer you a modest sum if you’ll agree not to lend, lease, or otherwise give the armor to Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

What?

Zevara and Ilvriss looked at Pisces. He looked smug. Selys stared at him.

“Not to sell it to Ilvriss? But then I’d be getting money—”

“For nothing. Exactly.”

Pisces looked around at the Drakes. He sighed.

“It’s a simple concept! A magical artifact can make money simply by existing and remaining neutral—especially in ideal circumstances like these. Pallass and the other Walled Cities are keen to get their hands on such an artifact, but not at the cost of outbidding each other. They would rather pay a small fee to ensure none of their enemies turn up on the battlefield wearing that armor than obtain it for themselves.”

“That’s robbery!”

Zevara looked aghast at the idea of paying someone for nothing. Pisces laughed. He actually laughed!

“No. Just politics. Terandria has treaties like this in place. That’s where I hit upon the idea.”

“And you’re willing to hold onto the armor? Even if it means risking losing it? We can’t guard it forever, especially if you want to wear it.”

Ilvriss turned to Selys, looking exasperated. She shook her head.

“I still want to earn money off it. More money, I guess. Come on in!”

She raised her voice and the door opened. Ilvriss looked past Selys and up as a giant head appeared. A half-Giant head. Moore stepped carefully into the room, bending so as not to bang his head on the ceiling. Jelaqua strode in after her and Seborn appeared at their backs. Selys shook Jelaqua’s hand.

“You’re serious about this?”

The Selphid stared at the armor. Zevara and Ilvriss, catching on, stared hard at Selys. The [Receptionist] just nodded.

“I’m willing to lease the armor to your team, Miss Jelaqua. Lease, not sell.”

“For the dungeon? How would that work?”

The Selphid scratched at the back of her head, her claws brushing the spines. Her tail twitched and Selys wondered if she could hiss using her body’s new throat. They’d figure something out if not.

“It’s very simple. I’ll let you use the armor to take on the dungeon—or any missions in the area. You’d have to give it back to me after a set amount of time, but you can use it until our contract expires.”

The Halfseekers stared at each other. Seborn raised a hand.

And if we lose it or it breaks? We’re adventurers. Accidents happen.

“If you can find something that can break the Heartflame Breastplate, I’d love to see it. From really far away.”

Selys folded her arms. She nodded at a book that Pisces had found for her.

“I’ve been doing some research. With Pisces. Possession of artifacts is very clear. Under Drake law it means that if you die with the armor on in the dungeon, it’s mine. If it’s stolen, it’s still mine. Only in war does that rule not apply. If you lose it in the dungeon, I’ll hire someone to get it back.”

“And it’s not likely to break. Alright. But what happens to you in the meantime? I’ve been hearing rumors that lots of people are targeting you. I’d hate to get my team involved in…”

Jelaqua looked around at the other Drakes and hesitated.

“…politics.”

“That’s a good point. Miss Selys, your life would be danger if—especially if you lent the armor to adventurers.”

Ilvriss looked like he was struggling to find a flaw in Selys’ plan. The Drake [Receptionist] just smiled. She looked at Pisces who gave her a self-satisfied smirk.

“Pisces had an idea about that, actually. It’s the kind of underhanded thing I would expect from him.”

“I shall take that compliment in the spirit with which it was given.”

“Explain.”

Zevara looked at Pisces. It was Selys who replied.

“In the event of my death, the armor doesn’t go to anyone in my family. No matter what I say, no matter what I might sign, it’ll go straight back to Magnolia Reinhart. With instructions on how to use it. That will is good for ten years, at which point I’ll have to renew it or write another one.”

Back to—

Ilvriss spluttered in horror at the thought. Selys imagined that would be the reaction of most Drakes. She nodded.

“Back to her. I can’t change it no matter what. That will is solid and sealed by a Wistram Mage—”

“Falene. Pah. As if I couldn’t do the spellcasting myself given a moment’s time to study—”

The Watch Captain of Liscor ignored Pisces. She studied Selys seriously.

“And if she has you killed? Magnolia Reinhart uses [Assassins].”

Selys gritted her teeth.

“Then she’ll have to get through every Drake who cares about the armor to get me. And I’d say one Human [Lady] being after me is better than six Walled Cities pulling me apart, don’t you?”

Ilvriss had the decency to blush slightly. He looked around and sighed.

“Ancestors. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. Jelaqua, if you’re willing, I’ll lease the armor to you. I know I could find a team in Pallass or someone else in Liscor—the Silver Swords, maybe—but I wanted to ask you first.”

Jelaqua looked dumbfounded. She looked at her teammates, and then at Selys, rather helplessly.

“Well of course we’d love to borrow it, even for a day! But Selys, we can’t afford—”

“Oh, it’s not about how much you can pay me now. I just want a cut of whatever you get.”

Selys interrupted the Selphid. Jelaqua snapped her fingers.

“You do? Of course! A cut of the treasure!”

“I don’t need artifacts or anything else. All I want is a percentage of anything you find. You can have first rights to artifacts and compensate me the cost.”

The Halfseekers stared at Selys. She held her breath as they turned. Moore covered their heads as he bent his to confer. Jelaqua turned back within a minute.

“Well, if it’s a percentage of our findings, we could offer you thirty percent—but let’s talk this over, okay? How’s a drink sound? At Erin’s?”

Selys smiled. She turned to Pisces and he gave her a thumbs-up.  He looked satisfied as he edged over to Selys.

“I get a cut of the profits, right?”

She stared flatly at him. Pisces lost his smile.

“Ah. Was that the wrong time to ask?”

He yelped as Selys poked him in the side. The [Receptionist] winked.

“We’ll talk.”

 

—-

 

It wasn’t over with the Halfseekers. Before they met to discuss the terms of their contract, which would be magically enforced and certified by Liscor’s Watch Captain, Selys strode into Tekshia Shivertail’s office. The elderly Drake looked up as Selys thrust a parchment onto the table for her. Selys didn’t wait for Tekshia to speak.

“The Goblins are going to be a Bronze-rank team. They’ll work their way up through the system, but this way Liscor can take credit for them entering the dungeon, and we get a cut of whatever they find. Otherwise we have five Goblins running about who aren’t under anyone’s control but Erin’s.”

Tekshia picked up the form to create a Bronze-rank team. She studied it. Then she pushed it back across the desk.

“No.”

Selys leaned over the desk. She should have worn her armor.

“Why not?”

Tekshia’s face didn’t change.

“I don’t trust them.”

I do.”

“So? You’re not the [Guildmistress].”

Selys stared at her grandmother. She glared, and then took a deep breath.

“I’m not. But I say it should be this way, Grandma. If you’ll sign this, I’ll take responsibility for the Goblins. If they cause trouble, I’ll take the blame. Not you. You can put that in writing.”

She jabbed a claw at the parchment. For a second she thought Tekshia would scoff at her, but then, to her astonishment, Tekshia laughed. The elderly Drake grabbed a quill as Selys stared at her in astonishment.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you take some responsibility for your actions? Fine. If you’ll put your tail on the line…”

She signed the parchment with a flourish. Selys gaped at her.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t stare. I’ve waited for ages for you to suggest something and have the spine to back up what you’re suggesting. You’ll never get anywhere by trying to get someone else to take the risks, Selys. An adult takes chances and backs them up! A shame you had to make Goblin adventurers your first big decision. Ah, well.”

Tekshia sighed as she pushed the parchment back towards Selys. The Drake stared and then snatched the parchment up. She peered at the signature. It was real. She glared at her grandmother.

“Wait, was this all another test? You mean all my suggestions—Pisces cleaning the sewers—all that was to prepare me to follow in your footsteps?”

The old Drake paused in nibbling at her quill tip.

“Hardly. I just don’t like [Necromancers]. What’s this about you following in my footsteps?”

“I thought—you were preparing to make me the Guildmaster! Guildmistress!”

“What?”

“You’ve been having me run about, do all kinds of important work for the Guild. And you keep talking about your bad back and how much work there is. I thought…”

Selys trailed off as Tekshia gave her an incredulous look. The old Drake shook her head.

“Guildmaster? You thought I was grooming you to replace me? Hah!

She barked a laugh and pointed her inky quill at Selys like a dagger. Tekshia grinned, her teeth inky in one spot.

“You can have my place when I’m dead, Selys, and not a moment before! I just wanted you to take some responsibility and start leveling up again!”

But—

Selys felt like Tekshia had kicked the rug out from under her. The old Drake cackled.

“I’ll give you a small raise. Assuming you’re not too busy running around in armor?”

“I—but—you—I worked so hard—and you—”

Selys spluttered. Tekshia shook her head.

“You’re not having my job. Too much good fortune is bad for your character, anyways.”

“I hate you! I worked so hard! And for what? I’m not working overtime again!”

Selys raged as she turned and stomped away from the desk. She had to come back for the parchment. Tekshia nearly laughed her tail off. But she stopped Selys as the young Drake stormed for the door.

“It was a smart idea to keep it, Selys.”

Selys turned. The young Drake woman smiled at Tekshia, her anger forgotten.

“I know. And I couldn’t just give it away. After all, Uncle Zel gave it to me.”

Tekshia sighed.

“He did at that.”

The door closed. Tekshia watched Selys hurry down the street through the window and laughed before snorting.

“Guildmistress? Hah! Not this year.”

Then she reached under her desk and produced something round and soft to nibble on while she worked. It was a cookie.

 

—-

 

It wasn’t over. Selys sat at a table in The Wandering Inn, talking animatedly with Jelaqua. She was no [Shopkeeper], but she had a certain degree of charm, and she could talk shop with any adventurer under the sun.

“I’m just asking for a reasonable percentage of whatever profits you make. With this armor you can literally walk through some traps unharmed. And the flame enchantment will protect you from all kinds of effects. For a Selphid you’d practically be invulnerable, wouldn’t you?”

“True. But we haven’t tested the magnitude of the enchantments. Forty percent is high. Hell, thirty percent is high! We’re doing all the work!”

“And I have a legendary artifact. With it on you might be a Named Adventurer, Jelaqua. Think of that. If you don’t want it, I could talk to Ylawes…”

The Selphid was thinking, Selys could tell. Jelaqua leaned back to whisper to Seborn, and someone passed by their table.

“Another round?”

Erin lifted a mug, smiling. Selys smiled too. She had barely had time to talk with Erin over these last few days. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Erin had her busy life to lead. She was always getting into trouble or finding something weird. And for once, Selys could relate.

“I’ll have a fruit drink, Erin. No more alcohol. But can I have another kebab?”

“Coming right up! Hey, did you know I didn’t make this for once? Ishkr’s really good at searing the meat. As good as I am with my [Advanced Cooking] Skill!”

Erin left and returned with some hot skewers of pork and chicken. Selys gobbled one down happily as Jelaqua looked resigned. She had her on the ropes! Selys would be content with thirty five percent, actually. It was just a matter of getting the Selphid to agree…

Selys paused as she chewed and swallowed. Her armor was going to be huge, especially if Jelaqua’s team found something. But there was something she had to do as well tonight. It had to be tonight. She’d talked with Zevara and it had to be tonight. Zel’s remains would be transported through to Pallass tomorrow with a huge honor guard. So…

“Erin, I need a big favor.”

“Oh?”

The [Innkeeper] looked intrigued. Selys scooted her chair back to whisper in her ears.

“I need you to pull a few strings to get some people to help me. Here’s what I’ll need…”

 

—-

 

Later that night, two [Guardsmen] stood in one corner of Liscor as the rain fell unceasingly. They were on duty—it was customary for the Watch to post a guard here regardless of weather or circumstance. The graveyards of all major cities were well-tended and the remains were disposed of in such a way that the undead couldn’t rise, but you could never be too certain.

It was wet. One of the [Guardsmen] shifted and yawned. He raised his voice and spoke above the patter of rain to his companion.

“Say, Klb, old buddy. How much trouble would we be in if we were caught doing this?”

The Antinium standing next to him paused. Rain dripped off his mandibles as he opened them to reply.

“By saying ‘we’, are you referring to you and I as Senior Guardsmen, the four of us present in the graveyard, or the entire group including Watch Captain Zevara and Miss Solstice?”

Relc paused.

“Any of us.”

“Hmm. I believe in our case we would both be fired or forced to resign instantly, be court martialed, perhaps imprisoned and potentially be executed.”

“Ah. Right. I was just curious.”

“Indeed.”

They turned their attention back to watching. Not watching for intruders, but rather, watching for anyone who might catch the two intruders already in the graveyard. They were holding shovels. One of them whispered to the other.

“Can you hurry up?”

“I’m trying! This would be easier if you let me use an undead rather than do it myself—”

Pisces straightened, mopping dirt, sweat and rain from his forehead. Selys glared at him.

“What, and get murdered for desecrating the graveyard more than we already are?”

“I think this is a treasonous offense either way. The coffin is just a few more feet.”

“You sure?”

“It has bones in it. Of course I’m sure!”

Pisces was irate. He hadn’t signed up for manual labor as he’d pointed out all night, but Selys had trusted no one else. Ironically, the [Necromancer] was her only expert in this field. Digging up a grave.

Not just any grave either. Selys shuddered. She pointed at Pisces.

“Don’t you dare steal so much as a bone from this graveyard. I mean it, Pisces!”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He sounded sincere so Selys relaxed. Pisces grunted as he hopped back in the hole he’d dug.

“Besides, all the bones are disposed of in such a way that they can’t be used easily. Warded coffins, silver dust…it really is inconvenient. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Please stop talking. You’re standing over his grave.”

Selys closed her eyes tightly. She clutched the urn to her chest as Pisces kept digging. She heard him pause.

“Ah. Here we are.”

Selys looked down. Pisces clambered out of the hole he’d dug and eyed the gravestone in front of the hole. It was a marvelous tombstone, a grand thing that looked a lot better in the daylight. The name of the owner was emblazoned across it. A name every Drake child knew. A name from history.

General Sserys.

“The coffin is right there. I presume you don’t want to open it? It’s probably loaded with enough ward spells to destroy half this graveyard if I managed to break through it at all.”

Selys shuddered.

“No, it’s fine. It just needs to be next to the coffin. Here. Give me a moment.”

Pisces walked back. He stared at Selys as she opened the urn. In the pouring rain, Selys hesitated over the hole. A perverse part of her thought it would be so funny if she tripped and fell in. Then she stared at the urn.

It was so small. Too small. And try as she might, Selys couldn’t find enough sadness in her heart. It was there, but she’d done so much mourning that it was smaller. Truly. And this moment didn’t strike her as sad. She held the urn over the grave and said a few words that were lost to the rain. Perhaps Pisces heard it—perhaps not. The rain was loud. But then again, he could read lips.

Selys poured the urn’s contents into the hole in the ground. The ash fell, a brief cloud, settling into the grave. Selys stood there for a minute and then turned to Pisces.

“Okay, let’s cover it all back up. Hand me a shovel.”

The two got to work, piling the wet, heavy dirt back into the grave and tamping it down. Pisces even levitated the plaque back into place, adding the uprooted turf so it looked like no one had ever tampered with the grave. The two stepped back and there was a moment where they looked at each other. Pisces cleared his throat.

“Turnscale. Not a word I’m familiar with.”

Selys jumped. She glanced at Pisces and he shrugged. Selys hesitated and turned away.

“That’s probably because it’s not a word you’d find in any Drake book.”

He nodded, flicking wet hair out of his eyes.

“You’re most likely correct. But I can guess the meaning.”

“Yeah. It’s fairly obvious.”

“From the context of what you’ve done, I can only infer one conclusion. Selys. Am I right in thinking…?”

Selys looked at Pisces. He fell silent.

“Yes.”

The [Necromancer] looked startled.

“Truly? I can understand General Shivertail. But was Sserys…?”

The Drake [Receptionist] hesitated.

“No one knew. He died long ago and uncle never talked about it. But I think he and uncle were…he wouldn’t have written that if it hadn’t been true.”

Zel Shivertail’s will. The words that had been taboo, unutterable. Unthinkable. They came to Selys, unbidden.

Bury me with my love.

A simple request, nothing more. She had honored it as best she could. Selys turned away. Pisces stared at the grave.

“Could you imagine?”

“What?”

“If it were true. Think of what that would mean for history!”

“It was true. No one talked about it.”

Selys stared at the grave. It felt…good. She’d just dug up a grave, in a sense, despoiled the grave of Liscor’s greatest hero, General Sserys. If Embria had known about this she would have beheaded Selys and Pisces in an instant. Or stabbed them. She did use a spear. But Selys only felt good. It was what Zel had wanted. And she thought it was what Sserys would have wanted.

She lingered over the grave as Pisces walked back towards the entrance of the graveyard, where Relc and Klbkch were waiting. Selys stared at the grave. There was no grave for Zel, no marker of where he had been truly buried. But she thought he might have liked it that way. He didn’t like standing out, in the end. He’d done it out of duty.

And now he was gone. Selys rubbed at her eyes but found nothing to irritate them but grave dirt. It truly was the end. She bowed her head and spoke one last time.

“Goodbye, Uncle. Rest well.”

Above, the rain kept falling. It should have stopped. There should have been a moment of peace, perhaps a brief ray of sunlight or something else. But there was nothing. Selys turned and trudged away. She looked back only once.

She wondered what had been. What might have been. And for an instant, Selys imagined a tall [General], proud and commanding, laughing with Zel Shivertail over a cup in the corner of an inn. For a moment Selys could see it—then it was gone. Selys left the graveyard, empty urn in hand. She had to come back fifteen minutes later to find the lid.

 

—-

 

Here’s how it finished. That night, Selys stayed up late, taking care to wash all the dirt off her scales in a tepid bath of rainwater and soap. Then she sat in her small apartment and made a small fire, though the rainy spring night really didn’t call for it. She let the fire burn hotly for a long while, breaking up the decaying logs and embers until it was burning low, and then extinguished it. Then Selys waited some more, until the embers were out. She gathered a dustpan and broom and began collecting what was in her fireplace. She got a good helping—not too much, and sifted through it to remove any telltale debris.

At last, Selys poured the hot ash and dust into the urn, and then set it carefully on her dresser, wiping the rim so it looked polished and untouched. Selys stared at it for a second and then shook her head.

“Have fun burying that with a big ceremony.”

She turned, blew out the candle on her bed, and lay down. She was so tired. Selys hadn’t ever been more exhausted in her life, not even after fighting for her life against the undead! She had worn herself down. But she felt good. Relaxed. Almost at once, Selys drifted off to sleep.

 

[Receptionist Level 19!]

 

[Heiress Level 6!]

[Skill – Legacy Whispers: Heartflame Set obtained!]

 

In the night, the rain poured down. Slowly, the Drake sat back up in her bed. Eyes wide. She heard thunder, and then words. There was no voice that spoke them, no tongue to shape them. They appeared in her head, searing, unforgettable.

 

To find the helm of fire,

Look to death’s ire;

That village without rest,

Where the Putrid One met his death.

 

They were there, and then only a memory. But what a memory. Selys sat in bed, clutching her covers to her chest, heart pounding wildly. She looked around.

“Ancestors.”

And then she went back to sleep.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.19 G

He is coming. He is nearly here. He is coming. He calls. He is a Lord and he calls your name.

Garen—

The Goblin awoke. He lay and stared up at the dark stone ceiling overhead for a second, and then rolled out of his bed. The rough, woven mattress barely bothered his thick skin. He had wool and cloth, scavenged or stolen to make it warmer and more comfortable, but it was hardly luxury.

In this place, other Goblins slept on silk blankets stolen from merchant caravans carrying goods from as far away as Chandrar. But this Goblin liked the simple, undecorated room he lived in. It was bare, without comforts. A warrior’s room.

The Goblin walked over to a pile of clothes and grunted as he kicked through them. Goblins didn’t bother with laundry unless something was really dirty, and many considered clothing an option rather than a rule in most circumstances. However, this particular Hobgoblin was used to wearing clothes and so he dressed himself before putting on his armor.

Simple leather armor. Worn down, but flexible. Unenchanted. In times past, he could remember wearing heavier stuff. However, most Goblins fought in rapid, brutal offensives. Speed mattered more than protection. If you got hit you were dead. And if you were up against enchanted weapons, leather made about as much difference as steel plate.

Clothing. Armor. The Hobgoblin looked around. His crimson eyes were weary as he rubbed at them. But that was a weakness he only showed in this room. By the time he pushed open his door—another sign of his rank—he was wide awake.

“Redfang.”

There were Goblins waiting for him. Two—one a regular Goblin, short by Human standards, and the other, a Hob, thinner than he should be but wiry with muscle. Both male. Garen grunted at them and they nodded.

Guards on his room. Another odd thing in this place. Posting two of his followers at his door had been a hard choice for him. It wasn’t like Garen had anything to steal. And he didn’t want to give away the impression he was afraid of being attacked in his sleep—Garen was confident he could kill anything creeping into his room. Nevertheless, he’d given in. It was a symbol of authority, and while it wasted time, his faction expected it of him here.

His faction. This place! Garen growled under his breath as he stalked the halls. Goblins were always up and about here. The small ones avoided him, rushing about with their work. The Hobs gave Garen space as well. They were Hobs and he was a Hob, but only a fool would have thought that meant he was on their level. And Garen had killed enough fools to make his point already.

This was the mountain. Dwarfhalls Rest, the former home of Dwarves in another age. Now, a Goblin bastion, home of the largest tribe in the north. The domain of the self-styled Great Goblin Chieftain, Tremborag.

And the tribe that had ignored the Goblin Lord’s summons. Here waited those who had refused to join him, who hated everything he represented. Garen bared his teeth and a Hob thought twice about walking near him and edged to one side of the corridor. But not all Goblins in this mountain were alike.

He was Garen Redfang, and if Goblins had anything close to a legend or hero, it was he. His name was famous. Once a Gold-rank adventurer, the only Goblin to ever hold that rank. Garen had infiltrated Human cities under disguise, taught himself to speak. And when he had left civilization he built a tribe like no other, a tribe of warriors trained in his image. And he had settled in a place Goblins called death. The High Passes.

As Goblin Chieftains went, Garen stood above all the rest. Or he should have. His tribe was powerful, and Garen was as strong as any Gold-rank adventurer.

And yet, he had come here. To another Chieftain’s hold. To join with another tribe, fleeing the Goblin Lord’s advance. Because—his tribe wasn’t nearly large enough to defy the Goblin Lord alone. If that were all, it would have mattered little. But there had been an unexpected complication. A young Chieftain, a genius whose talents were a mirror to Garen’s. Young, weak, inexperienced, but able to command a tribe far larger than her own with her ability to command, to lead, to think. Garen’s fist clenched.

Rags. The small Goblin from Liscor. She had left the mountain, claiming Garen was no true Goblin. And she had taken her tribe, many of the tribes he had gathered, and his tribe. His warriors. Over two thirds of them had gone with her. Those that had remained had refused to fight their traitorous kin. They had suffered Garen’s rage that day.

Power, fame, influence. These were Human concepts. In another place, in another tribe, it wouldn’t have mattered. Garen was Chieftain. The idea that his tribe, his warriors, would leave him was impossible. But in this place Goblins learned treachery and to think of things in terms of gain and loss, and not the good of the tribe. They replaced loyalty with ambition.

Politics. In the mountain, Garen was one of many Goblins with the rank of Chieftain. There were multiple Hobs with that status, with the drive and ambition to have tribes of their own. Yet all were somehow part of the same tribe, underneath the Hob that had created this anomaly. The Great Chieftain.

Tremborag.

It was to this Goblin that Garen strode, despite the early hour. The burning certainty in Garen’s mind made him too restless to sleep. He had felt it. The Goblin Lord was coming. Like a blazing bonfire growing brighter, drawing closer, his army was marching on the mountain. Garen felt this knowledge in his core, in his bones, in his very soul. And if he had felt it, Tremborag surely had.

The mountain was not quiet. The halls echoed with Goblin’s chatter, the pounding of Tremborag’s Goblin [Smiths], the creak of the wooden bridges crisscrossing the mountain enduring the weight of hundreds of bodies every minute.

And screams.  Oh yes. Not Goblin screams either, most of them. There were Humans and other species in the mountain. Prisoners. Captives. Some kidnapped, others captured during a raid or battle.

Women. Females. Garen tried to block out the sound. But two voices stood out from the rest. He heard male voices, shouting in agony. Garen remembered them.

Gold-rank adventurers. A scouting team, sent from one of the local cities to investigate this place. News of a Great Goblin Chieftain had shaken the Human cities’ complacency, and they had begun connecting the Goblin raids over the years, wondering if the villages, cities, and towns raided over the last decade could have been the work of one tribe.

So they had put out a request to scout the mountain and a Gold-rank team had taken it. Why not? It was dangerous, but the pay had been provided for by multiple cities. They could always run. And they were Gold-rank adventurers. What could Goblins do to them?

Screams. Garen listened. The adventurers were being tortured. The Gold-rank team had been a group of three. The two males were howling in agony. Somewhere, in a room nearby perhaps, Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe were torturing them. For information? Garen wondered. Perhaps they just enjoyed it. He shook his head. This place was too different. Too alien to what Goblins were. Too…Human.

Two voices. The Gold-rank adventurers had been experienced, strong. They’d infiltrated the mountain well, until they’d gone in too far. Garen had ambushed them, with a group of Hobs. The adventurers probably had no idea that Goblins could detect them even with [Invisibility] spells and other concealing enchantments. They’d put up a good fight. Garen’s side still hurt from where an enchanted blade had struck him, despite the healing potion he’d used. But he had slain more than a few Gold-rank adventurers himself, and Hobs were as strong as a Silver-rank adventurer without magical equipment.

All three had been taken hostage. But Garen didn’t hear the female adventurer’s voice. He suspected she’d killed herself with poison. He’d seen her chewing something as the Goblins had subdued the three. It wasn’t something male adventurers really thought of. He wondered if the two living adventurers envied her foresight.

More screams. Enough! Garen strode faster, outdistancing the sounds as best he could. He headed to two massive, open doors as his corridor widened. The center of the mountain was a vast feasting hall, a place where the Goblins of the mountain ate and feasted. And it was here their Chieftain could almost always be found.

Tremborag!

Garen shouted one word as he strode into the room. It wasn’t a meal time, so there were fewer Goblins in the room. Some off-duty Hobs, eating, as was their privilege, scurrying servantile Goblins, carrying food, and a huge Goblin at the head of the room.

An enormous, fat Hobgoblin sat on a ‘throne’, surrounded by female Goblins and some of his most trusted lieutenants. He was eating savagely, and the other Goblins were maintaining a small distance away from him. Tremborag, Great Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe, looked up. His crimson eyes flashed fury for a moment, and he stared down at the approaching Hobgoblin.

“Redfang.”

Tremborag’s voice was a growl. Garen paused, his hand reaching unconsciously towards his sword. The other Goblins surrounding Tremborag stared with fear and envy at the red blade Garen carried. It was that which had earned him his second name. Redfang, for the enchanted blade. Garen, for the name he’d claimed himself. They backed up as Tremborag rose.

Up, up! A mountain of flesh. Tremborag was huge even by Hobgoblin standards. Many Hobs tended towards fat, but Tremborag had surpassed them all. He was massive, gargantuan. Compared to Garen’s lean, trained body he looked too slow and heavy to move. But Garen knew that was an illusion. Tremborag had not created this tribe, arguably the most powerful in the north, by being soft. The two Chieftains glared at each other.

It was always like this. In Tremborag’s mountain, Garen was his second-in-command. He couldn’t be anything else; Garen was too powerful, too influential not to be followed by a large faction, his Redfangs. And yet, Tremborag was his Chieftain. In any other tribe, Garen would have left or fought Tremborag for control. But it was different here.

With effort, both Hobs restrained themselves. Tremborag glared at Garen, his mood sour and savage. He reached for a haunch of meat and tore into it, letting fat and oil drip down his chin.

“What, Redfang. More adventurers, seeking to enter my mountain?”

Tremborag’s voice was deep, booming. It was also fluent in the common tongue. Garen replied less fluently, although practiced from past years of use.

“No. You know what happened. He is coming.”

The Great Chieftain paused in chewing a mouthful of meat. He glanced to one side.

“Leave.”

The Goblins around him scattered. Tremborag watched them swiftly exit the banquet room with the other Goblins, leaving Garen and him alone. Then he looked down at Garen.

“He marched slower than I thought he would. This Goblin Lord.”

Garen shrugged.

“Battle. He fought one at Invrisil.”

“True. But his tribe would heal on the march and grow. The Goblin Lord took his time. He has not sent out any raiding parties, any other armies.”

“Because he is coming here.

The Chieftain of the Redfang Tribe bared his teeth. Tremborag nodded once.

“Because I am here.”

“We.”

Tremborag grunted.

“Does it matter? He senses the Goblins here. And he is drawn to us. He wants my strength. Our strength, to add to his own. And he will not have it.”

The Great Chieftain crushed the bone he held in his hand. He tossed the fragments of bone aside, snarling. Garen repressed the urge to snarl as well. Both of them knew what the Goblin Lord wanted. Both of them felt his call. And both had refused. Garen, out of disgust. Tremborag…for other reasons.

“I felt it too. His call. The arrogance of it. To command me. To pull every tribe in five hundred miles into his army! But I refused the Goblin King and I refused him. If he comes to my mountain, he will leave with nothing. Or he will die.”

It was reassuring to hear Tremborag say that. Garen shifted his posture, keeping his balance, still wary of the Great Chieftain in front of him. A Goblin Lord. Among Goblins, they were rare. Powerful. Normally a Goblin Lord would be a thing of wonder, of pride. But this Goblin Lord—how could any Goblin follow someone like him? Garen had felt it. How could any Goblin Lord be like him? How could anyone treat with the undead, and worse—be a slave?

His disgust must have been apparent on his face, because Tremborag paused as he reached for a handful of walnuts drizzled with wild honey. He stared at Garen intently. The Hobgoblin shifted again, disliking the look. Tremborag seldom talked with Garen, save to make plans or order a raid. They did not work together well. But the giant Hobgoblin’s voice was thoughtful.

“Redfang. How old are you?”

The question caught Garen off-guard. He glanced up at Tremborag, frowned and thought about refusing to answer. But he reluctantly replied at last.

“Fourteen.”

“Hah! Old for a Goblin. Young for anything else.”

Tremborag laughed as he stuffed the walnuts into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and glanced at Garen.

“You were young when Velan appeared, weren’t you? Do you remember him? Our beloved, late, Goblin King?”

Another odd question. Garen had to think honestly before he could answer.

“No.”

“You never saw his face?”

“No. Heard him appear. Saw tribe leave. Many to follow. Never saw him. Only saw a Goblin Lord once.”

“Because it was war.”

Tremborag’s eyes gleamed. He picked up a pitcher of wine, kicking his foot and offering Garen one of the cups lying about. The Hobgoblin shifted his head a fraction to the left, declining the offer. Tremborag drank, speaking savagely. It was incredible to Garen—he had never heard any older Goblin speak of the Goblin King, Velan the Kind, with anything but regret and longing. But Tremborag’s voice was bitter.

“He told the young to hide. He told the old to hide! He told the pregnant and those afraid to fight, to hide! He took only the warriors, only those willing to follow him to death. So that when he fell, Goblins would quickly would rise again.”

“He knew he would fall?”

“Knew? He expected it! He came across the sea. From Baleros, fleeing his enemies. He knew they would follow. But he fought! He took every Goblin warrior in the world into his army and fought. He knew he would fall, he must have. If he had died in Baleros, he would have ended it all there. But he fought. And he invited us to share his folly.”

Tremborag drained the pitcher, threw it aside. It shattered as the Goblin glared down at Garen, his red eyes flashing.

“The arrogance of him. The waste! You never saw his face. But I? I sat here. On this throne when a Goblin Lord came to my mountain. I refused him then, and the Goblin Lord left. I sat here in this very spot when the Goblin King came here. And I looked him in the eye and refused to follow.”

The words made Garen shudder. He had refused the Goblin King? Tremborag? He tried to imagine it, and failed. He had never seen Velan, only felt the pull as a young Goblin, urging him to war, feeling the fury, the rage of his kin. And then—the loss. But Tremborag had refused the King to his face. Garen tried to see it. All he saw was a fat Goblin. Old, dangerous, but hardly the stuff of such legends. And yet, Tremborag’s voice betrayed that beast, that monster lurking within.

“A Goblin King could not rouse me from my home. Now another upstart claims to be Lord. If he comes to claim me, let him break his army on my mountain home. I am Great Chieftain of the Mountain and I bow to no Lord or King.”

Powerful words. Fighting words. Garen bared his teeth, relieved to hear them. He was coming. The Goblin Lord. And he would find nothing but blades at his throat. That would make all this, all this frustration worth it. And perhaps afterwards…

Garen felt at something in his pocket. Tremborag saw the movement and his eyes narrowed. Garen noticed and took his hand away from the tiny key, his hand sliding over the hilt of his sword. Tremborag ignored that and spoke slowly.

“A secret. I dream of it too. The secret Velan hid. And I will have it, Redfang.”

“We will have it.”

Garen glared up at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain eyed him and Garen tensed. He had magical artifacts, his sword, and his experience from years as a Gold-rank adventurer. But Tremborag was at least twice his age. Neither knew what would happen if it came to a fight between them, but both knew it would be to the death. At last, Tremborag nodded.

“One of us will. When the Goblin Lord is over, we will decide who.”

Slowly, Garen relaxed. He nodded. The dream burned in his mind. Memory. A Goblin Chieftain remembered the past, looked backwards through time. When Garen touched the key he could remember what Velan the Kind had hidden. Not what, but where. With a key. With two keys.

“Ready the mountain.”

Tremborag’s voice was low. He stared at Garen’s pocket, and his claws tightened on the arms of his throne. His voice rose.

“Summon to me my armies. Bar the gates! Sharpen swords and eat! The Goblin Lord comes. And we wait for him. There will be death soon. Death! Let the Goblin Lord come. He will never take the mountain.”

“Agreed.”

Garen bared his teeth in a fierce smile. Tremborag grinned as well, dark mirth. Their crimson eyes shone in the darkness. The Goblin Lord was coming. But all they could do was wait. To the south and west, another tribe, far smaller, was moving. And neither Garen nor Tremborag had forgotten, or forgiven.

 

—-

 

“We’re moving.”

Rags snarled the order as arrows sang through the air overhead. None of the Goblins around her argued. They broke into a run, streaming down the hill, as a force of Humans a thousand strong chased after them, loosing arrows and magic at their backs.

“Lotta Humans.”

A Goblin with no ears panted as he broke into a run. Rags was mounted and she wheeled her Carn Wolf. Her hand rose and she pointed.

“Stall. [Firefly]. [Fire Arrow].”

Her words were punctuated by a flying bird or insect made of fire and a trio of fiery magical arrows. They flew into the ranks of the Humans, making them throw up their shields and halt. The Goblin running behind her grinned and pointed back as well.

Lightning crackled. Thunder roared. The ranks of the Humans flew apart as a bolt of lightning blasted the first rows of Humans. Rags heard screams and an order. The Humans held their ground and more archers and mages began filling the air with projectiles.

“They stopped. Move faster!”

Rags snapped at the others around her. A group of Hobs and smaller Goblins ran behind her as she kicked her Carn Wolf in the side. The gigantic wolf with rust-colored fur bounded ahead. Rags heard a snarl as a Hob was struck by an arrow in the back, and a shout of pain as someone was hit by a magic spell. But the Goblins kept moving. The Humans were too far away for their arrows and magic to do much good, and they weren’t high-level. But there were a lot of them.

And there were only about forty or so Goblins. True, nearly a third of that number was Hobs, but the Humans could overwhelm them with bodies. The infantry was slowed, wary of the magic spells that had come their way, but Rags turned her head and saw another problem heading at them fast.

“Horses!”

She snapped as she saw a line of cavalry headed straight for them. The [Riders] were lightly armored, and there were only fifty or so but they could definitely tie up the Goblins long enough for the rest of the army to catch up. Or cut them down on the run.

Rags made a quick choice. She leaned out of her saddle and barked a command.

“Spell and arrow! One volley! Then run!”

The Goblins instantly reacted to her words. Half of the Goblins stopped, raised crossbows or grabbed an arrow and put it to their bowstrings and loose. Rags brought up a black crossbow with both hands, sighted, and fired. One of the Humans riding the horses cried out as his mount went down; the other arrows and another burst of lightning made the riders spread out. The Goblins didn’t pause. As soon as they’d fired they were running again. Enraged, the riders came after them.

“Lotta riders!”

Noears gasped as he ran, both legs churning up a hill. Rags was the only Goblin mounted; she saw Noears was at the back, with several of the fatter Hobs. She urged him on, shouting.

“Hurry!”

The Goblins knew the riders were right behind them. They crested the hill as the first of the riders began to ascend, swearing, swords drawn, spears leveled. The lead rider was aimed at Noears’ back. Rags pointed and an arrow of fire struck the horse in the face. The flame was too weak to do more than burn, but the horse reared, throwing its rider. Rags felt bad for the horse—less so for the Human. Up until this point Rags and her Goblins hadn’t killed a Human! They’d just been looking.

“Faster!”

She wheeled her snarling Carn Wolf and urged it down the hill. Her wolf bounded past Goblins as they sped down the slope. The riders had to slow again when coming down the hill; they weren’t experienced enough to race downwards. But they were nearly on top of the Goblins. Just a bit more! Rags could practically hear their thoughts. Just a bit more and they’d be able to run them down! She glanced towards the forest in the distance. Too far away to reach in time. If you were on foot, that was. She grinned as she heard a horn blaring.

Just in time. The Humans on horseback hesitated when they heard the single, shrill blast. It echoed out of the forest, and then again. Rags heard a Human voice calling in alarm.

“Mounted Goblins coming out of the forest! A hundred of them!”

It was only around eighty. Rags saw a wedge of Goblins riding Carn Wolves, all regular Goblins, not Hobs, riding across the short distance between them and the Humans. They were whooping, holding weapons and screaming war cries. She heard them shouting a word as the Humans rapidly lost confidence behind her.

Redfang!

It was a name to inspire fear among Humans. The Redfang Warriors, mounted on the fierce Carn Wolves of the High Passes were a known threat. The Human leading the riders made a rapid decision.

“Retreat!”

It was the only smart thing to do. Rags grinned as the Redfang Warriors raced past her, harrying the Humans who were now on the defensive. They were a perfect counter to most riders; their wolves were lower to the ground and scared horses, allowing the Goblins to tear a mounted brigade to shreds in moments.

There was no tearing this time though; the Redfang Warriors just ran the riders back while Rags and her group of Goblins beat a fast retreat to the forest. After all, there was still an army at their backs and the Redfang Warriors couldn’t fight ten times their number. Well, they could, but Rags wasn’t about to try it.

Soon the Goblins were in the forest and after a few more minutes of running, Rags decided they were far enough away that the Humans would give up the chase. Their foot soldiers couldn’t run that far and they’d be wary of an ambush. She raised her hand and the Goblins slowed from their mad dash, gasping and pausing to pant.

“Five minutes rest. Heading back. Check injuries. Any missing?”

The Goblins looked around and shook their heads. One of the Hobs reached out and patted the Hob with an arrow in her back. The Hob grunted; the other Hob pulled the arrow out fast and applied a drop of healing potion, closing the wound somewhat. The injured Hob only grunted and patted her friend on the back. Hobs were tough.

Rags turned her Carn Wolf, patting it on the head and feeding it a bit of dried meat as it panted. She turned and saw the Redfang Warriors riding into the trees. One of them, a bigger Goblin with a scar over his face, waved at her.

“Orders, Chieftain?”

Redscar, the leader of the Redfang Goblins and former second-in-command to Garen Redfang himself, looked expectantly at Rags. He was older than she was, and more experienced. But he instantly obeyed Rags’ commands, posting several of his warriors on watch and taking the rest of them ahead. They were heading back. As soon as the Goblins had taken a breather, Rags set a quick pace through the forest. She saw Noears looking up at her and hopped off her Carn Wolf’s back to jog alongside him.

“Lots of Humans.”

He grunted at her, grinning as if being shot at was normal. Which it was, if not exactly pleasant. Rags nodded sourly.

“Lots of them. Very wary. No good this way.”

Noears sighed.

“No good this way. No good that way! No good anyway, eh, Chieftain?”

She had to refrain from nodding. Rags scowled and kept her feet and arms pumping. It was like this everywhere. Humans were patrolling, hunting down Goblins in large armies. Rags had led her scouting expedition thirty miles north and run straight into a small army of Humans. She’d been hoping to find a way south, but no joy. The appearance of the Goblin Lord and his battle at Invrisil had set the north ablaze with worry. And Rags and her tribe was caught in the middle of it.

 

—-

 

The Flooded Waters Tribe. Originally a small, barely surviving tribe based around Liscor. Now a tribe thousands strong, with many Hobs and a mounted force of Carn Wolves. In any other year, they would have been one of the strongest tribes in the region. But with the Goblin Lord facing off against Tremborag’s Mountain City Tribe, they were the smallest fish caught between two giants. And all the angry Humans. And yet, as Rags and her company of Goblins rode back towards the forest of tall trees, she didn’t see much anxiety among her tribe.

Oh, they were watchful. The Goblins posted in the treetops spotted the approaching Goblins from far away, which was good—Rags would have kicked their butts if they’d missed them approaching. But as she passed through a wooden barricade, Rags saw her tribe was getting about business as usual. Business as usual when they weren’t trying to run or hide or flee for their lives, that is.

What did Goblins do for fun? It was generally eat, sleep, have sex, poke each other and make Goblin conversation, or find something fun to do. Usually in that order. Goblins didn’t always have a lot of free time; scavenging for sustenance was an important job, especially if your tribe was big.

But Rags’ tribe was organized. They had tents, cook stations, supplies of food—a luxury—and latrines, the most important of Rags’ innovations. They’d dug into the forest and made it their own. There was food here, a handy lake for water, and a very defensible position. They’d fought off Lady Bethal and her Rose Knights here not a week and a half ago. Now they were living life well, which was to say, lazing about. It would be a shame to move.

But that’s what Rags had to do. She’d known it the instant she saw the small Human army patrolling the road south of here. She barked a command as she rode into camp and saw Goblin heads turn. The Chieftain was back! Like a ripple, that fact and Rags’ demand was transmitted through camp. She only had to wait a short while until she saw several Goblins approaching her.

“Chieftain?”

A Hob looked up at her, squinting up at her and the Carn Wolf she was riding. The wolf sniffed the Goblin—the Goblin sniffed right back. Rags pointed.

“Moving out. Can’t stay here. Start get—getting—ready. Where Pyrite?”

“There, Chieftain.”

The Hob pointed. Rags nodded and hopped off her Carn Wolf. She pointed.

Food.

It was a Goblin word, and the Carn Wolf had been trained to understand basic commands. It joyfully bounded over to a group of Goblins who were coming over with food for the Redfang Warriors’ wolf mounts. Rags strode through camp, feeling all eyes on her.

Rags. She was short, attractive, and just past four years of age. By Goblin standards that made her around twenty years of age, at least developmentally. Goblins could function as adults by the time they turned three, and although that meant they could work and develop quite quickly, there was still a huge gap between having an adult body and actual maturity. Normally, Rags would have been an ordinary Goblin in a tribe, but her fortunes had risen dramatically this last year. As had her levels.

Level 19 [Chieftain]. Level 13 [Mage]. Level 18 [Tactician]. Level 11 [Warrior]. By any standard, Rags had grown exponentially from when she’d first been a Level 2 [Backstabber] and Level 5 [Scavenger] hiding in the grass around Liscor. Her incredible growth was due to her genius. And yet, Rags knew it wasn’t enough. She passed through her camp, grunting as Goblins waved at her, keeping an eye out for one particular Goblin. She found him standing by a tree, eating. That, at least, was predictable. He was always eating.

Pyrite was facing Rags, but he was intent on something cupped in his hands. He looked up as Rags approached and she saw he was chewing on a handful of small, writhing maggots. The tree behind him was partially denuded of bark and Rags saw that there was a colony of some kind of insect burrowed into the wood. The Hob had raided the nest, judging by the angry insects trying to swarm out from the tree. Pyrite chewed on his snack, ignoring some of the biting brown insects on his arm and chest.

“Chieftain.”

He nodded at her. Rags eyed him and nodded.

“Biting bugs?”

“Big ant-things. Bitter. Want?”

He offered her a maggot. Rags eyed it, and accepted one. She popped the squirming thing into her mouth and chewed. Then she shrugged.

“Small. Good rations?”

“Too much work.”

Pyrite shook his head. He mimed clawing his way into the tree and Rags nodded. Pleasantries done, Pyrite walked after Rags. He was a big Hob, classically fat, and deceptively placid-looking. Rags knew he was actually quite sharp at times, although she had trouble reading his face. Pyrite treated words like food; he had some at all times, but he didn’t generally share what he had with others. He was her second-in-command and she trusted him implicitly.

“Going, Chieftain?”

“Yes. Lots of Humans south.”

Pyrite nodded, unsurprised.

“Which way?”

“That.”

Rags pointed past the lake, west and slightly south. Pyrite nodded.

“Will make tribe go.”

He walked off. Rags watched him poke a Goblin and mutter a word and offer a maggot, satisfied. If their conversation had been short and unfulfilling by Human standards, it was simply because Humans had not made their mode of communication as streamlined as Goblins. There were no wasted words between them.

Rags had identified the problem; that their tribe had lingered in the area far too long and needed to move before the Humans encircled them. Pyrite had queried their direction and intent. Rags had given him a direction steering their tribe out of the path of any of the Human settlements she’d scouted. Thus, their tribe had a purpose. Pyrite spread the word and within minutes, the tribe was bustling with purpose.

Goblins loaded food and supplies onto wagons. Others grabbed weapons—crossbows, twenty-foot-long wooden pikes, and a host of assorted weaponry, some of it enchanted. Warriors moved into their assigned groups while children and non-combatants clustered in their assigned spots, gabbling to each other, moving with purpose.

Rags watched it all proudly, occasionally snapping an order and correcting a wayward Goblin. This was her ability, and her tribe. She was organized, and as such, everyone in the forest moved far more efficiently than any other Goblin tribe in the world. They were happy with her leadership by and large. If there were any exceptions, it would be the loud, irritated voice coming from a Human woman dressed in filthy clothing, being herded towards a wagon.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy monsters!”

A young woman with black hair and pale skin from lack of sunlight was snapping at the Goblins around her. They were patiently urging her onwards, trying to poke at her with sticks and sheathed swords. She was having none of it. Welca Caveis, former Knight of the Petal and now captive of the Flooded Waters tribe, swung a fist at a Goblin, making him duck. She lunged at a Goblin carrying a sword and was forced back as the other Goblins poked at her menacingly. Rags strolled over to watch. Welca spat as a Goblin poked her, pointing to a wagon.

“Just kill me already! I refuse to—stop poking me! Give me a sword and fight me like a—stop poking me!

“Dead gods, stop arguing with them and just walk, Welca! They want you to get into the wagon.”

A tired voice snapped at Welca and the young woman straightened. An older man, his beard unkempt but his clothes in much better shape, walked past Welca. He wasn’t being herded.

“Sir Kerrig! We don’t know what these Goblins mean to do with us!”

The older [Knight] paused and turned to Welca. She was giving all the Goblins around her a look of deep mistrust—which was slightly hurtful, even to the Goblins. Sir Kerrig Louis, another Knight of the Petal who’d been stripped of his arms and armor, sighed.

“They’re moving, Welca. Marching, I have no doubt. And they intend to take us with them.”

“And we should just let them?”

Kerrig turned. His eyes found Rags, who regarded him curiously. He nodded slightly at her.

“It’s that or be forced there. Don’t waste your energy fighting.”

“If they intend to take advantage—”

“They would have done it yesterday, or the day before that. Or last week. They’ve fed us, given us clothing—which you turned down—and haven’t laid a finger on us.”

“They stole our armor! They stole my sword and attacked us!”

“After we slaughtered them. Welca, I am ordering you to get on that wagon as your superior. Stop wasting time.”

Kerrig pointed towards the waiting wagon and Welca hesitated. Neither [Knight] was bound, and after a moment Welca went towards the wagon without another word. Her cheeks were burning as she climbed up. Kerrig nodded towards Rags and followed her. She watched him climb onto the wagon next to a sack filled with looted potatoes and the Goblin driving the wagons clucked his tongue at the pair of mules hitched to it.

They’d captured two of the Rose Knights about a week ago, after dropping trees on them. Incredibly, the armored [Knights] had survived the crushing impact, although it had knocked them out. Lady Bethal had abandoned them rather than continue fighting in the trapped woods, and so the Humans had become Rags’ prisoners. It had been an odd thing, but Rags had elected to keep the two as prisoners rather than have them wander off and get eaten or lead a group of Humans right to them. She still wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with them, actually.

The first night after they’d been held captive and found themselves tied up, the two Humans had tried to escape. They’d overwhelmed one of their guards, stolen a sword, and promptly been flattened by a dozen Hobs. Without their armor, the two deadly Rose Knights were much less of a threat. What had happened after that was interesting, to say the least.

The younger Rose Knight was Welca Caveis, the very same warrior that Pyrite had dueled and nearly drowned in battle. She was defiant, raging at the Goblins, treating her every waking moment in the camp with hostility and suspicion. She feared the Goblins as much as she hated them, and was clearly a very nervous young woman; she feared for her chastity, her honor, her reputation, and a bunch of other things that confused the Goblins guarding her.

All they wanted to do was give her food and clothing so she’d stop smelling bad and complaining. Rags had made her treatment of the prisoners very clear. No one would take advantage of her prisoners, male or female. She had left Tremborag’s mountain for the way he treated his prisoners, among other things, and she would not compromise her beliefs. Nor would the Redfang warriors, who had made it clear what would happen if any Goblins disobeyed Rags’ orders.

Nevertheless, Welca seemed incapable of realizing this fact. Her fellow [Knight] and senior on the other hand was different. Sir Kerrig Louis had cooperated with the Goblins after he realized neither his life nor Welca’s chastity was in immediate danger.

He’d readily answered their questions about his name, whether Bethal was likely to return, and whether he liked raw meat or cooked meat—Kerrig Louis, not likely, and cooked meat—and been bemused when they’d left him and Welca largely alone. He hadn’t been permitted to roam, but Rags had noticed him observing everything with interest. She’d debated talking with him, but she’d been very busy these last few days.

The Goblin Lord was moving. He’d won a big battle and killed someone important, apparently. That was all the Goblins could find out, but it was enough. Like a kicked anthill, the Humans were out for Goblin blood and paranoid they might be attacked next. So Rags had been actively scouting for a way to head south, away from the Goblin Lord. The only route that she’d found that didn’t take her too near Invrisil, the Goblin Lord, or Tremborag’s mountain was west and then south. So that was where they were headed.

Rags saw her tribe was about ready, so she whistled and saw her Carn Wolf bound over to her. She rubbed its head and climbed up its fur. The Carn Wolf waited patiently until Rags urged him forwards, and then he padded towards the head of the tribe. Rags sat and turned in her seat and saw thousands of green faces and crimson eyes staring at her. She felt the eyes of her tribe on her, waiting, trusting her. Rags scowled.

“Hurry up.”

She pointed and the Goblins went. In her wake followed her Hob escort, and her officers. They came out of the crowds, riding or walking behind Rags, a group of their own. Sir Kerrig watched the Hobs pass by his slower wagon and identified each of them at a glance.

Redscar, the normal-sized Goblin riding his Carn Wolf.

The appropriately named Noears, a powerful [Mage], walking next to Poisonbite, another normal-sized Goblin with a pair of poisoned daggers.

The Rockfall Chieftain, a female Hob who had commanded a fairly strong tribe before joining Rags’.

And a Hob from Tremborag’s tribe, nicknamed Quietstab, a seasoned raid leader who represented the rest of the Mountain City Goblins.

They had established themselves as her chief officers, her most trusted and influential lieutenants. Aside from Pyrite, her second-in-command, Redscar could be said to be strongest of the group as he lead the former warriors of Garen’s tribe. After him was probably Poisonbite and Noears, Poisonbite for her large group of female Goblins warriors and Noears’ for his small group of Goblins who could cast magic.

They were a formidable bunch and if Rags compared herself to them, she fell behind. Each Goblin was better at what they did than she was. Noears could throw lightning, Poisonbite was a better fighter, Redscar a better fighter and battle leader, and the Rockfall Chieftain and Quietstab were both probably stronger and definitely older than Rags. But what they didn’t have was Rags’ mind. That was why she was Chieftain.

Rags rode ahead as the Goblins behind her assessed her, judging her performance, arguing about what was the best course of action, but being loyal. Being Goblins. Although, it had to be pointed out that the definition of Goblin was still up for debate.

 

—-

 

“Marching south?”

The officers talked quietly as Rags rode ahead, supervising her tribe as it began its march. Poisonbite stared at Rags’ back, looking around at the others. Not exactly challengingly, but questioningly. Noears shrugged.

“Less Humans that way. Lots of scouting. Doesn’t want fight.”

Redscar nodded.

“Ran into Humans. Smaller. Thousand. Not too dangerous but bad fight many.”

The other Goblins nodded at this. Still, the Rockfall Chieftain sucked in her cheeks.

Must fight soon. Cornered death otherwise.

Her words gave the other Goblins pause. It was true that running wasn’t exactly an option forever. Still, Redscar seemed positive.

“Good run not fight now. Good food, good moving.”

He looked approvingly at the stream of Goblins marching. It was a multi-faceted comment, speaking to Rags’ ability to get her entire tribe moving very quickly, the way she interspersed Hobs among the regular Goblins to keep order, her patrols of warriors in case of danger, and not least, the speed at which the Goblins moved. One of Rags’ newest and best Skills was [Fleet Foot], a Skill that affected her entire tribe and allowed them to cover far more ground. And Goblins were already good at moving fast!

Grudgingly, the Rockfall Chieftain agreed things had been good with a pat of her belly. Goblins were always hungry, especially Hobs, but they’d been less hungry of late, and what was better, they hadn’t had to eat their own dead. In that sense, Rags was doing very well.

“Going march. Liscor?”

Quietstab looked around. The other officers shrugged. Maybe? Rags’ desire to return to her home was known, and the rumor in the tribe was that she planned on returning to the dungeon. There was food and magical items in a dungeon. True, there was a lot of danger there too, but if they had to choose between a bunch of angry Humans and a dungeon…

It was a matter for debate. Rags’ lieutenants often talked amongst themselves. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust their Chieftain—they’d left Tremborag’s mountain precisely because they trusted Rags more than him. It had been a moral choice. But Rags was young and her tribe was made of very disparate factions, so this…debating had become a normal practice. It wasn’t politics. Rags was Chieftain. But it seemed to the Goblins that she could be more Chieftain at certain times.

Still, if Rags had more than just her mind going for her, it was her right-hand Goblin, Pyrite. The big Hob was respected by all factions. He’d been part of Tremborag’s tribe when he was young, he was a good fighter which the Redfang Goblins loved, and he was experienced and steady, a good match for Rags. The real question was whether he was interested in Rags, which the data was inconclusive on. Goblins didn’t play card games, which was fortunate because Pyrite would have had the world’s best (and first) poker face.

“Pyrite. Where going?”

One of the Goblins decided to put the question to Pyrite himself. They came over as Pyrite was sharing the last of his larvae among some Goblin children. The Hob straightened, frowned, and flicked his ears.

“That way.”

He pointed. Poisonbite ground her teeth impatiently.

“That way lots Humans? Fighting? Or run and hide to Liscor?”

Pyrite thought about this.

“Don’t need fight Humans. Waste time. Hurts. Chieftain smart.”

That was his opinion plainly put out there all right. The other Goblins muttered to each other. Poisonbite folded her arms.

“No fight. Can’t level. If we can’t raid, can’t eat.

Her words got a nod from some of the others, but Pyrite just scratched his chest. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a dandelion. A handful of them, actually. He offered them to the milling Goblin children, but they weren’t hungry enough to want the bitter things. That was a good sign. Undeterred, Pyrite chewed on the plants before replying.

“Raiding gets pink Humans. Undefeatable death.”

A bit of Poisonbite’s bravado faded as she recalled the nightmarish attack by Lady Bethal and her [Knights]. Hundreds of Goblins had died and only Rags’ quick thinking—and the reveal of Greydath’s true identity—had saved them. She stared at Pyrite and nodded slowly.

“Old Goblin. Goblin Lord. Greydath of Blades. Knew you.

She pointed at Pyrite. The other Goblins stared at him. Just saying Greydath’s name, knowing that a Goblin Lord had been here, among them was amazing. But it was true. Pyrite had known Greydath. He’d stuck around the old bearded Hobgoblin. Everyone was thinking the same thing: had Pyrite known? He must have. And if he had, had Greydath taught him anything?

Pyrite farted. He let the other Goblins cough and back away and then shrugged.

“Old Goblin. Liked talk. Very secretive. Didn’t know much.”

He chewed another dandelion, passed more gas, and walked away. The Goblins eyed his back. Skepticism was heavy in the air—as was a powerful stink. That had been a very convenient fart.

Still, if Pyrite wasn’t going to speak, there was always more to talk about. Rags’ tribe marched fast, propelled by her Skill and the Goblin’s own quick pace. If anything, it was the pack animals who had to struggle to keep up. The tribe had acquired a lot of them and the plodding beasts were treated with care until they passed on, usually of old age. Then they were eaten as food, but Goblins knew the value of getting someone else to carry stuff for you. Plus, pack animals were a valuable emergency food source, not a primary one.

Soon the tribe passed out of the forest and around the lake and into wilder territory. Izril was vast, and Humans had yet to settle or intrude into some parts of the continent, despite having lived there for millennia. Oh, perhaps they had built structures here in centuries past, but monster attacks or disease or simply bad luck had erased their presence here.

The Goblins were well aware of the risks of travelling in large numbers in the wild and Rags had assigned a heavy scouting presence to match the guards keeping pace with the tribe. She received reports of wild animals, monsters, and steered her tribe accordingly. Redscar, as her subordinate in charge of military matters, got the same reports. His warriors attacked lesser monsters and animals where they could, scaring them off or collecting animals for tonight’s dinner. Only once did the tribe change directions as a whole—in response to seeing an entire colony of skunks.

Soon, the tribe found themselves reaching the first obstacle in their journey. They had entered a humid, wet area. Swampland, or maybe just an area flooded by the spring rains. The Goblins grumbled as they found themselves marching through the muddy ground. That wouldn’t be so bad; it meant few Humans were about since they hated getting dirty, but the passage of so many bodies stirred a far worse menace into the air.

Insects. A biting, flying swarm of midges and larger mosquitos and other pests descended on the tribe. There were so many that Rags had to actually pull her Carn Wolf out of the way to avoid riding right through a cloud of them. They followed her and Rags saw several mosquito-things land on her arm. She smacked them angrily, but more landed on her as her hand squished a trio of the offending insects.

Bugs!

One of the Goblins moaned as the insects descended on the tribe. There were so many and they bit and stung! Rags felt her skin swelling and starting to itch. The Goblins in her tribe began to complain loudly and the scouts rode back with bites all over their bodies, reporting that the swampland stretched for miles ahead.

Rags scowled as she heard the complaints mounting. The animals were going crazy as they felt the insects feasting on them and the Goblins were no less happy. She raised a hand and called an immediate halt. Swiftly, Rags called out and a group of Goblins descended on her position.

“Swamp! Bugs! How to fix?”

She’d called all the older Goblins, all the ones whose tribes had lived in areas like this to her location. There were about a hundred of them and Rags’ question immediately got a lot of headscratching. But one Goblin had an idea and she was immediately ushered forwards to Rags.

Keep off skin. Got to keep bother. Swat fast. With flap thing.

“Flap thing?”

Rags scowled in confusion. The Goblin woman shrugged and poked her husband standing next to her. He muttered with her, found another Goblin to poke, and set off a chain reaction. Within minutes the Goblin woman found what she was looking for—a bunch of stringy reeds. She shredded them, creating a fine whisk of fibers and bound the lot onto a wooden handle. Then she flapped the whisk, stirring the air and chasing away a cloud of midges around her.

This, Chieftain.

It was…Rags stared. What was it? It was like a whip, but made of many small parts. It wasn’t meant to hit things. How could it kill bugs? Then she realized that it wasn’t killing the bugs, it was just scaring them off! The insects sensed the whisk flying through the air and wouldn’t land so long as the Goblin woman kept it flying around her. Rags held out a hand and analyzed the fly whisk the woman gave her. She looked up and nodded.

“Make.”

“How many, Chieftain?”

A Goblin scratched his side as he asked her. Rags pointed to the tribe of Goblins waiting and slapping their arms, chests, legs, and each other’s backs.

“Lots.”

 

—-

 

This was how it worked. Each of the Goblins who’d seen the fly whisk knew what it looked like. They wandered into the tribe, poking, describing what Rags had shown them, and the Goblins they’d poked communicated that idea. All of the Goblins who knew anything about crafting immediately poked back with a general understanding of what was needed. Reeds or long plant fibers, sticks for the whisk, and so on. Goblins began gathering the material from the landscape or their stores and assembling the mosquito whisks rapidly. It was a communal effort which every Goblin in the tribe took part in.

Within the hour, these mosquito whisks were being used up and down the line of Goblins and more were being made on the march. Goblins waved them in the air, swatting any bugs stupid enough to land, and the amount of biting insects diminished greatly. This was a great relief, and also a talking point for Rags’ audience. They jabbered to themselves as Noears solved the bug problem around them by creating a charged field of air around his group. The bugs sensed the impending lightning and made themselves scarce as he talked with the others.

Now, how would Garen Redfang have handled a situation like that? Or Tremborag? Or another Chieftain? The other Goblins conferred, assessing Rags’ performance.

Garen would have ordered his Goblins to march through it and ignore the bugs. He probably would have regarded stopping to make anything as a waste of time and told his warriors to ignore the bites and march faster. Not exactly ideal, even Redscar had to admit.

Poisonbite and Quietstab had to admit that their Chieftain wouldn’t have been much better. Tremborag wouldn’t have cared about other Goblins. He’d have made sure he wasn’t being eaten alive and maybe some of his lieutenants would have proliferated the fly whisk designs, but nothing else.

And another Goblin Chieftain might have left the area rather than have to deal with the bugs. On the whole, Rags had reacted quickly and decisively. She’d seen a problem and solved it. With her head! True, she hadn’t come up with the idea, but asking for and implementing a solution wasn’t a natural Chieftain’s skill. Rags had also attended the suffering pack animal’s needs and they were being carefully protected by a few whisking Goblins as well.

On the whole, it was a good performance and the tribe found itself marching onwards without issue. Pyrite, who was suffering the most from the insects coveting his plump form, found himself lagging behind as he tried to make a longer fly whisk that could chase off more insects. He was grumbling and searching for appropriate reeds when he heard a sound.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch—

He straightened instantly and turned his attention towards the source of the noise. Somehow, Welca had veered away from the main group of Goblins and was surrounded by a group of Goblins. Pyrite nearly reached for his axe before he realized it was missing. He began to run.

A group of Goblins and Hobs was surrounding Welca. They were from Tremborag’s mountain. She was shouting and trying to keep them off her—Sir Kerrig was shouting as well, trying to draw the attention of Rags and her tribe. But they were too far away. One of the Hobs caught Welca’s hand and grabbed her other one as she punched at him. He let another Goblin grab at her clothes as he laughed, and then felt a hand like a vice grab his head. He turned around, saw Pyrite, and paled.

There were six Hobs and about nine smaller Goblins. They whirled as Pyrite grabbed the first Hob. The former Tremborag Goblin was Pyrite’s height, but a lot thinner. He was muscled and strong and grabbed Pyrite’s arm. Pyrite squeezed the Hob’s head and heard a scream. He squeezed harder and the Hob punched at him wildly. Pyrite lifted the Hob, smashed his head into the side of the wagon and turned. The other Goblins stared at him.

One of the Hobs raised his fists. He punched and blinked as Pyrite ducked. He looked down and saw a fist coming up that broke four teeth. And his jaw. Another Hob punched Pyrite from behind, pummeling his body with furious blows. Pyrite turned, swung, and the Hob realized that a lot of Pyrite’s fat concealed muscle. He was bigger than all of the Hobs present and when he hit, the other Hobs fell down.

“Get back towards the cart!”

Kerrig shouted at Welca as he struck another Hob repeatedly in the face, dodging back as the Hob swung at him. Unarmed or not, the [Knight] was a better fighter than the other Hobs. Pyrite grabbed a third Hob and head-butted him, and then turned to one of the smaller Goblins. He had a knife. Pyrite raised a fist, pointed. The Goblin considered what might happen if he stabbed Pyrite and threw down his weapon. So did the other Goblins. The two Hobs remaining backed up. Pyrite glared around and raised his voice.

Chieftain!

He bellowed across the swamp, making Welca and Kerrig clap their hands to their ears. The sound did what all the shouting could not. Pyrite saw Rags’ head turn and several Redfang Warriors immediately rode towards them, swearing angrily.

All of this had taken place within the protective circle of Rags’ scouts. Within a minute Rags was riding towards the Hobs with murder on her face. One of the Redfang Warriors was gesturing with a spear and the Goblins still conscious were being herded towards Rags for punishment. Some of the Redfang Warriors were already beating the offending Goblins before Rags called them off.

Pyrite had bruises and a cut along one arm from a claw. The Hobs lying on the ground had broken bones, missing teeth, and concussions. He turned towards Welca, who was covering her ripped clothing and staring at him. Sir Kerrig was panting, his knuckles bloody.

“Alright?”

Pyrite looked at Welca. She backed up from him, and then slowly got out of the cart.

“You saved me?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged. Welca looked at him, and her eyes flicked to Sir Kerrig and the busy Goblins kicking the offenders. She hesitated, and then smiled at Pyrite.

“Thank you. I’m very grateful.”

He grunted, eying her. Pyrite turned his head and then jumped as Welca laid a hand on his arm. She smiled again, looking somewhat pained, and then pointed to the wagon.

“I must lie down. I’m very distressed.”

She waited until Pyrite nodded to walk back to her wagon. Welca eyed the Goblins, watched Rags snap orders at an arguing Redscar, and then slowly backed away from the wagon. Then she turned and ran. All the preoccupied Goblins looked up, surprised. Welca might have managed to run for a few minutes, if Pyrite hadn’t known exactly what she was about to do. He picked up one of the unconscious Hobs and threw the Goblin at Welca.

Pyrite was rewarded with a loud cry of pain and quickly stomped over. Welca looked up just in time to see his fist descend. Pyrite hit the young [Knight] over the head. Gently, which meant that Welca was still conscious enough to regret her escape attempt. The Hob slung her into a wagon as he kicked the groaning Goblins awake. He lifted up the Hob he’d thrown and glared at the befuddled Goblin. The Hob jerked awake, saw Pyrite, and tried to take a swing.

“Don’t.”

Pyrite caught the fist. The Hob stared at him and wilted. Pyrite looked back at Rags. She was watching him, and Welca. Sir Kerrig looked at Pyrite as well.

“I take it there are criminals among Goblins as well? What a thought.”

“No criminals. This—wrong.”

Rags spat the words. Sir Kerrig nodded. He looked at Pyrite and the Hob saw the older man straighten. Sir Kerrig had grey hair mixed with his brown. He was in his forties, for all he had the body of a younger man. He bowed his head slightly to Pyrite.

“My thanks, sir. Your people aren’t at all like what I’d given to believe.”

Pyrite blinked at him. The older [Knight] looked tired. He gestured.

“Might we speak? We are your captives, and I know our attack on you merits us no sympathy—but I would be in your debt if we might talk honestly. I’d heard Goblins could be peaceful, but I’d scarcely given it credence after Velan the Kind. ”

His words, the way he looked at Pyrite…the Hob stared at him. He rubbed his cut arm and then nodded. He looked around and waved at Rags. Welca sat up blearily in time to see Pyrite offer Sir Kerrig a slightly muddy dandelion. Pyrite smiled as the man stared at it in bemusement.

“Let’s talk.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.20 G

What did they think when they looked at her? Did they see just another Human, another enemy? Did they judge her by her comments, the way she refused to so much as look at her captors or touch anything they handed her? Did they hear the revulsion in her tone and care? Did they even care?

Surely they must. Surely they heard every word, noticed the way she glared at them and tensed, clearly wishing for a sword in her hand. Sir Kerrig had noticed the difference in the quality of the food they’d given him as opposed to Welca, his junior. He received his bowl of soup or baked potato and hot slice of meat first; she got the colder portion or the dregs.

That was unlikely to change Welca’s opinion of the Goblins. But by the same token, Sir Kerrig could not find it in his heart to lower his opinion of her. She and he were of the same order, the Knights of the Petal, sworn to the Walchaís family.

She was from a larger house while Sir Kerrig was of the landlord nobility—that was to say, someone whose only claim to aristocracy came from their small holdings, diminished over the years. Sir Kerrig had inherited a small plot of land from his father, an unused property that had once been home to a village and small estate a century ago.

It had been worthless to him, save as proof he was in fact a lesser [Lord] of the realm. In name alone. Sir Kerrig had become a [Knight] instead, a rarity among first-born sons, and he had risen through the ranks of his order for years. He had seen war, fought against Drakes, ridden against Goblins and monsters for over three decades. To Welca, he was an experienced senior in her order, despite her greater social standing.

All of this meant that they were companions, the two unlucky [Knights] who had been hit by falling trees in the Goblin’s trap. They had expected to die and fought their captors upon waking. Welca hadn’t bitten her tongue or taken the easy way out in that first moment of horror either. She’d fought, resigning herself to whatever fate she might suffer. That she might live and return to her order. Sir Kerrig admired her courage.

How could he in good conscience condemn her hostility towards the Goblins? It was natural and she was young. So he didn’t snap at her or order her to silence. He tried to explain as they sat together in the smelling, bumping wagon. He tried to teach her something the Knights of the Petal wrestled with—something all knights of this day and age had to reconcile. That there was a difference between being a [Knight] and a knight.

“Look at them, Welca.”

“I’ve looked at them enough, Sir Kerrig. There’s nothing to see. They all look alike. Hobs, goblins, males, female—there’s not a shred of decency among them.”

“None?”

“They attacked us! Attacked me not five minutes ago!”

“And we were saved. By another Goblin. A Hob.”

“One of them. I’ve memorized his face. One of the tribe’s officers, like that group arguing over there.”

Welca nodded surreptitiously towards the Goblins. Her head was still ringing from the punch she’d taken from her savior, ironically enough.

The one who’d saved her, the one Kerrig had heard being called ‘Pyrite’, was standing next to the tribe’s Chieftain, a small Goblin mounted on a Carn Wolf. She was scowling and listening to an angry Goblin with a red scar on his face pointing towards the cowering Goblins who’d attacked Welca. The young [Knight] lady glared at all of the Goblins.

“I’ve memorized their faces. One of us has to spread the word when we’re freed. A tribe like this—”

“When we’re freed? Lady Bethal will not send reinforcements. She doesn’t know we’re here. She abandoned us, Welca.”

“She’s expecting us to return to her!”

The young woman’s eyes flashed. Sir Kerrig bit his tongue on a retort. Welca was enamored with Lady Bethal, the leader of their order and patron. Lady Bethal inspired the younger [Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, to the extent that some had become [Knights] just to serve her. All well and good, but Sir Kerrig had known Lady Bethal since she was a child and he was aware that her passion and noble gestures were only half of who she was. Lady Bethal could be caring, driven, compassionate—or as uncaring as the sun.

“She left us, Lady Caveis. If she had intended to free us, Sir Thomast or a force of our own would have assaulted the Goblins a week ago. You know as well as I that Goblin prisoners do not last long. Lady Bethal left us behind.”

“I know that.”

Welca’s shoulders slumped. Sir Kerrig looked away. It was a hard thing to swallow. He spoke dispassionately.

“It was the correct decision, if a hasty one. The Goblins were dropping trees and I could well imagine they had more traps ready to block a retreat. Lady Bethal is nothing if not pragmatic. I suspect she believed us dead in any case. She probably isn’t aware of our capture.”

“All the more reason to—”

Welca broke off, glancing around suspiciously. There were no Goblins around them in earshot. But she lowered her voice all the same.

“We must escape, Sir Kerrig. Our hands are untied. We could seize arms and make a break for it.”

“And fight off every Goblin that followed us? Assuming we could outrun the ones on foot, the mounted Goblins would hunt us down. They have Carn Wolves, Lady Caveis. Born hunters. They don’t need to tie our hands to recapture us.”

“Then the Chieftain—”

“No.”

The force of Sir Kerrig’s tone made Welca look up in surprise. She glared at Sir Kerrig and he found himself frowning back.

“Sir Kerrig! We are [Knights] sworn to protect our people! If we have a chance—”

“Lady Welca Caveis.”

The older knight’s tone was full of authority. Welca broke off, hearing it. Sir Kerrig sat up against the backing of the wagon’s side.

“As your superior, I am ordering you not to take any action against the Goblins. Or to attempt to escape. Instead, I am telling you to listen. To watch and when that Hobgoblin returns, to talk with them.”

“Why?’

Sir Kerrig glanced towards Pyrite, towards the young Goblin named Rags. He saw Rags turn her head and glance back towards him, her red eyes sharp with understanding. She met his gaze and then looked past him. Sir Kerrig slowly nodded.

“Because these Goblins are not savages. They are not the marauding bandits that have been striking across Izril. They did not kill us. Some of them believe in honor, in the accords of war.”

“So?”

Welca was shivering. She was dressed lightly and she’d refused a change of clothes. Sir Kerrig looked at her.

“I have killed many Goblins, Lady Caveis. More than I can count. Not once did I offer them mercy. I expected the same from them. But you and I woke up as prisoners, not as corpses, or worse. Watch this tribe. See if they are different.”

Why?

The young woman’s petulant tone would have been better suited towards a [Lady], not a knight. Sir Kerrig sighed.

“Because it matters.

Welca looked at him. Sir Kerrig turned his head back towards the Goblins. In silence he watched and listened, and wondered if he’d been blind all his life, or if he’d simply ignored the truth. Because to his horror, when he looked at the Goblins standing and arguing, turning to their leader, ignoring the children running around the muck, brushing away flies, shifting impatiently, talking, thinking, speaking, he was terribly afraid. Afraid that he hadn’t been killing monsters, but people.

 

—-

 

Pyrite had a cut on his arms and bruises on his body. Some of the Hobs had hit him pretty hard. Still, it was nothing worth using a healing potion on. He stood next to Rags, resisting the urge to pick at the drying blood on his arm. A bloodsucking insect tried to land on the spot; Pyrite slapped it.

The smack of flesh meeting flesh made the other Goblins look up. Redscar scowled as he pointed at the Goblins sitting and shivering, the Hobs and regular Goblins that had attacked the [Knights]. Against Rags’ orders.

“Punish.”

Redscar said only one word, but it made all the sitting Goblins cringe. There was no sympathy, no compassion in Redscar’s eyes. Just fury. His Redfang warriors had been hitting the Goblins repeatedly until Rags called an end to it. Now Rags sat on her Carn Wolf, listening, a scowl on her face.

Punishment. Redscar’s word meant more than a slap on the wrist or no food for a meal. His version of punishment was digging a hole in the swamp and burying the Goblins up to their necks. If they survived, they were free to live. On the other hand, the Goblins standing across from him in the small circle shook their heads.

“Exile.”

So said Quietstab and his Goblins, the former members of Tremborag’s mountain faction. They glanced at their fellows with a mixture of scorn and sympathy—they had disobeyed their Chieftain, and yet none of them wanted to see their friends die.

“Wrong. Broke rules. Attacked! No honor!”

Another Redfang Warrior, a Hob, growled at Quietstab. The Redfang Warriors muttered agreement, looking at the offending Goblins darkly. They’d taken this offense most to heart; the idea of assaulting anyone, much less a prisoner, ran against everything Garen Redfang had taught them. It was Poisonbite who offered another solution to the stalemate.

“Cut.”

She grinned and flourished a dagger as all the Goblins stared at her. The Goblins sitting on the swamp floor—the male Goblins blanched at the suggestion. The female Goblins of Tremborag’s tribe had their own version of justice, a product of the gender gap in the Mountain City Tribe.

However, that was one opinion. Quietstab vehemently rejected Poisonbite’s suggestion with a slash of one hand. She grinned at him, showing all her teeth. But she didn’t take it further than another fairly explicit gesture. All eyes turned instead towards the true arbiter here.

Rags. The young Goblin Chieftain sat on her Carn Wolf, scowling, thinking deeply. Pyrite stood next to her, swatting bugs away, waiting. And thinking. This incident had placed Rags in a tricky spot. Pyrite had been a Chieftain once, and he could tell what she was thinking.

The problem stemmed from this tribe being made up of separate groups, other tribes. They still lacked unity, for all they acknowledged her as Chieftain. If they had been fully united, this would not have happened. As it was, the situation was tricky. Killing the offending Goblins was simple, but it would make the former Tremborag Goblins very unhappy—the male ones, at least.

Some of them still regarded rape and any form of torture done to Humans as quite acceptable, for all they’d left the mountain. On the other hand, giving the traitorous Goblins a lesser punishment would upset the Redfang Warriors, who loathed such actions to the core. And exiling the Goblins wasn’t a good option either; they’d probably run straight back to Tremborag’s mountain if they managed to survive, and that meant trouble in the long run for the Flooded Waters tribe.

A tricky situation. But not one that Pyrite would have struggled with long. He would have taken Redscar’s suggestion and had done with it. Chieftain was Chieftain. But Rags was different. He waited to see if she would surprise him, give the angry factions the answer he couldn’t. When she finally did look up and swat a fly on her forehead, Rags spoke.

“Punishment.”

She held up a claw as the Redfang Warriors grinned and the sitting Goblins tensed. Quietstab’s objection froze in his mouth as Rags looked at Redscar.

“Punishment. Not burying death.”

“What then?”

The elite Goblin warrior frowned at Rags. She tapped the shortsword at her hilt and then pointed at the Goblins.

“Punishment. Redfang style.”

It took a few seconds for Rags to communicate the idea to the other Goblins with a few additional gestures. Sometimes ideas were hard to express with the Goblin’s intuitive body language reading. When they finally understood, the Goblins looked at each other. Quietstab nodded in agreement. And it was Redscar who grinned.

“Fine. Punishment.”

The sitting Goblins looked up, half-relieved, until the Redfang Goblins glared at them. They cowered. Rags pointed.

“Marching. Enough time wasted!”

The sitting Goblins were forced up and scurried back towards the main tribe, who’d had to patiently wait this entire time, swatting bugs with their mosquito whisks. They were followed by the Redfang Warriors, who muttered insults at their backs and kicked at their behinds to get them moving faster. Pyrite watched. It was a good solution. Thoughtful. He nodded at Rags.

“Want talk.”

“Who?”

She glanced at Pyrite. He pointed.

“Humans.”

“Talk?”

Rags looked blank. Then she shrugged.

“Good. Talk.”

“You, Chieftain?”

She frowned and shook her head.

“Busy. You talk. Talk about what?”

For all her natural inquisitiveness, there was a limit to how much Rags wanted from the prisoners. Pyrite thought she was unsure of what to do with them, which is why she hadn’t released or killed them yet. It wasn’t as if they had anything to give her; Rags had asked them about Lady Bethal and heard about the plan to assault the Goblin Lord at Invrisil.

Beyond that the [Knights] had literally nothing to offer. And Pyrite didn’t know what Sir Kerrig wanted either. The fat Hob just shrugged as he felt something sting his shoulder. Quick as a flash he slapped the spot and stared at a smashed insect’s carcass and the blood it had sucked. He wiped his hand on his belly.

“Dunno. Human things, Chieftain.”

“You talk. I go. Practice. Talk next break.”

Rags scowled and Pyrite nodded. The tribe was moving again. The former Goldstone Chieftain trudged back towards the Goblins as another Goblin rode towards him. Redscar pulled his wolf back before it could slobber on Pyrite’s chest.

“Pyrite. Good job.”

It was high praise coming from him. The Redfang’s number one warrior was usually taciturn, but he looked approving. Pyrite nodded at him.

“Redfangs watch?”

“Yes.”

A group of Redfang Warriors were heading over to replace the regular Goblins on guard duty. Pyrite eyed them and spoke.

“Watch big one. Smart. Strong.”

Redscar nodded. He whistled, and two more Redfang Hobs came over to reinforce the area around Sir Kerrig. Pyrite grunted approvingly. He didn’t think the [Knight] would cause trouble, but if he did, it was better to have good warriors around him. Just in case. Redfang nodded to Pyrite and rode off, more mounted Goblins following him into the swamp ahead.

“Hey there!”

A voice made Pyrite look over. He saw Sir Kerrig seated in the wagon as a small Goblin climbed up and started the donkeys moving again. The Human waved at Pyrite. The Hob waved back. The puzzled look on Sir Kerrig’s face said that he didn’t understand.

“Talk?”

Pyrite waved again. He didn’t feel like shouting. The [Knight] stared at him and Pyrite pointed. Towards the moving tribe. The [Knight] nodded and sat back.

Talk? What a thought. Talk to Humans? Pyrite didn’t know what to make of it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry; there wouldn’t be time for talk right now. The tribe was moving and that meant he had a job to do.

 

—-

 

The issue of the traitorous Goblins had only taken around ten minutes to settle, from Pyrite finding them to Rags passing her judgment. Not much time was wasted and already the tribe was moving on. They needed a good spot to camp for midday—squatting in ankle deep water wasn’t appealing at all. However, the mud and difficulty of lugging the wagons meant the beasts of burden had to rest. Rags had Hobs take over as the bemused horses, donkeys, and other animals got to plod along next to grumbling Hobs pushing and pulling the wagons.

Pyrite strode back into the convoy as Rags watched. Each of her officers had a duty at times like these. Redscar was usually the scout, occasionally with Quietstab and his Goblins on foot. But usually Rags would keep a few of her better leaders in reserve in case of an attack. Poisonbite for instance usually marched with her warriors. But the rest of her Hobs and officers were spread around the marching tribe. To deal with problems.

What kind of problems? Just…problems. Most Hobs could handle things like a Goblin picking up a stick that turned out to be a biting snake. But sometimes Hobs got into trouble, like one that somehow shoved a stick up its nose and couldn’t get it out. Stupid problems, sometimes fairly dangerous problems. It was that which Pyrite sorted out, pulling out sticks, breaking up fights, making sure wagons didn’t get stuck or run over other Goblins, and so on. It wasn’t Rags’ duty to deal with squabbling; she got to ride along in peace until a major problem occurred.

So Rags occupied herself as she rode. She rode up to a band of Goblins sitting on a wagon, a mark of privilege. Noears grinned at Rags as all the hair on her Carn Wolf tried to stand on edge. Her wolf grumbled, but Rags patted his head and offered him some meat. She rode closer and saw Noears was holding some crackling electricity in his hand.

“Chieftain.”

“What teaching?”

She pointed at the lightning. Noears grinned and pointed around. Rags saw he was surrounded by fourteen adults and eight children, some of whom were clinging to the sides of the wagon since there wasn’t enough space.

Noears was teaching them magic. Rags wanted to know what kind. Noears pointed and the lightning in his hands jumped onto his finger and shot across the swamp. There was a crack and a thwoom of sound—all the Goblins around Rags jumped and several Carn Wolves howled. Rags glared at Noears, her ears ringing. He just laughed and held up his claws.

“[Lightning Bolt].”

All the Goblins around Noears stared at the Goblin [Mage]. He produced another handful of electricity and they ducked. Rags felt her Carn Wolf shift and patted his head. She raised her hands and tried to duplicate Noears’ feat.

Goblins didn’t believe in small spells. The theory was that if you were going to learn magic, you might as well learn something useful. Who needed [Electric Jolt] when you could learn to throw lightning? Noears certainly believed in that theory; he described the spell as the Goblins listened intently.

“Lightning go like this. Build up. In air. In hands. And then—shoot!”

He gestured. The simple explanation made more sense with his gestures, although the concept was abstract. He was telling the Goblins to build up a charge in the air, similar to how it felt right before a really big storm. Then to concentrate it in their hands and reach a critical mass of energy before unleashing it. All the Goblins concentrated, trying to reproduce Noears’ theory with varying degrees of success.

Rags watched the lesson, mildly upset. None of the Goblins here had any formal training. None of them had ever unleashed their magic like Pisces had done for her and Erin. Noears’ explanation of the spell was rudimentary, crude. It was how he’d taught himself. Rags thought of Pisces’ detailed explanations of how a spell should work. If she’d learned more—

But she hadn’t. And Noears was a better [Mage] than she. All Rags knew was how to cast [Firefly] and now [Fire Arrow], a spell Noears had taught her. The Goblins sitting on the wagon were all gifted, prodigies who’d awakened magic within themselves. They’d learn the spell—or not—and their chances of survival would depend on how much they could discover about magic from Noears or by themselves.

There was a bitter sense of fairness to it, in a way. Not even the Chieftain got special treatment. Rags concentrated, trying to form the image that Noears had described. Electricity crackled around her fingers, but failed to coalesce.

Lightning. It made less sense to her than fire. Fire was easy. All Rags had to do was feed it her mana and let it burn. Noears wasn’t good at fire, though. He understood making this energy come to him. How? Rags furrowed her brow, sweating as her Carn Wolf whined under its breath. Lightning, lightning…this was the problem. Noears was a lightning expert and she was fire.

Still, Rags persisted. She built up a charge with the other Goblins, trying to collect energy and not let it slip away. This was magic. It was tough, like wrapping your mind around a problem you only half understood, could only think of in abstract terms. Once you got it you understood. But until then…

“Chieftain? Break?”

Rags opened her eyes. She was sweating and covered in many bug bites. She saw Pyrite walking next to her and realized the tribe had stopped. The swampland had opened up into a slightly drier area and the Goblins were setting up for lunch and a break. Rags looked at Noears’ class and saw most of the Goblins were lying around, listless, having used up their mana. She wasn’t that badly off, but she was fairly tired herself. She nodded and leapt off her Carn Wolf.

“Lunch.”

Pyrite nodded.

“I go talk. You?”

He looked at her. Rags scowled. Noears was making a bit of lightning jump from his hands to a young Goblin child’s, laughing as the small Goblin shrieked with glee. She stomped over to the fires.

“I practice.”

She wished she had a spellbook. Or Pisces. Magic was so difficult when there was no one to explain it! And Rags wasn’t good at intuitive magic, self-taught like the way Noears and the other Goblin [Mages] cast spells. She liked books. She liked reading.

Of course, she liked being a Chieftain more. Her ears perked up as Redscar rode towards her. Rags walked towards him as the Goblin leapt out of his saddle. She didn’t notice Pyrite wandering over to the Humans. They weren’t particularly interesting. What could Pyrite possibly have to talk with them about?

 

—-

 

“Thank you for talking with me. And thank you for assisting us earlier.”

“No need.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bad goblins. Disobeyed orders. Punished. No need thank.”

“I see. Well, you have my thanks regardless.”

“Mm.”

They sat in front of each other, eating fish. Pyrite’s was cooked with bones and eyes intact—Sir Kerrig’s had been deboned first. They were wrapped in thick, broad leaves to keep the temperature and by his side, Sir Kerrig saw Welca peeling off the skin of her fish with a look of disgust. She was used to travelling, camping in miserable conditions, and so forth, but always on pre-prepared rations. Welca was a typical [Knight] in that she went on quests, expeditions against monsters. She didn’t live off the land.

The fish was tasty, if slightly bland. The seasoning was light and hunger was the best spice for this meal. Sir Kerrig sat cross-legged as Pyrite casually swatted at a fly and crunched on the bones of his fish. The Hob ate his fish, the leaves that had held it, and then pulled out a bundle. He opened it and produced several rich, fragrant soaps. Welca stopped eating and stared. Her mouth dropped open as Pyrite began eating the soap.

“What in the name of…?”

“Welca.”

Sir Kerrig nudged her. He stared, fascinated, as Pyrite began consuming the soaps, biting off pieces and grunting in satisfaction. The [Knight] cleared his throat and Pyrite looked up.

“Sir…Pyrite?”

“Mm.”

Pyrite’s ears twitched slightly. He seemed to enjoy being called by his name. Sir Kerrig stared at him. He was so quiet, so patient. He’d spoken very little when he’d come over with the fishes, save to speak his name and warn them the fishes were hot. Still, that alone had seemed so…normal.

“My name is Pyrite.”

“Fishes are hot.”

The second sentence was crude, but each word was pronounced correctly and the Hob didn’t stumble. He seemed to be at ease sitting with the Humans, although he kept glancing from Welca to Kerrig. There was nothing for it but to talk. So Kerrig did. He took a deep breath, and spoke.

“What does your tribe want of us, Sir Pyrite?”

The Hob paused in chewing a piece of soap. He swallowed, burped unapologetically, and then shrugged.

“Don’t know. Chieftain decides.”

Welca and Sir Kerrig exchanged a quick glance.

“Do you want a ransom? It may be that Lady Bethal would consider it. But she had no idea we’re alive—”

“Mm. Not really. Chieftain doesn’t want. She decides.”

“So we’re prisoners then? For…?”

Sir Kerrig’s voice trailed off. Pyrite stared at him, shrugged.

“Chieftain decides.”

That was a dead end. Sir Kerrig nodded.

“I understand. Then may I ask another question?”

“Yes.”

The Human paused. Pyrite looked up, face blank. Not a hint of laughter was on his face, not the smallest glimmer of a smile. And yet, it was there, right in his eyes. Sir Kerrig felt himself flailing, off-guard. Welca was just staring. Was this a Goblin? Was this a Hob? Unintentionally, Sir Kerrig asked the important question, rather than a trivial one.

“What does your tribe want? What do Goblins want?”

“To live.”

The answer came back so quickly that it was a shock. Sir Kerrig waited, but Pyrite said nothing more. He chewed and swallowed.

“To live? Surely there must be something else.”

Pyrite flicked his eyes up towards the trees above. He scratched at an insect bite, shook his head.

“No. To live. Tribe wants. Goblins want. To live. Nothing else.”

“But what is your tribe doing next?”

Pyrite frowned and Sir Kerrig wondered if he’d asked the wrong question. But Pyrite just shrugged. He pointed.

“Go that way.”

Both Humans turned and looked. They saw swamp, they saw trees. Dismayed, Sir Kerrig looked back at Pyrite.

“Sir Pyrite. We are your prisoners.”

“Mhm.”

Another pause.

“You’ve treated us well, with hospitality despite the lives we took. I must confess, I did not expect your tribe to be so—civilized.”

“Humans don’t.”

A deadpan reply. Welca glanced at Sir Kerrig’s slack expression and glowered at Pyrite.

“You Goblins have been raiding Human settlements for weeks now! Why?”

Pyrite raised an eyebrow.

“Not our tribe.”

What?

He turned and pointed another direction into the swamp.

“Great Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe raided. Not our tribe.”

“Are you serious?”

Pyrite looked blank.

“Am.”

“You’re lying.”

Welca glared at him. Pyrite blinked at her. The young [Knight] clenched her fist.

“Everyone knows Goblin tribes raid and steal constantly! This tribe attacked caravans!”

Pyrite nodded.

“Mhm.”

The [Knights] stared at him. Pyrite waited. After a while he popped more soap into his mouth.

“So?”

So? You were lying!”

Welca burst out, enraged. Pyrite considered this.

“Not lying.”

“You said—”

The young woman made a strangled noise as Sir Kerrig gripped her arm. Pyrite shook his head.

“Didn’t lie.”

Before either Human could respond he continued.

“You said ‘raided settlements’. This tribe attacked caravans. Didn’t raid settlements. Attack settlement. One. Only took from caravans. Didn’t kill. Not like Mountain City tribe.”

“That’s splitting hairs! You can’t talk your way out of—”

Welca broke off as she realized what she was implying. She turned pale. Goblins? Arguing over the definition of language? Sir Kerrig eyed Pyrite.

“That was why we were summoned. You attacked a small town and killed a number of residents. You hung their bodies from the roofs.”

“Mhm.”

Pyrite didn’t seem to object to Welca’s fiery glare. He picked up another soap, sniffed it. Sir Kerrig waited.

“Why?”

The Hob paused.

“Killed Goblin tribe.”

“Who?”

“Human town. Killed Goblins. Killed adults, killed children.”

The two Humans looked at the Hob. He didn’t meet their glances. Slowly, his claw sank into the soap and he tore a piece off. Chewed it. Swallowed.

“So you killed them?”

“Mhm.”

“For vengeance?”

Welca’s hot tone made the Hob look up.

“They killed Goblins. We killed Humans. Same number.”

“How do you know?”

The Hob’s eyes flashed crimson.

“We counted.”

Silence. The swamp was humid, but the sweat on Sir Kerrig’s skin was only due in part to the climate. Pyrite’s expression changed back to normal and he sat, once again a quiet, affable Hob content to eat soap. Welca tried to find a response.

“It wasn’t your tribe, though, was it?”

“No.”

“Did you know them?”

“No.”

“Why did you do it, then?”

Pyrite stopped eating soap and met Welca’s eyes.

“They killed Goblins. Why did you come to kill us?”

Because Goblins killed Humans. It was a simple logic. Silence. Sir Kerrig felt sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Pyrite seemed content just to sit there. His ears flicked as he glanced at Welca. She stared at him. The Hob slapped a fly that landed on his arm.

“It was because Goblins were raiding that the town did that.”

Welca seemed to feel the need to excuse the slaughter somehow. Pyrite nodded.

“Goblins raid. Because Humans kill.”

“We only kill because Goblins are a threat! You kidnap and rape and steal and murder!”

“I don’t kidnap. Or rape.”

Pyrite’s voice was calm. He squished the soap into a ball and took a bite out of it.

“Sometimes steal. Sometimes kill. Can’t live otherwise. Humans kill Goblins. Goblins kill Humans.”

It was like talking in a circle. Welca’s angry intake of breath was cut off as Sir Kerrig leaned forwards.

“Can there be peace between Humans and Goblins?”

“Maybe?”

The Hob shrugged again. He was out of soap. So he began to eat the wax paper. It didn’t seem like he was hungry—he was just mechanically eating, as if not eating were boring. He spoke as he shredded up the wax paper and munched on it.

“Some Goblins raid Humans. Some Humans kill Goblins. Not all. This tribe only kill Humans when fight. Some tribes never kill.”

“That’s impossible. Goblins always—”

Welca yelped as Sir Kerrig kicked her in the ankle. He leaned forwards.

“Really?”

Pyrite nodded.

“Was Chieftain. Goldstone Tribe. Never fought Humans.”

“You were a Chieftain?”

“Mm.”

The two [Knights] exchanged a glance. Once again, Pyrite waited without elaborating. It was Welca who asked a question next. She couldn’t help herself.

“Goldstone? Why was your tribe called that?”

Predictably, Pyrite shrugged.

“Gathered gold stones. For fun.”

“What? That’s it?”

Welca’s skepticism put a frown on Pyrite’s face for the first time in the conversation. He grunted, stood up. The [Knights] watched him warily. Pyrite paused, farted. Welca recoiled.

“Sorry.”

Pyrite fanned apologetically at his backside and walked off. Sir Kerrig coughed. It was a…floral scent in the air, horribly corrupted by other smells. He looked at Welca.

“Did that question offend him?”

“I have no idea! Sir Kerrig, why are we talking to a Hobgoblin?

“I don’t know. But isn’t it fascinating that he’s able to respond? His command of our language was rough, but he answered every question!”

“It’s not fascinating, it’s disturbing. Goblins speaking our language? What next? And what was that question about peace, Sir Kerrig? What about Velan the Kind?”

“If there’s a chance, Welca, I’d rather see less death, especially if this tribe takes the offensive. Maybe if we—”

“Hold on. It’s coming back. He—I mean.”

Welca pointed. Pyrite had walked off. Now he was returning with a large hemp sack. It was quite old and very dirty, but it had no holes. Pyrite sat back down next to the two [Knights]. He rummaged in the dirty sack as Welca edged back as much as she could. Sir Kerrig waited curiously. Neither Human was prepared for the glittering, shimmering nuggets that shone in Pyrite’s hand.

Gold!

The raised voices attracted some attention from the main Goblin tribe. A few Goblins looked over, grunted, and looked away. Pyrite held up a handful of shining gold nuggets. Sir Kerrig gaped until he realized something.

“That’s not gold. That’s—pyrite.”

Pyrite grunted and smiled. He was holding nuggets of pyrite, the crystalized, hard fool’s gold glinting and rubbing together. Flakes of it fell to the ground as he placed it on the ground. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out another handful. Pyrite, pieces, larger hunks, and there, gleaming among the fake gold—

“Is that a nugget?”

Welca’s breath caught in her chest. Pyrite glanced dismissively at the duller gleam among the pyrite. It was a gold nugget as thick as two of the Hob’s fat fingers put together and nearly as long. Welca stared at it. Pyrite picked it up.

“Hm. Nugget?”

“That means a piece of gold. That is gold, isn’t it?”

“Nugget. Mm. Yes. Is gold.”

Pyrite shrugged.

“Worthless.”

He inspected the gold nugget carelessly and tossed it into the mud. The pyrite gleamed as Pyrite held it up.

“This is better. Lighter. Shiny.”

What?

That seemed to be Welca’s phrase of the day. She stared at the pyrite and then pointed at the gold nugget.

“How is that worthless? You could sell this and buy something! Armor! Weapons! Enchanted goods!”

“Humans can. Goblins can’t.”

Pyrite shrugged, which was his action of the day. He turned his head and Sir Kerrig jumped as he saw several Goblin children had crept up on them, attracted by the glitter. They fled when the [Knight] looked at him, but a few of the braver ones edged behind Pyrite. One pointed towards the gold nugget. Another grabbed for it.

The darting hand was quick, but Pyrite was faster. He held up the thieving Goblin child and spoke a word in their crude language. The Goblin child shrieked as Pyrite tossed him—no, her—over his shoulder. The child landed lightly, and then got up and gabbled at Pyrite. She pointed at the gold nugget, clearly desiring it. Pyrite replied without turning his head. The child stomped her feet and then ran off into the swamp.

“What was that about?”

Welca looked blankly at the child. Sir Kerrig looked away. A Goblin child. You saw them in tribes. Not usually among warriors. But when a Goblin tribe had to be eradicated, there were always the children at the end. It was easy if you had [Mages]. They could just cast a spell. Otherwise you had to chase them down, and it was with a sword that you had to—

No one talked about that part of duty. After the first time, it was…easier. Welca had yet to participate in that exercise, Kerrig was sure. He saw Pyrite staring at him and turned his head. Before he could muster the courage to say anything, before he could push away memory, the Goblin child was back. She had a bowl filled with something black and squirming. Welca took one look and nearly leapt backwards.

What is—

“Tadpoles.”

Pyrite inspected the full bowl approvingly. The tadpoles had been washed with water, although they were still slimy and wet. They wriggled about in the air, many already still and lifeless. The Hob grunted and the child held it up. She spoke a word and he nodded.

The Hob held the gold nugget out to the Goblin child and in front of Welca’s disbelieving eyes, exchanged the gold for the handful of wriggling tadpoles. Pyrite grunted as the child ran off, cackling and holding the nugget aloft to show to her friends. The Hobgoblin began popping the tadpoles into his mouth, one by one. Welca turned green and gray with horror.

“You can’t eat those!”

“Hmm.”

Pyrite thought about that as he swallowed.

“Can.”

Oblivious to her horror and Sir Kerrig’s lurching stomach, he scooped several of the black things up and popped them into his mouth. When he chewed both Humans had to look away. A short recess ensued until Pyrite finished his bowl. When he had put it down Sir Kerrig pointed at the pyrite lying on the ground.

“You said it’s useless? So your tribe collected the stones for…fun?”

Pyrite nodded, and then seemed to reconsider. He shook his head instead.

“Not always worthless. Sometimes useful.”

“How?”

“Human bait.”

The Hob grunted as both Humans stared at him incredulously. He held up a big piece of Pyrite which shone in the light filtering down from above.

“When Humans come to attack tribe, used this. Toss at adventurers. Or army. Big stone, or many small ones. Shiny red stones, blue stones…makes stop. Causes big fight.”

Sir Kerrig tried to imagine the Hob heaving pieces of gold at an attacking army. Welca made a disbelieving sound.

“That works?”

“Mm. Sometimes.”

“You mean, you threw gold and pyrite at Humans to get them to fight over that? And—shiny red stones? Do you mean rubies?”

“Rubies?”

Pyrite looked blank. Sir Kerrig tried to explain. Pyrite nodded.

“Shiny red stone. Is ruby. What is shiny blue stone called?”

“Sapphires. At least—some kinds of sapphires are blue.”

“Sapphires.”

Pyrite savored the word thoughtfully. He frowned and fished around in his sack. This time he produced a cobalt-blue sapphire gem, the size of an egg.

“Here.”

Welca’s eyes went round as Pyrite offered her the polished sapphire. She nearly reached out to take it, stared at Pyrite, and yanked her hands back. She glared at him, but her eyes kept flicking to the sapphire he held. The Hob waggled it in front of her.

“Take.”

Slowly, Welca held her hands out. Pyrite dropped the stone into her palms and Welca nearly dropped it. She held it up.

“Dead gods. It’s polished! And cut!”

“Mm. Lots of work.”

You did that?”

Sir Kerrig stared at Pyrite. The Hob nodded. He flicked his fingers at the stone.

“Many stones. Learn to make shiny so Humans fight harder. You want?”

He addressed Welca. She jumped.

“Want? You don’t want it back?”

“No. Keep.”

The young woman stared at him, at a loss for words. Sir Kerrig knew that Welca was a third daughter. Her family had to have gems, but one this big? Perhaps, but the odds of one being passed to a younger daughter was—his fingers twitched and Pyrite noticed.

“Want?”

He fished in his bag and came out with a piece of polished turquoise. He offered it to Sir Kerrig.

“Are you sure?”

The [Knight]’s fingers trembled as he stroked the lovely gem. Pyrite didn’t care so much about shape as much as shine, so the gemstone was somewhat lopsided, but you’d only see quality of this kind in a shop for [Mages] seeking stones for magic, or a high-class [Jewelers]’s. It was certainly nothing Sir Kerrig would ever own himself. But Pyrite just nodded, as if it meant nothing for him to give away.

“Many. Can find in mountains. Not hard.”

The two Humans stared at him. The Hob smiled. He looked slightly proud that his gemstones were the subject of so much attention. Sir Kerrig remembered what he’d said. Human bait.

“Question.”

It was Pyrite who asked a question. Both Humans stiffened and Sir Kerrig carefully lay down the piece of turquoise.

“Yes? I—we would be happy to answer any questions you have, Sir Pyrite.”

He glanced at Welca. She opened her mouth, nearly fumbled the sapphire, and closed it. Pyrite nodded.

“Good. Question. Magic. How does it work?”

Sir Kerrig paused.

“What do you mean, how does it work? Are you asking about how it functions? How magic spells are created? Or cast?”

“Mm. No.”

Pyrite shook his head. He pointed across the tribe of sitting Goblins, at Rags. She was sitting on a log, shooting flames upwards and scowling as Noears talked with her.

“Magic. How?”

“How what?”

Welca’s eyebrows crossed as she started to get annoyed. Pyrite looked at her and scratched his head.

“How everything?

 

—-

 

So the [Knights] explained magic to the Hobgoblin. They sat and talked about it. None of them could cast magic. Welca had very little aptitude so she had decided to be a [Knight] instead of a [Mage]. Sir Kerrig hadn’t been tested so he’d never learned. And Pyrite had too many questions. And try as they might, Welca and Sir Kerrig didn’t have enough answers.

“Magic is a fundamental force in this world. It is a part of everything, to some degree.”

“Why?”

Sir Kerrig paused. He knew enough about magic from spending time with [Mage Knights] in Lady Bethal’s service. Of course, he knew more practical lessons like how to survive a [Fireball], but he still understood magical theory. Except that some questions were just…

“It just is. Magic is a constant in the universe. Mages can draw on it to cast spells.”

“How?”

“They harness it!”

Welca looked annoyed. She raised a hand and a slight breeze blew towards Pyrite. He furrowed his brows and stared at her hands.

“See? There! Magic! Most species have the talent!”

“How, though? How can harness?”

“They exert their willpower and magic obeys.”

“Why?”

“Because—it just does!”

“Where does magic go when used?”

“It takes the shape of what spell was cast.”

“Where new magic come from?”

“From…people? Plants? The ground?”

“Why?”

“It just does! People produce mana. Plants produce mana. Just a tiny bit, but enough in most cases! Mana’s everywhere. Some places it’s stronger, other places it’s not.”

“Mm. What does it want?”

“What?”

“What does magic want?”

Pyrite looked from face to face. Welca and Sir Kerrig traded glances. Welca was the first to speak in a strained voice.

“Magic doesn’t want anything.”

“Mm. It does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Pyrite shrugged. It seemed to be his response whenever anyone said something he found silly. Welca inhaled, choked on a flying bug, and started coughing. Pyrite sighed. He looked around wistfully. The swamp was filled with insects and Sir Kerrig had already given up on counting his bites. Pyrite didn’t seem to mind the bites on his skin. He rumbled a complaint as Welca spat out the bug.

“Magic makes no sense. Goblin magic makes some sense.”

“Goblin magic?”

“Mm. Like this.”

Pyrite turned and bellowed a word. A hundred Goblin heads looked towards him and several of the Redfang Goblins on watch jumped to their feet. Pyrite shouted a few more Goblin words as Welca and Kerrig winced at his volume. The Goblins stared at him. Pyrite shouted a word at them. The Goblins all nodded and turned back to what they were doing.

“What was—”

Welca gasped as Pyrite turned and held out his hand. A ball of flame erupted from his palm, bright and hot, chasing away the bugs around him. Pyrite held the flame, tossed it up, and then flicked it. It soared past Welca and Sir Kerrig as they ducked, and splashed onto the ground. There it burned for a few seconds before going out on the wet ground. Calmly, Pyrite brushed at his palms as Welca stared at him.

“What was that?

“Goblin magic.”

“Shamanism. Tribal magic.”

Sir Kerrig’s voice was only slightly shaken. He looked at Pyrite.

“How did you do that?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged. He pointed backwards at all the Goblins he’d shouted at.

“Fire. Told them to think of fire.”

“And why does that work?”

“Because Goblins believe.”

“What? That makes no sense! How does that make fire?”

“Because they believe. Why does magic spell make fire?”

“Because—wait, hold on. That’s not fair!”

Pyrite smiled. Sir Kerrig stared at the smile and found it human. Despite himself, he smiled back.

 

—-

 

Somehow, Welca found herself talking with Pyrite. Somehow, Sir Kerrig found himself chatting to the Hob about combat tactics and what it was like being a Goblin. Somehow, they had a normal conversation in the swamp, as bugs buzzed around them and the tribe’s lunch ended and they began to pack up.

It was surreal. But somehow, it felt like they were just talking to a stranger. A green, heavy stranger with a sack full of precious gemstones, and crimson eyes. Named Pyrite.

“Why don’t you use magic if you know how? Why don’t you have the [Shaman] class?”

“Want to be [Mage].”

Why?

Pyrite shrugged.

“Shamans concentrate hard. [Mages] use spells like…”

He gestured, flicking his hands.

“Easy. Want that. Too hard to dodge and use shaman magic. Small tribe magic not any good anyways. Also, no other Goblins want to be [Shaman].”

“Why not?”

Pyrite paused.

“Humans kill Goblin [Mages] first. Big target.”

And then there was that. Every so often, every few minutes, the conversation would grind to a halt for a moment. The divide between Goblins and Humans would appear in the most innocuous of place. It hung over the three of them, Sir Kerrig most of all.

You killed us. You kill us. We will kill you and you might kill us. But we’re all sitting around like people. We call you monsters. And you—speak. You gave us gifts.

Pyrite had more questions about magic, questions so simple and yet so complex that neither Welca nor Kerrig could guess at answering them. Why are spells cast from the hand? How can spells be written down? What is a mana potion made of? Why does it work? And perhaps his biggest question—why is there more magic in some places than others?

“How do you know that’s the case? You can’t prove it! How do you know?”

Welca was impatient. Pyrite kept returning to this point, again and again. The Hob stared at her and spoke.

“Magic more here.”

He tapped his chest.

“Than here.”

He waved at the air. Welca frowned.

“That’s…sort of true. But that’s because you’re a person! Things don’t have much mana.”

“Why some things have more mana than others?”

“Like what?”

“Like enchanted things. Like swords and shields. And shiny stones.”

“What? Gemstones don’t have more mana in them! Do they?”

Pyrite nodded. He reached into his sack and this time pulled out a yellow stone. Not gold, but a topaz. It was polished, and the depths were darker. Pyrite showed them the gem.

“Has more magic than this. Why?”

He tapped the pyrite on the ground. Bemused, Welca looked at Sir Kerrig.

“I don’t know. Maybe a [Mage] would know.”

The Hob grunted in dissatisfaction.

“Noears not know. Why magic in stone? Why magic in stone want to be something else?”

“Want to be?”

“Mm. Like this.”

Pyrite held the topaz up to the light. Slowly, he regarded the sparkling depths of the topaz. Then he popped it into his mouth. Welca heard a sharp crack and then the loudest crunching sounds she’d ever heard in her life. She yelped and nearly told him to spit out the gemstone before he hurt himself. But Pyrite chewed deliberately and then held up his hand. He placed it gently on the ground and said one word.

“Sink.”

His eyes flashed yellow. Sir Kerrig leapt to his feet—just in time. The wet ground, already soft, began to turn to liquid. Welca shouted in alarm as she and Pyrite sank into the earth. She thrashed as the ground began to engulf her lower torso. Pyrite held still, his hand and body sinking into the mud. Then, suddenly, he breathed out and Welca felt herself stop sinking into the ground. She yelped as she struggled to get up and found her legs had sunken into the earth.

“What was—how did—”

Pyrite looked up at her, and then at Sir Kerrig, standing to one side. Thoughtfully, he spat out a mouthful of yellow gemstone fragments—and a bit of blood. He wiped at his cut mouth and looked at the [Knights].

“Why did that happen?”

Neither of them could speak.

 

—-

 

Rags was just watching the tribe pack up when she felt someone casting magic. She turned her head and saw a flash of magic. From Pyrite. She gaped as he put his hand to the earth and turned it into mud. Whatever magic he’d cast lasted a fraction of a moment—he and the female [Knight] sank into the earth and stopped there. Rags stared and then ran over.

What?

The female [Knight] was shouting that word. Rags ran up and kicked Pyrite in the back. He was extracting himself from the ground. He turned.

“Chieftain?”

“What that?”

He rubbed at his back and shrugged.

“Magic shiny rock. Has magic. Can use.”

“How?”

“Chew.”

Rags stared at Pyrite. He mimed chewing and then reached into his mouth with a frown. He extracted a bloody fragment of topaz and grimaced.

“Sharp. Not fun.”

“You can use magic in stones? He cast a spell—or did something! But he’s no [Mage]!”

Welca was pointing at Pyrite, horrified and awestruck. Pyrite just shrugged. Rags looked at him.

“How learn?”

He pondered the question.

“Learn long time ago, Chieftain. Try to eat stones. No good. Can do things with stones if chew. Hard. Not worth doing. So stopped.”

He shrugged, pragmatic as always. Rags stared at him and then pointed to his sack.

“Got more?”

“Mm. Want one? Got many colors. Which one?”

Rags hesitated.

“Give red one.”

“Want big?”

“No.”

Rags waited patiently as Pyrite fished about in his sack. He produced a shining red ruby half as large as her fist, a tiny, luminescent pink-and-cherry gemstone, and a lively currant red gemstone that had yet to be cut out of the rock surrounding it.

“Are those—”

Welca inhaled sharply. Sir Kerrig leaned forwards.

“That’s a ruby, but the gem there—is that a pelica gemstone?”

Rags looked blankly at the tiny, shining pink gemstone he was pointing at. She looked at the three gems and pointed at the biggest one.

“Give ruby.”

Pyrite obligingly handed it over. Rags weighed it in her hands, impressed at the color and polish. It did have magic in it! Just like Pyrite had said—you had to hold it to feel it, but there was magic inside! Could she take it out without breaking the stone? Could she put magic in?

The Hob seemed to sense the gemstone was important. He looked at Rags.

“Good talk. Chieftain. Magic is hard.”

She looked at him. That was what they’d talked about? She raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the [Knights]. Both were watching her speculatively.

“Talk about magic?”

“Mm. And peace. And Goblins and Humans.”

Rags laughed. Peace? She scornfully glanced at the [Knights]. The older male one looked away. Peace? They’d killed her Goblins, her tribe! And she’d killed theirs. She was all for avoiding fighting with Humans, but that was by being strong and smart. Peace with Humans? Rags thought of Relc. She thought of Human adventurers, of the village and the dead Goblins lying where they had been slaughtered.

“Peace? No peace.”

She turned away, trying to put the ruby in one of her belt pouches. It made everything sag, so Rags decided to store it away with her things. She hadn’t known Pyrite had so many useless stones. They were pretty, but only children collected them. It was just another of his weird habits. Then again, these stones might actually be useful. Rags considered her new prize and nodded to Pyrite.

“Get Redscar and other warriors. Marching. But best warriors come here first.”

He nodded and stomped off. Rags glanced at the [Knights]. The older one bowed.

“Chieftain Rags? My name is Sir Kerrig Louis. Might I have a word?”

She stared at him. He was older, not as fierce as the young one beside him. She was holding a blue sapphire in her hands, cradling it. The older [Knight] looked like there was pain in his eyes when he stared at her. Pain. Perhaps regret. He hadn’t given the Goblins any trouble, and he’d been polite and talkative. She met his eyes.

“No.”

Rags turned and strode away.

 

—-

 

Redscar, Quietstab, a group of Hobs and three smaller Goblins met Rags with Pyrite. She strode up to them and spoke without preamble.

“Divide up new weapons and armor. Pyrite gets first pick.”

All the milling Goblins brightened at once. They whooped with glee, and their companions, supervising the moving tribe, shouted insults back and shook their fists. Immediately one of the wagons was unloaded and a set of pink armor, two shields, a two-handed battleaxe, and a sword were dumped into the mud. The Goblins greedily peered at the enchanted arms looted from the Rose Knights, nudging each other and pointing. But they deferred to Pyrite, who looked at the enchanted weapons.

“Me, Chieftain?”

Rags nodded. It was an easy decision. She’d really only wavered over selecting a few of the items for herself—she fancied the enchanted sword that Welca had been using. But Rags was a realist and she knew her best warriors could use the magic equipment better than she could. She gave preference to Pyrite because he’d broken the axe she’d given him—and helped beat Welca during the battle. The gemstone he’d offered her also helped, and he was her second-in-command.

After him she let Redscar choose, as her best warrior, and then Quietstab to placate his faction. The Goblins after him she chose in rough order of how good they were and how much she liked them. Impatiently, all the Goblins waited as Pyrite pondered the armor and weapons.

Pyrite was conflicted. Most of the objects on the ground didn’t fit him, having been made for Humans, not fat Hobs. He could use a shield, but the sword and battleaxe struck him as important, especially since he’d lost the good axe Rags had given him. Behind him he could hear the two [Knights] arguing.

“That’s my sword!”

Welca was outraged as she stared at her equipment lying in the mud. She nearly got up, but Sir Kerrig tugged her down with a sigh.

“And that’s my battleaxe. Our equipment is forfeit, Welca. You knew that.”

“But they can’t just divide it up like—like that!”

“Why not? [Bandits] do the same thing. Adventurers too.”

“But my sword—

The young woman looked almost tearful. Kerrig felt a pain as he saw Pyrite lift the battleaxe out of the mud. It was a fine weapon, enchanted with a flamestrike enchantment and gifted personally to him by Lady Bethal from her armory. Welca’s sword had been the same. Armor and a weapon made a [Knight] as much as their levels. Without it, they were nothing more than elevated [Warriors]. He looked away as Pyrite lifted his weapon.

Heavy.

Pyrite considered the battleaxe. It was definitely a lot bigger than most axes used for war. The head was massive, and it had been made for a world that saw people battling monsters as much as people. You didn’t need an axe this big unless you were fighting something a lot bigger than a Human. It was made under the assumption that you had the strength for it. Like a decently high-level [Knight]. Or a Hob.

“Good weapon.”

Redscar squatted by the pile of weapons, eying the battleaxe approvingly. Pyrite just shrugged. He wasn’t a fan of the two-handed weapons. They were heavier and Pyrite had learned that a quicker blow meant you didn’t give your opponent a chance to stab back. On the other hand, it was enchanted and he’d lost his good steel axe fighting Welca. He grunted as he tested the battleaxe.

Definitely too unwieldy for one arm. Still, the weapon was balanced well. It wasn’t too heavy, although it was quite long. Pyrite could swing it quite quickly and the axe head was simple, without any kind of strange decorations.

Weapon making was an art, and unfortunately the use of magic could create try pieces that were more form than function. Strangely curved blades, useless decorations—you could make a blade like that work by enchanting it to be lighter weight or cut keenly, but form was still very important. And this axe—Pyrite executed a quick cut that made Redscar nod approving—was a good one.

“Want?”

“Good. Yes.”

“Good!”

With that, Redscar picked up the sword off the ground, to Welca’s dismay. He executed several quick slashes and Pyrite felt the cold air swirling around the tip of the blade. He rubbed at his side—Welca had stabbed him with that sword and it hurt.

Quietstab was clearly dismayed not to have one of the two weapons, but he recovered enough to pick out one of the two shields. The other Goblins descended on the armor, jostling each other for a good pick, but held back when Redscar barked an order. He pointed at the twin sets of bright pink-red metal and looked at Pyrite.

“Want?”

It was a surprising question, given that the form was to give one piece of enchanted equipment to the best Goblin warriors. But Redscar clearly thought Pyrite could use the armor more than his warriors. Pyrite considered the offer as he eyed the armor, but shook his head.

“Pink armor. Too bright. Also—”

He indicated his wide stomach. Redscar laughed. The leader of the Redfang warriors gestured and the Hobs and Goblins fought over the armor, each stealing a piece—vambraces, gauntlets, helmet—for themselves. One poor Hob was left with nothing but the boots and stomped off, muttering curses as the other Goblins laughed at him.

 

—-

 

Soon, the wagon with the [Knights] was rolling faster, catching up to the tribe ahead. Rags rode forwards, pondering the ruby gemstone as Pyrite and the other Goblins tried out their new equipment. For all the deaths the Rose Knights had caused, the addition of such powerful artifacts was worth it—from a military perspective. Rags smiled to herself, pleased that she now had weapons that might actually damage the Knights of the Petal if they ever returned. True, she only had two, but two was better than none.

Her body itched all over from bug bites, despite her usage of the mosquito whisk. The Goblins in her tribe were tired, but they’d marched for two hours past lunch and the swamp was already giving way to solid ground. Tonight, Rags would see about creating some kind of balm for itchy skin. But she thought her tribe would be in good enough spirits knowing they wouldn’t have to camp in the swamp. In fact, they were passing through a fairly nice lowland with a few bushes with unripe berries. Perhaps they could—

Chieftain!

Rags snapped to attention as a voice called her name. She swung around and saw a Redfang warrior racing towards her on a Carn Wolf’s back. He was slung low across the wolf and it was bounding towards them. Rags hadn’t heard a horn call, so she knew there wasn’t’ a battle. But her heart beat faster as Redscar raced to meet the scout and her.

“What?”

The scout’s Carn Wolf stopped itself just before it could run into Rags’ mount. The Goblin on its back opened her mouth now that she’d stopped—it was all too easy to accidentally sever a tongue when riding the Carn Wolves.

Human army. Moving up ahead.

Her words made Rags freeze. A Human army? Redscar swore and waved a hand—the Redscar warriors lost their good cheer and began preparing for combat. Rags jabbed a claw at the scout.

“They see?”

No, Chieftain! Humans are on road. Big road.

“Big road?”

Dismayed, Rags looked at Redscar as Pyrite jogged up. Had they cut through the swamp just to reach more Human lands? She ground her teeth.

“How many?”

The scout muttered as she tried to do math on her hands. She conferred with Redscar. The Redfang Warrior looked relieved.

“Eight hundred, Chieftain.”

Rags perked up. Eight hundred? She outnumbered that force many times over. Unless these were elites like Lady Bethal’s warriors—which the scout seemed to doubt—they weren’t a huge threat. A big one, yes. But the important question was whether they could be avoided.

“What are doing?”

The Redfang scout’s face turned grim. She pointed in the direction of the army.

“Hunting. Goblin tribe.”

 

—-

 

Normally adventurers hunted Goblin Tribes. Normally. But when a tribe got too large, or when they were deemed a credible threat—or nuisance—a Human city might turn out its garrison or combine its standing army with another city or town to destroy a Goblin tribe.

After all, what adventurers excelled at were surgical strikes. They could take out a Chieftain and all the warriors and scatter the Goblins, but eradicating an entire tribe completely was usually too difficult or tiresome for them. But an army could ride down stragglers and rout a large tribe.

Normally it wasn’t worth the effort and the inevitable casualties. But with the Goblin Lord’s victory at Invrisil, inaction was dangerous. And weren’t Goblin tribes a threat? They could join the Goblin Lord or grow in size. It made sense to destroy them.

None of that stemmed the painful, biting sensation in Sir Kerrig’s stomach. He listened to the distant horns blowing, the far-off sounds of screaming and shouts in the distance, and saw the Goblins of the Flooded Water tribe arming themselves.

For battle. Rows of Goblin warriors were picking up the long, twenty-foot pikes and lifting them in teams of four. More Goblins were lifting conventional swords and spears and axes and so on and forming into units. Some had crossbows—there was a small group of Goblin [Mages] being led by the Goblin with no ears. Last but not least were the Hobs, armored and deadly, and the mounted Redfang warriors.

It was a fearsome army. Only an elite group like the Knights of the Petal could hope to defeat it with a smaller force, and they’d still been forced to retreat. Sir Kerrig thought of the Human army marching a mile or two away and his skin prickled.

“Sir Kerrig.”

Welca’s eyes were wide and uneasy as she watched the Goblins readying themselves. She and Sir Kerrig hadn’t heard what Rags had, but they’d put the pieces together easily enough. Those were Human war horns and they were clearly unaware of the Goblin army about to ambush them.

“We have to stop this.”

“How?”

Sir Kerrig stared at Pyrite. The Hob was marshaling a group of Hobs armed to the teeth. He was holding Sir Kerrig’s battleaxe. The smile was gone from Pyrite’s face and he looked nothing like the Hob that had sat with them, showing off his collection of gemstones. As the evening light played off his face and he turned, his red eyes searching, he looked like a monster.

But Kerrig had seen his humanity. The [Knight] got to his feet, his unused muscles protesting.

“We have to try. Welca, stay behind me.”

Grimly, the [Knight] took a few steps forwards and heard a warning sound. The Redfang Hob standing next to his wagon looked at him and lifted his spear threateningly. Sir Kerrig pointed towards Rags.

“I want to speak with your Chieftain. Will you allow me to go to her?”

The Hob considered this. He glanced at his companion, another Hob, and they grunted at each other. Then the Hob went and poked a smaller Goblin. That small Goblin wandered into the crowd, poked another Goblin who poked another and—

Rags was at the center of attention, snapping orders, pointing, sending rows of pike Goblins to various locations. But as soon as the Goblin had begun poking the others her head turned and she looked straight at Sir Kerrig. She snapped an order and hopped onto her Carn Wolf and rode straight at him.

The Carn Wolf was huge and smelled the excitement in the air. It huffed and growled at Sir Kerrig as it bounded over. Welca tensed, but Sir Kerrig held his ground.

“Chieftain Rags! I beg an audience!”

“What?”

She glared at him. Sir Kerrig hesitated. He looked up at her.

“May I ask whom you are preparing to attack?”

Her eyes glinted.

“Humans. Big army marching down a road.”

Sir Kerrig heard Welca mutter an oath. He looked up at Rags.

“Can I convince you to refrain from attacking the army? They have not noticed your force. You could easily evade them.”

She stared at him.

“No. They hunt Goblins.”

Sir Kerrig felt a chill run down his back.

“Your people?”

Rags shook her head.

“They hunt Goblins. Another tribe. So. We hunt them.”

She grinned savagely. Angrily. Sir Kerrig hesitated.

“Can you not drive off the Humans army without bloodshed?”

“Why? They spill blood. We spill theirs.”

Rags growled, her smile vanishing. She stared at Sir Kerrig.

“Humans kill Goblins. Goblins kill Humans. Humans do not leave us alone.

“I know. But—”

Sir Kerrig tried to reach for the words that would matter, the words that would calm Rags’ fury, convince her to relent and simply scare off the Human host. He was no [Diplomat], no [Courtier]. But he had seen the civilized nature of the Goblins, the humanity showing through. If he could just—

Welca interrupted him. She glared up at Rags and spoke harshly.

“Do you think slaughtering Humans will stop us? If you kill them, we’ll be forced to kill you!”

Sir Kerrig closed his eyes. He heard a growl, and then the small Goblin shifted. She leaned down towards Welca, her teeth bared.

“Kill us? Humans always try to kill us. What new?”

The [Knight] stared into Rags’ eyes, her face pale.

“You don’t have to do this. You could be merciful.”

Rags laughed. It was a mocking, loud sound. One full of regret, disdain, longing—too many emotions to count. She turned and looked at Sir Kerrig and Welca, almost sadly. Rag shook her head.

“Mercy? They started it.”

And then she turned and rode away. And her tribe followed. All the [Knights] could do was watch.

And listen.

 

—-

 

They came out of the twilight, as the Human army was pursuing the last of the Frostfeeder Tribe. The Frostfeeder Goblins were running down the road, some breaking off to dart into the trees, the rest fleeing in a great mass down the road.

They had no choice. Those that fled into the trees screamed and died as Human [Riders] cut them down. The Human army was pursuing them with infantry while the cavalry cut off all routes of escape. All they needed to do was encircle the Goblins and crush them with their bows and infantry.

However, the Goblins were proving difficult to corner. It wasn’t that they were fighting back; the bulk of warriors had been cut down hours ago. But the Goblins kept running, so fast that even the horses were struggling to outdistance them. And when the cavalry did charge them to turn them back, the Goblins just kept running. When the [Riders] cut them down, the family of the stricken Goblins would run on, trampling the fallen. Running, running—emotions didn’t come into it. It was run or die and the Goblins knew that stopping was death.

Neither could the cavalry form a wall. They had to be careful and pick off the Goblins—drive into the center of the fleeing Goblin mass and the [Rider] would be dragged from his or her saddle and killed. The Goblins still had teeth.

So it was a test of endurance. The Humans had stamina potions, the ability to rotate their soldiers to stay fresh, and horses. They could use bows to harry the Goblins and send their soldiers ahead to direct their prey. The Goblins could only run and hope to tire out their pursuers.

But they were slowing. And more Goblins fell each minute. The Human army chased them relentlessly, shouting and blowing war horns. The [Riders], a hundred or so, streamed towards the Goblins on the right flank, hoping to drive them back towards their infantry, even if that meant some scattering into the forest.

The Goblins turned, saw that they had no chance of continuing down the road, and made a break for both edges of the road. The [Riders] split into two groups and pursued them. They were busy cutting down the back rank of Goblins when they heard howling. The horses reared and the armed Humans struggled to calm them, looking around and wondering if a wolf pack was nearby.

That was when the Redfang warriors struck. They streamed out of the forest, screaming. They caught the first group of riders completely off-guard and the wolves charged the frightened horses. The Goblins cut down the paralyzed Humans as the running army slowed, stunned by the sudden appearance of the wolf-riding Goblins ahead. Then they heard more horncalls, from their rear and sides and realized they were surrounded.

Form a square!

The [Captain] in charge of the infantry was no seasoned commander, but a younger officer. He ordered his soldiers into a box formation, archers in the center, spears and swords facing outwards in all four directions as his [Trumpeters] frantically signaled the remaining cavalry to retreat. The Humans on horseback spurred their mounts, trying to reach the safety of their comrades in time.

They never got there. A Goblin warrior riding a large, black Carn Wolf charged into their ranks, his magical sword cutting down riders and numbing their arms and bodies where it struck. He twisted and dodged a sword that swung at him and ducked an axe meant to cut off his head. His wolf howled and the horses reared instinctively. Their flailing hooves missed the rider as he and his wolf darted out of the sea of horseback riders. And by the time the horses were running again, they’d lost their window of time. The Carn Wolves encircled the riders and the Redfang Warriors closed in.

“Don’t panic! Hold formation!”

The [Captain] struggled to calm his frightened troops. The Redfang Warriors were cutting down the last of the riders, but they could be defeated! The Carn Wolves would fare poorly against his [Soldiers] standing shoulder-to-shoulder, especially with bows and magic attacking them from afar. The [Captain] was ordering a volley when he saw a black mass approaching him from the tree line.

“What is—”

Goblins. They charged out of the forest, a square of them. They were carrying long, long pikes, longer than anything the Humans carried. They charged straight at the [Captain], who could only stare for a second.

“Shoot them down!”

He screamed and the bows and [Mages] blasted the first formation, sending Goblins tumbling to the ground. But for every Goblins that fell, there was another to carry the wooden pikes! And as the [Captain] looked around he realized there wasn’t just one Goblin pike unit coming at his formation. There were dozens.

They charged the stationary force of Humans from every angle. Goblins, carrying wooden pikes. It was nothing compared to the steel weaponry the Humans carried. Nothing! The Humans had shields and spears of their own. But the range—the first rank of Goblins struck the Humans from twenty feet away, their pikes reaching the Humans long before the Humans could strike back. And then the second layer of pikes struck, and the third!

The lines of defenders buckled. Then broke. The Humans had to advance into the layers of thrusting pikes or be torn apart. And once they reached the Goblins they realized the warriors were armed.

And there were Hobs among the regular Goblins. The Hobs tore into the fragmented ranks of Humans, roaring, as the [Captain] struggled to escape the deathtrap.

Archers! Loose at will! Do you hear me? Archers!

The [Captain] was shouting as loudly as he could, but the Goblins were screaming and his voice wasn’t loud enough! The group of archers was loosing arrows into the darkness, shouting in panic. A Carn Wolf leapt into their formation, scattering them, and then the [Captain] saw a bloom of fire.

A Human [Mage] blasted the Goblin off his wolf, making the Carn Wolf howl and flee, its fur on fire. The [Mage] whirled, and a bolt of lightning blasted her in the chest. Her charred body fell as a rank of dark figures cut the [Archers] off. The [Captain] saw a gout of flame, but it wasn’t the [Mage]. A Hob cut through two archers and strode fowards. He was holding a massive, enchanted battleaxe in two hands. He headed straight for the [Captain], who raised his ordinary, unenchanted sword.

Pyrite raised his battleaxe and the [Captain] found the courage to charge, sword swinging wildly. The Hob backed up and slashed. The axe bit into the Human’s torso, so deep the man was dead and collapsing onto the fiery battleaxe before he’d taken another step. Pyrite kicked the man off the battleaxe and hoisted it into the air. The unit of Hobs behind him had already cleared away all the archers. They turned to Pyrite and he roared.

Follow!

They charged into the Human [Soldiers] struggling with Poisonbite’s skirmishers from behind. It was quick, and bloody. On one side. Pyrite turned his head, searching for new enemies and saw the battlefield was full of running Humans and Goblins in formation and little else. It was a complete and utter rout.

Chase?

One of Pyrite’s Hobs had a bow and was aiming at some of the running Humans. Pyrite knocked the bow down and grunted.

“No chase. Chieftain said.”

He pointed. The Goblins looked back. Rags sat on her Carn Wolf in the trees, throwing fire at a group of [Soldiers] still struggling with some of the Goblins on the far right. She turned, her eyes glowing. Behind her, crossbows loosed bolt after bolt, cutting through armor. She held up a hand and the crossbows ceased. the Humans ran. The Goblins remained.

The Frostfeeder tribe looked up in awe. At Rags, at the Goblins who’d saved them, the Redfang Warriors riding Carn Wolves. They had no word for these Goblins, this tribe. But if they had Human understanding, Human sensibilities, perhaps they might have thought of one word—

 

—-

 

“Knights.”

“What?”

Sir Kerrig looked at Welca. She was burying her head in her hands, listening to the screams and horn calls in the distance. It was obvious how the battle was going. Had gone. Sir Kerrig looked at the Goblins still present. Elderly goblins and children, mainly. Save for a small guard of Redfang Warriors, Rags had taken her entire army to the front. Now he looked at Welca.

“They may be to Goblins what we are to our species.”

“What, exactly?”

Sir Kerrig sighed.

“Knights. Champions. In their own way. This tribe hunts down Humans that kill Goblins. We hunt down monsters that kill Humans. There is a similarity.”

“A terrible one.”

Welca looked at her hands. They were trembling. She was a [Knight]! How could she just sit here? She felt something hard in her pockets and pulled it out. The glittering sapphire. Welca gripped it tightly and raised her hand to throw it away. Sir Kerrig caught her arm.

“Don’t.”

She tore her arm away.

“Don’t stop me! These Goblins are monsters! They might be able to speak, but they’ll always be our enemy.”

“By choice or by nature?”

“What?”

“You met Pyrite. You met the one who leads them. The one called Rags. You saw they’re capable of reason, capable of emotion. They can be reasoned with.”

“Not enough to stop this.”

Sir Kerrig’s shoulders slumped.

“No. But perhaps they are capable of more. Perhaps—at the very least, they might be taught to live apart from Humans. To take up a trade in peace. Mining, perhaps. Dead gods, at least one has the talent for it! They are not peaceful, but they aren’t unthinking savages, either. They can be talked to. And that means they can be reasoned with.”

“Yes, but—”

Welca lowered her hand as Sir Kerrig let go of her hand. He stared at her.

“Do you understand everything I’ve said?”

“I do. But Sir Kerrig—”

“Not now. It’s time to go.”

“Huh?”

She looked up. Sir Kerrig was looking around. He pointed.

“There’s a horse. See it?”

Welca looked and saw a horse tied to a wagon. It was a stallion and clearly unhappy at being forced to pull the wagon. It was pacing irritably, pulling at its tether. Sir Kerrig nodded.

“This tribe doesn’t use horses. They must not be able to work with the wolves. Take it. Use the gemstone if you have to, but get to a village, a town, anything. You’ll be able to reach Lady Bethal from there.”

“Me? What about you?”

Sir Kerrig smiled slightly as Welca looked at him.

“I’m staying. Their leader is unlikely to kill me. The Redfang faction seems to have a sense of honor as well. But Lady Bethal must know.”

“But Sir Kerrig—”

“No arguments. That Hobgoblin—Pyrite—seems willing to listen to me. If I can influence him, or talk to their Chieftain…I have to stay, Welca. If there’s a chance we can avoid this tribe running amok—it’s unlikely our order would manage to subdue them alone. They would escape again and again, and worse, begin to retaliate. Tell Lady Bethal that, and everything you’ve seen.”

“Sir Kerrig—”

Welca grabbed his shoulder. He looked at her and she stared at him. Then she grabbed his arm.

“I will return.”

“I have no doubt.”

He grasped her arm and then turned. The Goblins sitting around their wagon looked up as Sir Kerrig and Welca jumped out. The Redfang Hob with the spear raised it and then seemed to sense what was happening. He whistled shrilly and more Goblins and Hobs poured out of the darkness.

Five Hobgoblins, eight regular Redfang Warriors. Redfang Warriors, which meant the odds were worse than when they’d been attacked in the swamp. Sir Kerrig looked around.

“I am Sir Kerrig Louis. [Knight] in service to Lady Bethal Walchaís.”

The Hob with the spear laughed. Sir Kerrig eyed him. The Hob was strong, fit, young. Sir Kerrig nodded to him as Welca edged backwards, looking for a way out of the circle.

“Welca, don’t move until I fall.”

“Understood.”

The [Knight] felt the cold air on his skin. The Hob had leather armor. Not metal. Good. Sir Kerrig raised his fists, taking a boxer’s lowered stance. The Redfang Hob blinked, and then grinned. He tossed away his spear and put up his fists, copying the [Knight]. The other four Hobs and eight Goblins watched silently. Sir Kerrig waited until the Hob swung and then blocked the blow with one hand. As the Hob gaped his other fist came up and lashed out.

The trick to being a prisoner was to teach the enemy just how strong you were in a fight beforehand so they’d lower their guards. Welca had yet to learn that.

 

—-

 

Victory. Rags rode through the forest, flushed with battle fury. She hadn’t done more than cast a spell, but her tactics had crushed the Humans. It had been flawless, easy, even. Almost disappointing.

Almost. The Humans had fought with their backs to the wall. They’d killed Goblins, Redfang Warriors—exacting a bitter price for victory. Rags glanced at the three Goblins running to keep up with her Carn Wolf. Each one was wounded. Two Hobs and a Goblin. Of the Goblins who’d attacked Welca, only three had survived. All of them had gone in with the first wave, taken the brunt of the Human’s arrows and spells. Those that remained were warriors. They’d paid the price of treachery in battle.

It was a fair thing. Rags put them out of their mind and raced into the clearing where the noncombatants had been kept. She was set to celebrate, to meet the Frostfeeder tribe and rejoice, when she saw the commotion ahead. Several Redfang Warriors were surrounding a shape, a Human sitting by the wagon. A lone Human. Rags’ blood ran cold.

Sir Kerrig was sitting against one of the wagon wheels, surrounded by Redfang Warriors. He was cross-legged, smiling slightly. His face and upper body were swollen and dark bruises stood out on his skin. Around him lay five Hobs and the eight Goblins. All unconscious, some of them groaning.

“What happened?”

Rags said the words stupidly as she jumped down and looked at the Goblins. They were all alive. None of them were holding weapons. Sir Kerrig gestured to them and winced.

“They fought me one-on-one. Each of the Hobs, one after another. Barehanded. I did not expect that.”

“You did? Where is other?”

Rags shouted at Sir Kerrig. He just smiled at her and winced.

“I apologize. But we are similar.”

He smiled at the young Goblin Chieftain as she screamed at him and then ducked when she jumped at him with her sword. Rags didn’t mean to kill him, but it still took three Redfang Goblins to hold her back before Pyrite arrived. The Hob took one look at the situation and then at Sir Kerrig.

“Good idea?”

Sir Kerrig shrugged.

“I have my duty, Sir Pyrite.”

The Hob nodded. He looked at Sir Kerrig and motioned. Sir Kerrig stood up. Pyrite grunted.

“I have too.”

Pyrite swung first and Sir Kerrig dodged back. He was lunging when Pyrite stepped out of the way and kicked Sir Kerrig in the chest. The blow cracked Sir Kerrig against the cart and when he looked up, Pyrite’s fist was the last thing he saw for the next six hours.

 

—-

 

That night, Pyrite and the Goblins passed the road where the bloodshed had taken place. Sir Kerrig looked around, his head still ringing, and shuddered at the carnage. The Human bodies had been stripped of armor and weaponry, but they had been piled together and burned. Goblins were aware of the undead threat as much as any other race.

“Were they any survivors?”

“Some. Humans run away, drop weapons. Chieftain say no follow.”

Redscar grunted at him. The Redfang leader was the only Goblin willing to talk to Sir Kerrig. Pyrite was busy and Rags was incensed still. But Redscar and the Redfang Warriors had had something of the opposite reaction; they’d accorded Sir Kerrig a lot of respect for taking out five Hobs in a row. Enough so that Redscar himself was riding his Carn Wolf alongside Sir Kerrig on a pony. There was no doubt that he was going to be under heavy guard from now on.

But it was worth it if Welca could get away. Sir Kerrig sighed. She was a junior [Knight], but no member of the Knights of the Petal was ever admitted without reaching at least Level 20, which was the prerequisite for the [Knight] class anyways. So long as she had the horse she could probably outrun any danger. As for brigands…

“Hey. Big fight. Goblins win. Good thing, eh?”

Redscar grinned at Sir Kerrig, gesturing at the burned bodies and bloody, churned ground. Sir Kerrig opened his mouth to reply and caught himself. Redscar was much like a [Soldier], a seasoned warrior who had no qualms about a bloodbath so long as his side wasn’t the one dying. Mutely, the [Knight] nodded.

“A Goblin victory, indeed, Sir Redscar.”

The Goblin preened. They were happy to be called ‘Sir’, Kerrig had noticed. The [Knight] glanced around and asked a question to change the subject.

“The rest of your tribe is marching to the campsite, but I would have expected your Chieftain to make a speech at least. Have you no songs to sing in victory?”

“None. Too noisy. Brings trouble.”

Redscar grinned. Sir Kerrig looked dismayed.

“If this were a Human army, there would be feasting. Toasts. Do Goblins lack celebration—rituals of any kind?”

“No. Chieftain does Chieftain thing. Sometimes feast. This Chieftain and old Chieftain don’t. But good thing anyways.”

“What thing?”

Redscar didn’t elaborate. Slowly, he and Sir Kerrig rode past the battlefield, towards the ranks of Goblin warriors. Some were injured, but the vast majority were simply tired. Tired and unharmed. They stared up at Rags as she turned her Carn Wolf to face them.

The Goblin warriors waited in silence. Their red eyes shone as they stared up at their Chieftain. Rags raised her sword and fire burned from her hands. It lit up the darkness and the Goblins stared at her. Their Chieftain.

Sir Kerrig didn’t see a signal. No Goblin spoke, not one made a move. But as one, the Goblins raised their hands as one. Those that held weapons thrust them into the air. They held them there, silently, a war cry without sound, a speech without words. And yet every line in their bodies screamed the message to the watching Human.

Triumph. Slowly, the Goblins lowered their weapons and then they laughed, clapped each other on the back, and Rags pointed. The Goblin warriors marched down the road, the rest of the Flooded Waters tribe following. They held their heads high, full of pride.

Sir Kerrig found his eyes stinging, thought he couldn’t say why. Wonder at something he couldn’t comprehend? Empathy? Relief? Disappointment? Regret?

Envy?

Whatever it was, the emotion followed him as he gently urged his pony forwards. The [Knight] rode after the Goblins, a watcher, an observer, a stranger among a strange…people. Watching, listening, judging. And hoping he could change them. So that monsters could be more like people. So the people who looked like monsters could live with real people.

 

—-

 

The tribe marched, the tribe camped. The Goblins divvied up the loot, used a mixture of healing potions and some herbs to create a balm for the itchy bug bites, ate, and slept. Afterwards, when the patrols were keeping watch and the rest of the Goblins were sleeping happily, two Goblins met near a crossroads. A signpost pointed north, southwest, and east. One of the Goblins, the bigger one by far, stared at the sign.

“Lots of places.”

“Human places. We go that way.”

Rags pointed south dismissively. She eyed the Human writing. Names. Useless names. She shook her head as Pyrite inspected the words, always curious. The Hob had taken no injuries from the battle, but he still itched a bit from his bug bites in the swamp, especially on his back.

He leaned against a large wooden post planted in the earth next to the crossroads sign. Its surface was rough; it might make a good backscratcher. It was hard for Pyrite to reach his back and it was more fun to scratch his back like bears did. You could learn a lot of tricks from animals, he’d learned. Rags watched him with interest for three seconds, and then got bored.

“Human ran away.”

“Welca Caveis. Human [Knight].”

Rags shrugged.

“Other Human stay. Why?”

Pyrite grunted and shrugged. Rags kicked him. She didn’t have time for his fake ignorance. Pyrite chewed at his lip, and then responded.

“Wants to learn. See Goblins. Thinks Goblins are like people.”

“Like people? Like Humans?”

“Mm.”

Rags made a disgusted noise and spat.

“Goblins are like Goblins. Watch Human. Don’t let run.”

“Other Humans more dangerous.”

The Chieftain nodded reluctantly.

“Other Humans follow. But Goblins move faster. Liscor is not Human place. We go. They don’t follow.”

“Yes Chieftain.”

That was it. The two Goblins stood in silence for a second, and then Rags grunted.

“Get balm for back. Back scratching look stupid.”

She walked off. Pyrite stopped scratching himself like a bear and considered she might be right. Then again, it was sort of fun. He continued scratching his back as Rags went to her bedroll and lay down.

A battle, an escape, magic in stones…it was another Goblin day. An ordinary day? She’d killed Humans. Lots of them. They’d been killing Goblins, but—

“Hey Rags! I didn’t see you there! When did you come in?”

A voice echoed. Rags turned her head towards her campfire and saw another fire. Warmer, welcoming. She heard a voice. She smelled pasta, slightly overcooked, and heard a young woman’s voice. Rags saw her face, staring, eyes open, a hundred times. On the dead. She shuddered.

“Humans kill Goblins. Goblins kill Humans. Humans kill Humans. Goblins kill Goblins.”

She could feel him in the distance. He was close and far. He knew her. He was near the mountain, she was sure. The Goblin Lord. There were Humans hunting Goblins. Bethal and the Human [Lord] and…

She felt uneasy. Bad. As if she was being hunted now. Ever since they’d marched out of the swamp she’d felt bad. Something was coming.

The Goblin Lord. The Humans. Tremborag. Rags curled up into a ball, curling into the blankets. Just for a moment she imagined she was safe and back in an inn, scowling, but secretly pleased, playing chess, drinking sweet blue juice…

“H—h—”

“Hello.”

“Hello, Erin.”

“Hi.”

“Hello. I am Rags.”

“My name is Rags.”

“I wanted to say—want to say—say…”

“…”

 

[Chieftain Level 20!]

[Skill – Tribe: Scavenger Armor Obtained!]

 

“Thank you.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.21 E

Day 98

 

“Trebuchet is ready!”

“All clear?”

“…All clear!”

“Right! Three, two, one—”

Rael saw the wooden beam rise into the air and stop. Behind it, a long sling of rope curved up behind it, and the young man saw a large stone fly out of the sling. It was such a smooth, casual motion that it took him a second to remember that the stone now flying high into the air weighed over a hundred pounds.

The massive stone defied gravity for a few seconds, and Rael had to turn his neck and stare with the other Human nobles as it flew across the open ground. Four hundred feet, five hundred feet—when it landed it was a speck in the distance. The plume of dirt fountaining up into the air signaling the impact wasn’t audible—the trebuchet had sent the stone at least seven hundred feet away!

Rael’s jaw dropped. Immediately he heard a whoop and then cheering. Peasants streamed past him, shouting with glee as a rider on horseback rode towards the place where the stone had landed, measuring out the distance. When the distance was shouted back, the nobles around Rael murmured. Gasping would have been too uncouth.

“It went that far? How?”

One of the younger nobles standing next to Rael couldn’t contain her disbelief. Lady Haviet fanned herself lightly while craning on the tips of her toes to see the trebuchet surrounded by the excited people.

“Magic, of course. It has to be. There’s no way they could throw something that heavy without a spell!”

Lord Andres looked excited as he pointed at the stone in the distance. His words made the other nobles murmur, but it was Lord Pattin who shook his head.

“It’s not magic, Andres. I didn’t detect anything from it when we inspected it a minute ago. Did you, Lady Cimeca?”

The young [Lady] shook her head, not taking her eyes off the trebuchet. Pattin nodded as he regarded the war machine speculatively. It was being loaded with another stone, a huge chunk of granite that looked recently cut.

“I’ve heard of these things. Siege weapons. War machines. But they’re supposed to be incredibly rare and difficult to manufacture! Pallass makes siege weapons, but the Drakes don’t sell to Humans. There’s a group in Chandrar that’s known for their weapons and Baleros uses some, but—”

Pattin broke off and bowed politely as an older [Lord] approached. Rael bowed as well, tilting his head towards Lord Tourant. The older man looked interested.

“What was that I heard you saying, Lord Pattin? This is like the weapons the Drake cities make? Truly?”

He looked at the trebuchet and Rael saw the half-Troll girl helping to lift another massive stone into the sling. He eyed her, noticing how her slightly cracked grey skin was covered with sweat. Part of Rael wanted to look away. She was monstrous, and yet she was Emperor Laken’s consort. And there was something…impressive…about the way she held her end of the stone while three men had to lift their side.

“I’ve never laid eyes on one myself and I’ve only seen a few sketches, but the similarities are remarkable, Lord Tourant. This is like a catapult, clearly, but the range and power are completely different.”

“Fascinating. And you’re sure of this?”

“Fairly sure, Lord Tourant.”

Pattin answered politely. Lord Tourant glanced around.

“Good, good. Thank you, young man. Excuse me.”

He walked backwards out of the small gathering of the younger nobles. Rael eyed him cautiously. Tourant was a fiery man and as Oswalt’s father, he had taken it upon himself to punish Rael, Oswalt, and the others when they caused trouble on his lands. But today Tourant was too busy to recall past misadventures. He strode over to the crowd of nobles and Rael heard him speaking loudly.

“Your Majesty, this is an accomplishment! Am I to understand that this design is similar to the devices manufactured by the Walled Cities? A truly wonderful feat!”

Rael’s jaw dropped again. Not a second after he’d gotten the information from Pattin and he was using it to look like he knew everything! Andres laughed and gave Pattin a gentle cuff on the shoulder.

“Not bad, eh, Pattin? Maybe Tourant will come running back to you for more advice! Assuming you’re right!”

The young [Lord] smiled politely, not looking at all offended. He nodded to Oswalt.

“Your father seems quite interested in these devices, Oswalt.”

The young man he was addressing jumped and looked around. The glassy look on Oswalt’s face turned to confusion, and then he realized Pattin was talking to him. Oswalt shrugged self-consciously.

“My father? He’s just trying to get ahead of the others. You don’t need to answer him, Pattin. Just because he knew your father doesn’t mean he should take credit for…”

He trailed off. One of his hands reached up reflexively towards his ear and then Oswalt lowered it. Rael tried not to look at his friend’s ear; a chunk was missing and though the rest had been healed, the missing flesh would never be restored.

Last night. Rael shuddered as memory swam at the back of his mind. He pushed it back and saw the nobles around him doing the same. Cimeca, Andres, Ellia, Haviet…they all shared that moment of recollection, except for Pattin. He’d stayed out of sight during the—the festivities, Rael recalled.

Cimeca broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Pattin, you should talk with Emperor Laken. I’m sure your knowledge would impress his Majesty, and the others.”

“I hardly know much…”

Pattin demurred, but Cimeca gently pushed him towards the group of talking adults. They were surrounding a young man who stood at the center of attention. His eyes were closed and he was smiling, turning his head from speaker to speaker and nodding occasionally. He began talking as the young nobles approached and everyone fell silent to hear him speak.

Laken Godart did not shout, but his words carried and he made people fall silent to hear him, rather than raise his voice. He pointed unerringly to the loaded trebuchet, though it was behind him and his eyes remained closed.

“Yes indeed, Lord Tourant. That does seem similar to a siege weapon from a Walled City. I have never visited Pallass of course, but the design of a trebuchet is universal…assuming you know how to make one.”

The [Lords] and [Ladies] surrounding him exchanged quick glances and Rael could see his aunt, Lady Bevia Veniford, narrowing her eyes. Even a small sentence like this was important. He could practically see her thinking and Rael had learned enough from his aunt to understand what she was thinking.

So, this [Emperor] Laken had never been to Pallass? How did he know how to make a trebuchet? No, wait, he’d said he’d never visited Pallass, which implied he might have visited another Walled City. When every word could be checked with truth spells, subtleties like this were essential.

Oblivious to the racing minds around him, Emperor Laken smiled.

“I’m impressed you know of trebuchets, Lord Tourant. Only a handful of people were familiar with the concept, and that included seasoned adventurers in my Empire. Are they truly so rare in this region?”

“Well, I…I suppose I’ve heard of them in passing.”

Lord Tourant spluttered and turned evasive as Rael smirked. The older man tugged at his mustache and pointed at Pattin.

“Lord Pattin’s heard of them. The same as a Walled City, didn’t you say, Pattin?”

Every head turned towards Pattin. Not at all worried about being put on the spot, he nodded.

“They appear to be very similar to the ones described defending the Walled Cities. But from what I understand, the design is easy to replicate. Is that the case, your Majesty?”

“If you understand the basics, yes.”

Emperor Laken turned his head to smile at Pattin. He had no gaze to tell what he was thinking, but he seemed to smile deeper at Pattin. After a moment he went on.

“These are only a few rough prototypes. I hope to create a market for engineering devices of all kinds. Naturally a…Walled City would dominate the market, but within a year or two I believe Riverfarm would be able to compete in the marketplace for quality, if not quantity.”

What?

The exclamation went around the circle of nobles. Laken only laughed lightly.

“Is it such a stretch of the imagination, Lord Tourant? I did not choose to showcase these trebuchets simply as entertainment. Indeed, I’m confident my people can begin mass-producing trebuchets within another month. After more testing is done for safety and efficiency purposes, obviously.”

“But that would be incredible! No one in Izril exports anything like this! You’re telling me—I mean to say that you’re able to create these things at will, Emperor Laken? Your Majesty? Have you an [Engineer]?”

Laken tilted his head thoughtfully as Lord Tourant tried to press him without giving offense. He shrugged.

“I have two [Engineers] already, Lord Tourant.”

Two—

“Of course it was difficult for them to construct the first trebuchet, but copying a design is much simpler than creating one from scratch. Naturally such devices would not be cheap and a small team would need to be trained for its use, but it would be one of a few engineered devices I plan to sell—to a select list of clients, of course.”

This time there was silence. Lord Tourant opened his mouth, hesitated, and found himself unable to ask the obvious question. Select clients? More such devices?

“Your Majesty, are you intending to create a market for engineered devices in northern Izril?”

Lady Bevia peered closely at Laken. He smiled.

“It’s a thought, isn’t it? Unless you disagree, Lady Bevia?”

The old [Lady] tapped her lips thoughtfully with one painted fingernail.

“No…but Pallass has long been known to host the greatest [Craftsmen] and other artisans on the continent. Our port cities import new goods, but the Drakes have had a monopoly on innovation for centuries. Surely you don’t intend to challenge a Walled City?”

Rael held his breath, wondering if the Emperor would take offense. But Bevia’s question only provoked an amused chuckle from Laken.

“Why not? Humans are at least capable of what Drakes and other species are. Perhaps more. This device is one small step. But I am sure that humanity has much, much further to go.”

The nobles stared at him. More. Laken turned to his trebuchet, a device that bordered on magic with a proud smile. But that wasn’t what kept Rael’s eyes on him. No.

It wasn’t just pride. It was confidence, certainty that made Rael’s heart beat faster for a moment. Emperor Laken just smiled as he turned to the trebuchet.

Humans can be more. In a world where Humans fell behind other races’ superior qualities—the strength of Minotaurs, the willpower of Drakes, the speed of Garuda, the adaptability of Lizardfolk—they had won by being more well-rounded, more prolific than other races. But Laken spoke about humanity’s potential.

A blind man with a vision. It drew people to him, Rael included. Laken turned back to them and Rael heard the young woman standing next to the trebuchet calling an all clear. She pulled a rope and the machine hurled another boulder far into the distance. The cheering as it landed and applause was deafening. Laken just smiled once more, a mysterious, welcoming smile.

“Believe me, this is only the start. A trebuchet is a piece of technology, an achievement that requires no magic or class to operate. Once built it is capable of being used by anyone. Man, woman, child…so long as they understand how it works. Ah, and I see the second one is loaded. Would any of you like to try aiming and firing it, by any chance?”

He looked around and Rael found himself shouting to be the first to try.

 

—-

 

It’s funny, but I think the most surprising part of today’s demonstration was when one of the young [Lords] asked if the trebuchet could throw him. Lord Andres, I think it was. That was slightly startling, but what got me was that everyone thought it was a completely natural suggestion.

I had to explain to the excited nobles, patiently, that it didn’t matter if someone cast a [Featherfall] spell on Andres. The whiplash of being thrown by the arm of the trebuchet might kill him before he had to worry about landing. I’m not about to risk a [Lord] dying on my lands, thanks.

I guess it’s a natural thought to have. If you’re an idiot. Lord Andres strikes me as one of the rash, more impulsive young nobles. They’re not all insane, though. I’ve noticed some of them who seem quite interesting. That Lord Pattin for one. And they’re all a lot less rowdy than they were yesterday. I suppose I have the fey to thank for that.

Hi, I’m Laken Godart. [Emperor] of the Unseen Empire, etc. Last night I hosted a banquet with actual faeries from another world, and today I’m showing off my trebuchets. It happens.

“So you can throw a smaller weight even further. Dead gods, this thing can shoot as far as three longbows! What a wonder!”

I’m standing at the heart of an excited group of nobles from Izril. Mostly men—the women have retired to the shade to watch the trebuchets firing. Those that aren’t getting a chance to aim it and fire it themselves. It’s rather like a carnival attraction, with people lined up, wanting a chance to point it and loose a stone.

We’re using smaller projectiles for this demonstration on a scaled-down model of the trebuchet that Tessia and my people have built. That way we don’t have to cart the gigantic hundred-pound stones back and forth. The trebuchet’s arm keeps swinging up in my mind and then being pulled back to the ground as the excited [Engineers], [Builders], and [Tinkerers] swarm over it.

The attraction has pulled in hundreds of villagers and they’re being rotated in by Prost to get a look before going back to work. The trebuchets are amazing, I have to admit. But I don’t get a chance to admire them; I’m already starting my sales pitch. I smile calmly at the excited [Lord] talking to me and sigh as if I’m a bit disappointed.

“It’s quite an accomplishment. But I’d hardly call it a wonder, Lord Melbore.”

“What? But if you can strike a target a thousand feet away—”

Lord Melbore is a heavy man, standing in front of me. I can sense him in my mind—and smell him too. He’s sweating in the morning sun. I cut him off with a knowing smile as the nobles around me edge forwards to listen.

“A device like this can hurl a stone capable of destroying a city wall—an unenchanted city wall, if it’s not burned or destroyed by the enemy first. It has quite an impressive range, but it’s hardly useful in a mobile battle, is it? And for all the stone is large, I’d imagine it could easily miss groups of running soldiers.”

“True.”

Tourant nods and I hear a few other disappointed murmurs of agreement. The [Lords] here might be lesser nobility of the realm, but they’ve all probably seen actual battle. They have to defend their lands, and that instills a level of practicality in each of them. I nod, letting them know I’ve considered the problem.

“Adaptability is key, gentlemen. If a trebuchet were only useful for this one purpose, it would be a poor defense indeed. However…Mister Helm! Miss Tessia! Would you prepare one of the special rounds for our guests to watch?”

I raise my voice and turn. Mister Helm, the [Blacksmith] of Windrest and Tessia, the young woman that Gamel is besotted with, immediately bow and rush towards the larger trebuchet. Entranced, the [Lords] follow them like curious sheep. I watch, knowing exactly what will happen.

The open fields in front of the trebuchets are clear and no one is allowed to head out into them or near the trebuchets while they’re firing. But now everyone is told to step back and as Tessia loads the special ammunition I see Mister Helm rechecking the sling and frame of the trebuchet.

Good. I’ve gone over the need for safety with the engineering team assigned to testing and building the trebuchets again and again. The last thing I want is someone dying while making one of these things. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time, but it won’t be today or tomorrow if I can help it.

“Trebuchet clear?”

“Trebuchet’s clear!”

“Alright then! Three, two, one!”

Tessia’s the one to pull the rope. She’s a lot younger than Mister Helm, but she’s one of two [Engineers] and she was not only the first to acquire the class, but she’s the highest-leveled of the two. It was quite amazing to see how she took to the trebuchets—Tessia, a young woman who had lived on a farm all her life and found her vocation making weapons of war.

Because that’s what this trebuchet is. I watch the arm go up in my head. I can’t see it of course, but I can sense the sling lifting its payload into the air. I can sense the small objects before they’re flung across the field and spray into the ground and a few of the trees, cracking and making loud thuds. Few of the stones made it much further than one or two hundred feet away, but the spread of the volley makes the nobles jump.

“What in the name of Dragons…?”

The nobles are staring ahead, trying to figure out what was thrown. I stroll over and interrupt them before they can badger Tessia or Helm. They’re still nobles after all, and they look down upon anyone but Lady Rie and I. So I look down on them, just to make things fair.

“Stones, Lord Tourant. Hand-sized stones, packed up and thrown at speed. With enough trebuchets firing at once, you could take down a charging army—assuming you were able to move and load them quickly enough, of course.”

It’s a simple concept. The trebuchet can be loaded with a heavy stone to knock down a wall, or smaller stones to shred an enemy army. I’m sure armor would protect some people, but a stone hurled that fast and far? It would be devastating. And it makes the trebuchets I’m showing off that much more valuable. As a defense for my empire, and as an attraction for the nobles visiting me. I clear my throat as the [Lords] begin arguing how well that would work against an army.

“Let us resume our demonstrations. Unless anyone wishes to retire? No? Well, I believe there are refreshments available in the shade. I would be happy to discuss a few aspects of the construction and usage of the trebuchets there. If anyone will join me? Ah, Lady Bevia. And Lady Bethal. How kind of you.”

I step to one side as the men jostle each other, wanting a chance to fire the larger catapult. Two women sweep towards me. Lady Bevia, the older of the two Venifords and Lady Bethal Walchaís, followed as always by her silent husband, Lord Thomast.

“Emperor Laken, thank you so much for the entertaining diversion!”

Lady Bethal’s voice is high and light and she gently places her hands in mine as she laughs. I smile back, although I can still feel a bit of a prickling aura around her, just barely there but visible. Behind her, Thomast bows, as silent as a rock. But I can tell he’s watching me.

“Indeed. I had wondered how you might top the banquet of last night, but I find myself underestimating you yet again, your Majesty. Truly a magnificent demonstration. I only fear I will have to drag away my nephew.”

Lady Bevia’s voice is welcoming and warm as well. I smile at both women and keep my guard up. Of all the nobles present, these two strike me as the sharpest—and most dangerous.

“You are too kind Lady Bethal, Lady Bevia. I’m delighted you chose to stay another day. I had hoped this showcase would please you, but do let me know if you’d wish to rest or seek other entertainment. There is a limit to how long one can be interested in throwing stones, I fear.”

“Nonsense!”

Lady Bethal laughs as she half-turns to look at the trebuchets.

“A diversion? To abandon this? You do yourself and your people too little credit, Emperor Laken. I have seen magic shows and curiosities from other lands, but this is truly fascinating. It’s a thing of wood and yet it throws stones as if they’re light as feathers! How amazing. I don’t suppose you’ve settled on a price? Or may I make a bid for the first six of them you care to sell?”

I try not to blink in surprise.

“I must confess I hadn’t given it much thought yet, Lady Bethal. These trebuchets are still being tested and my team is working to perfect them.”

They’re capable of being fired, but accuracy, maximum range, and putting them on wheels are all challenges I’ve given the team of villagers I’ve assigned to the issue. Not that they mind working around the clock; the engineering team loves to fire the trebuchets as much as the crowd and they’d work long into the night if I let them.

It’s all trial and error with them, but the fact that they could roll out two fully functioning trebuchets by the time the nobles arrived makes me feel I should reward them. It feels like only a few days ago that they were still trying to figure out what wood to use. To deflect Bethal’s interest I turn to her husband.

“Lord Thomast, would you care to try one?”

“You are too kind, Your Majesty. But I will be content to watch.”

Drat. The man bows his head slightly but seems determined not to let his wife be alone for a second. And why not? I nearly died of poison at my own banquet yesterday. Not exactly a ringing endorsement of safety. Lady Bethal seems completely at ease, but I have a feeling that her cheerfulness is sometimes feigned. Perhaps not now, though. She claps her hands together.

“Thomast is a bore, your Majesty. He never tries new things. On the other hand, I would love to try firing a trebuchet again. I nearly hit the tree I was aiming at, didn’t I, Thomast?”

“You did.”

I cover a smile. A good actor, perhaps. But I can’t imagine she and Thomast are pretending to be husband and wife. They’re too clearly fond of each other. I have a thought and beckon—Gamel is by my side in an instant.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

He’s been watching me all day, which is uncomfortable, but suits his duties. I think he’s worried about me being assassinated too—Lady Rie, Mister Prost, Durene, and Wiskeria were all adamant that I have at least one person by my side in the midst of the nobility. Never mind that I could spot a knife coming. Although I didn’t spot the poison…they have a point.

Now at least I can get rid of him for a second. I turn my head and whisper a request into his ear and he’s gone in a flash. I make polite conversation with Bethal and Bevia before Gamel hurries back to me with two objects being carried between two men.

“What’s this?”

Lady Bethal turns and claps her hands as she sees two smaller trebuchets being placed on the ground in front of her. I’d nearly forgotten about them, but the prototypes are just as functional as the real thing. I sense Bethal circling around the miniature trebuchets and poking at the sling, exclaiming with genuine interest.

“Oh! They’re like children’s toys! How delightful!”

I cough as Lady Bethal hovers around the smaller prototype.

“Children’s toys that can knock a hole in the wall of a house, Lady Bethal. Please don’t fire it into the crowd. But if you would like to perfect your aim, I’m sure Tessia could show you how to calibrate the trebuchet yourself.”

“Would you? Oh, how kind!”

Bethal is drawn away as Tessia comes over. In a moment she’s hurling smaller stones at a tree with commendable accuracy. Bethal laughs, waving at her husband.

“How marvelous! This is so much fun, Thomast! Go on, give it a try!”

He walks over, leaving me alone with Lady Bevia. She smiles at me and I’m reminded of a grandmother speaking to a grandson.

“You have no end to your surprises, do you, Emperor Laken?”

“I try to please, Lady Bevia.”

“May I ask where all these designs come from? Or perhaps your strange court? I hate to press you directly, but you have been adroitly evading answering anything about your past.”

I pause. My strange court. Bevia glances at me, and I sense her gaze like a physical thing.

“It is quite strange. No one speaks of last night and I barely recall what happened in its entirety. Those strange, wild folk, the things I recall…would you care to explain any of it, your Majesty?”

What can I say? I shrug my shoulders, lightly, remembering.

Green. Laughter, the brilliant folk dancing and singing, and then laughing and buzzing. The bright frost in her eyes.

A memory. That’s what last night was. Forever ago, despite it not having been more than twenty four hours since the fae danced among us. But the next day people woke, some with scars, many with memories both bright and troubling and no one spoke about it. It was as if what had happened was long ago, and even Oswalt, one of the injured lordlings, treated his injuries as if they had just…been.

Acceptance. There was no regret, no fury at recalling. It had happened. It had been done. It was in the past and they had lived through it. None of the [Lords] and [Ladies] spoke of what they had witnessed, although many looked at me differently. But blame, guilt…none of that was in the way they spoke.

Faerie magic. I shiver as I think of it. There’s something terrifying about that, more than there would be if we just forgot. It speaks to me of bargains with the fae, of promises that can’t be broken.

What is, is. What has been agreed cannot be turned back. More than ever I wonder just how much I risked. But the reward is the respect of the nobility. As for Lady Bevia…

“I could not tell you even if I tried, Lady Bevia.”

She regards me for a long while.

“I suppose you could not, at that. Some things even [Emperors] may not explain. But you are strange, your Majesty. You have so many secrets and you have given us precious few answers.”

The memory of last night fades between us even before Bevia is finished speaking. On firmer ground I keep my voice light, put a tiny smile on my face.

“Have I? I do apologize. I mean only to entertain, not drag down the conversation with boring details about my past.”

I turn my head innocently and Bevia laughs quietly.

“Oh, what a charming young man! One capable of subtlety and deceit—your Majesty, you are an enigma! Where do you hail from? Why did you decide to settle in Riverfarm? Would you do me the great courtesy of hinting at one of these questions? For an old lady’s sake.”

Clever old women are to be feared. I waver and nearly give in. There’s something so charming about Lady Bevia that makes me want to answer her, at least in part. But before I can reply, a voice speaks.

“Oh Bevia, you mustn’t press his Majesty to answer anything about his past! He is an [Emperor] after all—monarchs are entitled to their secrets!”

I hear a bright voice and a sigh from Bevia. A woman approaches the two of us, her voice smooth, her dress shifting as she strides quickly across the grass to our position. I feel the urge to confess fading and smile at the woman in gratitude.

“Thank you, Lady Rie.”

She glides past me and I nod to her politely. Bevia mutters what sounds like an insult before she greets Lady Rie warmly. I could almost swear I heard ‘don’t get in the way’, but my ears must be playing tricks on me because Lady Rie greets her warmly and Bevia is just as delighted to meet her.

Knives under the table. I back away as Rie takes my place in the line of fire, laughing and speaking sweet nothings. There’s a lot I have yet to say to Lady Rie, but I’m grateful for her presence today. She takes Bevia off my hands and I back up. Normally I’d stay and learn from her, but something’s just crossed my mind. I frown and turn my head. What is…?

“Laken?”

Durene is walking towards me, sweating but happy. I wave to her distractedly. There’s something in my mind. I cast my thoughts across my empire and barely sense Durene being intercepted by a group of villagers begging for her help in the village. What is it?

There’s something at the corner of my mind. A thought. A…presence. Many presences. I frown, and then my eyes widen.

Scheiße!

My exclamation makes several heads turn, but no one speaks German so I pretend I stepped on a rock. Hardly [Emperor]-like, but it makes my reaction. I don’t turn around or give any other reaction—now Bevia and Bethal are both watching me, along with some other nobles. The beauty of being blind and having the ability to ‘see’ in every direction is that I can control my reactions. So I calmly turn my head towards the young man hovering a few feet away from me.

“Gamel?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Get me Wiskeria, Beniar, and…no, only those two.”

“Yes sir!”

He straightens at once, sounding alarmed. I hold up a hand, speaking with a slight smile on my face for those watching.

“Don’t run. But do it quick. And don’t make it obvious what you’re doing. If anyone asks, especially Lady Rie, make an excuse.”

“Yes, sire.”

Gamel turns and hurries off. It’s believable enough that I don’t worry as I turn my mind back to the shadows lurking far in the distance. And to Lady Rie. Should I tell her? She’s with Lady Bevia. Should I tell them?

No—no need to cause drama. And how would I explain knowing, anyways? Some things should be kept secret. How much do I trust the nobles here? Not a lot, despite them being impressed with me. How much do I trust Lady Rie? Well…a bit. But only as far as Durene can throw her. Not as far as a trebuchet could.

I back away from the nobles gathering around the trebuchets, pretending that I need to pee. No, no need to alarm anyone that doesn’t need alarming. Wiskeria is on the outskirts of the village and Gamel has already found Beniar. I’ll walk and meet them. I nod to myself, my mind racing as I count. It’s not bad news. Okay, it is horrible, terrifying news, but it’s not the end of the world. And we’ve planned for this, Wiskeria and I.

Calm. Be calm. I breathe in and out slowly, lowering my heart rate. I have people with skillsets devoted best to one activity. Lady Rie is a negotiator, a diplomat. She can do her job. She doesn’t need to know everything. I nod to Wiskeria and Beniar as both stroll over and try to think of the best spot where I can retire with them. What excuse should I use?

“Emperor Laken?”

They’re hurrying towards me, Beniar on horseback. I wave at them and make them slow. Act natural. Be calm. A leader is calm and leads from appearance as much as anything else. No one else needs to know what I tell them, so I hurry them into Wiskeria’s cottage. And begin to make plans.

 

—-

 

Plans. It was already evening by the time Wiskeria strode through the village. She’d been in her home for the last few hours, speaking with Beniar, Prost, and Laken when he wasn’t busy attending to the nobles who wanted his attention. Thankfully the crowd was still occupied with the trebuchets. Laken had expressed incredulity at how long the nobles were fixated on them, but it made sense to everyone else.

A trebuchet was a wonder of mechanical engineering, something as unique as any spell. He treated it like something normal, but Wiskeria knew she could have lived for decades and died before ever seeing such a device. They’d fascinated her when she’d seen the first big one firing. Now they reassured her. Even if they weren’t part of the plan.

She was headed towards her people, her army. They trained and patrolled when they weren’t actually fighting and they stayed out of the village to avoid getting in the way of the builders. Wiskeria needed to do a thousand things, so the only thing that kept her from running was Laken’s order to pretend nothing was wrong. Still, Wiskeria wanted to run.

She was hurrying, her heart pounding with anxiety and determination. Not fear or at least, not much; she had a plan and she trusted her [Emperor].

Her [Emperor]. What a thought! But he had proven himself ten times over, and this latest crisis just showed Wiskeria how right she was to place her trust in him. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there to warn them all days in advance? What would have happened if…? She shook her head.

Wiskeria was hurrying, but she slowed as she saw the woman in the black-and-white frilled dress walking towards her. Sacra’s face was calm, austere, the perfect image of a [Maid]. But there was still a trace of Odveig in her, brash and confident. Seeing her was a shock that put her duties out of Wiskeria’s mind for a moment. The [Witch] slowed and adjusted her pointed hat. Sacra paused as well and the [Witch] and [Maid] regarded each other in the dirt street.

“Wiskeria. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“Odveig.”

“Sacra, please. That is my true name, although I understand that you might be confused after knowing me for so long.”

The [Maid] smiled. Wiskeria did not.

“There’s not much to understand. A traitor and a spy is a traitor and a spy, no matter how well you think you knew her.”

Sacra’s smile didn’t vanish, but it did fade a fraction.

“A traitor? I admit that I deceived you, Wiskeria. But I never intended to cause you or my team harm. I saved you from Emperor Laken’s suspicion as you recall.”

“He was only suspicious of me because you were spying on him.”

“True.”

Sacra shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. Wiskeria stared. Odveig would have blustered or cracked a joke. She didn’t have half the calm aplomb that this strange [Maid] did. And yet she shifted her stance the same way. Her face was the same. Wiskeria gritted her teeth.

“Tell me, was it all fake? All of our close encounters, the way we stood by each other? Was all that just an act?”

“Would you like me to say it was?”

The [Maid] raised an eyebrow. Wiskeria waited, folding her arms. Sacra sighed.

“Wis, I—”

“My name is Wiskeria.

“Very well. General Wiskeria, I was your friend. And I was your team leader. And I was a spy. I can be all these things at once. I regret fleeing, but I had a mission that transcended friendship. And I have duties that carry me back here.”

Wiskeria thought about tossing fire at Sacra’s face and seeing if her uniform caught on fire. But she held back. Sacra was probably far deadlier than Odveig had ever been.

“Rather tactless to send the same spy that was uncovered, isn’t it? Is Magnolia Reinhart that crude?”

“Not at all. She’s being honest. If she wanted to alarm Emperor Laken, she’d send someone whom he had no idea of. He knows I am a spy, so he won’t waste time with subtleties. There are at least three people watching my every move.”

Three? Wiskeria had heard Laken ordering two people to shadow Sacra. The [Witch] turned [General] filed that information away. Sacra regarded her a moment and then bowed.

“I’d love to talk more, but I’m afraid I have pressing business, Wiskeria. As do you, it seems.”

“What are you doing?”

Wiskeria’s hostile tone had no effect on Sacra.

“I must meet with Emperor Laken. Lady Reinhart has considered his reception of the nobility and his little demonstration of this morning and sent a response.”

She held up a letter. Wiskeria opened her mouth to ask what was in it, hesitated, and turned. She’d wasted too much time and Laken’s name had reminded her of what she had to do.

“I wish you the best of it. Not that I think his Majesty will receive you warmly.”

“I did request an audience. And his feelings towards me are largely irrelevant. I’m sure I will speak to you later, Wiskeria. Until then.”

Sacra walked calmly past Wiskeria. The [Witch] stared after her, angry, wanting to say so much more, and then tugged her hat’s brim lower on her head.

“Later? Not if we’re all dead.”

Then she strode off, her robes swirling around her. And the Emperor of the Unseen Empire received Sacra on his throne.

 

—-

 

Of all the people I don’t feel like meeting at the moment, Sacra is probably highest on that list. But I could hardly ignore her request once I got it, so I give her an audience in the meeting hall on my wooden throne. I shift uncomfortably, feeling the smooth, carved eyeball on my armrest with one hand as I scan Sacra in my mind’s eye. She’s a [Maid] from head to toe, without any accessories save for a ring on her finger. No hidden daggers, no concealed weapons I can sense…I still don’t relax. Once the formalities are over I cut straight to the point.

“I hope Wiskeria didn’t treat you with any hostility?”

“Not at all. She was quite polite.”

Sacra smiles, not at all unsettled by my knowledge of their meeting. I’ve been following her around in my head when I haven’t been distracted and she’s done nothing out of the ordinary. Still, I have every reason to suspect her and so I’ve put two watchers on her at all times.

I’m also wary of her being alone with me, which is why Durene is standing next to my throne and Gamel and Prost are standing at the meeting hall’s doors. If it came to a fight, I worry that Sacra might beat Durene like last time, weapons or not. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. And if they need to raise an alarm, I’m sure Lady Rie will raise it.

She’s standing just outside the meeting hall. I refused to let her join in. Not because I think she’ll steer me the wrong way. I think she might do it by accident. Lady Magnolia manipulated both her and me with ease with a simple letter. I’d hate to know what Sacra could do.

“I’m glad Wiskeria didn’t offer you any offense. Although I can’t say I would reproach her for holding a grudge either. It is slightly unpleasant to look at someone you thought you trusted.”

Sacra’s face doesn’t change one whit. She just gives me a small, meaningless smile, the kind any [Maid] would give a disliked employer.

“I do apologize. But Lady Reinhart thought it would be best that someone you knew deliver her words personally, and I was the best choice. You are, of course, free to eject me from your empire, but Lady Reinhart values courtesy in her friends. Her enemies are free to be as crude as they wish, for as long as they live.”

Was that a threat? Durene makes an ominous sound, but I pat her hand.

“I don’t appreciate the warning, Sacra. Why is it that you wanted to see me?”

Without missing a beat, Sacra replies.

“Lady Reinhart has observed your reception of the small group of nobles through me, Emperor Laken. She is quite impressed with your guests…as well as today’s demonstration of your trebuchets.”

How does she know about the fae and the trebuchets? Sacra was not invited to either gathering. Still, I’m not surprised.

“I’m glad she’s so invested, particularly considering that she forced all of this on me.”

“She does apologize for the inconvenience, your Majesty. But trust is a commodity in short supply, particularly of late. Lady Reinhart bids me to inform you that she is impressed with your empire and would like to offer you peace.”

I raise one eyebrow.

“Peace? Don’t I have peace already?”

This time it’s Sacra who interjects a bit of strife into her tone.

“Emperor Laken, please be serious. You know that there is no peace—not between you and Lady Reinhart at least. She has surveyed your lands, tested you, and sent me to observe your qualities as a leader. She has been rightfully wary of you.”

“Why? Why am I so dangerous?”

It feels like everyone’s warned me of Magnolia Reinhart. She’s a cunning monster, a threat, a ruthless tyrant…Ryoka, Lady Rie, everyone’s afraid of her. But what did I ever do to bother her? Start a small empire? From what I understand, Magnolia Reinhart has a hundred times as much land as I do. But it’s Sacra’s response that puts it into clarity.

“Because you are an [Emperor].

“Ah.”

Sacra stares at me. I sit back in my throne. My throne, where three months ago I was living in Durene’s cottage. Now I sit in my growing village, with trebuchets being built and nobles following me around, trying to curry favor. I can sort of see her point.

“Well, I suppose that would be alarming to a [Lady], particularly one of Magnolia Reinhart’s power.”

“Indeed. But she is prepared to put aside her wariness and offer you peace, Emperor Laken.”

“Peace. You keep saying that word, but what would that entail?”

Sacra spreads her hands.

“An immediate cessation of hostilities. No aggressive or hostile actions towards you or anyone in your domain without formal notification. Recognition of your sovereign rights. Support for your growing empire in the form of connections, trade, political support…”

That sounds good. Good, if a little vague. But I could see Magnolia Reinhart’s acknowledgement helping me deal with other cities, cementing my influence. I lean back in my throne as Durene shifts from foot to foot.

“And what would all of this cost me?”

Sacra smiles, confirming my suspicions. She holds up a finger.

“One request. For the next four months, you will refuse to sell your trebuchets or any other weapons of war to any other party in Izril. You will not gift them, or let the secrets of their manufacture be spread.”

I blink.

“She wants that?

“Yes, your Majesty. It is a simple request. Afterwards you would be free to pursue whatever business interests you please.”

I frown. Why would four months matter? I eye Sacra, wondering if she’ll answer and don’t bother with that question. Instead I ask the more pressing one.

“Assuming I did agree, what guarantee would I have that Lady Reinhart would keep her word? A contract? Paper and ink are poor reassurance, I feel.”

The [Maid] standing in front of me gives me a slight frown, as if I’ve asked a truly stupid question.

“Lady Reinhart would hardly trust this to a verbal agreement, Emperor Laken. She proposes signing a binding contract, enforced by magic. It is quite common among the nobility when trust or a grave matter is at stake. It would of course be authenticated by a third party—Wistram, for example.”

“I see.”

Crap, I should have known that was how things would work. I keep my face straight as I think of all this. No selling trebuchets for four months? It has to be too good to be true. I could still build them, refine them, market them to others…why wait for months? What does she get? I mull over the possibilities until I realize Sacra is taking something out of her pocket.

“Hey!”

Durene sees the motion and lurches forwards. Sacra withdraws a small letter and raises her hands.

“I mean no harm. I have a letter from my mistress, transcribed, of course. It is not dangerous in any way.”

“I’ll give it to him.”

Durene snatches the letter from Sacra and sniffs it suspiciously. She clearly doesn’t have any idea of whether or not it’s poisoned and looks helplessly towards me before licking the paper gingerly. I cover my face and try not to laugh as Sacra gives Durene the first genuine look of surprise I think she’s made so far. After a second in which Durene blushes fiercely, she hands me the letter. I lift it and sigh.

“Your mistress does know I can’t read, doesn’t she?”

“She does. But some things are best conveyed formally. I have memorized the contents by heart. If you would allow me?”

Sacra waits until I nod and then begins to speak. I feel Durene peering over my shoulder and hear her trying to read the letter. She’s still on the first sentence by the time Sacra finished. The letter is short and Sacra delivers the stunning missive without changing her tone of voice.

 

To His Majesty, Emperor Laken,

Thank you so very much for entertaining my dear friend Bethal and the other nobles which I so rudely foisted on you the other day. Sacra tells me you handled their reception wonderfully, if slightly unconventionally, and it has put my mind at ease. You have shown tact, deliberation, and restraint and for that I deem you to be a rare exception to your class, a delight.

After some consideration, I have decided that I am quite content to suffer your presence on my continent, your Majesty. And I foresee the potential benefits of a relationship with your empire. But my goodwill towards your empire only goes hand-in-hand with my demands. Sacra has given you my request and I trust you will agree to it, as this agreement would be wholly beneficial towards you and your empire. Keep your damn trebuchets out of sight.

–Magnolia Reinhart

 

The silence after Sacra finishes makes me wonder whether I should clean out my ears theatrically, or just sit in silence for a while and wait for someone to laugh. But I do neither. I can sense Gamel and Prost giving each other nervous looks, but Sacra waits, as patient and as still as a statue. Her eyes are on me. At last I raise my head.

“And she wants my response?”

Sacra smiles politely.

“By the time I depart with the other nobility. By all means, take your time to consider Lady Reinhart’s proposal, Emperor Laken. But be sure of your answer by the time I leave.”

Her eyes never waver as she curtsies. I keep my face blank and remain as still as possible. This time I’m sure that was a threat.

 

Day 99

 

What the hell does Magnolia Reinhart want? Apparently that question is one for the ages because my impromptu council of diplomacy all agrees that few people ever know what the Deadly Flower of the North truly wants. Magnolia Reinhart can be as straightforward as a poisoned arrow to the chest, or as twisted as a garlic braid. That’s Durene’s analogy, by the way. I had no idea you twisted garlic braids. How do you twist garlic, anyways? Isn’t it a bulb? Or is garlic different in this world?

Prost, Rie, and Durene don’t ever answer me on that. What they do do is argue for over an hour over why Magnolia would want me not to sell my trebuchets—their speculation ranging from her desire to corner the market herself, to a suspicion that she doesn’t want nobles killing each other and besieging cities until she’s ready for it to happen—without any real consensus. They agree her outlined terms are good, generous even. They’re only wary of signing any deal with Magnolia Reinhart. Especially Lady Rie.

“The problem isn’t whether signing it would be better or worse for your empire, your Majesty. The problem is whether or not not signing it would be worse, and which option Magnolia Reinhart wants you to pick!”

The [Lady] paces back and forth as I massage my head and try and understand what she just said.

“It sounds like she was fairly clear about what she wanted, Lady Rie.”

“Anything that woman says cannot be trusted!”

Lady Rie grumbles as I sigh and walk around the table in Mister Prost’s home. His house has become something of a planning room for us and I feel bad for invading so often. Maybe I should make this the official meeting room and give him another house. A bigger one. But there are memories here too. Death, the snow, life…

And here we are, talking about [Ladies] and deals involving magic treaties and empires. I smile and run my hands over something on the table. A map. I can’t tell what’s on it, but I can sense the markers that Lady Rie has carefully put on there for my convenience.

“Interesting map. What do the flags represent on some of the cities?”

“Ah. Those would be the cities allied to you, Emperor Laken.”

“Allied to me? I don’t know if that’s accurate.”

“They offer you goods for protection, respond to your requests for reinforcements, and send emissaries to you, your Majesty. What else would we call them? Allies? Or perhaps vassals is more accurate?”

I grimace.

“Good point. Alright then, where’s Riverfarm? Where are we?”

“You’re touching our flag, your Majesty.”

I pause and feel the tallest flag.

“Oh.”

The map slowly appears before me. In my mind I can sense my empire, but the map is different. It skips all the geography and lays the cities, towns, and villages out for me in the plainest of terms. Riverfarm is here, bordered by a forest and river and close to a small mountain.

It’s shielded in one sense, isolated in another. But now it’s growing, connecting to nearby settlements, most of which are ‘mine’. They’re under my protection, within my sphere of influence. But as my fingers move east and north they run into small, round objects.

“And the stones? What do these represent?”

“Those are the cities and towns that are firmly against you, Emperor Laken. They refuse to acknowledge your claim to Riverfarm or trade with us.”

“Huh.”

I remember getting some hostile letters, but I hadn’t realized there were a number of cities that actively boycotted me. I run my hands over the cities—most far from Riverfarm on the map—and recall what Sacra said.

“Maybe they just don’t trust an [Emperor] who appeared out of nowhere.”

“Perhaps. But they might well be influenced by the other nobles to oppose you. Not just Reinhart—it would be just like her to work through fools like Lord Tourant rather than having to intercede herself.”

“Wait, Tourant has a hand in this?”

I frown, confused. Lady Rie sighs.

“Among others. His touch is particularly tactless; he is an old friend of the [Mayor] of Elkhan—here, your Majesty.”

She takes my hand and places it gently on a village. I hear Durene mutter something and Rie lets go. I feel the hard stone underneath my fingers.

“Okay, but what does that give him?”

“Any number of things. Refusing to allow trade caravans through if they’re carrying your goods, refusing to buy or sell…It’s meant to pressure your economy, your Majesty. Perhaps offer friendly lords like Tourant a better deal. That goes for military assistance as well. If you didn’t have your Skill and General Wiskeria’s army, it might be cause for alarm.”

Wiskeria. I nod carefully, searching for her with my mind. Ah, yes, there.

“Well, if they want to avoid us they can suffer the consequences. For now, I’m more interested in our ability to mobilize our allies. Say trouble arises, Lady Rie. Can we contact all of these settlements via [Message] spell swiftly?”

Lady Rie pauses for a moment.

“All of the larger cities, yes, your Majesty. The smaller towns…perhaps not. It depends on whether they have a [Mage] capable of receiving the spell. Most do, but others must be reached via Runner or messenger.”

“Good. In that case we’ll regard all these allies as my assets. And if we sign a treaty with Magnolia Reinhart and trade comes down the main roads…”

I trace my hands east and north, thinking. It would be valuable.  And if her name makes some of these uncooperative cities open their gates…I keep thinking as Lady Rie talks with Prost about the pros and cons of interacting with a huge city like Invrisil.

“You may be able to secure enough trade and deals with nobles as it is, your Majesty. Lady Reinhart does not control every noble of Izril.”

Lady Rie sounds hopeful. I nod thoughtfully.

“True. Something to bear in mind. And of course, that’s what I have to do next, isn’t it?”

I straighten and turn. Lady Rie sounds relieved.

“Yes, your Majesty. We could debate Lady Reinhart’s…offer later. But for now I believe every adult [Lord] and [Lady] wishes to speak with you—privately. As do a few of the younger ones. Shall we entertain them in the meeting hall?”

I sigh. This is what I’ve been dreading.

“I suppose we shall.”

 

—-

 

I meet them one-by-one or sometimes in pairs in my ‘throne’ room. They sit in chairs while I sit on my throne. It’s awkward, looking down on them and they seem to feel it too. But keeping them off-guard matters, and Lady Rie is there to ensure that she and I get the best deal for Riverfarm.

Not that I know what that is. I do know how to act, just not what I want. So when Lord Tourant comes in hinting about profitable trade deals, or Lady Fel hints that she might be interested in a trebuchet or two ‘for a friend’ and ‘as a matter of discretion’, I play my game.

An [Emperor]’s game. It’s quite simple. They hope to get something from me and dangle bait, offering me things both precious and petty. I respond by offering bigger bait for them.

“Why yes, Lord Tourant, I could see an exclusive trade agreement doing very well between our estates. If it’s an issue of gold, I might be persuaded to buy your entire harvest of—what was it you said you sold? Cotton? Yes, there’s certainly a need and I’d offer you, say, market price—but that is a large commitment to get into right away, wouldn’t you say? Oh, would you like another cup of wine?”

“Lady Fel, a gift of a trebuchet or two would hardly be fitting. Why not eight? For a friend—well of course this is all hypothetical, but I trust my people to produce them quickly and I feel that a gift would be appropriate for—what? Of course all eight! A gift of one or two would be miserly, wouldn’t it?”

It’s fun listening to people choke on their own saliva and greed. And promising gold for raw iron is entertaining as well. I don’t have gold. At least, not enough to pay for a tenth of what I’m proposing. But what I have now isn’t the point. It’s what I’m offering. It’s the image I’m creating. And as each [Lord] and [Lady] staggers out of my throne room, envisioning riches and having nothing more than the most tenuous of promises, my perceived wealth and power grows.

And that’s the point. I didn’t need for Lady Rie to explain that. I think she’s a bit intimidated at how easy it is for me, actually. But this is easy, in some respects. Flattery and using people against each other isn’t hard. Not like laying out a village is.

One of the final [Lords] I have to talk to is Lord Melbore. I clap my arm around his shoulders and sense him tense up, but I’m jovial, welcoming. And I forestall whatever he wants with a simple question.

“Tell me, Lord Melbore, where do you see your estates in a year’s time. In five years?”

“Me, your Majesty? Well, I—I would be quite interested in a deal with your empire. I’m told you’re generous to your friends, and between you and me, the market can be a cruel mistress. If I could persuade you to buy from me exclusively, I could see my estate booming in five years. I could double production as well if I had—”

I cut the man off as I shake my head.

“No, no. Grander.”

“Excuse me, your Majesty?”

I sigh.

“Think grander, Lord Melbore. I’m told your lands produce high-quality goods! Food, lumber, a modest business in fletching—but is that all you want to see out of your lands?”

“Well, I suppose I could see myself expanding—”

I cut him off again.

“Lord Melbore, I am an [Emperor]. When I came to Riverfarm, it was a small village. It still is, for all that it’s tripled in size. I look at your lands and see—well, I don’t see—unused potential. Don’t dream of doubling your profits in ten years. Dream of cornering the market, of becoming a byword, a staple in cities like Invrisil. How much money can you make? What do you have to offer? What could you do with an investment? Tell me, what could you do with an ally? A…patron?”

Perhaps I lay it on too thick. Perhaps some of them are intelligent enough to see that I’m offering them a cloud with nothing to back it up. But I can hear the gears whirring away in Melbore’s head and by the time he hurries out of my throne room promising me that he would be far better than Lord Tourant at getting me what I need, I know that my job is done. But I keep my guard up, because vague promises are easy to combat. It’s people who know exactly what they have and what they want that become trouble.

“Four thousand gold pieces for a trebuchet.”

“I can’t offer you one just yet, Lady Bethal.”

“Eight thousand.”

“It’s not a matter of gold.”

“Mm. Sixteen—”

“Lady Magnolia has an interest in them.”

Oh! Magnolia wants them? Why didn’t you say so to begin with? I’m hardly going to bother starting a bidding war with her—why don’t I order the ones after hers? I’d like ten—”

“Lady Bethal, I don’t know when they’ll be ready or what the cost may be—”

“I could offer you horses too, if you want. How does a hundred head of horse sound? Six hundred? I have so many! It’s quite interesting you know—if you have the right Skills it’s quite hard to fail at a business venture. Harder if you have a husband like Thomast. He’s very good with numbers.”

“Lady Bethal, please. I’d be happy to work out a deal, but not at this time.”

The lady peers at me.

“Are you sure? I’d hate to think I was missing out on the opportunity ahead of time. Couldn’t I reserve just a teensy trebuchet?”

“I assure you, when I am at liberty to sell them, yours will be the first name I think of Lady Bethal. I promise you, I am simply not able to accept your money—”

I glance over at Lady Rie, who’s giving me complex signals to take the money now! and sigh louder.

“—at this time. I’m sure I will send you a [Message] spell shortly. Very shortly, if Lady Rie has anything to do with it.”

“Well…I suppose I have no choice. In that case, I would simply like to extend you my warmest gratitude for your hospitality, Emperor Laken. You see, Thomast and I will be departing within the hour and while we would love to stay another night in your lovely, restful beds…we simply must go.”

The sudden change of topic nearly gives me whiplash.

“You’re going? So soon? I was under the impression you were travelling with the other nobles, Lady Bethal.”

She laughs lightly.

“I was! But Thomast convinced me it might not be in my best interests, so we will take our leave before they do. Honestly, he fusses so much about the company we keep…but yes, we will be going.”

“I see. May I send you an escort to my borders, at least?”

Another laugh. I just cannot read Lady Bethal’s voice or her posture—but for an instant I sense the thorny aura around her grow stronger. Caution?

“I fear I must decline. We’ll be moving swiftly, Emperor Laken. And I have two of my Knights of the Petal with me, and Thomast. No [Brigand] has ever troubled me.”

I consider this. It could be bad if she goes now. I have to ask.

“Then may I at least know the direction you intend to travel? As a precaution, you understand. I would hate for you to come to any injury on my lands and my patrols could at least ride ahead of you.”

Bethal considers my request and shrugs slightly.

“Mm. Very well. We’re headed west, I believe. We’ll be travelling by way of Yaist, perhaps staying the night there. After that…? Who can say?”

I think about that. West? Well then…I nod and smile politely.

“In that case, I can only give you my sincerest regrets for the dangers posed to your person while you stayed in my domain, Lady Bethal. And to you, Sir Thomast. I hope that you will remember me with fondness and that we may speak more in the future.”

Bethal laughs lightly.

“Oh, you are so polite for an [Emperor]! I am truly honored, your Majesty. Neither Thomast nor I take any offense. Although…would you consider selling us the tiny trebuchet? As a souvenir?”

No.

 

—-

 

Last but not least is Lady Bevia, and here I have to deviate from my meaningless platitudes because she has something I need.

“Lady Bevia? Might I trouble you for a small favor?”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

I smile and lean over the edge of my throne to Lady Bevia as she sips some tea. Lord Rael is not with her; he’s getting in more practice shots with the trebuchet. I understand it’s a competition now, and there’s over two hundred gold pieces riding on whomever can hit the targets placed first. At least the nobles are enjoying themselves.

“I understand you have a [Mage] among your escort that is capable of sending and receiving [Message] spells, Lady Bevia. Might I trouble you to borrow her for a small task?”

The old woman pauses and takes another sip from her teacup.

“That is a rather simple request, your Majesty. May I ask what this little errand might be?”

I smile.

“Of course, Lady Bevia. And I would be delighted to tell you—afterwards, that is. I trust your discretion of course, but I fear I cannot tell you ahead of time what I am planning.”

“Really?”

Bevia knows I’m blind so her eyes narrow just a fraction before she stops herself. She taps her ring finger gently against her cup.

“How long would I need to place my [Mage] in your care, Emperor Laken?”

“Two days at most. I would consider myself in your debt, Lady Bevia.”

“Hmm.”

She ponders my request for a moment and then nods.

“So be it. Take my [Mage], by all means. But will I receive a token of trust in the same vein, Emperor Laken?”

I lean back, relieved. That was essential. I nod at Lady Rie and she hurries out, frowning. She doesn’t know what the [Mage] is for, but Wiskeria does. I smile at Lady Bevia, ready to pay for my favor.

“What would you like, Lady Bevia?”

“Nothing taxing. Perhaps a few facts, Emperor Laken. How did you learn to make those trebuchets, for instance? How do they work, exactly? Could anyone make them?”

Again, I feel a push at my mind, but this time I’m forewarned by Lady Rie and push back. I smile at the old woman as the charm effect fades from my mind.

“I can hardly give away the secrets of trebuchets like party favors, Lady Bevia. But I do have some intriguing treats that may be of interest to you.”

“Oh? What new delights will you tempt with today, your Majesty?”

I laugh.

“Nothing so scandalous. But there are a number of treats from my homeland that I have succeeded in recreating here. Many more I’d like to attempt, but my [Cooks] and [Bakers] can only do so much with my poor understanding. Still, I consider these quite passable. Tell me, have you ever had a Franzbrötchen? Don’t be alarmed. How should I put this—a cinnamon roll?”

I clap my hands and I see Lady Bevia’s eyes go wide with interest. Gamel walks forwards, the sweet treat on one of Lady Rie’s ornamental plates. I knew I could find a good use for those fancy things. And of course, there’s nothing quite like sweets for a bit of diplomacy. Especially if you know how to make cookies and no one else does. I smile and lean back in my chair.

It turns out Lady Bevia has a sweet tooth.

 

—-

 

“You have the mage?”

“She’s ready. So is Beniar. I’m about to head out myself.”

Wiskeria nods to me. She’s saddling her horse, and all we’re waiting on are a few other riders loading their horses. Their saddlebags are stuffed, and Wiskeria’s own mount is similarly laden.

“You got everything you needed? Already?”

The [Witch] smiles and pats her restless mare on the sides.

“There’s enough hellebore if you know where to look. Your Majesty’s unique Skills also help greatly in that respect. We can send out pack horses and a small team to gather what’s needed. We should be able to collect all of my ingredients within the day and be ready by sunset.”

“You don’t need me to find any more?”

“No, your Majesty. We’ll be ready tomorrow at any time.”

I sigh in relief.

Gott sei Dank.

“What?”

“Nothing. Sorry, Wiskeria. If I had to scan every single plant within ten miles of here and check if it was the exact one you needed one more time…”

She smiles at me and adjusts her hat.

“I apologize. But it was an emergency and your…talents are extraordinarily useful.”

“Don’t I know it. Well then, I’ll send word the instant something changes. But if not, contact me as soon as you’re ready and I’ll coordinate the rest with you tomorrow.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Wiskeria nods to me and climbs onto her horse. She gently kicks her mount and the other riders stream out of the village after her. I watch her go, feeling anxious, practically trembling with excitement and nerves, but sure, sure that there’s nothing I can do. I’m too far away and everything is in motion now. All I can do is wait and watch.

For the right moment.

 

Day 100

 

I think the nobles are wearing out their welcome. They’re certainly running out of things to do as three straight days of trebuchet testing is enough for the most enthusiastic of them. Well, maybe not Lady Bethal. And I’m certain that if I actually let the young men throw themselves there’d be a lot more interest. But after eating all of my confectionaries that my hard-working [Bakers] struggled to make, the nobles are finally suggesting returning to their estates.

Lady Bethal’s departure prompted the idea, but no one’s quite ready to pack up just yet. The nobles seem fascinated by the speed at which Riverfarm is developing—I think I saw some of the nobles placing bets on how many houses my people could put up by sunset. And they also seem anxious to get a better deal than everyone else, so they’re hanging about for at least one more day. Which is good, because everything is happening today.

Entertain nobles at breakfast, endure meetings and private audiences until midday, lunch with Durene in private…everyone can tell something is up. At least, Prost, Durene, Gamel, and Lady Rie can. They knew me too well. But they’re all too loyal to ask, except for Lady Rie who keeps hinting that she might need to know if something’s afoot. She’d noticed Wiskeria and Beniar are both gone with part of the army, but she doesn’t know why.

I intend to keep it that way. And I do manage to distract myself with a moment of inspiration just past lunch. I was mulling over Magnolia’s proposal, thinking about what I’ll tell Sacra. I can sign her stupid parchment at any time—that just takes a second. But will I? I’m on the verge of tossing a coin and asking Durene which side landed face up.

And that’s when I had my brilliant idea. It came while I was watching Tessia try to explain to a group of new volunteers for the engineering team how the trebuchets worked. She was trying to explain the idea of gravity to her audience, something I’d had to patiently explain to her. And that was when it hit me.

Of course!

It’s all so clear. All my tentative trade agreements and the proposals crystalize around my new idea, my new understanding of what the Unseen Empire should be. I lean over and poke the young woman snoozing next to me. Durene yelps and sits up with a start. She and I were sitting under a tree in the shade and she was resting after hauling trees around all morning.

“Durene! I figured it out!”

“Wha? What? What’s happening, Laken?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m awake, see? What did you figure out? Tell me?”

“It was an idea I had. Remember how we’re trying to figure out what we can offer all these nobles? Aside from the trebuchets Magnolia Reinhart doesn’t want us to sell, that is?”

“Yeah. You and Prost and Rie talked about it all day yesterday.”

“I know. You didn’t have to listen, you know. I kept telling you that you could sleep.”

“I wanted to be with you. What did you figure out?”

“Well…I think I’ve got it.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

“Just a second! I want to see if you get it.”

I grin teasingly and hear Durene groan.

“Just tell me, Laken! I can’t guess—I’m not smart like you!”

“You’re very smart, Durene. You just don’t like to admit it. Come on. Humor me.”

“Fine. What do I have to do?”

“Just think. What does Riverfarm have that we can sell, Durene? I’m not talking about basic trade goods like pigs, normal crops, and so on. That earns most villages and towns enough to survive. What I’m talking about is how Riverfarm, how this entire empire can make a profit. What do we have? Any ideas?”

Durene scrunches up her face, sighing and picking at the crumbs in the basket, muttering to herself.

“I don’t know. Crops? You were talking with Wiskeria about poisonous plants and all kinds of alchemical stuff you could sell just the other day. We could grow fields of that. Not that I want to pick poisonous plants by hand. You know she thinks nettles will sell really well? Nettles!”

I cover a smile. A [Witch]’s sense of value is definitely different than a farm girl’s.

“That’s true. We’re trying to cultivate some crops that [Alchemists] will buy up, but we have to feed ourselves first, Durene. Mister Prost will expand the fields as fast as he can, but that’s a long-term investment. What else do we have?”

She scratches at her head.

“Um…land?”

I laugh. Durene fidgets, embarassed.

“I told you I don’t know!”

“No, no! I’m laughing because you’re right, Durene! That’s true! The surrounding area isn’t nearly as developed as some places further north. But Izril is vast, Durene. And unused land is cheap, so long as you can protect it.”

“So it wasn’t right.”

“But it was a good idea. Come on, you can do it. What else do we have?”

“A…military? You can protect roads and charge people money because it’s so safe!”

I nod seriously. Durene is going through all the ideas I had. She’s not slow at all and I’m not as smart as people think I am, not by half. But I do have an advantage…

“That’s right. Assuming we could protect all our land, we would see more trade and people headed towards us. But that relies on us having a truly powerful army and ours is growing—”

I break off and grimace. I have the ability to levy soldiers, but the core of my army, my people are a few dozen [Riders] and a group of infantry who have seen only a handful of battles. My adventurers make up the best part of that force and they’re few in number. And yet—I turn my thoughts northwards.

I can levy a force. I can call on towns and cities and have them send me a few [Riders] each, a handful of [Archers], maybe some [Warriors], and that’s without there being a crisis. I can form an army—but I will need a bigger one. But perhaps for now…

“Laken?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Durene.”

I realize I’ve stopped talking and clear my throat.

“You’re really close. But what’s the last thing we have, Durene? The last big thing?”

“Trebuchets?”

“No…but you’re really close. It’s related to them.”

“Um—um—is it—oh! Our [Engineers]! You can get Tessia and the others to build bridges and mills and all kinds of things!”

Durene’s face lights up and I give her a small hug.

“Almost right!”

“What? I got it wrong?”

“Not wrong…but I don’t just mean the [Engineers], Durene. I mean what they do. Engineering.

There are some crackers at the bottom of the lunch basket. Durene slowly reaches down and takes one. She crunches it down.

“Okay. You—I mean, we have [Engineers]. But our big secret is engineering.”

“That’s right.”

I wait, triumphant and hear a munching sound as Durene cautiously eats another cracker. She thinks for a while longer.

“…Isn’t that the same thing?”

“What? No!”

“It sort of sounds like it. What’s the difference?”

Crestfallen, I try to explain.

“Durene, do you ever wonder why people in this world suddenly get good at something? Like how someone who can barely cook can suddenly make all the basic recipes?”

The half-Troll girls thinks about this as she searches for another cracker.

“Mmm. Nope.”

“Really? It’s not weird how they can suddenly know how to cook, or fight?”

“No! They get a Skill, what’s weird about that?”

I shake my head. I guess it does feel natural to someone in this world.

“That’s not normal. What if you tried to learn something without a Skill, Durene? Why is it fair that someone has to learn all the steps in a recipe to make bread while someone else can just get a Skill and…make it?”

“It’s fair because they have the Skill. Sometimes people don’t get it so I guess they have to learn, but a Skill makes things easy, Laken!”

“Yes, but maybe it makes things too easy.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying at all.”

I run my hands through my hair, dislodging a leaf.

“Look at it this way. When I was telling people how to make trebuchets, I knew how they were made, but not all the details. We were experimenting all the time to figure out how to get them to fire without breaking, how to make sure the sling was the right length—”

“Oh yeah! Remember when it threw that stone straight up? That was so scary!”

I nod.

“Right. We had to experiment, to test our results. But do you recall what happened the next day? Tessia became an [Engineer] and got a Skill. And then she knew the sling needed to be adjusted and the length shortened slightly. But she couldn’t explain why. She had an image of how the trebuchet was firing in her head, Durene!”

“Oh, like you do!”

“Exactly. And that’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

Durene’s forehead wrinkles. I throw up my hands.

“It was too easy! All of our hard work, all of our calculations—it didn’t matter! Tessia got a Skill and she could finish the trebuchet!”

“Which is good!”

“No! It’s terrible! It means—it means we don’t learn anything! So what if Tessia can make a trebuchet? If only she can do it, what’s the point?”

Durene stares at me like I’m crazy. I lower my hands and try to tell her the big secret I hit on, the secret that ties in to something Ryoka told me once. This world doesn’t change. Technologies stay the same, civilizations rise, but then fall and what they create doesn’t last. The world doesn’t change as a whole. Why? Because of the system that governs this world. The system of classes that’s holding people back.

Instinct over knowledge. That’s what runs this world, what allows people to cook, build, create, and repair the things around them. Grace without skill. People act using their Skills and never learn how things work. They have a [Basic Cooking] Skill that lets them cook pasta—when they could learn to do the same by memorizing a recipe!

That’s the problem. And all of the grand things in this world, the buildings, armor, even things like candles, are a result of Skills, of individuals with levels. And when those individuals die, that knowledge is lost.

Some things are based off of actual science, like arch bridges or windmills. But too often, the [Builder] or [Engineer] constructing the bridge doesn’t bother with actual mathematics. They just feel where the keystone in a bridge should be placed, or rely on their Skills to tell whether something they’re building will or won’t work. And that means that too often, people won’t try new things.

Why should they? Their Skills can do everything they need, or someone else’s Skills can. Why write down the schematics for a trebuchet and calculate firing distances and weight and the carrying capacity of wood when an [Engineer] can figure it all out by themselves?

That’s the flaw the people of this world share. They can redesign or perfect, but not innovate. Without a fundamental education, new ideas can spread at a snail’s pace or worse, be lost. This is what Ryoka was talking about. This is why technology hasn’t evolved over thousands of years.

I try to explain all of this to Durene, but she struggles to understand it. Of course. She comes from a world where all this is natural. But I come from a world where learning is passed down, where people can’t get Skills so they either teach each other how to do things or don’t do it at all. And that’s what my big idea is.

“Teach them math, Durene. Teach them how to count, how to read and write. Make blueprints, teach people how to create new things without Skills or classes. Make it so anyone can learn to build a trebuchet and gain a class. If I can do that, then I won’t have one or two talented [Engineers]. I’ll have a hundred. A thousand.”

Durene’s eyes go wide as she imagines it. Riverfarm, exporting talent, hiring out our people to build bridges, construct and build across Izril.

“Wow. But wait—if everyone knows how to do things, what’s the point of getting the class to begin with?”

I laugh.

“There’s always a need for Skills, Durene! It makes things easier—that’s great! But we can’t rely on them. And if I can make gaining a rare class like [Engineer] a certainty, then I’ll have a monopoly on talent. That’s how Riverfarm will succeed. Not with one [Cataphract], but with a hundred. I need to figure out how to make people gain the classes I want. And to do that…”

It’s a little line in the middle of conversation as I stroll into the village with Durene by my side. An aside to the [Lords] and [Ladies] who come to me asking how these ‘cookies’ are made, horribly mangling the German names for sweets. I drop it into the conversation when there’s a lull.

“If you have too many hands, consider sending them here. I believe Lord Tourant was complaining about overcrowding? Well, we have no shortage of tasks to be done, and I would consider it a personal favor.”

The [Lords] and [Ladies] blink in surprise, but at once they’re willing to offer me some young folk, send a few families, half a village that doesn’t really contribute to their estate, to make the journey down the very safe roads. I thank them, smiling, and they brighten up, as if giving me free workers and people would take a load off of their shoulders.

“Of course I could spare a few people, your Majesty. Of course they’re free citizens, but between you and me, they’d jump at the prospect of greener pastures. You might have to take them in hand, but I’m sure there are one or two hard workers among the dregs…”

“I would consider it a favor myself, your Majesty! Too many families in one of my villages. As if they can’t limit themselves to two children at most! And they complain about a lack of jobs—well, they can find work in a city if they’re so hungry for coin!”

“You are too kind, Lord Tourant. By all means, let them know there’s work to be had here, Lady Fel.”

I smile and shake hands and when they draw back to descend on another tray of hot cookies, I shake my head. It’s too easy, sometimes. How did that saying go?

‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…’

“What’s that, sire?”

I turn. Gamel is standing behind me, offering me a hot cookie. I nearly laugh, but then I take it and break it in half.

“Oh, nothing, Gamel. Just something I heard once. A lesson, really. A nation needs people to thrive. And talent, raw talent is worth cultivating. Here. Take this.”

I offer him half the cookie. Gamel backs away.

“I couldn’t, your Majesty!”

“I insist. Just don’t let the nobles catch you eating it. They might try to take it from you. Where’s Durene? Does she have one?”

I turn, taking another cookie from the plate as Gamel surreptitiously devours the sweet treat. Durene is hovering around the crowd of grabbing nobles, clearly wanting one. I smile and she turns and beams with delight. She’s never had a treat like this before; sugar is expensive and this is the first time I’ve recreated a food from home. I smile and laugh and make light conversation with the nobility and dance them along on a string. And all the while I wait.

Wiskeria is ready. Beniar is in position. The plan is set.

And it’s nearly time to surprise everyone.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.22 G

He sat in the dark house, waiting. His breathing was slow, deliberate. His heart beat a touch faster than necessary, but that was all. Everything he had put in motion was coming together and his role was almost exclusively that of a watcher. He had only one task to play.

Still, he was angry. Laken spoke into the silence.

“She lied to me.”

“Sire?”

Someone stirred. A young man, Nesor, sat across from him. The young [Mage] was sweaty, pale-faced. He had wanted to stand, but he’d been so nervous that Laken had made him sit. Nesor could not be allowed to faint. That would ruin everything. Laken turned his head, but not to address the young man. His sightless gaze stretched far into the distance, tracking something Nesor couldn’t understand from where he sat.

“She lied to me. I understand why, but…no. There’s nothing I can do about it. The plan won’t change.”

Laken’s words were bitter, cold. There was no room for doubt or hesitation, not now. Part of him was afraid, but the rest remembered hate. So he sat as Nesor shivered. The young [Mage] kept glancing at Laken and then away. Why? He was only younger than Laken by a few years. He should have more backbone. But he would serve.

They were moving. Laken saw it all unfold in his head. Like a movie, or what he’d always imagined it to be. He sighed.

“You fools.”

“Sire?”

“Wait.”

Nesor sat back uneasily. Laken sat, his chin resting on his hand. He waited, sensing it all coming together. Cold. He felt quite cold. Only it wasn’t his skin, it was in his heart. He waited, for bloodshed, for the right moment. Funny. He had never felt this way before, in his world.

He had thought he knew anger, knew what it was like to despise someone. But this was different. For the first time Laken knew what it was like to hate. He knew what it was like to have enemies. His teeth ground together. He uttered one word, restlessly.

“Wait.”

 

—-

 

The tribe had stopped for a break in the trees after a long day of marching when Poisonbite decided to speak to Rags. It wasn’t a spontaneous decision; she’d been contemplating it all day, really. And now, with evening drawing on, there would be little time before it was dark. Rags was a solitary eater and preferred to have her food alone; if there was any time before she slept to talk to her, it would be now.

The fading sunlight played off of metal as Poisonbite walked out of her all-female unit of Goblin warriors. She made her way across the busy camp, grunting as some Goblins waved at her or made suggestive motions for her to eat with them. Some wanted her company, others were more interested in her. A Redfang warrior looked hopeful until Poisonbite passed right by him without so much as a second glance. His companions hooted and laughed at him.

Redfang. To Poisonbite, they were a separate entity, even within Rags’ tribe. They didn’t precisely bother her, but she was always conscious of the difference between their elite group and her warriors. Poisonbite’s raiders had been good within Tremborag’s mountain, but the Redfangs were the best around without a doubt. That irked her, because she regarded Garen’s former tribe as a male fighting force, while hers was made of female Goblins and Hobs.

True, the Redfang elites took in any Goblin regardless of gender if they could fight. But their Chieftain, Garen, had placed his trust in male Goblins more than female ones and his thinking had influenced his tribe. Less than a quarter of all Redfang warriors were female and none of them were leaders. That annoyed Poisonbite, not least because Redscar hadn’t changed anything after he’d replaced Garen.

He was a fantastic warrior, she had to admit. Better than her. And he listened to her and respected her opinion when she gave it, which was good. But she wished fiercely that her raiders would one day be the equal of the Redfangs.

Someday. Poisonbite ignored the other Goblins, male and female, vying for her attention. Friendship aside, sex was not on her mind. Have too much of it and you’d stop being a warrior and instead be a mother. Everyone knew that. And Poisonbite couldn’t stand the idea of not fighting. There was too much to do! Especially now.

It was growing dark and the Goblins of the Flooded Water tribe were gathered around campfires. They could see well in the dark, but even they hated pitch-blackness. Poisonbite smelled cooking and quickened her pace.

She had something on her arm. Both arms, actually. It was a new addition to her armor. She looked down at the bracers on her arm. They were made of bark, of all things. Bark, padded old cloth, and bits of leather. She kept feeling at it, patting the bracer, touching the rough bark and the crude straps the [Hammerer] had made for her.

It was a strange thing. Poisonbite had received it a few hours after she’d woken up. It was one of the first pieces of scrap armor to be made in the tribe and it had been made for her. It was the how it had been made that had mystified her.

[Hammerers] were crude Goblin-versions of [Blacksmiths] who could repair dents and resize some armor, but they couldn’t make new armor this quickly or this well. And yet, all of the Goblin armorers in the tribe had been seized by creative genius upon waking and begun turning out crude armor made from scraps of metal, thick pieces of bark, leather, twine, and anything else they’d found. A good deal of the tribe was receiving new scrap armor to complement their existing armor.

The reason for this sudden boon wasn’t hard to figure out. It was Rags. It had to be. Word had quickly spread that she’d earned another Skill that affected her entire tribe: [Scavenger Armor].

It was no secret. Poisonbite understood keeping some Skills secret, especially in Tremborag’s tribe where infighting was how Goblins lived. But in a regular Goblin tribe? A Chieftain’s Skills were vitally important so every Goblin usually kept track of what their Chieftain’s level and best Skills were.

This was a good Skill. No one was denying that. But it was Rags’ reaction that prompted Poisonbite to approach her fire. Rags was sitting and staring moodily at the flames. Her eyes were shadowed. She’d been quiet and grumpy all day, on a day when her mood should have been happy. No one had asked her why. So Poisonbite took a risk and sidled over to the fire.

“Chieftain?”

Rags looked up. She seized up Poisonbite’s wary stance, her new bracers, and her expression in one glance and understood what the other Goblin wanted. She nodded grudgingly and Poisonbite took a seat.

“Armor. Good?”

Rags eyed Poisonbite’s new bracers. The Goblin [Warrior] chewed her lip and shrugged. She replied as any good war leader would, giving Rags her unbiased opinion.

“Is good. Armor is not like metal but…”

She tapped her chest, shifting her outer layer of clothes to reveal a flash of steel. Rags nodded. Poisonbite indicated one of her prized possessions, the chainmail she wore at all times, proof of her rank. It had saved her life eight times already and had only three holes, one under the armpit, a small tear along the lower back, and a series of torn links near her neck where it had saved her from a farmer’s woodcutting axe.

What she meant was that her new bracers were good, but hardly strong as real worked metal. They wouldn’t stop a powerful blow and they’d break quickly. It was cheap armor, but better than nothing, which was good. For a Goblin, free armor was an amazing gift. It would save lives in the long run, make the tribe that much stronger.

And yet, Rags’ expression remained dour. The smaller Goblin shuffled her feet, irritably swatting at a bug that was biting her arm. Poisonbite heard her mutter a Human curse and decided to ask.

“What?”

She pointed at Rags’ eyes. Goblins had no whites of their eyes like Humans, and their crimson eyes were naturally red, but it was still obvious that Rags had slept poorly. The Chieftain muttered to herself, not wanting to answer, but then she gave in.

“Nightmare.”

Poisonbite shrugged. Oh. That was it? She was almost a bit disappointed. She considered the fire for a moment and asked out of curiosity.

“What?”

This time there was a longer pause.

“Dead Humans.”

Rags stared into the fire. Poisonbite paused in surprise. Then she laughed.

“Dead Humans?”

She laughed and slapped her legs, but Rags’ response was a silent glare. Poisonbite quieted down, realizing she was serious. The older Goblin’s forehead wrinkled.

“Why?”

Nightmares she could understand, but all of her terrors had living things in them. Humans with burning torches, monsters snuffling around her as she hid—but dead Humans? If it was the undead she would understand, but Goblins were specific. Dead Humans. Why would that of all things make Rags unhappy?

Then something hit Poisonbite like a bolt of Noears’ lightning. She sat up and eyed the young Goblin. Was Rags interested in…? She looked around and found the Human in a moment. Even with thousands of Goblins around him, she could pick Sir Kerrig out by the way Goblins moved around him. Some cautiously, others curious. He didn’t belong and the tribe eddied around him. Poisonbite pointed.

“Him? Want?”

“No!”

Rags’ immediate denial made Poisonbite sigh in relief. That would have complicated things greatly. Rags chewed her lip, glaring at Poisonbite, who shrank a bit, realizing she might be prying too far. But Rags only muttered to herself again and then spoke.

“Killed many Humans.”

Poisonbite scratched a bug bite on the back of her left ear.

“So? Killing Frostfeeder Tribe.”

The Humans had been running down the Goblins, slaughtering them. Over half the tribe had died and the remainder were now part of Rags’ tribe. They’d babbled about Humans hunting them mercilessly over the last week, finding all their hiding spots. They’d been exhausted, worn down—the appearance of the Flooded Water tribe had been nothing short of a miracle for them. Poisonbite considered that any Humans hunting Goblins should die painfully, perhaps from a thrust from one of her poisoned daggers. But Rags thought differently.

“Humans will think dangerous.”

“So? Run or kill. Or hide.”

Poisonbite’s dismissive tone made Rags look up. She growled and Poisonbite swallowed hard.

“We are not Humans. We can be better.”

“How?”

The question went unanswered. Rags just stared moodily into the fire. After a while, Poisonbite got up and edged away from the fire. She was done. Food was coming and she had no desire to provoke her moody Chieftain any further. Rags was strange. Smart, but strange. She walked back, intending to get food with her warriors, but then she saw a ripple pass through the tribe.

Goblins sprang to their feet. Some grabbed weapons, and others rushed to put on armor. No one had blown a horn, but they’d spotted other Goblins doing the same. And those Goblins had spotted other Goblins, and so Poisonbite knew something was wrong. Her pulse became electric though she didn’t know why until a few seconds later.

“Chieftain!”

She turned and called the instant she saw a Redfang warrior riding his Carn Wolf through the camp. Rags looked up—she hadn’t noticed the reaction of her tribe—and immediately sprang to her feet. She ran towards the Redfang warrior as more Goblin officers ran over, having already sensed the change in the atmosphere.

“What?”

Chieftain. Humans riding north. On road. Four.

The Redfang scout spoke in quick Goblin, gesturing south. Poisonbite frowned. He’d spotted Humans heading up the road? Who cared? Rags’ official policy wasn’t to waylay travelers unless they were carrying something really important, and the way the Redfang warrior had dashed into camp had suggested an attack! She opened her mouth to curse at the warrior, but Rags held up a hand.

“Why matter?”

She glared at the Redfang warrior, but he didn’t shrink as his Carn Wolf huffed and sniffed the ground. Poisonbite stayed well clear of the massive wolf; she didn’t trust the gigantic Carn Wolves. Rags just pushed the giant muzzle out of her face as the wolf sniffed her. The Redfang warrior pulled his wolf back a pace as he struggled for words.

There was no Goblin word for what he wanted. So he spoke a Human one instead, one laden with as much feeling as he could convey. He pointed.

Her.

The Goblins around Rags went still. Rags stared up at the Redfang warrior, frowning. Poisonbite froze. There was only a limited number of ‘hers’ it could be. And the first that sprang to mind was—

She stood on a distant hilltop, fanning herself lightly as the armored pink [Knights] advanced. They cut down the charging Goblins, not slowed by the jabbing pikes or blades that bounced uselessly off their armor.

Poisonbite saw a Hob go down, a sword buried in her chest and slashed at the [Knight] in front of her. Her daggers didn’t scratch his armor and she saw the [Lady] turn and point as more of her warriors strode down the hill, killing, as Goblins screamed and died—

“Lady Bethal Walchaís.”

Someone muttered. Poisonbite turned and saw Pyrite. He’d been speaking with the Human, Sir Kerrig. One of the pink knights. He looked at Rags. She had frozen. All the Goblins were tense. Rags looked back at the Redfang warrior.

“Four? Her? Sure?”

He nodded three times, impatiently. There was no way he would have forgotten. How could any Goblin forget so soon? He pointed again.

“Four. Two…[Knights], Chieftain. One her. Other…him.”

The one with the rapier, the one who’d dueled Greydath of Blades. The tension around Rags skyrocketed even higher. Poisonbite reached for her daggers and felt sweat running down her claws. Four? They could beat four, couldn’t they? But was it a good idea? What if there were more? But if it was four—

“More Humans? Any?”

Rags demanded, but the scout just shook his head. No other Humans coming down the road. They were alone. Rags gnawed her lip. She flicked her eyes to Pyrite, to Redscar who was glaring, and then to the Human sitting on his wagon. Sir Kerrig was looking their way although he had no idea what was happening. Poisonbite saw Rags study the [Knight]’s stupid, confused face, and then saw Rags nod. The Chieftain turned and spoke sharply.

“Five—eight pikes. Noears, Poisonbite raiders, eighty Hobs. Six…six crossbows. And all Redfang warriors. Riders surround. Hurry!”

Poisonbite felt her heart leap. They were going to attack! She grinned fiercely and ran as Rags’ words instantly created chaos in the camp. Organized chaos. Units of Goblins raced into formation as the Redfang Warriors took into the trees, silent, racing to encircle the road. Rags whistled and her personal Carn Wolf bounded over, abandoning its meal. Rags climbed up and Pyrite appeared with his enchanted battleaxe. Poisonbite raced back, her best [Warriors] and five of her Hobs in tow. Rags pointed and the Goblins streamed after her as Goblins with the long wooden pikes and Hobs streamed towards her. Rags raised her voice as she rode through them all.

“No attack! Not until I say.”

No attack? Poisonbite stared at Rags’ back then pumped her arms and legs, racing after the small Goblin. What did she intend to do? Lady Bethal was here! It was a chance for vengeance! But—

‘We can be better.’ That was what Rags had said. What did she mean? Did she have a plan? Poisonbite ran, confused, following her Chieftain. What was Rags going to do? Just as importantly, what were the Humans going to do? If they attacked—Poisonbite’s grip tightened on her daggers.

There were only four this time. Let them attack. She could always use new armor.

 

—-

 

“Something’s happening.”

“Sire? Should I—”

Wait. On my command, Nesor. Not a moment before. Wait—wait—”
—-

 

“Movement in the trees!”

Lady Bethal Walchaís was dozing slightly, riding through the forest and waiting until Sir Thomast decided they should make camp when the voice of one of her Rose Knights split the silence. Her head jerked up and she saw the [Knight] ahead of her, Sir Nil Moxae, unsheathe his blade. His companion, Dame Truvia Cartiil, turned, raising her spear as her mount started. Bethal looked around.

“Movement? From what?”

“I will ride ahead. Dame Truvia, with me?”

“Let’s ride!”

The two [Knights] galloped forwards, abandoning their mistress for a moment. Lady Bethal wasn’t afraid though—the man riding next to her was all the protection she needed. Usually. Thomast’s rapier was already drawn and she could see he was preparing to leap from his saddle if need be. He fought better on foot.

“Do you think it’s an ambush? Were we followed?”

“Impossible to say.”

Her husband turned his mount warily, keeping his eyes on the trees. Bethal couldn’t see anything in the growing darkness, but the enchanted lanterns she and her company carried could only reach so far into the trees. She heard a howl suddenly and jumped; her mare flicked its ears skittishly, but it was too well-trained to rear or bolt.

“Wolves?”

“Perhaps.”

Sir Thomast looked left and right. He frowned and turned.

“Keep your aura up.”

“Of course.”

Lady Bethal had activated her Skill the moment Sir Nil had spoken. The air around her felt barbed and while her mare was safe, anyone touching her against her will would cut themselves on something as sharp as steel. Still, Lady Bethal drew closer to Thomast, looking around uneasily.

Goblins!

A cry came from ahead of the two, startling Bethal. She saw both of her Rose Knights riding back, furiously spurring their mounts faster. Dame Truvia pointed into the trees as another howl echoed—this time from their rear.

“Goblins, milady! A score of them in the woods, all riding Carn Wolves!”

“Carn Wolves? But those are—”

“The same Goblins we faced a week ago! They must have driven south! We had no word of them—”

“There are more approaching on foot! We’re surrounded. Sir Thomast, your orders?”

Both [Knights] looked to Thomast rather than Bethal. The [Chevalier] looked around.

“They’re already to our rear?”

“A score of them, sir. The ones on foot are coming from ahead and to the right.”

“We ride back. Bethal, follow me!”

Sir Thomast turned his mount and Bethal did likewise. She kicked her mare in the flanks and the horse shot forwards. Sir Nil and Dame Truvia raced ahead, but they got no further than a hundred yards when they cried out.

“Pull back!”

Lady Bethal jerked her reins and her horse screamed and nearly reared. Sir Thomast stopped his mount and Sir Nil shouted.

‘There are two dozen mounted Goblins ahead of us! More circling!”

“We’re surrounded.”

Lady Bethal looked around. The trees were full of movement now. Sir Thomast glanced at her. Sir Nil turned, his sword and shield raised.

“We can cut through. If Sir Thomast can ward Lady Bethal—”

“Lady Walchaís’ mount isn’t armored. She’ll be dehorsed before we cut through!”

Sir Nil bit back an oath, looking back at Bethal. It was true; neither she nor Sir Thomast was riding a warhorse and neither mount had any barding. He looked around desperately.

“Lady Bethal, let us draw them off. We’ll ride left and attack them from the side. Perhaps then—”

“Don’t be foolish, Sir Nil. They’ve already marked all of us. Goblins won’t abandon one target for another. We break through together or not at all.”

Lady Bethal cut him off calmly. She looked around. Sir Thomast was studying the moving forest around them. She turned to him.

“We were so busy trying to throw off anyone that might pursue us that we forgot to worry about them. The Goblins, I mean. It’s such a silly error, isn’t it, Thomast?”

He didn’t immediately reply. Lady Bethal turned around in her saddle. Her horse was nervous now; it could sense the approaching Goblins. Bethal tried to sound jovial, though her heart was racing. Goblins­—

“I wonder, was that why Emperor Laken was so concerned about which way we were going? Did he know, I wonder? We shouldn’t have lied to him. But I thought—”

“Bethal.”

Thomast’s voice made her grow quiet. He looked around and she realized the howling had stopped. Lady Truvia shifted.

“Sir Thomast, if we’re to break out—”

“We were already encircled. We defend my wife. Prepare to dismount and fight among the trees if need be.”

“Yes sir.”

“The Goblins will pursue us unless we make it clear it isn’t worth the effort. I will aim for their Chieftain; you shield her from all attacks.”

“Thomast—”

He turned, his rapier shining in the darkness. Thomast’s eyes were filled with worry. He reached out and gripped her arm. It was so unlike him that Bethal nearly gasped. A sign of the true danger. He looked at her.

“Stay with me.”

“Always.”

There was no time for anything more. Bethal saw the first Goblin riding a Carn Wolf bound out of the trees. Sir Nil turned to face him, uttering a challenge. More mounted Goblins appeared out of the darkness, more and more. From the front, from behind—all sides. Goblins carrying terribly long pikes, more aiming crossbows directly at the four Humans. Hobs, dozens upon dozens of Hobs, striding along.

And then Bethal saw her. A small Goblin, barely larger than a child, riding a large wolf and carrying a black crossbow. She aimed it directly at Bethal’s heart as Sir Thomast and the two [Knights] surrounded Bethal on all sides. Bethal felt her breath catch. Was this how she died at last? Goblins killed her family. Her father, her mother, her sisters—had they finally caught up to her?

She was afraid—

 

—-

 

“Now!”

“Sire?”

“Cast the spell, Nesor! Tell her to do it now.

 

—-

 

Rags was afraid. She felt her heart pounding. Her sweaty grip on the black crossbow was bad; she adjusted her grip so the recoil wouldn’t send the crossbow spinning from her hands. She aimed at the woman in front of her and felt it in the air.

Danger. It screamed at her. The man with the rapier was staring at her. The two [Knights] flanked their lady. The Goblins holding crossbows aimed at the four. Hobs stood in the darkness as Carn Wolves growled. There were over two hundred Goblins surrounding the four, but Rags still felt alone.

It was her. Lady Bethal. The one who’d led her army of knights against her tribe. Rags could still remember the battle. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Kill her. The rush of blood in her veins made every moment feel like years. She could feel Redscar on her left, his sword drawn. Pyrite stood on her right, the battleaxe burning.

“So. Sir Kerrig and Welca perished. I hoped they managed to escape. Alas, I underestimated your kind.”

Lady Bethal spoke first. Her lips were pale and she shook, but her finger alone was steady as it pointed at the sword Redscar held. She shifted her finger and Pyrite grunted. Lady Bethal turned her head, keeping her chin high.

“It was truly a shame. I thought the Goblin Lord was the true threat. I thought a tribe could be left alone, no matter how cunning their Chieftain. Ah, but this is fitting.”

She looked at Rags, right at her. Rags felt a shock and her finger twitched. The man standing next to her raised his rapier. He could strike her from this far, cut the air. The Goblins around Rags tensed. If they fired, the [Lady] died. The [Knights] would not. Neither would the [Chevalier]. Rags exhaled slowly. She raised a hand and the Goblins relaxed a fraction.

Lady Bethal had gone still. Now she looked at Rags.

“Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation? You have it!”

Her voice trembled a bit as she snapped. She was afraid. She was afraid of them. Rags saw it in her. The young Goblin fought as her head told her to fire. Vengeance. But her memory showed her the Humans she’d butchered yesterday. And her heart showed her a face.

Erin stared at Rags, her face pale, her hands gripping the reins of her petrified mare. There was nothing similar about Bethal and Erin. Not in face or body. But that look. That look in her eyes. Rags felt her finger squeeze the trigger. Then relax. Slowly, painfully, she lowered the crossbow.

“No fight.”

She said it once, and then louder.

“No fight!”

The Goblins around her started. They looked at her and then at each other, but slowly the crossbows lowered and pointed at the ground. The Humans stared. Lady Bethal stared as Rags urged her wolf forwards a pace. Rags met the [Lady]’s eyes.

“You killed Goblins.”

Bethal blinked at her. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Rags repeated herself again, urgently.

“You killed Goblins. You. But we—not kill you. You are…prisoner. Like other two.”

“What?”

A scoffing, angry sound came from the male [Knight]. But Bethal held up a hand. She stared at Rags.

“Other two? Do you mean Sir Kerrig and Lady Welca? Are they alive?”

“Yes. They prisoner. You. Prisoner.”

Rags didn’t know why she was saying it. But the image of shooting Lady Bethal through the chest, the thought of pulling the trigger—was hard. She hadn’t attacked this time. She’d been riding. She’d killed Goblins, but Rags had killed Humans. Somehow, it made a difference. Rags pointed.

“Drop weapons.”

“Never.”

The [Knights] behind Lady Bethal bristled. Rags scowled.

“Drop. Or shoot.”

“We will cut down every Goblin here should Lady Walchaís fall!”

One of the [Knights] promised darkly, raising her spear. The Goblins tensed. Lady Bethal frowned.

“Lower your spear, Truvia.”

“Lady Bethal! Surrendering would be a death sentence—”

“I know. Let us go, little Goblin Chieftain. We will not surrender. Let us go.”

Bethal urged her mount forwards a step. The man beside her reached out and she held up a hand.

“Thomast.”

He subsided. Rags stared as Bethal approached. Her gaze bored into Rags’ head. There was a pressure about her. A prickling sensation, as if the air around her were the spines of an animal. But more—she felt vast.

“If my people are alive, I will ransom them. And I will ransom myself and my company.”

“Ransom?”

The word was known, but unknown to Rags. Bethal nodded.

“Pay. It need not come to death, Goblin Chieftain. I will give you a fair price for our safe passage and my people’s return, my honor on it. Will you accept that?”

She pushed and Rags felt the urge to agree. But she bit her tongue, gritted her teeth.

“No. Surrender.”

She raised the crossbow and aimed at Bethal. The [Lady] didn’t flinch, though the two [Knights] and her husband tensed. She stared at Rags curiously.

“So small. So fierce! Are you really a Chieftain?”

The question made the Goblins around Rags shudder with anger. What an insult! Bethal looked around, bemused.

“Are you truly the same kind of Goblins as the ones I know?”

The question went unanswered. Now everyone was staring at Lady Bethal. She looked back at Rags.

“I saw the Goblin King. I met one of his Lords. You are different. Prisoners? Do Goblins do such things? Velan the Kind knew no such mercy.”

Velan the Kind. Rags shuddered. She had to take her finger away from the trigger again or risk pulling it. She looked at Bethal. The woman’s gaze wasn’t hostile. She searched Rags’ gaze.

“Peace, little Goblin. Why do you want us as prisoners?”

“Punish. Hostage!”

Rags growled. Bethal nodded.

“Safety. I understand. But know that my people will not rest until I am returned. I killed your people. I will pay the cost of their lives. In magic and gold.”

“Not enough!”

Her voice was too high-pitched. The Goblins shifted. Bethal didn’t blink.

“It is all I can offer. Please, Chieftain of Goblins. If my [Knights] are truly alive, show me. Offer me goodwill and I will return it.”

“They live.”

“Show me. Let me see them. And I will offer you peace. A boon. Protection from other Humans. Safe passage. Whatever you wish.”

Her words were soft, tempting. Desperate. Rags saw that in her as well. Bethal spoke quietly as Rags fought.

“There is nothing to be gained from killing me. The cost would be too high. But if there is a chance—are they truly alive?”

The crossbow was heavy. Rags lowered it slightly.

“Yes.”

“Are they close? Unharmed?”

“Man is. Female ran. She—”

Rags heard a horn blare in the silence. She jerked. The Goblins around her raised their weapons. The mare danced and Lady Bethal turned as the [Knights] and her husband moved forwards. She looked north, back the way Rags and the Goblins had come.

“What was that?”

Rags didn’t know. She heard the horn blow again, frantically. Three short blasts. A distress call! She looked at Bethal, suddenly afraid.

“What you do?”

“Nothing.”

The woman looked taken aback. Rags lifted the crossbow and saw the man’s grip on the rapier shift. Pyrite lifted his axe. Bethal held up a hand.

“I swear it! On my house and name!”

Rags held her gaze. She turned. Redscar was looking back. The horn blew again, and another one blew, desperately. Rags looked at him. Redscar snarled.

“Chieftain. Trouble.”

They had to go. Rags hesitated. She looked back at Lady Bethal. The woman was watching her. Rags pointed.

“Redfangs! Move!”

The wolf riders dashed into the forest, howling. The Goblins on foot shifted. Rags leaned out of her saddle and snapped an order.

“All go back! Fifteen Hob and half crossbows stay!”

The warriors rushed backwards, leaving only a handful of Hobs and a lot of Goblins with crossbows. They kept their weapons trained on Lady Bethal. Rags turned—Pyrite grunted and pointed. She nodded. He ran. She turned to one of the Hobs in charge and lowered her voice.

“Aim at her. If attacked, run.”

The Hob nodded, glancing at the frozen Humans. Rags sat back upright and snapped at her personal escort.

Ride!

She kicked her wolf and it leapt into the forest, following the Goblins running around her. Rags turned her head back and saw Lady Bethal staring at her. For a moment their gazes locked, and then Rags was racing ahead, running. The camp was only a short distance away. What had happened? What—

She burst through the trees and saw shadows flickering through the trees. No light. Just shadows. Flickers of light caught her attention—burning embers from scattered campfires, fallen torches—but no light. She heard Goblins screaming, heard the pounding of hoofbeats—

Hooves? Goblins rode wolves! She turned and saw a Goblin scream as a shadow passed by. A dark shape slashed and Rags saw a sword flash. The Human rode past her, trampling a Goblin. Not one Human. Many Humans! They rode, shouting and cutting down Goblins around her, too fast to track in the near darkness. She heard them screaming.

Laken! Laken and the Unseen Empire!

Riverfarm!

Follow the Captain! This way!

She saw a rider in full steel armor whirl and turn. He cut a Hob across the face as the Goblin ran at him and the riders following him speared the Hob. The armored rider pointed and the Humans on horseback charged forwards again, running over Goblins and Hobs alike.

But that was wrong! Rags gaped. Where were her warriors? They should be in formation, fighting! There couldn’t be more than a few hundred riders here at most! Where was—

“[Light]!”

Rags called a ball of searing white light into being and threw it up. The shimmering orb flew up through the trees and cast the shadows into relief. Rags looked around and saw what she’d failed to see before. There was something in the trees, drifting past her.

Fog? Mists? No. Smoke. It was dark black and green and drifted at head-height through the trees. It was thick and Rags saw it was cutting off over half the camp. The riders streamed away from it, cutting down the Goblins in the clear space. But in the smoke? Where were the others?

Rags saw a group of Goblins stagger out of the smoke. She urged her mount forwards, shouting at them. They were armed! Warriors! She raced towards them and saw them staggering. Falling? Rags stared as, one by one, the band of Goblins collapsed. Half fell, coughing, grasping at their throats. The others weakly tried to raise their weapons, covering their eyes.

Their eyes? Rags saw something leaking from a Goblin’s eyes. He screamed, a rasping, choking cry. He looked to her—and an arrow sprouted from his chest. Rags jerked. She heard a whistling sound and beneath her, her Carn Wolf howled. An arrow had pierced his side! He jerked and Rags heard more arrows thud into the ground. She looked in the direction of the archers, but saw nothing.

They were under attack! Archers, poisonous smoke—and the cavalry. Rags couldn’t see the Redscar warriors, but she could hear howls, spread out in the darkness. How were the Humans seeing? She looked for her warriors, her organized units and saw nothing.

Rally!

Rags screamed the word. She raised her hand and shot another ball of light into the air. Her Carn Wolf howled and she saw more Goblins moving towards her. Some were in the poisonous fog. They stumbled out, blind, coughing. And Rags saw the mounted Humans turn.

Rally! Form line!

She shouted at them, reaching for her sword. The Goblins ran towards her, many falling, and Rags saw something flicker overhead.

Arrows. One flashed by her chest. She jerked and felt something strike her mount in the head. It fell and Rags cried out as her Carn Wolf crashed to the ground. She rolled away and saw the light above her head go out. Someone had ended her spell.

Thunk. Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk—

Goblin screams. Rags struggled up, looking around wildly. She didn’t see the Goblins. She heard more arrows landing and ran, desperately. Something was ahead. Rags saw the air darken and jerked backwards. The poison! It was drifting across her camp. Had the Humans put it there? Where was Pyrite? Where was—

“Chieftain!”

A voice amid the screaming. Rags turned and saw a Hob running towards her. He had a spear and his eyes were wide. He couldn’t find anyone in the darkness. She gasped to see him.

“Come! Must get light!”

She ran towards him. The Goblin opened his mouth and then turned. He snarled; Rags saw a shape amid the trees. She heard a shout and saw a black rider flash past her. He cut and the Hob in front of her fell, gasping, clutching at the axe stuck in his chest.

“No.”

Rags ran towards him. The Hob grabbed at the axe as the Human on the horse cursed and rode on. He grabbed the axe as Rags stopped. She fumbled at her belt. Healing potion. She had to have—

“Chieftain?”

The Hob’s lungs were filling with blood. He pulled the axe free before she could stop him. She heard a wet, tearing sound, and then silence. She lifted the potion and saw the limp body on the ground.

“Wait.”

She reached for him, but there was nothing there anymore. Rags slowly corked the healing potion and stood back up. She looked around. She could hear more shouting, see more riders moving through the darkness. Arrows were landing. The poison was moving.

“Rally! Rally here!”

Rags screamed the words, searching for Goblins in the darkness. But there was no one around her. It was as if the Humans had brought madness with them. Rags saw Goblins fleeing into the poisonous smoke, running from riding Humans, shooting back wildly at the archers they couldn’t see. It was chaos. She was alone.

Alone. Rags shouted but no one could hear. The poison mist was drifting through the camp, covering staggering Goblins trying to run. Arrows flew around her, cutting down the Goblins emerging from the poison. And in between the poisonous fog were the riders, galloping, scything down her people. Turning, wheeling.

Humans. They were killing her tribe. Where had they come from? They weren’t Bethal’s people. Rags felt—shocked. Something beyond shock then reached her core. Her head rang. She stumbled, looking for her people.

A poison cloud at her back, the riders ahead. Only the dead around her. Rags raised her head and saw them at last. A flicker of light. A group of Humans far away, aiming their bows. And a cauldron—many bubbling pots and Humans fanning the smoke, blowing it their way. They loosed another volley and Rags heard the Goblins scream. Then the black riders raced past her, cutting down a group of Goblins that tried to form a pike formation with a third of their number.

Oh.

They’d ambushed them. Just like they’d done. Somehow, the Humans had known they were there. Rags nodded. That made sense. She looked around. It was the same. They’d come for her tribe, come for her. She hadn’t expected it. But that was what was happening. They had come and were killing everyone.

Rags felt—pain. Pain, and hurt. But nothing else. She looked inside her heart for anger. She looked for rage, reached for it and found nothing. Because, in her soul, in her inner self, nothing in Rags was surprised. She looked around at the blood. At the silent bodies.

Look at them. All of them. The small ones curled up to the adults. By poison, by blade, by arrow. It was all the same.

This was how things were. Again and again, for years and centuries. Forever. This was what they did. Rags slowly reached for the crossbow she’d tied to her back. Slowly, awkwardly, she drew it and looked around.

The riders streamed past, shouting. Rags raised the crossbow and aimed. She pulled the trigger and felt it kick against her arm. One of the dark shadows fell and a horse reared. Rags mechanically felt at the quiver at her side. The horses rode past her, turning, cutting.

Place the bolt. Cock the crossbow. Rags lifted it and turned. Again she pulled the trigger. Another shape fell.

They were turning. One pointed his sword and Rags knew there was no time. She raised her hand and fire flew. It struck a horse and Rags saw the rider flailing as the animal screamed.

This was how it happened. Every time. She saw the Humans charging, heard the cry. She held her ground. Her finger shifted, another rider fell, burning.

A Human in armor was leading them. He rode towards her, his face obscured by a dark steel helmet. Rags pointed at him and the flaming arrow struck his chest. Too weak; he rode through it. He had a sword in his hand. Rags reached for hers.

Sword. Buckler—she fumbled and dropped it. The rider lowered in his saddle. She thought she could see his face through the helmet. She heard a word as he leaned down. She swung and heard the rushing air, felt her blade bite into the horse. And then she heard his voice as he cut her chest.

“So small.”

It was a whisper, lost among the screaming. For a moment, a frozen moment, Rags looked up and saw his eyes. And then the blade cut into her chest. Rags twisted with the impact, her grip loosening on her sword. The horse screamed as her blade was ripped from her hand. She blinked and looked at the blood streaming from her chest. The rider wrenched his sword and the world blurred. Rags stumbled and she saw him kick his stallion. He raced past her. She heard Goblins scream around her as she sank to her knees.

“Oh.”

Rags clutched at her chest. Blood dripped between her claws. She wavered and felt her knees give. She lay down, staring at the sky.

Her chest was wet. She felt tired. Cold. There was nothing in her heart. No fury. Not enough hate to make her reach for the potion at her belt. She should never have expected anything more.

The Humans rode past her, whooping, shouting war cries, cutting down the Goblins that fled. Ignoring her. Another body on the ground. Rags wanted to tell them to stop. She hadn’t started it. She hadn’t killed the lady. She’d tried—

But they’d killed the Human army. The ones chasing Goblins. And these Humans knew. Or did they care? They were cutting down children and Goblins with no weapons, laughing, screaming. The poison cloud drifted over Rags’ head and she felt her lungs burning.

This was what they did. Rags closed her eyes and coughed once. She thought—

 

—-

 

Chieftain!

Pyrite turned and shouted for Rags. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. The darkness was nearly perfect in the forest. All of the campfires were scattered. The torches had been knocked over and the Humans were riding through the forest, cutting Goblins down!

How could they see? How could they know where each Goblin was? Could they see in the dark? The Hob saw a flash and saw an arrow land close to his foot. He shouted.

“Shields!”

The Goblins around him instantly raised their shields. He heard thudding impacts and then a scream. A Goblin fell in front of him. He looked around wildly.

“Where?”

There was no vision! No order! Black and green smoke was obscuring half the forest. Pyrite had sent a scout into it and the Goblin had begun choking halfway in. Poison of some kind. The riders were dominating the other half—they were bearing down on any group of Goblins. There were only a few hundred of them, but they’d scattered the Goblin’s formations. Pyrite had arrived with a group of pikes, crossbows, and Hobs to find nothing at all.

“Where are Redfang? Where is Rags? Where are warriors?

He shouted desperately. The Goblins around him looked around wildly. Nothing. There was howling from Carn Wolves, but it sounded like it was coming from inside the black smoke. On the other side? Pyrite looked around. Arrows, riders—what was the priority?

He heard a howl from his left and saw a Redfang warrior on a Carn Wolf charging. Alone. He had a bloody blade and was headed towards a cluster of shadows—

No wait. Those were Humans! Pyrite’s vision picked out a dark group with bows and a few flickering fires. A group of Humans, archers! They shot the charging Redfang warrior and his mount dead as Pyrite watched. They had set up in front of three black cauldrons belching smoke.

Cauldrons. Pyrite’s eyes widened. He pointed at the burning vats and shouted.

“Poison! Follow!”

The Goblins around him charged after Pyrite as he ran through the forest. The Humans with bows noticed him running and called an alarm.

“Hob charging! Loose!

Pyrite heard the bows sing and raised his arm, covering his face. He felt something strike him in the chest and roared as the burning pain filled his shoulder. But the arrow had lodged in his fat; another struck him in the belly, another in the arm. Missed his head. Pyrite lowered his hand and saw the Humans in front of him. To the side were the pots. Pyrite lifted his battleaxe and roared. He swung and the Human [Archer] fumbling with her shortsword disappeared. Pyrite felt the impact as his battleaxe sheared through her and roared.

“Back! Back!”

The Humans screamed as Goblins charged past Pyrite. They rammed into them with pikes, impaling the Humans as Pyrite swung again. The [Archers] fled, shouting in panic.

“Fall back to the horses! Retreat!”

“Follow!”

Pyrite bellowed at the Goblins. He saw a Hob kick over a pot and swung at the other two, knocking the cauldrons to the ground and spilling whatever was inside. Smoke shot up as the flames were doused; Pyrite coughed and felt his eyes and throat begin to burn. He staggered away and coughed before shouting an order.

Bad smoke!

The Goblins heard him and avoided the poisonous fumes. They chased the Humans, cutting down half as they scrambled onto their horses tethered nearby. The Humans fled and Pyrite called them back.

“More archers! More pots! Find!”

There had to be. He roared at the Hob who’d kicked over the pots and he and six other Hobs led another group of Goblins back through the forest. Pyrite ran ahead, snapping the shafts of the arrows, bellowing.

“Light! Light!

They needed to see! A Goblin grabbed a piece of wood and tried to stoke the fire the cauldrons had been burning on. He lifted a torch and Pyrite, remembering his axe, swung it into a tree, bellowing.

The tree caught alight as the enchanted axe set it aflame. Goblins rushed forwards with branches and sticks and Pyrite pointed. The riders were still circling the camp.

“Charge!”

The Humans had spotted the Goblin warriors and charged towards them. Pyrite roared and raised his axe. The first Human had a spear. It was leveled at Pyrite’s chest. The Hob charged forwards and then dodged right at the last moment. Into the path of the horse! The startled animal reared, but Pyrite didn’t give it a chance to strike him with its hooves. He swung and felt an impact. The rider and horse fell and Pyrite kicked. The Human took the blow in the chest and fell, gurgling. More riders came at him. Pyrite swung his axe, roaring.

Pikes! Wall!

The Goblins around him remembered their training and set their pikes. The horses ran into the pikes or tried to turn and the riders crashed into the Goblin formation. Hobs and Goblins armed with axes and swords ran between the pikes, and fell on the immobilized riders. Pyrite roared and advanced, his axe cutting down Humans and horses alike.

“Break away! Retreat!”

A panicked voice signaled a second retreat. Pyrite shouted for the Goblins not to pursue. This wasn’t important! They had to find others!

Light!

He roared again, louder. The Goblins snatched up branches. Pyrite saw another group of Humans loosing arrows and ordered another charge. This time the Humans ran before he could close the distance.

“They’re reforming! Get away!”

“General Wiskeria’s ordered the retreat! Move to the rally point!”

“Take down that Hob!”

Someone shouted from the left. Pyrite spun and saw an armored Human bearing down on him with a group of mounted Humans. He swung and the Human cursed, pulling his mount away to avoid Pyrite’s strike. He rode past Pyrite, hacking down a Goblin and Pyrite cut down a Human trying to strike him.

“Captain Beniar! We have—”

A man screamed as Goblins swarmed his saddle. Beniar, the armored Human, turned, but before he could charge again, a snarl made his horse rear. A Carn Wolf leapt out of the darkness, riderless, and Pyrite saw more Redfang warriors stream out of the night. Half were coughing, and their mounts were in similar pain, but they bore down on the riders.

“Pull out! Back to Wiskeria!”

Beniar shouted the order and his horses wheeled. They raced through the forest as the Redfang warriors gave chase. Pyrite saw a shower of arrows flying and two riders fell with their wolves. He shouted.

Stop! Ambush!

The Redfang warriors pulled away as more arrows began cutting them down. The Human [Riders] rode on, shouting, and Pyrite saw the largest group of [Archers] yet. They were shooting down the Goblins that were trying to pursue. Pyrite took a deep breath and bellowed.

Stop!

Every Goblin in earshot turned. They broke off their pursuit and dashed towards him. The Redfang warriors rode over and Pyrite shouted up at one of the leaders.

“Humans with bows! Do not go!”

“Redscar says attack!”

“No! Find Goblins! Find Chieftain! Find Noears and others!”

The Redfang warrior hesitated, and then nodded. He took his riders back, circling the camp, as Pyrite saw the Humans continuing to retreat. He looked around at the Goblins under his command.

“Hobs! Find Chieftain! Find others!”

The Hobs around him nodded and broke up, forming groups out of the smaller Goblins. It wasn’t Rags’ tactics, but traditional Goblin ones. It was all Pyrite could think of; the Humans were running and he had no idea how many Goblins were alive. They needed Rags! Where was she?

Figures emerged from the darkness as Pyrite’s blood cooled a bit and he began to feel the pain from the cuts in his arms and three arrows. He saw lightning crackling, and Noears emerged from the darkness. The Goblin was uninjured, but he was followed by Poisonbite whose eyes were swollen nearly shut. She was wheezing, barely able to breathe.

“Pyrite! Where Chieftain?”

Noears looked around, his hands giving off the smell of burnt air. Pyrite yanked an arrow from his chest with a growl and poured a bit of healing potion on the wound. He shoved the rest at Poisonbite who fumbled for it.

“Don’t know. Search. Need lights!”

“Can light!”

Noears immediately threw a ball of light into the air, illuminating the dark forest. Pyrite nearly hit him—if he could have done that, why didn’t he do it earlier? But the [Mage] clearly hadn’t been thinking of that. And the light attracted more attention.

“Pyrite!”

Redscar rode out of the darkness, his enchanted frost blade covered in blood. He was unharmed, and his Carn Wolf had bloody fangs. He was positively alight with fury. He pointed at Pyrite.

“Where are Humans?”

“Running. That way.”

Pyrite pointed. Redscar snarled.

“Hunt them down! Redfangs!”

He made to ride, but Pyrite caught the wolf and yanked it back.

“No. Find Chieftain!”

The Carn Wolf snarled and tried to bite Pyrite. The Hob punched it. Redscar howled in fury and spat at Pyrite.

“Humans!”

“Find Chieftain!”

Pyrite bellowed at him. Redscar hesitated. Then he turned and raised his war horn and blew two long blasts and two short blasts. After a moment a howl answered him and he turned.

“Smell her! Follow!”

Pyrite ran after him. He ran past Goblin bodies, over one that groaned, past a downed horse, through a burned campfire—so many bodies. He ran through a clearing patch of smoke, eyes burning despite having kept them closed through most of them, and saw Rags.

 

 

She was lying on the ground, her head lying at an angle. Goblins stood around her as Quietstab knelt by her side. He had an empty potion bottle by one side. The ground was covered in blood. Pyrite’s ears rang. He ran forwards, nearly throwing Quietstab aside. He reached for Rags.

“Potion?”

“One. Need more!”

The bottle Quietstab had taken was from Rags’ belt. Pyrite reached for his bottle and realized it was empty. So was Quietstab’s. He turned and roared.

Potion! Now!

Redscar leapt from his wolf’s back and grabbed a bottle. He tossed it to Pyrite and the Hob tore the stopper out. He reached for Rags and carefully lifted her. She was cold.

“Where hurt?”

“Chest. Healed, but—”

Rags wasn’t responding. Pyrite forced her mouth open and poured the healing potion down her throat. Anxiously, he felt at her chest, put his hand over her mouth. Was she…?

He felt the slightest of heartbeats, the faintest of breaths and a cough. She was alive! Barely. Pyrite sat back.

“Alive?”

Redscar looked worried. All of the Goblins were clustering around, their eyes wide. Pyrite hesitated. Rags was still unconscious. She was breathing. That was what mattered. He stood up and forced the Goblins back.

“Give room! Quietstab, guard!”

The Hob nodded. Pyrite looked around. Redscar glanced at Rags and then turned his head.

“Humans attacked.”

“Ambush. Poison and darkness and arrows.”

Pyrite agreed. Redscar snarled. He slashed with his sword, spraying half-frozen droplets of blood.

“We hunt! Redfangs go. Hobs too!”

“No. Chieftain is wounded.”

“Humans are running!”

“Second ambush!”

Pyrite shook his head. He’d seen it. The Humans were pulling back, but they’d been baiting the Goblins into following so they could tear them apart with bows. Redscar snarled.

“Not enough Humans. We go.”

No.

Pyrite grabbed Redscar’s arm. The other Goblin was smaller, far smaller than Pyrite. Redscar froze and looked up at Pyrite.

“Let go.”

His sword raised and Redscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. But Pyrite refused to let go. His grip tightened. Redscar’s arm groaned and the Goblin stared into Pyrite’s eyes. Pyrite rumbled.

Your duty is to tribe. Obey.

“Chieftain cannot give orders.”

“Chieftain is Chieftain! And I am second! Obey!”

Pyrite felt Redscar’s bones under his hand. The Goblin growled and Pyrite growled right back. The two stood together and then Redscar abruptly nodded. Instantly, Pyrite let go and Redscar snatched his hand away. He sheathed his sword angrily.

“What now?”

There was fury burning in his eyes, but he was obeying. For now. Pyrite looked down at Rags. She looked so small, so weak lying there. She had to be alright. She would wake up. He looked around at the wounded Goblins, the destroyed camp and felt a weight on his shoulders.

“Now? Find wounded? Count living. And make ready. Humans will come back. Lots of them.”

The Goblins looked at him. Redscar growled. They all knew it was true. This was only the start. The Humans had found them. And they would be back.

 

—-

 

“G-general Wiskeria says they’re pulling back. For tonight. The Goblins aren’t pursuing any longer. She says there are too many to attack. Unless you think otherwise. Do you want…want me to send her another [Message], Emperor?”

“No, Nesor. Tell her to pull back and treat her wounded. The plan is a success. Tell her congratulations and to prepare for another message within the hour. Understand?”

I sense Nesor’s pale face nod towards me. The [Mage] closes his eyes and his lips begin to move, forming the words he’s sending via [Message] spell. He’s a poor caster so it takes him laborious minutes to send my words to Wiskeria’s [Mage]. And even longer to hear her reply.

“She says that she understands and is holding. Emperor Laken?”

He looks at me, sweat rolling down his head. I can sense his fatigue, smell his body odor. He’s kept me in constant touch with Wiskeria this last hour and the effort has taxed him. I nod and rise.

“That’s enough. Good work, Nesor. Take a break; I’ll handle things from here.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and slumps in his chair. I look around the dark house. This is Wiskeria’s home, unfurnished in large part. It’s quiet. Dark. I don’t need illumination so I haven’t bothered to light a candle despite the late hour. It must be close to pitch-black for Nesor, but I navigate my way to the door with ease.

“Get some rest. Here.”

“Here? But isn’t this—”

“I may need to speak to Wiskeria again. Sleep here, Nesor. Eat if you need to—but be ready for the morning. I need to speak to the others.”

I pause, thinking. Nesor’s worn out.

Verdammt! I need to send those [Message] spells. Nesor, send a brief [Message] to Wiskeria and see if Lady Bevia’s [Mage] can do it. If not—”

“I can do it, Your Majesty. I think…if I have a mana potion.”

Nesor fumbles weakly at his belt. I nod.

“Good. In that case, I’ll rely on you.”

I pause at the door.

“Excellent work, Nesor. Lady Rie will be proud, I’m sure of it.”

I sense a smile light up Nesor’s face.

“T-thank you, your Majesty.”

He slumps back in his chair and drinks half his mana potion. After I leave. I watch him with my [Emperor] senses for a few minutes as I stride through the village, but he seems fine. I had wondered if he’d be up to the challenge, but he came through. And it worked! My heart is beating too fast, and I feel blood thundering through my veins, though I haven’t done anything. All I could do was watch.

But I felt like I was there. I saw Beniar and my Blacksky Riders sweeping through the Goblin camp. I saw Wiskeria’s brew do its work, blinding and suffocating the Goblins while her [Archers] shot Goblins from afar. Damn that Hob and those mounted Goblins. If they hadn’t attacked, we might have—

No, focus. This is enough. I have to make the next part count. I stride towards a familiar person in Riverfarm, wrenching my attention away from the Goblins. I can still sense them, on my lands, regrouping, salvaging their ruined camp. They’re still there, many of them. Thousands. But less now. A good number less.

“Prost?”

The man turns and I sense he’s holding a torch.

“Emperor Laken? Is everything…?”

“Fine. The plan’s worked, Mister Prost. Have you called the others?”

“Yes, your Majesty. They’re all there. Some are complaining, but only to each other.”

“They’ll shut up as soon as I tell them. Come.”

I nod and Prost pushes open the double doors to my meeting hall. The audience chamber is cramped with all the [Lords] and [Ladies] present, but they turn as one and give me room to stride towards my throne. I sense Durene in the crowd, and Lady Rie. Both hurry towards me.

“Laken, what’s going on?”

“Your Majesty? Mister Prost summoned us all here—disturbing several nobles from their beds! May I ask what—”

“Silence, Lady Rie.”

I turn my head and she falls still. I reach out and grab Durene’s hand.

“I’ll explain everything in a moment, Durene. Just wait. Gamel?”

The young man stands by my throne, standing at attention.

“Yes, sire?”

“Announce me.”

“At once.”

I hear Gamel take a deep breath, and then shout, surprising the nobles of Izril.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril! His Majesty, ruler of the Unseen Empire, Protector of Riverfarm and Durene’s Cottage! Emperor Laken Godart!”

I take my seat on the throne and hear a susurration throughout the room. The nobles wince, their ears ringing and stare at me as I sit on my throne. I sense some of them hesitate. I know what they’re thinking. Why are they here? Are they supposed to kneel? Why have I called them? I put their fears and speculations to rest as I raise my voice.

It’s soft after Gamel’s shouting, but I make sure it carries throughout the room. Calm. Loud voice but not too loud. Controlled. I turn my closed eyes from face to face, noting their reactions. They can’t meet my eyes, closed or not.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I bid you welcome. I am sorry for waking you at this late hour, but I have news of grave importance. As you may know, I have sworn to defend the roads and lands around Riverfarm. Yesterday, it came to my attention that another force had entered my domain.”

I hear a murmur and sense the nobles grow apprehensive in front of me. I raise my voice, continuing.

“It is my regret that I must inform you all now that an army of Goblins had entered my domain. A portion of the Goblin Lord’s army is currently camped approximately forty two miles north of here. They number about eight thousand strong.”

What?

I hear gasps, and then a cry of horror from the nobles. A [Lady] swoons and her husband catches her. Shocked voices, a loud exclamation, and then Sir Tourant’s voice.

“Emperor Laken! Your Majesty! Are you certain of this?”

I turn my head towards him.

“Without a shadow of a doubt, Lord Tourant. The Goblin Lord has sent nearly eight thousand Goblins by my count. Two days ago, they entered the furthest reaches of my protected lands, laying waste to a local army from the city of Filc in a pitched battle. They came further south after that, marching directly towards my domain. Towards Riverfarm.”

I hear a groan from my audience, and then a sharp voice.

“I take it that you are not informing us merely so that we might evacuate in time, Emperor Laken? Or else you would have informed us yesterday.”

I nod towards the woman standing in the back.

“Correct, Lady Bevia. I have not been idle upon learning of this threat. I immediately consulted with my [General], Lady Wiskeria, and formed a plan to combat the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“Why were we not informed of this?”

I turn, seeking out Lord Melbore in the crowd.

“To prevent a panic, Lord Melbore. If I were to raise the alarm too early, the Goblins would have been alerted that their presence had been discovered. And thus my army would have failed to ambush the Goblins. As it did not an hour ago.”

That gets them. The nobles are in an uproar. Again, Lady Bevia’s voice cracks through the chaos like a whip.

“Emperor Laken, please do not spare us the details. What has happened?”

I incline my head a fraction as the voices calm, waiting for my response.

“In a word, Lady Bevia? Success. I sent a mobile force of [Riders] and [Archers] to attack the Goblins in their camp. Around six hundred soldiers all told, many levied from nearby cities and towns. They proceeded to strike the Goblins in the heart of the night, killing at least a thousand of their warriors before retreating.”

Again, uproar. Again, I wait for the voices to subside. Lord Tourant is the one to question me this time.

“A force of six hundred slew a thousand Goblins? How? How many casualties were there?”

“Less than a hundred.”

“A hundred? How? Were they all asleep?”

A smile.

“Hardly, Lord Tourant. My force triumphed by virtue of superior tactics. My [General] and [Captain], Lady Wiskeria and Sir Beniar, were able to divide the Goblins under the plan I devised with them.”

This time I don’t elaborate and the intrigued murmur goes on for a second. I can see Lady Rie glancing at me. Perhaps she noticed some of my preparations.

The plan was a simple one. Use poisonous gas to cripple the Goblins and [Blacksky Riders] to  strike at night. With more [Archers] to lend them support, they could easily take down the Goblin army.

The key was really in Wiskeria’s brew. She knew how to make a poisonous smoke—a byproduct of another concoction, really—which would suffocate and burn the eyes and make breathing almost impossible. It would cripple any Goblin who inhaled the smoke. All she needed were enough ingredients and hands to brew the mixtures and fan the smoke into the camp. Hellebore leaves, charcoal, a white, parasitic root that grows around old trees…she had me looking for ingredients for hours, but I found enough for the plan to work.

After that, it was just a matter of coordinating. With Nesor and one of Lady Bevia’s [Mages] I could tell Wiskeria exactly where the Goblins were and when to strike. Lady Bethal’s presence only helped the situation by drawing off a good portion of the Goblins. The rest went like clockwork.

Mostly. The Goblins fought back, but I don’t focus on that. The nobles of Izril are clamoring to know what I’ll do next.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please. I am aware that the Goblin Lord’s army is still a great danger. They have been wounded, but their host is still far vaster than my army can defeat. Alone, that is. I intend to levy every city in the region and cooperate with every Human settlement. As it is, the Goblins are still far north of Riverfarm and I assure you, they will be stopped.”

Dismayed, the nobles begin arguing among themselves.

“A thousand dead? But that would leave seven thousand remaining! Can any city stop that?”

“If we can head down the eastern road—we might outdistance them—”

“You want to travel with Goblins about? Madness!”

“Please!”

I raise a hand.

“I have no intention of keeping you here, but I fear that Riverfarm may be the only safe place. If you wish to take your chances, I will attempt to escort you, but my army will soon march to reinforce General Wiskeria.”

“How do you intend to combat such a large force, Emperor Laken?”

“With cooperation, Lady Bevia. The Human cities nearest to the Goblin Lord’s army have standing garrisons of their own; I intend to coordinate with them to push back the Goblins.”

With my levied army I would be outnumbered. But as Lady Rie pointed out, there are a number of cities who don’t like me to the north. Cities that can either bar up their gates and hide from the Goblin Lord or join me and fight. Either way, the Goblin Lord’s forces will be chipped away.

Ruthless. I lean forwards on my throne.

“As we speak, [Messages] are being sent to every city in the region to communicate what I have told you, ladies and gentlemen. We have defeated the Goblins once before and we shall do so again. And now, I am afraid I must coordinate with the other settlements who no doubt have questions of their own.”

I rise from my throne and hear a babble of voices as the distressed nobles press forwards. I raise my hand and they pause.

“Lady Rie will handle any questions you might have. I would welcome any assistance you might be able to bring to bear on this matter, but I must consult with my [General]. I bid you all good night.”

Before they can object, I stride through them towards the door. I sense Lady Rie being mobbed behind me, and Gamel and Prost screen my exit. In a moment I’m outside and in the chill night air, alone. For a second. Then I hear the doors open, hear a babble of shocked voices, and a voice.

“Laken?”

“Durene.”

I embrace her, feeling her rough skin. Durene hugs me, but I can tell she’s shocked.

“Was all that true, Laken? You didn’t tell me!”

“I’m sorry Durene. I wanted to, truly. But I couldn’t let anyone know what was happening or they might run off. And you’re a terrible actor. Not even Mister Prost knew—until tonight. Only Wiskeria, Beniar, and the soldiers knew.”

“I understand that. But the Goblins! Are there really thousands of them?”

I pause and cast my mind north. They’re already marching. Wiskeria told me the effects of the gas would last for days. Hopefully she can press the advantage. I nod, grimly.

“There are. But we did a lot of damage, Durene. Wiskeria and Beniar will harry them and I’m sending the army north tomorrow at dawn.”

“I’m going with them, of course. Right?”

I hesitate. I want to say no. Because I’m not going. Wiskeria and Beniar both insisted and I had to agree. It makes no sense, not if I can use a [Mage] to tell them exactly what they need to know. I’m a liability in battle for all I can influence the Goblins. But Durene—I squeeze her hands.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do! If there are Goblins and everyone’s fighting, I have to fight. I’m a [Paladin], Laken.”

“I know. I know.”

I take a few deep breaths. I knew that Durene would say that. Which is why I sent Wiskeria and Beniar first. Now the Goblin Lord’s army is wounded. And by the time Durene gets there…

“The main army will march towards the Goblins and meet up with Wiskeria. She’ll wear them down as much as she can until then. I’ll have every city send as many soldiers as I can. Hundreds—I can levy at least a hundred warriors from the smallest towns alone. You’ll outnumber the Goblins—barely, I think. Wiskeria will make sure only to pick battles we can win easily. So don’t get hurt, okay?”

“I won’t!”

Durene sounds fierce as she hugs me. I hug her back, hearing the commotion in the meeting hall get louder. I hear a muffled laugh from her.

“They’re angry. Did you have to tell them like this?”

“Oh yes. Because now they’re stuck here. And all the cities have to deal with the Goblins. Not just us. We’re not going to be alone in this fight, Durene. We’ll win, I promise.”

I hug her tightly, taking warmth from her body heat. I whisper to her as I feel Wiskeria and Beniar setting up camp, sense Humans tending to the wounded, the nobles surrounding Rie in the meeting hall, shouting—

And the Goblins to the north. Marching, moving fast, many still coughing, blinded by the fog. They leave behind their dead, not bothering to bury them. Dead Goblins. I count them. Small ones, big ones, it makes no difference. They’ll all die. I won’t let them touch Riverfarm.

Not again. Not ever again. I’ll slaughter them all with traps and poison, whatever I have to use. I’ll crush them.

I swear it.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.23 G

Lady Bethal stared at the Goblins as the night tore itself to pieces. Screams and drumming horse beats broke the silence in the distance. War horns blew, shattering the calm, making her heart pound every time one blared. But she didn’t move. She held her position on her horse, soothing it. Her poor mare was terrified and exhausted in equal parts and she might have bolted if Bethal weren’t holding her in place. Lady Bethal stroked her side reassuringly and looked up.

At crimson eyes. The Goblins watched her every move, the tips of their crossbow bolts aimed unerringly at her. There had to be at least a hundred and twenty, formed into groups of thirty, all of them standing or kneeling in ranks ten Goblins deep. They surrounded her from three sides so that if they fired they wouldn’t hit each other.

Two [Knights] in pink armor held their position in front of her, shielding Bethal with their bodies. Sir Nil and Dame Truvia held their weapons at the ready, their faces set. They didn’t move.

Next to Bethal, Thomast kept his rapier lowered but she could feel him shifting, readying for action. Ahead of him a group of Hobs held their ground, watching the Humans, their eyes flicking. They didn’t look around as another horn blew, startling the horses again. Bethal saw the Goblins shift. But they refused to move. And the Humans didn’t attack.

It was a stalemate. Thomast could kill some of the Goblins with crossbows before they could fire. He could probably knock down a bolt or two with his rapier himself. Sir Nil and Dame Truvia would shield Bethal with their bodies and her [Aura of Thorns] Skill was powerful—but not enough to stop a crossbow bolt at close range.

Lady Bethal had a Ring of Sufferance on one finger, but even if she survived the first volley, even if Thomast and her [Knights] took out every Goblin assigned to watch them, they wouldn’t be able to escape without the Goblins first raising an alarm. And they would be hunted.

Against the hundreds of Carn Wolves and riders, their odds of escape would be perilously slim on foot. And it would be on foot; the horses wouldn’t survive ten miles with the Goblins trying to hamstring them every chance they got.

So they stayed put, as the majority of the Goblins raced away and distant horns began echoing through the woods. Minutes passed and no one spoke. Bethal felt her heart pounding. She couldn’t make it calm. She had faced death before. But this—this was at the heart of her fears.

Goblins. Their eyes made her shudder so she looked at Thomast to calm herself. He was here. He would protect her. And if he could not—she would not run. That was all there was to it.

But it didn’t come to that. Bethal was listening to her mare relieve herself on the ground and the Goblins were wrinkling their noses when another Goblin burst out of the trees. Instantly, both Humans and Goblins tensed. But the Goblin just shouted something and the other Goblins turned. They stared. Then, as one, they abandoned their formation and ran.

“What on earth?”

Lady Bethal watched, surprised, as the Goblins holding crossbows turned and ran. Only thirty of them held their ground, aiming at the Humans. But now they were backing away, clearly intending just to scare the Humans. Two Hobs stayed with them, holding their ground, raising their axes threateningly.

They were running. What was happening? Lady Bethal turned her head, expecting a trap. But the Goblins were already vanishing into the forest. By her side she sensed Thomast move. She didn’t have to hear him to know what he was thinking.

Now would be the time to strike. Her [Chevalier], shifted his grip and Lady Bethal bit her lip.

“No.”

Her soft voice made the Goblins start. One of them accidentally pulled his trigger and fired straight at Bethal’s chest.

The bolt shot towards her. Bethal blinked. She didn’t have time to think of dodging—it was streaking towards her and then Sir Nil was there. The bolt shattered on his shield and the Goblins froze.

“Wastes!”

Dame Truvia lowered her spear, shouting in outrage. But Bethal’s voice stopped her and the Goblins shifting their aim.

“Stop! Don’t attack.”

She pointed and Truvia held her ground. The Goblins backed up a step, uncertainly aiming at her. Bethal turned to Thomast.

“They’ve left.”

That was apparent, but someone had to say it. Thomast never would. He nodded, watching the two Hobs. They stared at him with grim resignation, knowing they couldn’t beat him. Still, they held their ground, barking orders and making the smaller Goblins aim back at Bethal.

“Something’s attacked the Goblins. Not all those war horns sounded like Goblin signals. If there was a time to make an escape—”

“No. I want to see Sir Kerrig. If he is alive…”

Sir Nils started.

“You want to ride into that? Lady Bethal—”

“If there was a time to find him, it would be now, wouldn’t it? Say, you Goblins!”

The Goblins jerked as Bethal waved at them. They stared at her. Bethal raised her voice.

“I agree with your Chieftain’s demands. We will be your prisoners! Take us back to your camp!”

The Goblins stared. They looked at each other, and then at the two Hobs leading them. They were a pair, male and female. The Hobs glanced at each other and the female one grunted. She shouted in the common tongue, making Bethal blink in surprise. More than just their Chieftain could speak?

“Drop weapons!”

“No.”

Thomast calmly replied, edging his horse forwards. The Hobs raised their weapons. The male growled.

“Prisoners! Drop weapons!”

“No. We’ll keep our weapons.”

Sir Nil rode forwards and the Goblins instantly backed up again. There were thirty of them and two Hobs. One of the [Knights] could rout them alone and Thomast could do it with one arm. Bethal’s ‘surrender’ was meaningless and all the Goblins knew it. All they could do was shoot her and then be slaughtered. The female Hob eyed Bethal and then pointed.

“Sheathe weapons.”

The three armed Humans hesitated. They looked at Bethal and she nodded. The Hob waited until the rapier and sword were at Sir Nil and Thomast’s sides and Truvia had lowered her spear. She hesitated and then nodded. The Goblins lowered their crossbows.

“Draw sword and we all kill you.”

“Very well.”

Bethal inclined her head graciously, trying not to let her nerves show. Believe they’re reasonable. She had no reason to expect it of Goblins! But the Chieftain had spoken rather than slaughter her at once. She’d negotiated—and Sir Kerrig might be alive.

“Follow.”

The Hob grunted and led the Goblins into the forest without a backward glance. Bethal was sure that they were ready to turn, shoot, and then run if Thomast so much as sneezed. She nodded to her escort and they hesitantly followed her into the tree line.

“We should go instead, milady. Let Lord Thomast and I go ahead while Sir Nil remains on the road with you.”

“No, Dame Truvia. We go together. I hardly think this is a ruse. The Goblins had us right where they wanted us. Something’s attacked them.”

“And will whatever attacked them attack us?”

“If it does, we will deal accordingly. But I want to find Sir Kerrig. I thought he was dead, truly.”

“It would be like him to survive. And Lady Welca lives too? If she’s escaped, why haven’t we had word? Unless it was recent—”

“Quiet.”

Thomast’s voice stilled the urgent discussion between Bethal and her [Knights]. He rode ahead as the forest became sparser and Bethal saw ghostly mage-light illuminating the forest. She inhaled sharply as she rode into the Goblin’s camp. Or what was left.

“Oh my.”

Broken tents, scattered fire. Smoke in the air and a foul, acrid stench that reminded Bethal of an [Alchemist]’s shop. Blood, too, heavy in the air. Faint cries—howling from the Carn Wolves. Shuffling feet, but too little sound. The forest floor was dark, trampled. And the bodies lay everywhere. Hundreds. Possibly a thousand.

The camp of the Flooded Waters tribe was destroyed. Goblin bodies lay everywhere, being searched for life by the living. It had been a slaughter. Lady Bethal looked at the still forms of Goblins, some covered in blood, others apparently unharmed but dead all the same.

The Goblins who’d been watching Bethal’s group stood in their camp, frozen by the sight. Bethal saw the pair of Hobs stare around and then raise their voices, shouting something in their guttural tongue. The other Goblins looked around and then ran, their discipline breaking, running into the chaos, shouting. Bethal looked around, confused.

“Wait. What about us?”

The Goblins had forgotten all about the four Humans on their horses. They combed through the wreckage, many of them picking up shapes, shaking them, and then letting them drop. Bethal blinked, her eyes stinging, and heard Dame Truvia utter a warning.

“There’s poison in the air! Lady Bethal, back!”

She was raising a ring that glowed with black light. Bethal looked around. She could see nothing, but she instantly rode back as Truvia covered her mouth with a handkerchief and checked her ring.

“It seems—weak. My ring isn’t detecting more than a low-level miasma in the air. But what happened here?”

“An attack. It must have been. Poison, arrows, and the ground is churned. I see hoof prints.”

Sir Nil had dismounted to check the ground. He coughed and looked around. Bethal felt her eyes stinging—perhaps the poison? She fanned at her face and froze.

“Is that…a child?”

A small Goblin was wandering past the warriors, shouting in a high-pitched voice. She had to be a child. There was no other word for her. The small Chieftain that Bethal had met had been small, even for a Goblin. But this Goblin was no bigger than a toddler. She had none of the knowing look that had been in the Chieftain’s eyes.

Bethal stared. She had never seen a Goblin child before. She expected the—the thing to look evil or to have fangs or some feature, but the child just looked lost. It kept shouting something. A word. And it was crying as it searched the bodies.

Lady Bethal Walchaís drew back and her horse retreated a step. The Goblin child ignored her completely and utterly. It ran over to a downed Goblin and tried to turn the body over. It gave up and bent down to look at the face and then turned away. It looked around, searching, shouting the same word and Bethal saw liquid dripping from its bright, crimson eyes. The [Lady] froze as the Goblin child stared past her, like a deer caught by a [Hunter].

“Tears?”

She had never seen a Goblin cry. She hadn’t known they could. Bethal watched the child turn. In that moment she learned two things. Goblins wept tears just like any other species. The same color, the same look. And secondly, she learned that a Goblin could weep. Bethal stayed put, her heart pounding. Impossible. Impossible. But the truth defied her to her face. Goblins could weep. She had never seen the like.

When the Goblin King rode upon First Landing with his hordes there were no tears. Only screams of rage as his armies hurled themselves upon the walls and pushed through the gaps in the broken masonry. There were no children, only warriors. Bethal could remember the blood, the eyes of the Goblins as she hid among the dead—

“Sir Kerrig!”

A voice broke Bethal’s reverie. The Goblin voices calling out silenced at Dame Truvia’s call. They turned and Lady Bethal saw a Human face among the sea of Goblins. Sir Kerrig was bending over a silent form, doing something. He turned and his face went pale. He broke into a run and Bethal urged her horse forwards a step—

“Stop! Stop!

Goblins flooded the ground, waving crossbows, aiming at both her and Sir Kerrig. Dame Truvia froze, raising her spear and Thomast appeared by Bethal’s side. But the Goblins weren’t attacking. They shouted at Bethal, pointing.

“Stop! No horse!”

They were pointing at something on the ground. Bethal looked down and realized Goblin bodies were strewn in front of her. She had nearly ridden through them. She hadn’t noticed. She backed up on her horse as the Goblins shouted at her, waving their arms.

“I’m stopping. I’ve stopped.”

They formed a wall, forcing the Humans back. There was nothing Bethal could do but back up and let Sir Kerrig come to her. The Goblins had remembered their unwanted prisoners and after an argument, a group of Goblins took up a position, aiming bows and crossbows at the Humans again. But the rest immediately flooded back into the camp. Confused, the four Humans met Sir Kerrig and Lady Bethal dismounted to clasp his hands.

“Sir Kerrig! We’d assumed you were dead! How are you alive? Dead gods man, are you injured? Let’s get you to safety as quickly as we can!”

Sir Nil clasped Sir Kerrig’s arm, urging him to mount his stallion. Sir Kerrig shook his head. He looked bewildered and there was blood on his hands. Not his own.

“Lady Bethal! Sir Thomast! How did you come to be here? Did you have a part in the—it’s dangerous to be here! If the Redfang Goblins catch sight of you they’ll attack! They’re out for blood.”

“Redfang? What are you talking about? Sir Kerrig, where is Lady Welca? Are you unharmed? What is going on?

“Let him speak, Sir Nil!”

Lady Bethal spoke sharply and Sir Nil bowed his head instantly. Sir Kerrig coughed and Bethal noticed a rasp in his voice. She immediately motioned and Dame Truvia offered him a high-grade healing potion. Sir Kerrig took a sip and his voice cleared of the rasp.

“Thank you. There was poison in the air. Some kind of mist or alchemist’s brew. I have no idea. As for what happened—I helped Lady Welca to escape not a day ago. I thought she would have reached some kind of civilization by now, but we had passed through the wilderness for the last few days. Perhaps she’s still riding—I had remained with the Goblins until the camp was attacked! Their Chieftain, Rags, rode forth with a good portion of the warriors. Shortly afterwards a group of [Riders] struck the camp, hundreds of them. They doused the campfires and torches and another force began sending a poison gas through the camp and shooting every Goblin that moved!”

Lady Bethal listened to Sir Kerrig’s description of the attackers and his sojourn as the Goblin’s captives, watching the camp as she did. The Goblins were in chaos, but as time passed someone began restoring order. Patrols of Goblins began combing through the wounded and dead methodically, calling out when they found a living Goblin. They also gathered up the trampled supplies and ushering other Goblins back into the center of the camp.

“They’re on the march. The army that attacked them retreated, but I’ve no notion of where they’re based or what their numbers are.”

Sir Kerrig finished and coughed again. His eyes were watering and he poured a tiny amount of the healing potion into his hand to splash at his eyes. Dame Truvia looked at him with concern.

“The poison smoke you described. You were caught in it?”

“Briefly. I immediately escaped when I noticed, but it was powerful enough to kill anyone trapped inside long enough. Most of the Goblins escaped, but they’re unable to breathe or see at the moment.”

“These attackers. Did you see their insignia?”

The [Knight] shook his head in reply to Sir Thomast’s question.

“No, and I have no idea where they came from. I thought perhaps Heldeim, a city to the east of here, but that would be unlikely. They have a small garrison. More to the point, they’re inexperienced, lacking a high-leveled officer of any kind. Hardly able to execute this kind of attack.”

He hesitated, wiping liquid out of his eyes.

“I did hear them shouting some kind of war cry. It was ‘Emperor Laken and the Unseen Empire’. But I’ve no notion…”

He broke off as Bethal gasped and the others shifted. He looked questioningly at Bethal.

“You know them?”

“We just visited them. It’s a small village and the surrounding area. There’s an [Emperor] there. Thomast, you don’t think…?”

Bethal looked at her husband. He nodded.

“Emperor Laken introduced us to his [General]. You remember her? She was a [Witch]. They know how to use poisons.”

“A night-time ambush using poison? Hardly befitting of an [Emperor]!”

Dame Truvia frowned. Sir Nil glanced around.

“Ideal for a larger force, however. Sir Kerrig described only a few hundred [Riders] and mounted [Archers] and warriors. They’ve slain several times their number, at least.”

“It was the absence of their Chieftain that presented the opportunity. Had she been here—”

Sir Kerrig was speaking urgently, pointing to the Goblins. Now they had formed into units again. Bethal saw they were coming towards her and shifted uneasily.

“Sir Kerrig—”

Hobs and mounted Goblins riding Carn Wolves approached them. They formed a semi-circle between the Humans and the camp, staring at Sir Kerrig and then Lady Bethal’s escort. They had weapons, but they stared at the Humans blankly. Sir Kerrig looked wary and Thomast and the two [Knights] moved in front of Bethal again, but she didn’t see hostility in the Goblin’s eyes.

“Why aren’t they angry?”

The Goblins were staring at them. Just staring with a blank, empty gaze. They were aware of the Human’s threat, but it was like they were just going through the motions. Behind them, the Goblins searched their dead, the same empty look in their eyes.

“I think they’re mourning.”

Sir Kerrig’s reply made all of the Humans glance at him sharply. Lady Bethal opened her mouth to say that was impossible, but she stopped as she saw the Goblin child again. It—she—wasn’t the only Goblin child, but somehow Bethal recognized her. The Goblins checking for the living had passed her section of the camp, but the Goblin child had found who she was looking for. She sat next to a bloody body with two arrows sticking out of its chest. Sat and wept, her eyes overflowing.

The Goblins around the child ignored her, going about their tasks. Not once did they glance at Lady Bethal and her shining [Knights], at Sir Thomast. They had to remember. They had to know how dangerous the Humans were. But they were not the ones who’d committed this slaughter. They were not important. So they worked mechanically, eyes empty, moving like puppets. Ignoring the Humans.

And slowly, it dawned on Lady Bethal that her small company didn’t matter to the tribe of Goblins right now. Not at all. They were a footnote unless they chose to attack. It was as if the Goblins were truly grieving. But they didn’t show it. They didn’t cry. They moved, packing up their camp, preparing to march.

They left the dead where they were. More Goblins moved into groups, loading up wagons, calling their fellows away. At last, it seemed as though someone noticed Bethal’s group and decided it had to be addressed. She saw a wave of Hobs and Goblins with crossbows returning and a fat Goblin leading them. Not Rags.

“Humans.”

He said one word, his voice raw, rasping. Bethal saw that the Goblins behind him were already marching. On the fat Hob’s left stood a [Mage] with electricity crackling around his fingertips. To his right rode a Goblin with a scar across his face on a Carn Wolf. He glared at Sir Thomast in hatred.

“Where is your Chieftain?”

“Hurt.”

“I see.”

Lady Bethal waited. The fat Hob just looked at her. She expected him to reiterate her Chieftain’s demands and was preparing to negotiate. She’d promised them wealth hadn’t she? If it came to it, could she get Sir Kerrig—

“Go away.”

Bethal paused. The Hob pointed. He was holding a battleaxe that shone with a fiery enchantment. Sir Kerrig’s battleaxe! And was the scarred Goblin holding Welca’s sword? Bethal looked at him uncertainly.

“Excuse me?”

“Leave. No prisoners. Take Human with you.”

The Hob pointed at Sir Kerrig. Then he turned and began to walk away.

“Wait!”

Grudgingly, the Hob turned back. Lady Bethal looked at him, confused.

“You’re letting Sir Kerrig return to us? Without a ransom?”

“Yes. That is what I said.”

The Hob glared at her. Bethal waited. But there was nothing more. The Hob looked around and issued an order. Some of the Goblins broke away and streamed towards the marching tribe.

“You won’t attack us?”

“No point. Humans too hard to kill.”

“And you’re not worried about what we might do?”

The Hob glanced at Dame Truvia.

“Try it.”

“Truvia! Enough. We had nothing to do with this attack.”

Bethal informed the Hob. She had no idea why she said it. They were Goblins. But the Hob nodded.

“We know. You killed Goblins before. Not now. So go.”

More silence. Bethal sensed Thomast shift. He looked at her and nudged his head. They should go. She knew he was right. But she wanted to—Bethal’s eyes flicked back to the Goblin child. Now she was looking at Bethal. Staring. For some reason Bethal felt guilty. Guilty?

“This was a—harsh tactic. Poison. Not honorable. But surely your tribe expected this. Surely you knew you were being hunted.”

Why was she trying to excuse this? Bethal saw the Goblin’s eyes flash as one. The Hob raised his head and met her eyes. There was no fury there. But a trace of anger flickered past the empty expression.

“We did not attack these Humans.”

“But you attacked Humans before. Sir Kerrig told me. You routed an army not a day ago. This conflict—”

The Hob cut her off.

“We destroyed a Human army. Hunting Goblins. We kill Humans who attack.”

“But—”

“There is a difference. We are not the Goblin Lord army. We are not raiding Goblins. We are not the same. There is a difference.

There was. Only, Bethal had not ever made the distinction before. This was a tribe and they were not the same as the Goblin Lord’s army. So they told her. She felt ashamed.

“We will leave, then. I apologize for my error.”

The Hob nodded. He looked at her, waiting. He knew she had more to say. So he waited. Bethal looked around the camp. Goblins were streaming away. The child was still sitting there.

“Won’t you bury your dead?”

“No. No burial. Leave.”

“I see.”

Alien. Incomprehensible. How could they not care for their dead? The crimson eyes watched her. Bethal pointed. The Hob turned as she pointed at the crying Goblin child. She hadn’t budged, though Goblins were urging her to get up and leave.

“Why is only she crying?”

The Hob looked at the child and shook his head.

“Tears are a waste of water.”

He turned and walked away. The Goblins behind him hesitated, and then streamed after him. They marched, many of them still wounded, some coughing, eyes streaming. Bethal saw the Hob stump over to the Goblin child and say something. An order. The child shook its head, eyes and nose streaming. The Hob repeated the order.

“I will stay. Someone has to witness this.”

“What?”

Bethal didn’t hear Sir Kerrig’s argument with the others. She watched as the Hob bent and pointed. He touched the body, shook his head. Pointed. The child shook her head. She clung to the body as the Hob reached for her.

“Here.”

Shielding their bodies so the Goblins couldn’t see, Dame Truvia pressed her enchanted dagger into Sir Kerrig’s hands. He slipped it into his clothes and nodded. Bethal saw the Hob pulling, saw the child hold on with all its strength. Clinging, clinging—the Goblin child held the body as the Hob pulled her up and then separated the two. Then she did wail, once. She beat the Hob as he carried her away.

He let her hit him and walked without looking back. He shed not one tear, but he bled as the Goblin child bit his hand. Bled, but didn’t stop. Bethal watched them go until they disappeared between the trees. She glanced down at Sir Kerrig, who was preparing to run after the Goblins.

“I did not know they could weep.”

“Neither did I, milady.”

“Follow them, Sir Kerrig. If you wish it. I will return to my estates. I—”

Lady Bethal never finished the sentence. She eventually turned and rode away as Sir Kerrig jogged after the Goblins. They were marching already, moving swiftly through the forest. Injured. Many wounded. But they still numbered thousands.

If they had wished it, they could have slaughtered Lady Bethal and her escort despite the cost. They could have overwhelmed the [Knights], brought down Thomast by sheer numbers and slaughtered Bethal. They could have. But they hadn’t. They had every right to fury. And perhaps it was there. But their despair, their grief was stronger. It was all consuming. So the Goblins left the [Lady] behind and walked.

They did not cry. They marched, blood dripping in the place of tears. Tears were a waste of water. The Goblins marched away as the night turned to day. They left their dead behind. They left family. They left friends. They left their loved ones, their hearts, and their blood. And they did not weep. Except on the inside.

 

—-

 

After a while the blood stopped. The child stopped biting him. Her teeth had left cuts in his hand and she’d torn the flesh as if she was tearing flesh from raw meat. Pyrite ignored the pain. He carried her as she wept, striding past the lines of Goblins. The child was young. So young she hadn’t learned that crying was a waste of water, dangerous sound. He would have told her to stop, but there was no point. The enemy had come and gone. So Pyrite walked.

“Sorry.”

She clung to his shoulder. He bled. The blood ran down his hand, stinging. It dripped into the soil. It was such a meaningless thing. Pyrite remembered the body he’d torn her from.

“Sorry.”

He marched to a wagon with Goblin children and tried to make her let go. She clung to him then, not wanting to. But he made her. He was strong as she was weak, for all she tried to lace her fingers together, grip him tightly. He put her with the older Goblin watching the children.

“Sorry.”

Nothing else to say. Nothing else to do. Pyrite looked down at the child and then ahead. The trees were thinning. He strode past her as the muffled crying grew fainter behind him. Pyrite reached another wagon and looked into it.

“Chieftain.”

Rags lay in the center of the wagon, covered with a blanket, her face pale. She was unconscious. They hadn’t been able to wake her and she’d lost so much blood. Too much for even a healing potion to properly heal. Pyrite walked next to the cart until he remembered he should be doing something.

“You. How many sentries? Where warriors?”

The Hob he pointed at looked blankly at Pyrite. He walked over and poked another Goblin who barely responded. Pyrite shook his head. He had to think. Rags was unconscious. That meant Pyrite had to take charge. He turned to another Goblin.

“Sentries ride ahead. Get Redscar. Put pikes here and here. Move!”

He had to push the Goblins, sending them racing ahead and behind to move the tribe into position. Just in time. Not ten minutes later, Pyrite heard a howl and saw a flash of movement. He saw a group of Humans burst out of the trees. They rode towards a group of Goblins who looked up and stared at them.

Just stared. Pyrite saw the Humans. He knew what they were going to do. But he failed to react. He saw a rider in armor cut down a Goblin and then he woke up. Pyrite saw the Goblins raising their weapons weakly. The Humans trampled them. No. Pyrite inhaled. He shouted at the Goblins who were just staring.

“Humans! Move! Attack!”

Goblins turned and stared at him. Pyrite bellowed. The numbing emptiness in his chest filled. His blood began to surge. Humans. Their leader wheeled, his sword red. They raced down the line, away from Pyrite. He pointed at them.

Humans!

He roared the word and the Goblins looked up. Their exhausted heads rose. Their eyes opened wide. Wider. Pyrite pointed and Goblins ran. He heard one scream, an angry, bitter cry. The others took it up. The warriors streamed towards the fleeing Humans. Pyrite wanted to run, but he held his ground. Wait. He shouted at other Goblins who were abandoning their positions.

“Stay! Wait for order!”

They held. Reluctantly, they held. Pyrite heard another howl to the south and this time he was ready. He roared and Redfang warriors streamed towards the attacked site and within minutes he heard a Goblin horn call. All clear. The Humans were gone. They’d attacked and fled.

So this was how it would be. Pyrite closed his eyes. They were already striking again. It made sense. He was exhausted. He was wounded and his tribe was barely able to function. He saw Redscar riding towards him. The Redfang leader was furious. He pointed in the direction of the fleeing Humans.

“Attack! We ride!”

“No! Guard tribe!”

Pyrite snapped at him. He was too tired to convey all of what he understood—that the Humans were baiting them, trying to get the Goblins to chase them, to lure them into a trap. Redscar growled, but he assented after a moment of hesitation. Pyrite looked around.

“Where Noears? Poisonbite?”

The answers came too slowly for his tastes. But they did come. Poisonbite was hurt and among the wounded. Noears was at the back. Pyrite grunted.

“Noears go back. Redfangs spread out! Crossbows ready. Not spread out. Keep moving!”

Redscar growled and nodded. He took the front and Pyrite reorganized the rearguard. The Goblins marched for two hours as the sun lightened. Pyrite had no idea where they were going. They needed to find somewhere to rest, somewhere defensible. But sending scouts out now would be a bad idea.

The Humans hit them as they were leaving the forest. They rode into the tree line, at least a hundred of them and began loosing arrows as soon as the sentries called the alarm. Pyrite growled as he saw they were attacking a spot with heavy pikes and wolves—and few archers! He saw Redfang warriors racing after them and the Humans retreating. Several mounted Goblins disappeared into the trees and Pyrite called the rest of them back.

“No follow. Get crossbows!”

Goblins with crossbows scrambled to the front. Pyrite heard wolves howling in pain and then silence in the trees. The Redfang riders didn’t return. But the Humans did. They rode out of the trees and loosed another volley, shouting triumphantly.

Were there more of them this time? Pyrite kept a wary eye on his flanks and rear as the units of Goblins wielding crossbows returned fire. That surprised the Humans—they’d clearly expected more Goblins to chase. Instead, several horses went down and some riders fell, screaming. At this distance both sides were too far away for accuracy; the clumped-up Goblins suffered more than the Humans. But the Humans did fall.

After the second volley, the archers among the trees vanished. The Goblins waited and Pyrite sent a group of Redfang Warriors to investigate. They found tracks, but the Humans had fled. Pyrite ordered them not to follow to Redscar’s disgust and posted twice as many sentries, twice as far out.

 

—-

 

They had to rest. Pyrite knew it, but he was dithering over leaving the tree line. Beyond the forest was a hilly landscape, open, but terribly exposed if the Humans launched another night attack. He followed the forest until the next wave of attacks. This time it wasn’t a full-fledged assault. Pyrite heard a howl as the Goblins tried to sleep and jerked awake. Redscar raced towards him, shouting.

“Sentries gone!”

Half of the sentries Pyrite had sent out to the west had been ambushed, their locations found and the Goblins feathered with arrows before they could raise the alarm. Only the last group had raised any alarm.

“Heard horn call. Too late. Fleeing Humans. Ordered not to pursue.”

Redscar growled as Pyrite tried to wake up and think. Redscar pointed.

“Humans leave tracks! Can follow!”

“Is trap.”

Pyrite repeated himself stubbornly. He knew it was true. Redscar knew it was true. But the Goblin had a different idea about it.

“Let us spring!”

He wanted to take two hundred wolf riders and hunt the Humans. Pyrite shook his head.

“No.”

Redscar growled. Pyrite glared at him. After a second Pyrite nodded.

“Put sentries back. Closer. Split riders. Ready to reinforce any moment.”

He held Redscar’s gaze until the other Goblin nodded. Pyrite was second in charge. With Rags unconscious he led. But neither Goblins spoke what both knew. The Humans would be back, sentries or not.

 

—-

 

They had to leave the forest. Pyrite marched the tribe into the hilly plains, watching the sun setting and searching for a spot, any spot where they could put their backs against a wall. He found nothing. He marched the tribe on until nightfall, watching the hills grow closer in the distance. Maybe if they dug ditches? Or camped on the hills?

They never made it that far. Pyrite noticed only when he had to ask why the tribe was lagging behind twice. He strode back and saw the Goblins at the back were gasping for air.

“Can’t breathe, Pyrite.”

Quietstab pointed to a Goblin who was trying to inhale. His lungs were making a terrible rasping sound. Pyrite stared at the Goblin in dismay.

“Bad?”

“Can’t fight. Can’t run. Can’t see. Some. Got rest. Or potion.”

They didn’t have enough potions. And there were hundreds, no, thousands of Goblins who’d inhaled the poisonous gas. Maybe a third of the tribe! Pyrite turned to Poisonbite who was making the same horrible sound.

“How long heal?”

She gasped for air. Her eyes were weeping and she was keeping them closed. She had to try twice before she gestured weakly with her claws. Two claws. Four. She shook them weakly.

Two days or four days. And then—a pause. The fingers clenched slightly. Or two weeks. Pyrite looked at Quietstab. He checked the landscape. Open ground. They should have stayed in the forest. Rags would have stayed. Pyrite had no choice now, though. He pointed.

“Make camp! Get Redscar and others!”

The council of war was brief. Pyrite gathered Redscar, Noears, Quietstab, and any of the Hobs who knew how to fight. He divided them up and posted them around the camp. The trouble was that with so many wounded Goblins, it was impossible to encircle the entire camp and not be spread too thin. Pyrite tried to figure out if they could construct defenses. Ditches? He looked at the exhausted Goblins who hadn’t slept since the day before yesterday and shook his head.

Pyrite ordered the Goblin warriors able to fight to sleep in shifts until the attack came. He kept torches lit and burnt as much fuel as he dared. Because the Humans would surely come again. When they did it was in darkness.

“Horses!”

This time the scream came near Pyrite’s position. He pushed himself up, grabbed his battleaxe and ran. He saw horses flashing in the chaos and more shooting arrows behind. He roared, cut down a Human on horseback, saw another dragged off his horse and watched the rest run. They were good at running! If the Redfangs could follow—

No. Too risky! Pyrite cursed as he watched the Humans leave.

This time the attack was bloody on both sides. The Humans pulled back after a single charge, leaving behind two dozen dead or wounded. But they’d cut down far too many Goblins. They’d attacked where there were no pikes or crossbows ready. How? Pyrite had no idea. The sentries had been hit first, but they had been alive right until the attack and the surviving warriors swore they hadn’t so much as seen a Human. Did they have a high-level [Scout]? Some kind of invisibility spell? A scrying spell?

They weren’t even that high-level. Pyrite whirled as he heard a howl. He saw Redfang riders streaming past him and saw a Goblin shouting and pointing after the Humans fleeing into the darkness.

“Redfangs! Follow!”

Stop.

Redscar roared as he tried to ride past Pyrite. The Hob charged at him, forcing the Carn Wolf to halt its dash. Pyrite tore Redscar from the saddle and felt two things happen at once. A painful, familiar cold sting in his right arm and a pair of jaws clamping over his hand.  Redscar shoved his sword into Pyrite’s arm as his Carn Wolf bit. Pyrite made a fist and forced the wolf’s jaws open.

Release!

Redscar snapped and his Carn Wolf let go. The Goblin kept his blade pressed into Pyrite’s arm, though. Pyrite roared at him in frustration. Redscar roared back. Around them the Flooded Waters tribe froze, watching the two Goblins in fear. Only then did Pyrite realize what was happening. He was fighting with Redscar! What was the point? He let go of the smaller Goblin slowly and felt the freezing blade’s tip withdraw from his arm.

The two Goblins stared at each other, breathing hard. At last, Pyrite jerked his head.

“Sixty riders. A hundred warriors. No you.”

“Yes.”

Redscar sheathed his blade and called. Instantly sixty of his Redfang warriors charged into the darkness. Pyrite turned.

“Pikes and crossbows! Twenty Hobs!”

Goblin warriors raced forwards at his command. Pyrite pointed and they followed the Redfang warriors. The mounted Goblins were already racing across the plains. They rode after the Humans, howling with rage. Sixty mounted elites and a hundred Goblins on foot, enough to tear apart a force twice their size and harry the riders before retreating in turn.

Pyrite felt the blood running down his arm and rubbed at the wound. Redscar eyed the frozen skin and blood, but Pyrite didn’t reach for a potion. He pointed back to the camp.

“Reform defenses. Humans might attack. Other side.”

Redscar nodded. He whistled and his Redfang warriors followed him back into camp. Pyrite trudged back to his sleeping spot, but he was awake now. He waited as the Goblins who’d been sleeping tried to get some rest. But no one could. They were all listening as hard as they could. They’d been hit by what, a hundred and forty riders? They’d sent more than that after them.

Surely they’d catch their enemy. If they were outnumbered they’d retreat. Redscar would race to their aid the instant they heard anything. Pyrite would let him. If they could bloody the Humans, force them to defend…the instant they heard anything Pyrite would move. He’d defend from the other side because of course that was when the Humans would attack. He waited, listening. Waited, waited…

Three passed then ten minutes. Then half an hour. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe waited. They listened for howling, stragglers—anything. They heard nothing. Pyrite thought he heard a distant war horn—once. Then nothing. After that, Redscar did not try to follow the Humans, though the camp was attacked once more that night. Always with perfect accuracy, always in the weakest point, the flawed sections of the camp’s defenses that Pyrite himself hadn’t spotted.

 

—-

 

We’re winning each encounter. They’re moving each day, but they haven’t sent any more patrols. Heading towards a city—Lancrel. Orders to keep pursuing?

I tap my fingers together. I don’t have to hear Wiskeria’s reports to know what’s happening. My mind is with her mobile attack force almost all the time. With the Goblins too. I can tell how many have fallen. Hundreds from the raiding. But not enough. There are still thousands, for all they’re still poisoned.

“Your Majesty?”

Nesor’s face isn’t that pale today. He’s gotten used to sending and receiving [Message] spells and he’s faster and has stopped stuttering as much. I turn to Lady Rie.

“Lancrel. Where is it on the map?”

“Here, your Majesty.”

She finds me the place on the map instantly. I touch the spot and try to line it up in my head. Yes, the Goblins are headed that way. Aimlessly, it looks like.

“That’s not one of our cities, is it, Rie?”

“No, your Majesty. Lancrel has refused all messengers and did not reply to your levy. We have appraised them of the Goblin threat, but they declined to send aid. Their walls and gates are thick; I believe they think they’re well-defended.”

“Especially with Wiskeria harrying the Goblins.”

I appraise Lancrel in my mind. A small city. It might hold as many as ten thousand people at most. I don’t bother to count.

“Ten thousand is a small number? They could outnumber Riverfarm three times over.”

“Emperor?”

“Nothing. Lancrel outnumbers the Goblins, and their walls are…probably six meters? How much is that in feet? Twenty? I doubt the Goblins will head towards it. Nesor, tell Wiskeria to keep raiding.”

“Yes, sire.”

I sense Rie standing by my side. I focus my attention on another group moving towards them.

“Nesor. Tell Wiskeria her first group of reinforcements is headed her away. Two kilom—I mean, one mile and a bit south of her. Tell her to find them. They have…some horse, but mainly [Archers] and [Warriors].”

“Yes, sire!”

“They’ll be in position by evening.”

I hear Rie fumble with some figures. She’s changing the map in front of me to reflect what I’m describing. I nod.

“Wiskeria can keep harrying them, but the infantry can’t launch rapid attacks. She can set up a trap and commit all of her mounted soldiers to attacking. No full assaults. The main army will finish them.”

I can sense Durene marching with the bulk of the levied soldiers. [Soldiers] marching in ranks, levied from multiple cities. More cavalry, archers, thousands of them. I add the numbers up again. They’ll outnumber the Goblin army. Barely. Barely, but it’s enough if it’s Goblins. We did it last time. But Durene’s marching and I’m stuck here. I grit my teeth.

“Harry them, Nesor. Tell Wiskeria to harry them. They’ve shifted almost all their crossbows to their west side. Almost undefended towards east, about a hundred paces north of where Beniar hit them two hours ago. I count two groups of pikes spaced out ten meters…scheiße. I mean, thirty feet apart. Tell Beniar that if he approaches northeast, he can slip past them. There are five sentries. If he sends a group of ten, he could take them out and loose some arrows—”

 

—-

 

Sleep. Attack. Wake. Attack. The next day was filled with marching and sporadic, deadly raids by the Humans. Always in bad spots. Never in any of the traps. Hidden Goblins lying down with crossbows, Goblins pretending to be napping, Noears hiding in a tent, none of it worked. The Humans knew exactly what Pyrite was doing. Somehow. They’d actually aimed at Noears when he’d been in hiding. They could tell he was a [Mage], where he’d hidden—

How? Noears had suggested magic, but that was too convenient. Redscar was of the opinion some kind of fantastic [Hunter] or [Scout] was spying on them from some incredible distance. It wasn’t anyone nearby. In desperation, Pyrite had sent out the Redfang warriors en masse, hunting for a Human spy. They’d found nothing. No Human [Scouts] for ten miles in any direction. They were sure. So it was something else.

Pyrite didn’t know what, exactly. But he’d come to one definitive conclusion.

“They know where we are. Always.”

“How?”

Quietstab looked around as if the Humans could see them. Pyrite shrugged.

“Don’t know. But can see. Can’t follow.”

“Trap?”

“Trap.”

If the enemy knew exactly where you were and what you were doing at all times, sending out a force to attack them meant they would be surrounded and killed. The only safety was in overwhelming numbers. The Humans were still outnumbered by the Goblins. That was what Pyrite took comfort in. For all of five hours. Then he heard the frantic horns blowing and heard a scream.

“Humans coming!”

Another raid! Pyrite grabbed his battleaxe. He ran towards the shouting and froze. He could see the riders loosing arrows and charging again, but just as quick he was intercepted by Redscar himself. The Goblin was sweating. He pointed southwest.

“Human army approaching!”

“Humans here!”

Pyrite pointed towards the fighting ahead. Pyrite shook his head.

“Big army. Big army.

An army? Pyrite looked up at Redscar, his heart beating even faster.

“How many?”

“Thousands. Days away. Sent [Scouts]. One survived.”

For a second the Hob’s ears rang. He looked up. Redscar looked grim as he shifted his grip on his sword. Pyrite looked around in desperation. Southwest? Redscar had sent—

No, no time for arguing. Pyrite knew now. He had to move! Keep ahead of the army! Half the tribe still couldn’t breathe. Rags was still unconscious, being carried, her face deathly pale. They had to move.

But the Humans on horses—Pyrite heard more screaming and looked up. There. He saw two of the Humans. One, the Human all in armor who led the raiding. The other he’d spotted. A Human woman with a pointed hat. A spellcaster throwing fire. They were tearing up the Goblins in front of him. No one else could reinforce them! If they did, the Humans would just attack the unguarded spots. Pyrite roared. He pointed at Redscar.

“Guard rear! Quietstab, follow!”

He charged towards the gap in his lines. Goblins surged to follow him. Gasping. Wounded. They were so tired. They just needed a chance to rest. Two more days. They were breathing better. But the poison—

She was the one behind it. Pointed hat. [Witch]. Pyrite was sure of it. He roared as he charged past Goblins, cutting down a Human on horseback. Blood splashed his chest and Pyrite howled. If it was this they could win! If it was a fight the tribe had Hobs, had warriors, had strategy! But they were hurt! They weren’t able to use their strength! Their Chieftain was asleep.

But she would wake up. Pyrite felt a Human slice his back, but it was a shallow cut. He spun and saw Quietstab hamstring the horse. Rider and horse went down and Pyrite heard the Humans shouting.

“Retreat! Let the archers cut them down!”

Flee. The Human in armor was too far away. Pyrite saw the [Archers] on horses loosing another volley. They had to be chased off. Goblins with crossbows were coming. They just had to buy time.

Strong. This tribe was strong. Pyrite looked around and saw Goblins fighting, coughing, some blind, others exhausted. They just had to rest. Everything would be alright when Rags woke up. If it was a fight, a proper fight—

He had to hold on. Pyrite charged at the Humans loosing arrows, preventing the Goblins from organizing their ranks. Give them a target. Pyrite shouted as he ran. The arrows flew past them. One struck his shoulder as Pyrite covered his face. All he had to do was hold on. Another struck his stomach, and another. Something struck his shoulder and burned. Pyrite screamed and kept running.

Believe. All he had to do was—five arrows struck Pyrite’s chest and he slowed. His blood spattered the ground.

Like tears.

 

—-

 

When the waters rose, the Flooded Waters tribe ate well. It was dangerous of course, but Rags remembered the rain with fondness. Goblins loved fish. They could hunt fish easily so long as they watched out for predators. All you had to do was find a big school of fish and surround it.

It didn’t matter if they were fast or small. When there were so many you could attack it from every side, find the stragglers, the slow ones. And then you took them. If you were quick enough you could have an armful of fish and your belly would be full. If they couldn’t fight back it was so easy. All you had to do was surround them with some other members of the tribe and then you could eat and eat. Rags had never known what it was like to be a fish.

And then she opened her eyes and the fish were Goblins.

The world swam in front of Rags’ vision. She looked up and saw a blank piece of canvas stretched over her head. A tent? No—she felt rough wood under her back and sat up. She realized she wasn’t in a tent. She was in a wagon.

Someone was crying. It was a high-pitched sound. An unfamiliar sound. Rags hadn’t heard crying in…it wasn’t a Goblin thing to do. But someone was crying and it was a Goblin who wept. Rags was sure of it.

She sat up and felt at the canvas covering the wagon and her. Only, halfway up Rags was seized by a horrible coughing fit. She coughed and pain coursed through her body. Her lungs were on fire! And her eyes burned. She scratched weakly at the canvas and heard a gasp. Someone wrestled with the covering and then there was light.

Rags sat up slowly, her eyes watering, coughing, and saw a hand offer something to her. Blindly, she reached out and drank. It wasn’t a healing potion, but the tepid, stale water did the same job. She stopped coughing and looked into the eyes of a small Goblin. A child.

To be fair, Rags was a small Goblin. This one was a proper child, not adult even by Goblin standards. She stared at Rags and she noticed the child had redder eyes than usual. She’d been crying.

Stop that.

Rags growled at the child and coughed. The small Goblin scampered back as Rags got up. Her body ached. Her chest felt terribly, terribly weak where she’d been cut. But she was alive. And she felt it. Her tribe needed her. So Rags rose. She stood up in the wagon and gasped. Coughed. But then stood tall.

Like nibbling fish. Like Goblins slowly tearing apart a school of fish. Like slow death, like a thousand stinging ants. Like blood dripping from a wound.

She felt her tribe’s anguish, even if she didn’t know why. Rags took a step, stumbled. A pair of hands steadied her. She looked at the small Goblin. Had she been crying because Rags was unconscious? No—it was more. Death. Rags could remember that.

Let go.

She felt the hands retreat and took another step. And another. Rags made her way over to the wagon’s edge and looked around. She could hear…silence. A lack of noise where noise should be. The tribe had stopped. There should be working Goblins, chattering, movement. And she shouldn’t have been covered in a wagon. This was bad. Rags made to leap off the wagons’ back and paused. She looked back at the child and saw two huge eyes staring back at her. Someone had to tell her.

“Crying is waste of water.”

The Goblin child stared at Rags and shrank slightly. The Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe held her gaze and then smiled briefly.

“Unless it wakes Chieftain. Then it good.”

She leapt from the wagon, landed hard on the ground and got up. Staggering and then feeling her leg muscles work at last, Rags walked. The small Goblin child leapt off the cart after her. First it was one Goblin.

There was a Hob standing guard next to the wagon. He was healthy, but tired. His arm was bandaged and though he had no wheezing cough, his breathing was still labored. He was dozing on watch, which is why he’d missed Rags waking. She walked up to him and kicked him. He jerked upright, swung at her with his quarterstaff and stopped.

Chieftain?

She glared at him.

“Where is Pyrite?”

He looked around wildly and pointed uncertainly. Rags strode past him.

“Follow.”

The Hob saw the Goblin child follow Rags. He slapped himself, grinned as he realized he wasn’t dreaming, and followed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. And then there were two.

Rags walked through her camp. It was her camp, but it was not her camp. It was all wrong. The fires were too close together. No—there weren’t many fires lit. The Goblins were lying too close! What if they were sick? What if there was an attack? What if they needed to pee? Too many were coughing, and it looked like many hadn’t eaten. Food was low. Water was low. And the wounded—

Too many wounded. Rags stumbled forwards, remembering what had happened. The attack! Poison. The coughing. Pieces came together. She saw Goblins look up, glance at her, away, and then do a double-take. They got up. Rags waved at them, croaking.

“Pyrite!”

They pointed. Rags quickened her pace. She didn’t tell the wounded to follow her, but they did anyways. They got up and the other Goblins saw the motion. They looked at each other and poked each other. They didn’t see Rags, short as she was, but they knew. And then there were handfuls.

The center of the camp was too full. But the perimeter was too sparse. Rags saw Goblins dug into hasty fortifications in the earth. They were in the plains! When had they gotten here? The Goblins on duty were too divided. Rags frowned. Why were they spread out? It was as if the camp was expecting an attack from any direction at any moment. But that wasn’t how you defended. You put your best soldiers where the enemy would attack, not weaken yourself by spreading yourself out. What had happened?

Pyrite!

She snapped the word and the Goblin soldiers looked up. They gaped and rose. Some pointed. Rags shouted at the ones who tried to abandon their positions.

“Stay!”

They did. But the shouting, the familiar voice made heads turn. The Goblins in earshot looked around. They stood up, craning to see. And they spoke.

“Chieftain.”

“Chieftain?”

It was an uncertain word, a tremulous question. Hope, and its cousin, fear, wavering for fear of the truth. But the word was repeated. It spread as more Goblins rose, defying exhaustion to see. And then they were many.

“Chieftain is awake.”

“Chieftain Rags.”

“Chieftain.”

They rose and followed. And then Rags was followed by hundreds. And the tribe took notice. Word began to spread from Goblin to Goblin. Rags was awake. And she was headed for Pyrite. Every hand began to point the way before she asked. The broken network of Goblin communication restored itself for one purpose. And as Rags walked her tribe formed itself around her. Around their Chieftain.

When they reached the sitting Goblin they were thousands. Rags stopped as the Goblins showed her to the Hob sitting on the ground. He was drinking from a half-empty bottle as Goblins fussed about him. Blood covered the ground around him. His battleaxe was covered with gore. And they had plucked too many splintered arrows and arrowheads from his flesh to count. Pyrite looked up and smiled around the blood.

“Good sleep?”

Rags stopped in front of him and looked down. Pyrite drank from the healing potion and sighed. She stared. He was bleeding. She couldn’t tell from where. He was covered in blood. He’d taken sword wounds, tearing mace blows, arrows to his chest, his sides, his back, cuts from daggers, burns from fire. And he’d stood among it all. The fat on his body was torn. His blood ran with it. Slowly.

He’d taken so many wounds that the healing potion was failing to recover all of them. Rags saw a gash on his stomach oozing fat slowly knit together and then—stop. She looked around, head spinning.

“Healing potion.”

“Out.”

Pyrite tossed the empty bottle to the ground. Again he tried to stand. This time he did. Rags looked at him. Pyrite swayed, frowned, and regained his balance. He bled. But he stood. And when he glanced at Rags, it was expectantly. He wanted orders. He said not a word about his wounds. Rags looked into his eyes.

“Show me.”

And the Hob smiled for the first time in days. He nodded and turned, his ravaged body as light as a feather. He said the words he’d waited so long to say.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

 

—-

 

By night they rode. By day they came. With arrow and sword. With fire and spell. Warriors of the Unseen Empire. From every direction, with traps and quick, lightning-fast attacks. And though they were fought off each time they exacted a price. Hundreds of dead. Hundreds. Rags saw the missing faces. Day after day the Humans had come. And for three days Pyrite had fought them off.

Three days. Three days he’d kept them marching while a third of the tribe was unable to do more than move, struggling for breath.

“Enemy not that smart. Weak leader. But Humans on horse can see at night. And they know where we are. Always.”

Pyrite stood with a crude map of the landscape drawn for Rags. She watched his chest rise and fall. He still bled, but his wounds were bandaged. They’d given him food—dry oats meant for fodder. There had been no time to forage so the tribe was hungry.

“How find?”

“Don’t know, Chieftain.”

Noears grinned at her. His head was bandaged and he looked exhausted, but he couldn’t stop grinning. At her. He gestured around.

“No spell. Can’t sense.”

“Tracker? Scout?”

“No.”

Redscar folded his arms. The Goblin warrior hadn’t shown his elation on seeing her, but he’d arrived as fast as the others. Rags had heard of his disastrous attempts to pursue the Humans. She understood. But—she turned back to Pyrite.

“How? Know?”

“No, Chieftain.”

Pyrite shrugged. He pointed back at the crude map, drawing her attention.

“City nearby. Big. Got walls. Lots of Humans.”

They’d come to a city, fleeing the Human’s advancing army. Pyrite pointed to the Human army, grimacing. Rags grimaced too. Thousands of Humans, approaching slowly on foot. Not the mounted raiders, but far more of them. They’d be able to finish off Rags’ weakened tribe. So Pyrite had taken the tribe away—right into a Human city.

“Not moving. Not yet.”

Poisonbite wheezed as she squatted next to the others. Her lungs were better, but she still had trouble breathing. Rags shifted her attention to her. Poisonbite was wounded, even if it wasn’t a visible wound. Over a third of her tribe was wounded. Vulnerable. The Humans had been chewing apart the warriors as they struggled to defend their helpless tribe from every direction.

“Mistake to leave forest. No cover.”

That came from Quietstab. There was no recrimination as he glanced at Pyrite. Both Hobs nodded, as did the other Goblins. It was a statement of fact. Rags chewed her lip, agreeing. If they’d stayed in the forest they could have built another fortress. Maybe. Or would the Humans have used poison again on a stationary target?

It didn’t matter. She focused on the map.

“Humans on horses. From city?”

“No.”

That voice came from no Goblin. They all looked at Sir Kerrig. He was squatting with them. Rags stared at the [Knight]. He looked up at her and nodded respectfully.

“The raiding Humans are part of the Unseen Emperor. Under the command of one Laken Godart. An [Emperor].”

Sir Kerrig waited for the Goblin’s response. They just stared at him. He coughed, slightly surprised, and went on.

“Goblins attacked his empire once before. The Great Chieftain’s forces, or so I believe. He may suspect you’re part of that force. Or a raiding army sent by the Goblin Lord.”

“Not.”

Rags said that firmly and all the Goblins nodded. Sir Kerrig hesitated.

“I don’t believe the difference would occur to Emperor Laken. Nevertheless, I can tell you that the city—it is called Lancrel, incidentally—is not part of his domain.”

Rags absorbed this information and promptly discarded the details about the name. She stared at Sir Kerrig. Then she turned to Pyrite.

“Why he here?”

“Human [Lady] come. She go. He stay.”

Pyrite shrugged, seeming to enjoy the motion despite how it opened up the wound in his shoulder. Rags glanced at Sir Kerrig. He met her gaze levelly.

“I wished to observe your tribe, Chieftain Rags.”

“Observe this?

She gestured angrily around at the injured Goblins. Sir Kerrig paused. He looked at some of the injured Goblins. Rags had heard that he’d helped tend to the injured. She didn’t care. At last the [Knight] responded.

“What would you have me say? I witnessed you destroy a Human army. Just or not, Laken Godart’s attacks are in retaliation for Goblin raids on his lands. He is protecting his people with preemptive strikes. He regards this as a war.”

“Against Tremborag. Against Goblin Lord. Not us.

“He cannot tell the difference, Chieftain Rags.”

“So tell him. Why not stop? Go shout at Humans!”

Incensed, Rags glared at Sir Kerrig. He’d come back here? To do what? Watch? As if it was his choice? Sir Kerrig spoke defensively.

“I am an observer. I cannot speak for your intentions. If I requested peace and your tribe attacked innocents, the blood would be on my hands!”

Rags just stared at the [Knight]. He looked apologetic.

“Chieftain, if you can give me an assurance that your tribe would truly stop fighting, I could attempt—”

She leaned forwards and spat. Sir Kerrig jerked and wiped at his face. Rags turned away.

“Coward.”

She ignored the [Knight] and looked back at Pyrite. He was glancing at Sir Kerrig, half-smiling. So wounded. She saw what he was doing. Could she have done better? Perhaps—she would never know. But now she was awake, Rags understood. An enemy that knew where you were. An [Emperor] with an army pursuing them on horse and a larger one following behind. A city full of Humans.  A stupid, silly Human [Knight]. The pieces fell together and she sighed.

“Humans.”

Her tribe looked at her. Not just her officers, not just the red-faced Sir Kerrig, but all of them. Goblins stood around her meeting spot, waiting. Watching her. Watching their Chieftain. She had led them into this land. She had attacked the first Human army. She had fallen and left them for three days. So they waited, judging her, waiting for her to bring them hope.

Rags closed her eyes. So many dead. The poison. The black riders in the night. All of it. Why? Because—because some [Emperor] thought they were the wrong Goblins? Her heart hurt. Her chest burned. But this was fitting. This was right. This was—

“This is the way Goblins die.”

Her tribe looked at her. Rags stared up at the blue skies. In Liscor, it would be raining. She spoke, still smelling the poison in the air, still seeing the arrows falling. How dare he.

“Running, fighting, protecting, friend and friend. Humans hunt us, monsters to the end. Not people, not anything worth anything. Again, they come, for Goblin children, for Goblin Kings. Forever, forever. All the same in the end.”

She rose. Her officers stood with her. Rags looked around. An [Emperor]? Protecting his people? Replying in kind. How silly. Rags looked at the map. The Humans could be anywhere. They could attack from any direction, at her weak spots. What did you do about that? She jabbed her finger at her answer and the Goblins stared at her.

“The city.”

 

—-

 

General Wiskeria of the Unseen Empire was brewing tea in a pot when the [Mage] responsible for receiving [Message] spells, Allais Vermot, ran towards her.

“They’re moving straight for Lancrel!”

What?

Wiskeria nearly dropped the ball of dried herbs she was dipping into the kettle. She stood up as Beniar raced over. The former Silver-rank adventurer and now [Captain] and [Cataphract] listened to Allais’ report.

“They’re headed straight to Lancrel as fast as they can.”

“Do they think we’re based out of the city? Or are they trying to take it?”

Wiskeria shook the wet tea bag as she took the kettle off the fire. Beniar’s eyes shone.

“They must be insane! If they try for a siege we’ll hammer them against Lancrel’s walls! Wis, this is our chance!”

The [Witch] frowned and not least because Beniar had called her ‘Wis’.

“Hold on. The main army is still a day or two away at best. We don’t have more than eight hundred soldiers here. The Goblins still number over seven thousand!”

“So? Lancrel can hold its walls and we’ll hit the Goblins while they’re stationary. If they commit—we don’t need the rest of the reinforcements! We can smash them against the walls right here and now!”

It was tempting, Wiskeria had to admit. Lancrel had refused to field its army in response to the Goblin threat. By attacking the city, the Goblins were adding another enemy. She nodded after thinking it over. There was really one thing they could do.

“Move out! Beniar, keep your cavalry back. I want them to start attacking the city before we strike. We’ll pin them there!”

Beniar grinned and Wiskeria sighed as she ran for the horses. She hoped it would all go according to plan. In the worst case the Goblins would dig into the nearby landscape as they constructed siege towers or rams. They could prove difficult to uproot if they remained still, rather than kept moving. Of course, by then the army would get there…

It was all a matter of time. Within the hour she and the entire camp of mobile horses were racing towards Lancrel. By the time they reached the city the Goblins were already closing in on the walls.

 

—-

 

“Goblin army approaching!”

Lancrel had seen the Flooded Water tribe coming miles away. And they were warned. By the time the Goblins approached the walls from the east, the majority of the garrison was deployed and waiting. They laughed as they saw the Goblins approaching, though the size of the army was slightly concerning. However, as the Watch Captain reassured his men, there was nothing to worry about.

“There’s twenty feet of wall between us and those damn green freaks! Twenty feet! Keep the ladders off—if they have any—and we’ll slaughter twenty for every one that even makes it on the walls!”

His men laughed, reassured. They watched the Goblins stream towards them. They had wolves, some of them! Huge, loping monsters, three times as big as normal. That too was concerning. But again, the walls were there. It wasn’t as if the Goblins had brought siege towers.

“Hold your ground, men! We’ll push this Goblin Lord back, without this so-called [Emperor]’s help!”

The Watch Captain was still laughing as the first rank of Goblins entered bow-shot range. Instantly some of the [Archers] on the walls fired, their shots going astray. The running Goblins paused and their mounted wolf riders pointed. The Watch Captain nodded.

“See that? They’re going to pull back, send their ladders first. Hold your shots you idiots! Focus on the Goblins with ladders—”

He bit back his words because the ranks of Goblins broke into a run. Straight towards the walls. The Watch Captain looked around wildly.

“Ladders! Aim for the Goblins holding ladders!”

Confused, the Humans looked around. Where were the Goblins with ladders? They weren’t carrying any?

“Watch Captain! Those Hobs have a ram?”

“A what?”

The Watch Captain spotted a few Hobs with a smaller version of a ram. He pointed.

“Aha! Not even ladders! On my mark, bring those Hobs down! Loo—

Those around him felt a kick and heard the roar after the impact had tossed them off their feet. The unlucky Humans who’d been knocked off the walls fell screaming. The ones around the Watch Captain who’d landed on the battlements looked around. They didn’t see their Watch Captain, only a smoldering corpse. They looked back down and lightning flashed upwards again, straight from the fingers of a cackling Goblin with no ears.

Goblin [Mage]!

“Bring it down!”

Panicked shouts came from the walls. The [Archers] began shooting wildly, aiming at the Goblin who’d thrown lightning. He ducked behind a Goblin with a huge wooden shield. And then the Goblins behind him raised something. The Humans blinked. Were those crossbows?

They saw the bolts fly up. The first volley took many of the [Guardsmen] and [Soldiers] off-guard. They fell back, screaming, as the bolts shattered flesh and bone. The Goblins reloaded as the defenders of Lancrel took cover. The Goblins were dangerous! But they still had the high ground and reinforcements. They could hold on the walls so long as the Goblins didn’t—

“Throw!”

A voice shouted the word. The Humans looked around. Throw? Who had shouted that. One of them looked over the walls, ducking as an arrow grazed his helmet. He saw something strange below. A pair of Hobs, cupping hands. And a small Goblin with a glowing blue blade, running at them. The Goblin leapt and his foot landed in the Hob’s cupped hands. They heaved and he flew up, twenty feet into the air. The Human [Soldier] gaped as a hand grabbed onto the ledge in front of him.

“Dead g—”

He raised his sword and Redscar’s enchanted blade went through his helmet. The Goblin reached up and used the dead Human’s body to haul himself onto the battlements. He grinned as, across the wall, more Redfang warriors were launched up by the Hobs.

The defenders of Lancrel gaped at Redscar as he looked around, his enchanted sword raised. It was bloody. A Human jabbed at Redscar with a spear. He sidestepped the thrust contemptuously and swung. His sword sheared through the thick haft of the spear. The Human backed up as Redfang turned. The second swing beheaded him.

“Kill the Goblin!”

Lancrel’s soldiers rushed at Redscar. But too many were armed with bows! The Goblin ducked between the bigger Humans, stabbing in the confined press of bodies. He heard screams and ducked as a sword flashed towards his head. He turned, cut down a Human, and kicked another one as the Human overbalanced from a swing.

The screaming Human toppled over the battlements. Redscar turned, grinning, his face alight with fury as more Goblins flew up to grab the walls. He spun, laughing, and the Humans backed away from the shorter Goblin with the enchanted sword. At last! This was a real battle!

 

—-

 

“Goblins on walls!”

“Good!”

Rags saw more Goblins flying upwards, propelled by the Hobs assigned to throwing duty. It was a completely stupid idea. Only regular Goblins were light enough for a trick like this and only Hobs were strong enough. But Pyrite had inspired her with his games of throwing Goblins into the lake. More to the point, it had worked because Lancrel’s defenders were being suppressed by the rain of arrows, bolts, and slings her army was throwing up at them. And Noear’s lightning. Rags pointed and sent a fiery arrow straight into the face of a Human woman with a bow. The defenders of the wall were well and truly occupied. So she turned and bellowed.

Hobs!

A group of Hobs answered her call. They thrust their way forwards, holding the smaller rams they’d made on the march. They charged towards the doors as Goblins made way. Hobs. She heard Humans on the walls shouting in alarm. They’d probably never seen more than one or two Hobs. But she had hundreds in her tribe. And the ones who began pounding on the gates were fresh.

This was the Flooded Water tribe’s fighting force. The wounded and sick Goblins clustered against the walls while the Human defenders were distracted by the climbing Goblins. They had probably two thousand warriors they could send. Rags knew the Human city probably held as many as ten thousand Humans. But how many would man the walls? How many could fight? A Human with a few levels in [Warrior] was not the same as a Redfang Warrior. Or a Hob.

And she’d sent her best. Rags watched as the Hobs she’d sent to the gates roared and struck the gates again with their hand-held ram as the rest rammed the door with their shoulders. The impact made the wood crack and splinter. They drew back and struck again as one. Again! Again! Ag—

The gates broke with a thunderous crash inwards and the Hobs roared and heaved. The Humans trying to hold it shut went flying and the Hobs charged in with hundreds of Goblins at their back. Redfang warriors, groups of Goblins with pikes—they smashed into the stunned defenders. The twenty-foot long pikes pierced through the defender’s shields and armor before the Hobs came in swinging. At their head was Pyrite. He roared as he cleaved through a Human’s shield and pointed. Goblins swarmed after him.

Impossible! Rags could practically hear the Humans shrieking the word. She grinned viciously. This was her tribe! This was their might! Then she turned her attention to the Goblins outside the walls.

Most of them were coughing, exhausted, barely able to move after their mad dash to the walls. Many, thousands, weren’t even warriors. Women and children huddled right next to the imposing stone walls, right in range of bowshot and where a vat of boiling oil or water could hit them. But the defenders were fighting Rags’ warriors! Lancrel was at their mercy.

Which meant that the Humans closing on their rear now had a clean shot at all of Rags’ weakest warriors and noncombatants. Rags looked over her shoulder.

There they were. Right on time. She saw Human riders streaming across the plain. Six hundred…eight hundred? A good force to harry. Not to charge an entire tribe. But Lancrel was being overrun. Rags could hear and see the Goblins pressing forwards. She’d committed nearly every Hob and all of her Redfang warriors to the push! Of course it was falling fast. But therein lay the weakness.

Rags tried to imagine what the enemy commander was thinking. Well. The foolish tribe may have gained the city, but now they’re trapped. They’ve sent their warriors ahead, all of them. You could ride them down from behind and slaughter them. They’d barely be able to put up a fight. They can’t breathe. They can’t see. Rags felt the burning in her chest and knew that was true. She watched as the Humans made a quick decision.

They charged. She saw the riders with spears, swords, and axes taking the lead while the ones with bows followed. They’d hit her from behind and pin her tribe against the walls! Packed as tightly as they were, it would be a slaughter. The Hobs wouldn’t be able to return until half of the tribe was dead! All the Humans had to do was strike before Rags could get her tribe inside the walls. She could see the Humans accelerate. Rags nodded to herself.

There was no good way to beat an enemy who knew what you were doing at all times. Not out in the open. Traps wouldn’t work. But what about something you knew was going to happen? She narrowed her eyes. The enemy commander was good at spying. But strategy?

The first line of riders was two hundred paces away from the walls when Rags gave the order.

“Crossbows.”

Every Goblin, child and elderly, sick and wounded, turned. They raised the crossbows they’d been given. The Humans on horseback wavered as they saw the wall of Goblins turn into ranks of waiting archers. Rags pointed.

Now!

The wounded Goblins aimed and fired. The first volley of bolts took scores of riders from their saddles, toppling screaming horses. Stones from slings and the weaker stone crossbows landed among the Humans, denting helmets, shattering bone. A few of Rags’ wounded Hobs shot with their bows, taking down Humans with precise shots.

“Reload.”

Rags reached down and pulled at her crossbow, laboriously cocking it. She slapped another bolt into the slot and aimed. Where was the armored Human. Didn’t matter. She focused on a Human with a spear charging at them. Rags sighed, coughed.

“Fire.”

The second wave of bolts cut down more riders. The Humans tried to keep charging, but the falling horses and Humans tripped up the ones behind. They pulled back as whoever was in charge realized they wouldn’t get the walls. There were thousands of Goblins and Rags had hundreds of crossbows firing at once. The force of eight hundred wasn’t enough! The riders circled as Rags continued to order the Goblins to reload and fire, marking targets.

Suddenly, the walls behind them weren’t a trap, but a shield. The Humans on horseback couldn’t circle the lines of Goblin crossbows and Wiskeria’s archers found themselves outnumbered by the volleys of bolts that rained onto their position. They retreated, breaking, falling, racing back.

What now? They had to keep Lancrel from falling! Another gate! They could enter from another gate! The defenders raced to the southern gates to reinforce Lancrel only to find they were too late. The gates were open and Humans were racing out.

“Into the city. Crossbows on walls. Get pikes in gate.”

Rags pointed as her tribe streamed further and further into the city. Humans fled from them by the thousands, wailing, fleeing the Hob’s advance. Rags rode through the city as her Redfang riders spread out, seeking out the Humans who’d continued to fight.

Whomever this [Emperor] was, he didn’t understand war like she did. Count on a city to defend itself? Against a weaker, smaller tribe, perhaps. But Human cities weren’t like Drake cities. They had no enchantments on their walls. Their populace didn’t fight to the death. And their walls were too short.

And worse, yes, worst, the Humans of Lancrel had failed to understand how fast the Goblins could take down a gate made of wood. They could have fought the Redfang warriors off on the walls in time. They could have held. But wooden gates? Rags shook her head as she saw Humans streaming out the other exits of the city. The Humans on horseback wouldn’t gain entry from any of the other ways in, if they’d been stupid enough to try. Lancrel’s citizens were pressed against the gates, screaming, shoving to get out. The Goblins were inclined to let them. They were tired.

 

—-

 

“Incredible.”

Quietstab shook his head and stared from his position atop the battlements. He turned to Pyrite, awestruck.

“Took city. Without siege!”

Pyrite grunted. He was feeling a lot better. His belly was full—they’d ransacked Lancrel’s stores and found lots of food. And healing potions. He stood on the walls, watching the Humans slowly marching away from their city. Lancrel’s refugees had immediately turned to the Humans on horseback and the Humans had no choice but to try and guard them—and watch the city. More had arrived on foot. A good two thousand, but they were keeping well back, wary of a Goblin attack.

They had no idea that there was little chance of that. The exhausted Goblins had almost all collapsed after eating their fill. The only ones on the walls were just there to look threatening; the Redfangs were the only group still active enough to keep searching the city for supplies. Pyrite leaned against the battlements as he replied to Quietstab.

“Bad city defense. Other tribes take cities. Mountain City tribe did.”

He was referring to the city they’d taken with Gold-rank adventurers. That had taken more planning, but it had happened. Quietstab nodded.

“But Tremborag leads. Great Chieftain. This time our Chieftain leads.”

“True.”

Pyrite thought about that. Rags led. She’d woken up. And just like that, things had changed. He felt—relieved. Ashamed. He hadn’t thought of this. But she’d woken up and like that she’d saved them.

“Can rest here. Hold walls against twice as many Humans.”

“Mm.”

Pyrite wondered about that. The Humans would come. There were thousands more coming and probably even more that would be angry about the city. They’d bought time, that was all. His ears perked up as he heard a grumbling complaint. Both he and Quietstab turned and saw Rags coming up the stairs.

“Chieftain?”

She had a bag in her hands. Quietstab made way for her and Pyrite eyed the bag. It was full of Rags’ possessions. He hadn’t ever seen inside, but it wasn’t filled with much.

“Chieftain. Want food?”

He offered her a handful of dried nuts he’d been snacking on. She glared at him.

“No. Help me up.”

She pointed and Pyrite lifted her up. Rags perched on top of the battlements, dangerously close to the edge. She didn’t care. She stared at the Human army camped far outside of range of the walls. They were watching the Goblins.

“Lots of Humans. Will attack if leave.”

“Attack them, Chieftain?”

“No. Will run. Probably. More coming.”

Rags grumbled to herself. She opened her cloth bag and glared into it. Then she hurled it at Pyrite.

“Where is? Search. Small red stone. Scary.”

Bemused, he opened the bag and rummaged through it. He found a battered chess piece, the ruby he’d given her, some battered pieces of parchment and then—

Pyrite inhaled sharply. Rags looked up.

“Give.”

She took the object Pyrite handed to her. Quietstab peered, interested, and then stopped as Rags looked at him.

“Quietstab. Get Redscar. Get Redfangs. Mounted ones.”

She glanced at the Humans in the distance. Pyrite watched her gaze, no longer complacent. Quietstab nodded, glancing at the thing she held.

“How many Redfang?”

“All.”

The Hob blinked. Rags glanced at him and he ran. Pyrite looked at Rags.

“Chieftain? What is that for?”

He pointed. Rags held the red stone up. It was shiny. A ruby gemstone. But the way it made him feel—she turned it and Pyrite’s stomach lurched. He looked at her face and his stomach lurched for different reasons.

“Bad things.”

Rags looked up. Behind her, in the city, Pyrite could see Redscar riding towards them. Rags looked at him.

“Not done yet. Pyrite.”

She pointed to the Humans beyond. Pyrite looked at her.

“What next?”

 

—-

 

“They’re coming out of the city!”

“Are you serious?”

This time Wiskeria didn’t wait for a reply. She shouted and every [Soldier] under her command leapt to their feet. The Goblins were attacking? She wavered between attack and retreat. How many? She paused as she saw—

“The wolf riders?”

They streamed out of the city, hundreds of them. But only hundreds. They formed into a wedge and raced out of the city, following a pair of short Goblins who rode forwards. Beniar growled.

“They’re making a break for it! Wis, we have to—”

“I know. Intercept! Everyone, towards the Goblins!”

Wiskeria raised her voice and thousands of Humans raced towards the Goblins. The Darksky Riders lead by Beniar raced forwards. Their numbers were reduced, but all they had to do was hold the Goblins there! An easy task. Wiskeria could tear the Goblins apart. Maybe then the disaster of Lancrel could be mitigated.

“Charge!”

She saw Beniar heading straight for the pair of Goblins. One small. The other held the enchanted blade. She saw the small one raise something in its hands. And then—

Something changed. Wiskeria felt her heart stop in her chest. Her beating, wonderful heart stopped dead. For a second. She stumbled and around her [Soldiers] cried out and halted.

The red eye pulsed as the Goblin held it over her head. In its depths something stirred. It looked at Wiskeria. It knew her name. Something called to her. It crawled in her head. It had a name. It was flesh. Putrefaction. It screamed and she screamed. Skinner! She turned and fled, she—

“No!”

Wiskeria shouted, breaking herself free of the [Fear] spell. She turned and saw the soldiers stumbling backwards and then recovering as she had. They shuddered as the gem struck fear into their hearts, but at her urging they kept running. However, it was too late. The [Fear] spell had done its work. Not on the Humans, but on Beniar and the riders.

Humans could withstand the spell. For them it was only fear. But animals were different. The charge of the Darksky Riders broke for the second time that day as Wiskeria watched. Half of the horses turned or reared, some throwing their riders to the ground. Beniar’s advance halted in its tracks as the Carn Wolves raced past them.

If they’d been faster by a few seconds. If the [Fear] spell hadn’t been used. The Goblin lowered the stone as it ceased to shine and tucked it into her pack. Wiskeria watched helplessly as the Carn Wolves outraced the horses, heading into the forests. She saw Beniar turn and whirled.

Alais! Send a spell to Laken! I need to know where they’re going! Now!”

 

—-

 

So this is how it ended. Dreamily, Rags rode with the wind blowing across her body. The Redfang warriors whooped, exhilarated to finally run, triumphant over their small victory over the Humans. Redscar drew his wolf over to Rags and pointed as they slowed.

“What is?”

She offered him the now inactive [Fear] gemstone. It wasn’t that useful, certainly not against Goblins. And it ran out of magic. But it was good for a distraction when she’d remembered it. Redscar eyed it appreciatively and then handed it back.

“What now?”

“Slow.”

They halted miles from the city, having outdistanced their Human pursuers for the moment. Rags turned her Carn Wolf, seeing the eyes of all the Redfang warriors on her. Curiously. She knew she was not their real leader. They had abandoned Garen for her. But they were still Redfang. Still his.

And yet. She looked at Redscar. He paused. The other Goblin had been exuberant since the battle for Lancrel. His fury against the Humans had been quenched in part. But Pyrite had told her what he’d done.

“Chased Humans.”

“When Chieftain was asleep.”

“Pyrite ordered not to.”

Redscar shifted, avoiding her gaze.

“Redfangs know how to fight.”

“So does Pyrite.”

Silence. The Redfang warriors looked away. Rags could sense their good moods fading. They did not want to see their leader be dressed down. She sensed their resentment. But Redscar eventually looked up.

“Angry. At Humans.”

Rags nodded. Anger. It was such a strange feeling. She had woken, feeling her tribe torn. She had seen the empty look in the eyes of her Goblins, heard their grief. But anger? It was in Redscar. But three days of fighting had left only embers.

“Anger. Rage. Orders is still orders.”

A pause. Redscar lowered his head.

“True.”

Rags turned her head. Redfang warriors looked at her or stared at their wolves. Some challengingly. Others unashamed. Some regretful. Anger. Fury. She reached in her chest.

“They killed us.”

The Goblins looked at her. Rags looked around. Fewer faces. Fewer wolves. The Redfangs had survived the fighting more than most by virtue of their superior levels and skill. But they had lost numbers too. Rags could see it when she looked around her tribe.

“They poisoned us.”

Like rats. Rags’ grip tightened on her Carn Wolf’s fur and it whined. She let go. She looked at Redscar and then around at the Redfang warriors.

Who is Chieftain? Who is leader for Redfangs?

They looked at each other. Redscar called out, his voice loud.

“You, Chieftain!”

Rags nodded. It had to be said.

Follow orders. Follow my orders.

She gave them. The Redfang warriors looked confused. Then, as they realized what she wanted, they sat in their saddles. Their eyes burned. Rags pointed. In the distance Humans were pursuing them on horseback. Too few. Too slow.

“Go. Go and show them.”

She pointed west. The Redfang’s heads turned as one. Rags pointed east. They looked. She pointed north and south and shouted.

“They attacked us! They killed us! So show them same! Show them pain! Show them hate. Show them Goblins.”

She kicked her Carn Wolf and rode past the Redfang warriors. They raised their weapons, shouting. The wolves began to howl.

“Burn the villages and towns and fields. No mercy. No Humans spared.”

Redscar’s eyes shone as he pointed. Redfang warriors roared. Rags reached inside her chest. There it was. Something darker than anger, thicker than fury. She reached for it and a black tingling ran through her veins.

“Kill them. Ride. Burn the playthings—

She broke off, touched a hand to her head. The Redfang warriors waited. Rags looked up. She saw the Humans racing towards them. She saw Erin’s face, plastered on the corpses. And then she saw the dead, lying on the ground in the darkness. She turned and the blackness inside her spoke for her.

 

—-

 

“Emperor Laken? General Wiskeria is asking you for an update. She is in pursuit of the Goblins riding wolves.”

My hands are sweaty. I’m shaking. Reeling, rather. Lancrel has fallen. The Goblin took it in less than an hour. It’s fine, though. They can be defeated. Just so long as the army reaches them—I need to send trebuchets. But this force—I follow it with my mind.

“I see them. They’re headed south. They’ve stopped. Wait—wait. What are they—”

Something’s happening. I see the small Goblin raise her hand in my head. The Goblins roar. And then—they move. But not in one direction.

“Oh no.”

The image of the wolves splinters in my mind, the solid mass of Goblins breaking up into groups of ten, of two, riding in every direction. They race across the ground, not one mass, but splitting up, into smaller groups. Smaller and smaller. In every direction.

“No, no. This can’t be happening.”

“Emperor Laken? General Wiskeria is requesting a location. Emperor Laken? Your Majesty?”

I raise my head, sightless, my hands clenched. Nesor’s sweaty face stares back at me. Lady Rie pauses.

“Where are the wolf riders headed? Emperor Laken?”

Everywhere.

 

—-

 

Rags rode. The wind felt hot in her face. She was alone. Behind her, Redfang warriors broke up. Riding in every direction, howling. They split up, the single mass of them fracturing. Rags rode alone for the moment. Her head felt light. Something black rose in her chest, as if she could spit it out.

It was so simple. So very simple. Pyrite didn’t see it because he was kind. Redscar didn’t see it because he was a warrior. But she saw it because she was Rags. Because she thought like her opponent. Erin had taught her that.

If you could see everything, if you could see every move your opponent made, what was the way to counter that? A trap? No. You couldn’t trap something like that. But you could overwhelm it. Give it a hundred targets.

They’d found a map of the region in Lancrel. It burned in her head. Villages, cities, towns. Farmers and their fields. All neatly written down. Targets.

Burn the villages. Destroy the mills. Cut them down as they flee. Set fire to forests. Raid their homes. Hurt them. Vengeance.

Across the landscape Redfang warriors rode, howling. They didn’t ride against the pursuing warriors. They rode into villages with flaming torches. They descended on fields, on Humans sleeping or heading to bed. They rode with no goal in mind.

Only hatred. Only fury. It was in her. After the brilliance was done, after the battle and saving her tribe, something else was in Rags. Not a Chieftain’s desires. Not a leader’s thoughts. Something dark. And primal. It was in her heart and she’d opened the door.

No more. They slaughtered her tribe. They used poison. They killed children, those who couldn’t fight. Rags heard the thoughts flash through her head. Excuses. It wasn’t howling anymore. It was a scream. The scream of wind. Of Goblins bringing death. A scream in her mind. She whispered as the screaming grew louder.

“They started it.”

No one replied. No one told her it was wrong. No one had to. But it didn’t matter. Ahead of Rags she could see a farm. A village attached to Lancrel, maybe. It didn’t matter.

It was everything that mattered. The Goblin rode alone as the air grew hot around her. Fire burned in her hands. She saw the dark building rise in front of her and remembered an inn. The two buildings were nothing the same. But they were exactly the same. Rags raised her hand and shot fire onto the roof. She blasted in the windows with flaming arrows. She wiped at her eyes then she drew her sword. Rags heard the screaming, going on and on.

It was coming from her.

 

—-

 

One last thing. As the Redfang warriors rode, as Pyrite took charge of the tribe in the city of Lancrel, as an [Emperor] shouted desperate orders too slowly, too late, as [Message] spells moved too slowly to catch the wolves that rode through the night, a [Lady] paused on the open road far north of it all.

She’d ridden far outside of the Unseen Empire and now she stood at the edge of the campfire. A man stood with her, his hand on his rapier. Always watchful, always wary. But the [Lady] paid no notice to the darkness. She spoke into the magical earring she held.

“Do you remember how we met, Magnolia?”

“I don’t care to recall. Is it germane to the conversation?”

The voice that spoke back was crisp, impatient. Bethal shifted.

“No. Perhaps. Yes. I had cause to remember it a while ago. Do you recall?”

“I should hardly forget. You nearly killed me.”

“After you slapped me and told me to run or be cut down with my family. I never thanked you for doing that.”

“Of course not.”

Bethal paused. She glanced over her shoulder. The fire was inviting. Her personal tent waiting. Her two [Knights] traded places for sentry duty. Bethal sighed.

“I’m done killing Goblins for a while.”

A pause.

“I see.”

“Don’t ask for my Knights of the Petal either. You may keep them at Invrisil if you need them. But I want sixteen to meet me.”

“Are you taking a role in this conflict with the [Emperor]?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bethal. I need you closer to home. Tyrion is moving.”

“At last.”

“The Goblin Lord is approaching the mountain. He’s slowed. Gathering more Goblins. But when they meet—”

“Yes, yes. And Tyrion will do what, exactly? Why is he delayed?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you can guess.”

More silence from the other end. Bethal sighed into the earring.

“Which side will win, Magnolia? This Goblin tribe or the [Emperor]? The Great Chieftain, Tremborag, or this Goblin Lord? Which do we want to win? And where will Tyrion fit into all this? Will you tell me or leave me guessing?”

“I should hope at least some of those answers would be obvious.”

“Not anymore. I thought I knew good and evil, Magnolia. But all this? This? This is madness.”

Bethal looked around. Distantly, far distant, she thought she could see sparks of light growing against the dark horizon. She wondered if someone was starting a fire. But at that distance—Magnolia’s voice was calm.

“Not madness, Bethal. This is what has always been. Goblins or Humans. It is always the same.”

“What is?”

“War.”

Bethal closed her eyes. She was still for a very long moment as Thomast put his hand on her shoulder. At last she whispered.

“I don’t think it’s the same. Magnolia. I think it hurts differently each time.”

Without waiting for a response she dropped the earring and turned to hug her husband. And in the distance, the fires grew brighter. And brighter. And darker.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.24 L

She dreamed of thrones, of bickering voices and tall, frail men and women perched like harpies on towering seats built of tarnished, stained gold. Lyonette saw a court full of people whose faces were masks and whose smiles were as sweet as poison, mingling around the thrones. She walked among them and found herself standing in a town where everyone bowed and never met her eye.

And in her dream, Lyonette thought it all made sense. She saw the masked nobles look at her and curtseyed before the watchers on their squalid thrones. She stepped among the nobility, putting a mask on her face and smiling artificially alongside the rest. She smiled as she saw a golden throne fall, and cheered with the others as another one was built from blocks of the old one. She saw nobles fade as they sprouted daggers from their chests, spat froth and blood from poisoned lips, took terrible wounds by sword or claw or just grew old and passed.

The others mingled and talked and there was something there almost like affection as they slid daggers under their skirts and clothing, waiting for the best moment. She laughed at the common folk and nodded at the few who managed to look up, allowing them to stumble into the room full of watching, predatory masked faces. The monarchs watched, waiting, old and ancient and their thrones grew taller. Lyonette dreamed of all this. It was no nightmare. For a while she was happy. Then someone stuck a wet nose in her ear and she woke up.

 

—-

 

It wasn’t, Lyonette thought, a mystical prophecy of any kind. It was just a dream. It might have been caused by stress. But it hadn’t been a bad dream. It hadn’t.

“I used to like it, Mrsha.”

The Gnoll looked up as she ate her breakfast of porridge. She had some of the food caught on the fur around her face. She licked it up with her tongue and looked at Lyonette questioningly.

“Being a [Princess]. It wasn’t a bad life.”

Mrsha nodded agreeably. That made sense. She went back to her porridge. Lyonette sighed.

“But I was frustrated. I never leveled. I never did anything and I felt like I was a failure. I was…sad.”

She looked down at her bowl until she felt a wet nose on her hand. Mrsha looked up at her with expectant eyes. Lyonette smiled and spooned some porridge into her mouth.

“I’m not sad now. It was just a dream.”

Mrsha nodded and pointed at her empty bowl. Lyonette eyed it; it had been licked clean. She thought about scolding Mrsha, but then she recalled that licking your plate was perfectly acceptable, indeed, expected in Gnoll society. So she nodded and smiled.

“Take your bowl into the kitchen and you can play. But remember—

She held up a warning finger as Mrsha grabbed her bowl. The Gnoll paused and looked back. Lyonette made sure Mrsha met her eyes.

“You can’t leave the inn without telling me or Erin. Remember?”

Mrsha sighed and her ears drooped slightly. But she nodded and scampered into the kitchen. Lyonette heard Erin’s voice for a second before Mrsha scampered out. The Gnoll raced upstairs and Lyonette guessed she was heading straight to her room. She had a ball up there.

Sure enough, no sooner had Lyonette heard the scuffling-scratching sound of Mrsha racing upstairs than she heard energetic thumping coming down the stairs. Mrsha raced down with a soft ball made of corded leather in her mouth. She ran into the center of the common room and looked around.

Normally, there wouldn’t be much space for an energetic child of any species to play in a normal inn. Especially one with guests. But happily, Erin’s inn now featured her [Grand Theatre] Skill at almost all times. The giant room felt slightly unnerving to Lyonette and she often kept her back turned to the extra space. But Mrsha loved it. The dim room was plenty of space for her to toss her ball and race after it, diving beneath chairs and leaping over the tops of tables.

“Careful!”

Lyonette couldn’t help calling out another warning as she watched Mrsha leap over a chair as she chased after her prized ball. Mrsha was going fast! But she didn’t tell the Gnoll cub to stop either. Mrsha needed to play. And given the current circumstances, letting her play anywhere but the common room of the inn would be dangerous.

The young [Princess] glanced towards the windows. Half of them were still boarded up, but two had been renovated by the industrious Antinium Workers. She saw through a glass pane dark skies and pouring rain. Again. It felt like it had been a month already, but barely a week had passed and the spring rains were still drowning Liscor. The waters had now engulfed the Floodplains and only a few of the tallest hills and the city itself stood above the waterline.

It was wet. Unpleasant to be out and about in. Not that Mrsha would care, but the waters presented dangers of their own. Quillfish, octopus-fish with teeth, Rock Crabs creeping along underwater, to name but a few of the dangers. Of course, most of the fish that had entered the waters were by and large harmless, but Lyonette wasn’t about to risk Mrsha at all. She’d had enough close encounters, thank you. So the Gnoll had been confined to the inn unless Lyonette went into the city. Normally that would be fine, but the rain meant that Liscor was less than engaging for a small child.

Rain. Rain and more rain, pouring down at every second. It was enough to dampen the brightest spirits. Or at least, make one think twice about venturing outside unless you had business. Lyonette sighed as she watched Mrsha playing. Then she turned her head.

“Stay out of my drink, Apista.”

The Ashfire Bee creeping up the side of her mug fanned its wings. Undeterred by the gigantic bee, Lyonette plucked her off and tossed her into the air. Apista fanned her wings and flew around Lyonette; the [Barmaid] could feel the bee’s annoyance. But not much; it was a mild thing, like the faintest of itches and Lyonette had learned enough to know that meant Apista was only vaguely upset. And she wasn’t about to let the bee drink her milk.

Lyonette sipped from her mug, savoring the warm, rich goat’s milk. It had a different flavor than cow’s milk but it wasn’t bad. Actually, it might have been a bit sweeter. Lyonette had known worse goat milk before, but Erin got hers fresh from one of Liscor’s few villages and it stayed fresh thanks to her Skills.

Something to savor. Lyonette closed her eyes and sipped again. Without looking she batted Apista away from her mostly empty bowl of porridge. The Ashfire Bee buzzed again, but Lyonette was unmoved.

“I just fed you breakfast! You ate your honey—shoo!”

Disgruntled, the Ashfire Bee flew backwards and Lyonette knew she was going to her favorite spot—the baskets of faerie flowers that were blooming despite the horrible weather right by Erin’s windows. Lyonette knew the bee loved sipping the nectar from the flowers.

“Strange that it doesn’t do anything to you. Everyone else gets dizzy and I knock out bees when I burn the flowers. So why can you drink the nectar and be fine?”

Apista didn’t reply. Lyonette sipped from her mug as Mrsha raced around the tables, throwing her ball off the walls, jumping onto the stage and racing around the props the Players of Celum had left, panting happily. Enticing smells drifted from the kitchen as Lyonette heard Erin banging around, opening cupboards, swearing as she dropped something, and humming.

This was her morning. It was peaceful, enjoyable in its own way. Lyonette savored it until she heard dull footsteps from above. She looked up. The inn’s other residents were waking up. The Halfseekers, the Horns of Hammerad—the Goblins would probably come down now. Lyonette was sure they were already awake. She’d spotted them beating each other in training before dawn through her window. She sighed and reached for her spoon. Time to finish eating. Her day was going to be busy. As always.

 

—-

 

Breakfast this morning was porridge, but Lyonette served fried eggs, bacon—even a steak to her guests, which were all three Gold-rank teams and the Horns of Hammerad. And the Goblins. While it was true that Erin made a specific breakfast for each morning, and that she’d made porridge as a healthier and lighter breakfast for Mrsha and Lyonette, her guests were guests and could order anything they pleased. And they did. Lyonette put the steak down in front of Ceria and the half-Elf licked her lips. As she began cutting into the bloody meat, Jelaqua raised her head and spoke around a mouth full of egg.

“Alright, I talked to Hawk yesterday.”

“And?”

The other adventurers instantly looked at her, as did the Redfang Warriors who were demolishing a pot of porridge by themselves. Jelaqua glanced at them and then looked at the others. She shook her head.

“No go. He told me flat out that he’s not running anywhere near the Goblin Lord’s army. And…yeah. I couldn’t talk him around it. Plus, he’s not keen to wait around while an [Enchanter] appraises the artifacts so I’m afraid it’s City Runners or nothing.”

Lyonette heard a groan as she went around with a pitcher of cool goat’s milk. The last they had in stock, actually. She made a note to ask Krshia about getting more. It was hard to get supplies from the villages—they had to be transported by boat. Maybe she could see about food from Celum? She listened with half an ear as she refilled Ylawes’ cup, nodding and smiling as he thanked her quietly.

“So what? We’d have to rely on City Runners? That’ll take a week to get there—and I’m not sure I trust them with magical artifacts.”

Ceria groaned as she sat back in her chair. Halrac grunted. Everyone looked at him. The [Scout] folded his arms.

“Don’t trust them. Not for Gold-rank artifacts.”

“I agree. It’s too risky. Some City Runners are good, but this would be a multi-part delivery. You couldn’t request one to take it specifically. And having one appraise the items at an [Enchanter]…I’m sure most would be tempted to sell that information or run off with an artifact worth thousands of gold pieces.”

Ylawes sighed as he speared a poached egg with a fork. He looked around and all of the older adventurers nodded. Erin looked around, confused. She wasn’t waiting tables but sitting with the adventurers as they discussed the issue of the artifacts.

The artifacts the Redfang Goblins had recovered. Lyonette glanced at the five Goblins. They were sitting apart from the conversation, but they were listening intently. The adventurers glanced at them now and then before looking away. It was a strange situation. The artifacts were the Goblins’ and Lyonette knew they were hidden somewhere by the five Redfang Warriors. However, the adventurers had insisted the artifacts be identified. The Goblins hadn’t protested—they hadn’t said anything, true to form—and so the debate for the last day had been on how to get the artifacts appraised in a timely manner.

“Hold on, why aren’t City Runners a good idea? They’re not trustworthy?”

“Some are, some aren’t. I don’t know any in the area I’d trust with that much gold. And like Ylawes said, it’s different if multiple Runners are carrying an item. Times like these would be when you request a Runner you know is trustworthy—and can defend themselves. If we were up north we’d have a list of contacts. But around here, Hawk is the only good Runner I’d trust.”

Jelaqua sighed. Erin nodded as she thought that over.

“I get it. It’s like getting the best mailman. And Ryoka’s…”

She trailed off. Lyonette looked at her and saw the Horns of Hammerad exchange glances. After a moment, Ceria cleared her throat.

“I know a Runner. Fals. He’s good, and I think he’d be trustworthy. But the distance to Invrisil…no. Is there another [Enchanter] nearby we could use? Someone near Celum, perhaps?”

“Someone who can identify dungeon artifacts? I don’t think so. That’s not something you want to leave to a low-level [Mage]. Anyone know another name?”

Jelaqua looked around and got headshakes from the other adventurers. The Selphid grimaced and twitched her tail. It was still unsettling to see her in her new Drake body, but she’d adapted Drake mannerisms already. She scratched at the scales of her neck with one claw.

“Pallass is an option.”

“I don’t know any [Enchanters] there. And I don’t know the city. It’s not as straightforward there. We might run into obstacles.”

Ylawes frowned, looking mildly concerned. Seborn nodded.

A Drake city won’t necessarily recognize Gold-rank adventurers from the north. Especially not a Human team. However, the Halfseekers have worked in the south in the past.

Revi nodded as she tapped her lips.

“That works. I wouldn’t put it past a Drake [Enchanter] to avoid working with stinking Humans, but your group used to have Drakes in it, didn’t you? Think we could trade on your reputation?”

All eyes turned to the three Halfseekers. Jelaqua looked up at Moore. The half-Giant had a huge bowl of porridge and spiced apple. He put down his spoon thoughtfully and wiped his mouth.

“We could always ask. It’s not as if it matters if the [Enchanter] talks about what the artifacts do, does it?”

“But—”

Moore cut Revi off.

“Not if the artifacts are going to their rightful owners.”

He looked pointedly at the Redfang Goblins. The adventurers turned as one. The five Goblins returned the gazes, watchful. There was a pause and someone coughed. At last, Ylawes nodded.

“They retrieved the artifacts. If there is room for negotiation…it should be after the appraisal. Let’s assume we’ll go to Pallass. What about the cost for the appraisal?”

“The Gold-rank teams could all pay a portion of the cost. The question is, how would that be repaid? In the form of one of the three artifacts? To which group? And ah…if not that, how else?”

Typhenous murmured as he inspected his fork’s tines. He glanced up and Lyonette saw the Goblins shift. Erin frowned.

“I can pay! I’ll just take it out of their wages.”

Everyone looked at her. Ceria sighed.

“Erin, I don’t think you understand how much a good [Enchanter] charges—especially for a rush job.”

“How much?”

“Let’s see. Eighty gold coins for an appraisal?”

Eighty—

Erin choked as she took a sip from her mug. Lyonette saw the Goblins turn to each other and jabber worriedly. Revi smiled wickedly.

“Eighty? Maybe for a normal artifact. But dungeon artifacts? Try ten times that. More, if the [Enchanter] thinks they might get hit by a curse spell. You could pay as much as two thousand gold coins per artifact.”

“Two th—who’s got that kind of money lying around?”

The Halfseekers exchanged glances and shrugged, but Typhenous smiled as he stroked his beard and Revi smirked. Dawil, Falene, and Ylawes all raised a hand.

“Our groups could pay the cost. As could Griffon Hunt. The question is—would we receive an artifact in exchange?”

“That’s hardly a fair exchange, especially if one’s worth more.”

Yvlon frowned as she pointed that out. By her side, Ksmvr and Pisces nodded, being more engrossed in listening than anything else. Ylawes frowned at his sister.

“We could repay the cost. But we want to be clear about what we might get in exchange. What do the…Goblins think of this?”

All eyes turned to the Redfang Warriors. They exchanged looks. Lyonette went around the tables, waiting for a response. After a long while in which four of the Goblins began kicking the fifth, Numbtongue finally replied.

“Don’t need artifact appraisal.”

What?

All the adventures looked incredulous. Numbtongue shrugged and refused to say anything else. Revi leaned over her table, chewing her bacon furiously.

“See here, I don’t care if you lot die in a dungeon, but I’m not having you walk around with artifacts that might do anything! The curse might not affect only you—I once saw a cursed artifact melt everything in a fifty foot radius!”

“It’s their choice, Revi. If they don’t want to—”

“Oh come on! They’re Goblins! We’re adventurers! We saved them! Don’t we get a say?”

“We saved them at Miss Erin’s request. In point of fact, the artifacts were already recovered.”

“Shut it, Typhenous!”

The argument went on as Lyonette went into the kitchen for cow’s milk instead. She could have served a weak ale for the morning, but milk was generally received well. The adventurers were arguing amongst themselves and the Goblins complicating matters with their silence when she returned. Lyonette listened to the argument, feeling…lost.

She just felt a little left out, that was all. Seeing the adventurers anxiously trying to confer with each other and Erin while the Goblins listened reminded Lyonette that all of this was Erin’s doing. She’d set everything in motion so a group of five Hobgoblins, Hobgoblins, could enter a dungeon and come back with treasure.

True, Lyonette had been the one to get the Halfseekers to enter her inn. And Griffon Hunt. But it had been Erin’s inn and the [Innkeeper] was the one who’d charmed them, made them allies and friends rather than guests. That was her talent, the thing that separated her from Lyonette. She’d made this world, where adventurers would negotiate with Goblins rather than just attack them and where Gold-rank adventurers were regulars at her inn. In fact, it was a testament to the way Lyonette had gotten used to it all that she barely blinked an eye when the Halfseekers announced they couldn’t keep debating the issue any longer.

“We’ve got to test the Heartflame Breastplate that Selys is leasing us. We’ll head to the dungeon if we can, Halrac. But we’re going to see exactly what the armor can do!”

Jelaqua grinned, looking like a child stuck in a dead Drake’s body. She rubbed her claws together.

“It’s going to be amazing.

The other Gold-rank adventurers looked enviously at Jelaqua. If the Goblin’s artifacts were the news of the day, the revelation of Selys lending the Halfseekers the Heartflame Breastplate was the talk of the year. Last night Jelaqua had been so happy she’d bought drinks for the entire inn—thrice! Typhenous leaned forwards, his eyes shining as Jelaqua grinned wildly.

“Can we watch?”

“Sorry. Selys says part of the armor’s secrets can’t be shared. You can watch Moore chuck spells at the armor if you want, though. Or join in yourself.”

“We might have to. Halrac, Revi, I know the dungeon awaits, but ­this—”

The older [Mage] looked at his companions. Halrac nodded after a moment’s thought.

“Fine.”

“We’d like to watch as well. Obviously finding a way into the dungeon matters. I don’t trust entering and exiting via the rift, so the dungeon entrance must be cleared. But for today…I’d love to see what an artifact like that could do.”

Ylawes looked at his team and they nodded in agreement. Dawil sat up as he finished stuffing another sausage into his mouth.

“Always worth seeing what a good artifact does! And it beats arguing about artifacts that we didn’t get anyways. Let the Goblins have their artifacts if they want.”

“Unless we can appraise them ourselves. That’s one last option. Anyone fancy looking at the enchantments and seeing what they might do? Falene, could you look at the enchantments?”

Ylawes paused and looked at his companion. Falene raised her head and gave him a severe glance.

“I am a [Battlemage], not an [Enchanter].”

“I know. I just thought—”

The [Knight] broke off as the half-Elf woman raised one delicate hand.

However, as the sole [Mage] present who has been fully trained by Wistram, I will inspect the artifacts and make a preliminary assessment. Free of change. If we are all in agreement?”

She glanced at the Goblins and then away. The other adventurers nodded, more interested in the armor now, but it was Pisces who sat up. The [Necromancer] sniffed loudly, drawing attention to him.

“Miss Skystrall, it seems you are implying that your understanding of enchantments is superior to anyone else in this room.”

Falene smiled archly at him.

“Oh? I didn’t think I was implying so much as stating a fact. You disagree?”

Pisces flushed.

“Immensely, as a matter of fact. I believe my understanding of enchantments would provide just as much illumination.”

“Then both of you check out the artifacts. Typhenous too, if he wants. Look, if we’re not hiring an [Enchanter], stare as much as you want. Just don’t touch it.”

Exasperated, Jelaqua got up. She looked around.

“This has been fun. But I’m getting new armor and as for this Goblin thing—look, Erin. You want to let them go into the dungeon, fine. They’re adventurers now. I don’t know why. And they have magical artifacts. Unappraised magical artifacts. That’s fine too, I guess. Just make sure they understand what the risks are.”

She looked at the Redfang Goblins, nodded to Seborn and Moore, and then the Halfseekers went to the door. Jelaqua opened it, stared through, and closed it.

“Hey, how do you open this thing to Liscor?”

“I’ve got it.”

Erin hurried over to the door and Lyonette saw the other adventurers rise. They followed the Halfseekers, all but the Horns of Hammerad.

“You’re not going to watch?”

“We’d love to. But I think we’ll get a chance later. And we have something Ksmvr’s insisted on doing.”

Ceria looked at Erin as Ksmvr rose. The Antinium was shaking, but he nodded to his team as the Gold-rank adventurers walked through the doorway into the rainy streets of Liscor. Ksmvr looked at Yvlon and Ceria. Yvlon looked worried.

“Ksmvr, are you sure this is what you want?”

“I insist. If I die, know it was in the service of my team.”

“Die?”

Erin looked confused. Lyonette stared at Ksmvr, a stack of dirty plates in her hand. She wondered what Ksmvr was talking about. She found out as she was washing dishes in the kitchen. It was hard to ignore the screaming.

 

—-

 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—

Lyonette nearly dropped the plate she was washing the first time she heard Ksmvr screaming. It was coming from outside. She ran out of the kitchen and saw Mrsha staring out a window. Lyonette ran to the door and stared outside. The wet, rainy landscape and churning waters surrounded the inn. She heard the screaming cut off suddenly and looked around.

Where had it come from? She stared down to the water’s edge, where three shapes were standing as the rain pelted them. She saw them heave, and then she heard Ksmvr screaming again.

Aaaaaaaa—put me back, put me back!”

He was flailing with his three good arms at the water’s edge. Lyonette saw Yvlon and Pisces look at each other, and then the two adventures slowly lowered Ksmvr’s head into the water. Instantly the Antinium began flailing. After a few second they pulled him out.

Aaaargh! Aaaah! Water! Water everywhere!

He screamed as water ran out of his mandibles. Lyonette saw Ceria shouting at him as she held his legs.

“Dead gods, Ksmvr! Just stop!”

“No! Put me back! I must conquer my fear!”

The other three Horns of Hammerad exchanged glances. Pisces shrugged and Yvlon nodded. They slowly lowered Ksmvr’s head towards the water. He began screaming before they even submerged him. His wild thrashing nearly made the three let go—they hauled him out.

“Put me back!”

“You’re struggling too hard! Ksmvr, this isn’t working! You panic if your head goes into the water, Ring of Water Breathing or not! We can’t hold you steady.”

“I see. Then drop me in!”

“What? You can’t swim!”

The Antinium jerked as water sprayed off his carapace.

“I must learn to enter the water. I disgraced myself by not joining the other adventurers in fighting underwater. I abandoned my duties!”

“You gave the ring to Erin. She used it!”

“I should have used it myself! I must learn to tolerate the water! Put me in!”

“Okay, but if you start screaming and thrashing, we’ll stop.”

“I will not scream. I may excrete all my bodily waste, however. Is that acceptable?”

No.

The Antinium was arguing with his companions as he continued his water tolerance training. Lyonette watched, trying not to laugh. She did feel some admiration for Ksmvr, she really did. But the sight of the Antinium screaming and panicking just looking at the water was funny. She understood why he was afraid, though. That put something of a dampener on her humor and Lyonette decided to get out of the rain—until she saw the white shape sneaking down towards the Horns of Hammerad. Mrsha stealthily snuck up behind Ksmvr as he was arguing with Yvlon and put her paws into the water. She splashed the Antinium from behind and Ksmvr screamed.

“The water is attacking!”

He tore himself loose and ran up the hill as Mrsha chased him, spraying him with water she was holding in her mouth. Lyonette laughed and then shouted.

“Mrsha, stop that! Stop tormenting Ksmvr!”

Mrsha ignored Lyonette as Ksmvr slipped and rolled down the hill, screaming for the others to catch him. She was trying to push him closer to the water as Ksmvr flailed. Lyonette decided this had turned from a prank into cruelty. She snapped.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll cub whined and looked up at Lyonette. The young woman felt bad, but she pointed and Mrsha reluctantly abandoned the screaming Ksmvr. She padded up the hill, tail and ears lowered.

“You know you can’t go outside without asking! What did I say this morning?”

Mrsha made a grumbling sound in her throat. Lyonette understood, she really did. But she had to be firm.

“Inside, young Miss. You need a bath now. Let Ksmvr be.”

Ignoring Mrsha’s protests, Lyonette forced her back inside. She could still hear Ksmvr arguing with Yvlon.

“I will conquer my fear! What if you froze my arms and legs so I could not move? Then put my head underwater?”

Lyonette shook her head. Mrsha was still complaining, and now she was sulking. By the time Lyonette made her take a bath, the Gnoll cub was throwing a tantrum and howling. Something had to be done. And as the morning became midday and the rain poured on, Lyonette knew it was time.

 

—-

 

“A break?”

Erin paused in talking with the [Actor] in front of her long enough to frown at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] nodded and held her breath. Behind Erin she could see a score of [Actors] and helpers setting up the stage for today’s plays. The Players of Celum were putting on multiple performances today and the inn was already bustling, despite the plays not being scheduled for another two hours. However, that hadn’t stopped curious Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans from entering the inn from both Celum and Liscor.

Word about the new play, The Triumph of Liscor as it was tentatively being called, was already spreading to Liscor and Celum. That, combined with the popularity of the plays in general meant that Erin’s giant theatre actually felt somewhat full already. Erin had been rushing about, coordinating details with the Players of Celum in between cooking, but Lyonette had managed to get her attention at last.

“I think Mrsha’s really unhappy at being cooped up. Normally I’d ask Krshia to take care of her or ask Selys to take her to the playground, but Selys is very busy and so is Krshia. I’m the only one who can supervise Mrsha, so I’d like a small vacation. Nothing too much! Just around…let’s say lunchtime for three hours?”

Lyonette held her breath. Erin blinked at her.

“Mrsha’s cooped up? I totally get that! This rain is getting me down sometimes. And if she needs to run and play—don’t worry about it! Take the whole morning and afternoon off if you need to! Mrsha comes first. I can handle things—Drassi and Ishkr are both slated to be in tomorrow as well, so we’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure? I know you’re so busy—”

“Mrsha comes first. We’ll manage! Besides, the Players just need food and drinks and someone to shout at people to be quiet. I can handle that if I have help!”

Erin smiled. Lyonette smiled too, gratefully. She saw the [Actor] standing behind Erin cough and flushed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine. What were you saying, Kilkran?”

Erin flashed a smile at the [Actor] and he straightened.

“I was going to ask about your interpretation of Othello, Miss Erin. You see, it’s become something of an argument among my peers, and I was hoping you might take my side. Tonight’s play will feature one rendition of the play, and I was hoping you could have a word with the actor playing the part before we began. You see, I regard him as…”

Lyonette saw Erin sigh slightly, but the [Innkeeper] listened as the [Actor] went on and Lyonette went back to serving drinks to the people rushing about. That was Erin Solstice. She stood in her inn, but the inn revolved around her. Yes, there were other people in it, but the one who bound everyone together was Erin. And that was great! Wonderful. It wasn’t as if Lyonette was bitter about that fact.

It was just that she wanted to matter too. Erin was like Jasi or Wesle, one of the stars of the acting troupe. She dominated the stage. And Lyonette didn’t mind that. She’d watched Erin, from the proverbial backstage. She knew Erin now, possibly better than anyone else. The thing about Erin was that she had her good sides and her bad sides. She was good at connecting with people. She was bad at—

“Lyonette!”

A harassed-looking Drake approached the [Barmaid]. Lyonette smiled at Drassi. The Drake [Barmaid] and [Gossip] didn’t return the smile.

“Drassi, what’s the matter?”

“My feet are what’s the matter! Lyonette, Erin told me I need to work tomorrow from morning till night!”

“That’s right. Is something wrong with that?”

“Yes! That’s my day off! Only Erin told me how much business we had and she really needs me to work! I love to earn money Lyonette, I really do. But I need time to spend the money I get!”

Drassi’s tail lashed and she spoke faster and faster as she grew more upset. Lyonette tried to soothe her.

“I understand. I know Ishkr’s been busy too. Look, I’ll talk it over with Erin and see if I can get you your day off sometime this week.”

“Would you? I know we have so much business. But it’s too much for three people! Erin should really hire some [Barmaids].”

“I’ll talk to her about it. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks Lyonette. You’re a lifesaver.”

Relieved, the Drake went back to waiting tables. Lyonette looked for Erin, but now she was talking with Wesle. That was the thing about Erin. She was good at people. But when it came to organization—well, she still slept on the floor of her kitchen next to her cooking ingredients. She could leave things hanging. She was good at focusing on one thing. But multiple things—

“Lyonette. Some of our visitors want to leave to Liscor.”

Ishkr called across the inn to Lyonette. He was carrying lunch and was clearly swamped. Lyonette nodded and hurried over to the door. A group of impatient Drakes was waiting there.

“To Liscor?”

They nodded. Lyon found the corresponding mana stone—a bright green one—and placed it on the door. She swung it open and immediately the Drakes poured out and more poured in.

“Finally! We’ve been waiting here for ten minutes! Why did it take so long?”

One of the Drakes demanded angrily as she shook water off her scales. Lyon tried to apologize as she winced and wondered if they could put the door somewhere else. They had to clean the floor six times a day with everyone tromping in and out. She seated the Drakes, turned around, and saw Erin striding towards her.

“Lyonette! Drassi says we have a problem with schedules?”

Surprised, Lyonette glanced towards Drassi. The Drake winced and flicked her tail—a Drake way of apologizing. She must have mentioned the issue to Erin and the [Innkeeper] had abandoned the arguing [Actors] to immediately talk to Lyonette. The [Princess] nodded.

“We don’t have enough staff, Erin. I know we talked about hiring more. I think we need to, otherwise Drassi and Ishkr will be overworked.”

Erin chewed her lip.

“I know, I know. It was on my list but after Maran and Safry, I didn’t want to. You know?”

Lyonette nodded sympathetically. She paused.

“But we do need more.”

“I get it. Um…”

Erin looked around distractedly, as if new helpers would appear out of nowhere.

“I could ask Krshia for more helpers? And Selys? Or get some people from Celum…only I think I’m being boycotted by the [Innkeepers] there. I can ask around. But doing it today is sort of hard because we’re doing so many plays and I have to be here.”

The young woman looked around the inn.

“I know Drassi and Ishkr are tired, but I’ll pay them double if I have to, Lyonette. So…can we handle it for the next few days? I really, really need to have enough people serving the tables for our plays. I just don’t have time to find good people to hire—but you still take your break tomorrow with Mrsha! Kids first! But—”

“How about I find us some help?”

Erin stopped fretting and looked at Lyonette.

“You think you can?”

Lyon nodded. Why not? It wasn’t as if there was a lack of [Barmaids] and [Waiters] to hire. She gave Erin a confident grin.

“Leave it to me! You focus on the plays and I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am. And while I have you, can we do something about the door?”

“What?”

Erin looked blank until Lyonette explained about having to switch the door between Celum and Liscor constantly. And that was without factoring Pallass into the equation. She groaned.

“I didn’t realize it would be such a problem! Pallass barely gets used, but Liscor and Celum—look, I’ll try talking to Pisces, but he says I can’t make it move like Howl’s Moving Castle.

“What?”

“I can’t make it automatic! Or rather, he can’t. It’s too hard and has something to do with enchantment bindings and limited spell matrix capacity and so on. It would be so much easier if we didn’t have to use Liscor’s door, but what can you do? It’s not like I can get people to swim here, right? Right?”

Erin grinned sheepishly. Lyonette wondered if she’d actually be able to do just that. Knowing Erin…

“Maybe there’s another way.”

“Maybe? If you think of it, let me know.”

Erin sighed. Lyonette heard someone call her name and Erin groaned.

“Gotta go. Tell me if the lack of employment thing gets worse, okay?”

“Okay!”

The two separated. Lyonette made a beeline for Drassi. Ironically, there was no bee in sight; Apista was up in Lyonette’s room with Mrsha, preferring to stay out of the way of so many people.

“Sorry about that, Lyonette. I just mentioned that I talked to you, and Erin was like ‘I’m going to sort this out right now!’ I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“It’s fine, Drassi. Erin’s asked me to sort this out. Tell me, do you know anyone who might be free to work here?”

The Drake paused as she wiped sweat from her forehead.

“Me? Yeah, I’ve got tons of friends! So does Ishkr! Hey, Ishkr!

The Gnoll paused as he headed towards the kitchen. He strode over and quickly convened with the two [Barmaids] as the diners waited for service. He nodded the instant Lyonette asked about other potential workers.

“I have a handful of friends. And acquaintances, yes? I could ask them.”

“They’re trustworthy? Hardworking?”

Both Drassi and Ishkr gave Lyonette an insulted look. Lyonette returned it.

“I have to ask.”

Drassi twitched her tail.

Some of my friends slack off a bit. Okay, half of them. But I can ask the good half.”

“And I would not betray Miss Erin’s trust. I could ask a handful of the Gnolls I know to work hard.”

“Do you think they’d leave their jobs to work here?”

“Depends on how much you offer them. A lot of them work part-time. You know, during the spring rains? They could be persuaded to quit—especially if they get to watch plays.”

Drassi gave Lyonette a toothy smile. Lyonette smiled back and did some quick math.

“Tell them that Erin will pay them one silver and two copper per hour for the next three days. After that, if they want to stay on they’ll be paid a regular wage. Less.”

“Whoa! That’s a lot of money!”

Drassi and Ishkr looked shocked. That was nearly as much as Erin had offered Maran and Safry, and that had been an exorbitant amount for their levels and Skills. But the inn could definitely afford it. Lyonette nodded.

“I want them working tomorrow. They can come in with you and learn how to work in the inn. Of course, Erin will pay you and Ishkr the same amount. And for all the times you’ve had to work overtime!”

“Really? That’s great!”

Both Drake and Gnoll looked delighted. Lyonette smiled at them. She was promising a lot, but both workers had been pulling long hours for the inn. She should have brought this up with Erin a week ago! But that was also the thing with Erin. She reacted to problems rather than think ahead most of the time. Lyonette got back to work with Drassi and Ishkr; the patrons were getting unhappy with dry throats. Like a flash, it was already evening and Lyonette was tending to a fussy Mrsha.

“I know you want to run, but you can’t go running about under the tables. You can sit and watch the plays or run about upstairs, okay?”

Mrsha buried her head in her pillow and made a whining noise. Lyonette sighed, but she didn’t have time to argue. She hurried downstairs just in time to see Erin greeting a familiar face.

“Hey Ilvriss, what’s up?”

Wall Lord Ilvriss, arguably the most important Drake in Liscor, glared at Erin but silently took a seat at a table. Lyonette winced as she rushed past Erin. She waved at Drassi who poured her a mug of Firebreath Whiskey and shoved it into Lyonette’s hands.

“You do it? Please? He scares my tail off!”

Lyonette nodded. She took the mug to Wall Lord Ilvriss and smiled.

“Your drink, Wall Lord.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Ilvriss looked surprised at the prompt service. He looked around at his table.

“I assume more plays will be put on tonight?”

“Absolutely, Wall Lord. We have another performance of The Triumph of Liscor, and the Players of Celum will be putting on other plays throughout the night. I can ask for a list if you would like to hear it?”

“Hmm. Yes, do that. But first, orders. I will have your finest steak—well done, spiced as hot as your kitchen allows.”

He nodded at his table and the Drakes who’d come with him chimed in with their orders. Lyonette fixed all of the details in place in her mind and bowed again before hurrying off. Ilvriss looked slightly pleased when she brought him his food within five minutes of ordering—the steak was done, and Ishkr had only had to heat it up, fry it until it was further done, and dump as many spices as he could onto the meat. Of course, the other orders were also premade and ready, but Lyonette deliberately chose to hold off sending them to the table until Ilvriss’ plate was done.

It was just etiquette, plain and simple. You didn’t serve anyone but the Wall Lord first. And you most certainly did not call him by his name in front of his followers. Lyonette wished Erin knew that. But in a way, that was something Erin couldn’t do. She couldn’t be humble.

Or maybe she could be. But she was bad at doing things she hated. She didn’t treat Wall Lord Ilvriss with the respect he required because she didn’t believe in the superiority of the noble titles. That was all very well and good and Lyonette understood the sentiment—here she was, a [Princess] waiting tables—but it was also a fault. Ilvriss had mellowed out considerably, but there was a difference between pushing him to being more tolerant and insulting him to his face.

What she could do wasn’t what Erin could do. Lyonette served tables as the Players of Celum finally began their play. The Triumph of Liscor was just as overdone as the first time she’d seen it, but the speeches had been refined and more parts had been added. It was as far from the truth as could be and when the play had finished, the applause was thunderous. The [Actors] rotated and another group came on to play Othello. All the while Lyonette was hurrying over to the magic door to let people in and out to Celum and Liscor. She had to change the door every five minutes—or less.

“This is ridiculous! There has to be a better way!”

Exasperated, Drassi slapped a yellow mana stone onto the door and yanked it open. Octavia’s voice could be heard in her shop.

“Come on, buy a pack of matches while you’re waiting! Or how about a stamina potion for the night? You’ll be wide awake until dawn—unless you take one of my drowsiness tonics! A two-for-one offer! Why not throw in a healing potion while you’re at it? You can never be too careful!”

“If we could just leave the door open to Celum, we wouldn’t have to keep opening it to Liscor. Maybe just once every thirty minutes so people know when we open it.”

Lyonette frowned at the door. Drassi nodded.

“But how would we tell them? A sign? Sundial? It’s raining so that’s not going to work. Ancestors, it would be so much easier if Erin just bought a bridge! I have a friend who could sell her one.”

“A bridge?”

Bemused, Lyonette glanced at Drassi. The Drake nodded.

“Why not? It’s not far from Liscor to the inn! It would cost a good bit of gold, yeah, but it would be so much easier.”

“To buy a bridge.”

“Of course! Wait—I forget, you don’t know about bridges! Hasn’t anyone told you?”

Drassi slapped her forehead. She tried to explain as she pointed Lyonette to a window.

“It’s not like we have that many, but if there’s a nearby place we need to get to—I think we connected one from the city to the dungeon. It’s not hard! You just pay a few Drakes or Gnolls to build a bridge over the water! If you’ve got the gold, you can hire one and have it done tomorrow.”

“And it’s safe?”

“Well, it’s not that safe if a monster attacks. But most of them don’t go above the water and if it’s near the city the most you normally get is hit by a Quillfish. And you have Bird on the rooftop, right? He and the City Watch can shoot anything that attacks.”

“That could work!”

Lyonette imagined a bridge connecting Liscor and The Wandering Inn. It wouldn’t eliminate the need for the door, but it would cut down on the traffic. She found Erin in the kitchen and explained the bridge idea. Erin nearly dropped the hot pan in surprise.

“Wait. Are you serious? Relc told me he had a bridge to sell me and I told him he was crazy! That’s actually a thing?”

“That’s right! Drassi says she knows someone who can get to work tomorrow. Do you think you’d be willing to pay for it?”

Erin thought about that for a moment. Then she reached for her money jar.

“How much?”

Five minutes later, Drassi hunted through the crowd of watching Drakes. She’d spotted the very Drake she wanted to talk to and pulled him out of his seat as the next play started. Lyonette heard her whispering to him.

“Hey Meniss! Are you still selling bridges? Because I have a big one for you! But you have to give me a discount. And no building it with bad ropes or wood, got it?”

Soon enough Drassi came back with the news that a team of Drakes and Gnolls would work on a bridge tomorrow and both Lyonette and Erin exchanged a celebratory high-five. They got back to work. Lyonette got into the rhythm of serving, watching familiar and unfamiliar faces come and go until someone special walked through the door to Liscor.

“Pawn?”

The Worker looked up in surprise.

“Lyonette. Greetings.”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week! Where have you been?”

A genuine smile sprang to Lyonette’s lips as she ushered the wet Worker into the room. Pawn nodded, looking tired.

“I have been exceedingly busy. After the attack there was much work to be done. Not only in flood proofing the Hive…I have expanded my unit to include many more Workers and Soldiers and organizing them is a troublesome task. That is why I came here, actually.”

“Really? Tell me about it. Let me get you a seat. I know it’s noisy—we just finished a play. Another one will start soon. Can I get you anything to eat? To drink?”

Pawn wavered as Lyonette ushered him to a seat at the back of the room.

“That is very kind, Lyonette. But I was hoping to speak to Erin. I need her advice.”

“Oh.”

Lyonette’s excitement went out like a candle. She paused.

“Sure. I’ll get her. She’s um, busy, but I’m sure she has time for you.”

She backed away and found Erin in a second. True enough, Erin was more than willing to stop socializing with Selys and pestering her about how her new armor worked. She made a beeline for Pawn.

Pawn! I haven’t seen you in forever! What’s been happening?”

Again, Lyon watched Pawn raise his mandibles in a smile and turn to Erin. She knew Erin was important to him, but it hurt a bit. She and Pawn had truly gotten to know each other before. She listened unobtrusively as Pawn explained his dilemma.

“…so many of them, you see? And with the rainfall we cannot patrol. I wish to give them some form of entertainment, but books only go so far. What can we give my people without exposure to the above world? Your inn is often occupied and the Antinium cannot indefinitely fund meals at your inn. I was hoping you had suggestions.”

Lyonette opened her mouth and then bit her tongue. Erin patted Pawn on the shoulder, smiling at him.

“Pawn, I’ve got you. Just give me a day or two and I’ll think of all kinds of things your Soldiers and Workers can do! I know tons of games. Not just board games—we could introduce your people to fun activities!”

“Like what?”

“Like…tag! Or musical chairs! Wait, no. That’s a terrible idea. But I’m sure there are fun things to do indoors for everyone. Painting? Well, you already do that. Um. Yoga? No wait, your body parts don’t bend. Tomorrow I’ll have a list. Tonight you relax and have fun! I’ll make you a food basket to take back too, okay?”

“You are most kind, Erin.”

“Nah, nah. But hey look, they’re putting on the next play! I think we’re doing Pygmalion now. I want to do Romeo and Juliet—I mean, Juliet and Romeo soon. That’s gonna be a huge hit. Hey, tell me about what happened in the Hive when the moths attacked! I was so worried when I heard there was fighting! Where were you?”

“Well, I was summoned to the front as soon as the alarm was raised…”

Lyonette saw Pawn gesturing awkwardly as Erin sat with him. She turned her head and saw Drassi and Ishkr struggling to keep up with all the hungry visitors silently waving mugs or empty plates. Guiltily, Lyonette lingered for a minute longer and then hurried off. She had a job to do. And so she did it.

But suddenly, unaccountably, Lyonette felt worse. Okay, fine. Pawn needed Erin’s help. That made sense. Erin had brilliant ideas. From her world. And she had helped turn Pawn into an individual. Lyonette understood how important that made her in his eyes.

It was just—she was a bit jealous, that was all. She watched as Erin bent her head towards Pawn, ushering him towards her chess table where they could sit and talk. Lyonette went to get Pawn a warm drink and some hot food. Not so she could hover around the table. She was just curious.

And a bit jealous. That was all.

 

—-

 

Nighttime. Just before midnight the last guests left. Not so much because they were done drinking or too tired to stay up, but because Lyonette had firmly established that there had to be a closing time with Erin. Drassi and Ishkr were practically asleep on their feet when they’d left, and Lyonette was sore and exhausted. Nevertheless, she stayed up as Erin yawned her way into the kitchen.

The adventurers were back. The Goblins were upstairs. Everything was quiet. Lyonette snuck into her room where Apista and Mrsha were sleeping and rummaged around under her bed. She pulled out a sheathed sword that Mrsha was forbidden from touching. Then she crept downstairs.

It was still raining. Lyonette stared out at the rain-slicked grass and shook her head. So she cleared some tables and chairs in the common room instead and took a stance. She held her sword upright, trying to recall how she should grip the hilt.

Here and…here. And her footwork? Her feet moved automatically to the right places, courtesy of her [Basic Footwork] Skill. Good. Lyonette took a few slow breaths, trying to breathe right. She imagined someone standing right in front of her and slowly lifted her sword.

“Strike fast and true. Strike without hesitation, yes?”

The words burned Lyonette’s lips. The memory made her heart hurt. But she forced the feelings back and tried to remember. She awkwardly tried to cut like Brunkr had shown her once before. Her sword whooshed through the air pleasantly, but Lyonette felt like her stance was wrong.

“Like this? No. Like this.”

She tried to stab forwards, to parry. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but the sword was light in her hands. Not at all heavy compared to a tray full of food. And it was balanced well. Lyonette used to think of swords as heavy things, but a well-made sword was easy to use. Still, Brunkr had told her that a good [Warrior] trained not just for speed and strength, but so they could remember how to act, how to strike just so in a moment’s notice.

Strike. She’d learned how to perform a few basic strikes from him, how to parry an oncoming blow. That was all. Lyonette performed the moves again and again until her already tired arms protested. She practiced until she was sweaty and then lowered her sword.

Meaningless. Sometimes it felt like that. Lyonette clumsily sheathed the sword, feeling as though she was unworthy of it. But she deliberately carried it back upstairs, deliberately hid it under the bed and told herself she would do the same tomorrow. Because it mattered. Because Brunkr had taught her how to do that. Because…

She fell asleep without finishing that thought. Her bed was warm even though Mrsha hogged the blankets and Lyonette was very, very tired. She closed her eyes and knew tomorrow would be here too soon.

She didn’t level as a [Warrior] that night, but it was enough. Lyonette was already Level 3, and she hadn’t ever actually fought anything. She wanted to learn, though. She wanted to level. All classes, all levels were worth having. It was better than nothing.

And it was better than being useless.

 

—-

 

“Ugh. I am so tired. Does it feel like everything’s harder today? Because it feels like that to me! I hate spring. All the rain and mud and water—does anyone else feel like they could use a nice, hot, dry summer? Anyone? Ishkr, what about you?”

The next day Drassi’s chatter was something Lyonette had to endure for the first few hours around breakfast. She knew the Drake didn’t mean anything by it, but she was tired. So were Drassi and Ishkr. They were pulling full-day shifts in the inn and Lyonette would have been right there with them any other day. But she had another commitment, so as she finished serving and eating breakfast, she found Mrsha.

The young Gnoll was sitting in her chair, eating her food with less than her normal vigor. She looked antsy, and her ears were flatter than usual. She looked up as Lyonette approached. The [Princess] smiled and knelt as Mrsha shifted restlessly.

“Come on, Mrsha. We’re going to Celum.”

Instantly, Mrsha’s ears perked up and her tail began to wag. She followed Lyonette to the door and Lyon bade farewell to Erin.

“You sure you don’t need me to return earlier?”

“We’re good! And Drassi and Ishkr’s friends are arriving soon, so we’re getting reinforcements! I’ve got more plays happening and we’re building a bridge! Go have fun! You too, Mrsha!”

Erin laughed. That was one of her good qualities. She had meant it when she told Lyonette that Mrsha came first. Lyonette grabbed a basket she’d made in the morning for this very moment and she pushed the door open to Celum.

“Hey Lyonette! Hey furry little match-seller! Something you need?”

Octavia beamed at the two of them. Lyonette smiled politely.

“We’re just headed into the city. We’ll be back soon.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, do you think Erin would mind keeping her door closed longer tonight? I sell more stuff if people have to wait in my shop before I get to her! I’m thinking of selling food, actually. You know, for the wait. If she could wait for thirty minutes each time…”

Octavia’s voice trailed off as Lyonette walked outside. She had to shake her head at the [Alchemist]’s avarice.

“Don’t you listen to her. Octavia is a good person. Who does mean things.”

Mrsha nodded as she happily walked along Celum’s streets. It was dry here. The sun was shining, there were few clouds in the sky, and Lyonette felt a cool wind on her clothes. She blinked around the bright Human city.

“Wow.”

Celum was a hundred miles north of Liscor. From the city Lyonette could see the High Passes and darker skies, but the weather that affected Liscor did not reach all the way to Celum. She walked down the street, urging Mrsha to stay close as Humans walked past her and wagons rolled down the street. Mrsha sniffed the air, her tail wagging and Lyonette smiled.

“This is much better than the inn, isn’t it?”

Mrsha smiled happily. Soon, Lyonette was at Celum’s gates and a [Guardswoman] standing there checking people coming in stopped her.

“Is that Gnoll child with you, Miss?”

“Yes. She’s my…ward.”

“I see.”

The Human woman looked curiously at Mrsha, who waved a paw. The [Guardswoman] might never have seen a Gnoll before, or one with white fur. She eyed Lyonette who was adjusting the bag at her side and telling it to ‘stop moving, we’re nearly there’. She made no comment however.

“May I ask where you’re going? It’s not wise to venture too far outside the city. Especially with children.”

Lyonette nodded.

“We won’t go far. Just outside the walls. I hear there are open fields near the city?”

The [Guardswoman] pointed a finger.

“If you’re looking for a walk within sight of the walls, try that way, Miss. Just don’t stray too far.”

“Thank you.”

Lyonette smiled and got a smile in return. She stepped out of the gates and Mrsha looked up. The sunlight warmed her skin and the cool air invigorated her. Both young woman and Gnoll looked around. There was no rain. There was no water. There was hard, firm earth, blooming grass, and flowers. Lyonette felt Apista trying to crawl out of her rucksack. She saw Mrsha squirming, practically vibrating.

“Mrsha, if you stay within eyeshot you can run. Okay?”

The Gnoll looked at her. Lyonette gave her a nod. Mrsha’s eyes went round and wide and then she shot across the open ground, prompting a surprised laugh from the [Guardswoman]. Lyonette laughed too in delight. Mrsha was quick, but out here in the open with nothing to get in her way she was like lightning! She might have outrun a hare and she was grinning in delight as she ran on all fours.

“Wait for me!”

Lyonette ran after her. As she did, the hand that had been holding the rucksack at her side fell open. Something crawled out and then took wing. Apista flew into the air, finally free of Lyonette’s prison, happily flying through the air as Mrsha bounded along. Lyonette ran after both, laughing.

The sun! It shone down on all three as they ran towards a small field of flowers right where the [Guardswoman] had said. It was indeed within a good distance of the walls and here Lyonette told Mrsha she had to stay. The Gnoll took this restriction with nothing but good humor—she was delighted to run about at last and was busy sniffing everything in sight, peering at flowers, chasing after a cricket, and smiling.

The smile was everything. Lyonette had fretted to see Mrsha so depressed. Sometimes she wondered if she was the right person to care for her. But who else was there? Erin? Ryoka? Krshia? Selys? Each one couldn’t look after Mrsha as much as Lyonette could. None of them had been there when Mrsha needed someone. Lyonette had. She was a poor mother though. A poor substitute for the real thing. But she did try. Lyonette sat in the grass and began unpacking her bag.

“Blanket, food—shoo, Mrsha! You just ate! Here. Catch this!”

Lyonette pulled something out of her bag. Mrsha jumped up joyously and one of her paws grazed the ball that Lyonette threw. Her ball. Happily, Mrsha chased after it and threw the ball high, high into the air. She ran for it and Apista buzzed after her. Like the Gnoll, the Ashfire Bee was happy to be outdoors. Lyonette could sense it through the bond they shared. Apista went from flower to flower, delicately avoiding crushing the bright blooms as she inspected each one for nectar. She and Mrsha ran about as Lyonette finished setting up her small picnic. Then Lyonette got up.

“Mrsha?”

The Gnoll bounded over. Lyonette reached down.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Mrsha thought about that and then spat out the ball in her mouth. She wiped it on the grass and then tossed it at Lyonette. The young woman smiled, caught the ball, and threw it back. Mrsha leapt from all fours to catch the ball with her two paws. She tumbled onto the ground, stood up clumsily, and threw the ball back. Lyonette laughed, chased the ball and threw it.

The Gnoll needed more people to play with. Other Gnolls maybe. More games. Next time, Lyonette would see if Krshia could come. Or Ishkr. Or Erin. And there would be a next time. That Lyonette was certain of. Because what Erin had said was right. Mrsha came first. More than the inn, more than her job, Lyonette had a duty to the small, voiceless Gnoll who rolled about in the grass, happy to be out of the rain.

Trouble with Goblins, Pawn’s dilemmas, her inferiority to Erin—it all melted away as Lyonette laughed and twirled Mrsha around. The sun shone and for a while Lyonette danced with Mrsha in the small field of flowers. And Lyonette smiled and laughed—

Until she heard the shrieking.

It came from above, a scream of rage. Not a Human voice, or a person’s. A bright red bird no bigger than Lyonette’s hand hurtled out of the sky, shrieking in fury. It was joined by another bird of equal size, its mate perhaps. And it was chasing something.

Apista. Lyonette cried out in horror as she saw the duo of birds diving at Apista, pecking the Ashfire Bee as Apista fanned her wings and jabbed threateningly with her stinger. But for all her size the two birds were faster and more mobile in the air. They tried to rake her with their claws, pecking, as Apista buzzed in fury.

“Apista!”

Mrsha stopped playing and looked up in alarm. The two red robins dove around Apista, outraged. Had Apista flown by their nest? Or were they just attacking the Ashfire Bee for fear she might bring more of her kind? Lyonette heard the outraged voices of the bird grow louder and then multiply. To her horror she saw robins, starlings, and then a crow fly out of the air. They dove at Apista, acting in unison. And now Lyonette grew truly afraid.

Robins were one thing. But a crow? She saw the large bird strike Apista with a claw and felt the flash of pain through her bond. Apista tried to sting the crow, but the bird was too quick. It flew backwards, squawking, as Apista beat her wings furiously. The other birds besieged her from all angles.

“Apista! Come here!”

Lyonette waved her arms, shouting loudly, trying to drive off the birds. It didn’t work. Mrsha threw something—her precious ball—but the birds easily avoided the missile and kept attacking Apista. The Ashfire Bee was beating its wings, buzzing loudly, refusing to flee.

Apista was buzzing louder than Lyonette had ever heard her. Her wings fanned faster as the birds flew around her, darting at her sides and wings. Lyonette was about to shout at the bee to fly to her so she could shield her from the angry birds when Apista’s buzzing reached a peak. Her wings beat so fast they nearly turned invisible and then the bee burst into flames!

Apista!

Lyonette’s shriek of horror was echoed by the birds around it. One of them had been diving at Apista the moment before the flames began. One of the red robins peeled away, its feathers smoking. It fled, twittering in alarm and the other birds hesitated. They took one look at the flaming bee, circling, wary of striking. Then Apista moved. She flew straight at the crow and the startled bird cawed and nearly lost its wings to the fiery attack. It flew with Apista in hot pursuit. Below, Lyonette and Mrsha watched, gaping with astonishment.

The fire didn’t hurt Apista! Lyonette could sense the bee wasn’t hurt, only extremely angry. Apista flew at the other birds, chasing them off. Within moments she was the only thing in the air and the distressed birdcalls were a distant memory. Now Apista flew downwards, like a flaming ember.

“Come here.”

Lyonette called up at her. The bee flew towards her and the fire engulfing her body winked out as she few towards Lyonette. The young woman hesitated, but she held out her hands. She winced as Apista landed, but the bee was only warm to the touch. Gently, Lyonette held her to her chest.

“You silly little bee! Don’t pick fights with birds!”

Apista wiggled her antennae, trying to climb up Lyonette’s hands. She perched on Lyonette’s shoulder, fanning her wings gently. Lyonette sensed exhaustion from the Ashfire Bee, as if it had used up all its energy setting itself aflame.

“Was that magic? Or could you always do that?”

Predictably, Apista didn’t respond. Lyonette looked around. Mrsha appeared with her ball in her mouth. She approached Apista, sniffing anxiously and the bee crawled onto her face. Mrsha carefully lifted her onto her head. Lyonette regarded her two charges and exhaled slowly.

“That was too much excitement. Here.”

She dug around in her pack and pulled something out. A small jar of honey. Instantly, Apista flew over to it. Lyonette uncorked the bottle and let Apista crawl onto it. The bee immediately began devouring the honey and Lyonette saw Mrsha approach the bag. The Gnoll rooted around in the bag and found lunch. She pulled out a toasted sandwich and looked triumphantly at Lyonette.

“Alright, we can have an early lunch.”

Lyonette smiled. She sat with Apista and Mrsha and found her own sandwich. The Gnoll slowly ate her lunch as Lyonette chewed on her food.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. Ashfire Bees are known to be immune to fire. And they’re dangerous. Why shouldn’t they be able to set themselves on fire?”

Mrsha nodded. Lyonette looked at Apista.

‘I’ve heard they survived forest fires. Only now I wonder if they start them. Is it something only a few bees can do? I still don’t know if Apista’s a queen bee. All I do know is that she eats too much and she picks fights with birds. And moths.”

Apista wiggled her antennae. Lyonette yawned. That fright and playing with Mrsha had exhausted her!

“I’m sleepy. And it’s quite warm. Mrsha, are you…?”

She looked over and saw Mrsha was lying on the blanket, already snoozing. Lyonette laughed. The sun was warm. And while it was cool, compared to the rainy weather, this was just too pleasant. Slowly, Lyonette lay back on the blanket.

“We really shouldn’t sleep here. Especially if more birds will attack.”

That was very true. But the blanket made a counterargument. If Lyonette just lay back and closed her eyes she could think about the dangers in more comfort. Slowly, Lyonette did. She closed her eyes and felt welcome sleep tugging at her mind. She was still tired. She was always so busy at Erin’s inn. But here…

Mrsha was curled up next to her. Her small back rose and fell rapidly as she slept. Lyonette looked at her. There lay Mrsha. Her fur was beautifully white. She could be a handful. Cranky, prone to disobedience, pranks. She’d gone through so much. Too much. And yet, there was no one else in this world that Lyonette cared more for. She’d been a [Princess]. She’d lost her possessions, become an outcast. She’d become an unwilling [Barmaid]. But it had been the need to care for Mrsha that made her truly change. And now she was Mrsha’s guardian. Her protector. Because Mrsha was her…

Her what? Her subject? Her ward? Her…child? Nothing quite fit. Lyonette reached out and felt Mrsha’s warm back beneath her palm. What she was to Mrsha and Mrsha was to her defied proper words. But it mattered. Oh, it mattered.

“I don’t have a kingdom anymore. I don’t have subjects. But I do have you.”

Lyonette whispered and felt the hint of tears spring to her eyes. She brushed them away and put her head back. The warm blanket drew her in and the sun warmed her. Lyonette closed her eyes as Apista buzzed quietly around her head. She felt so sleepy and closed her eyes for a moment.

 

[Carer Level 8!]

 

[Beast Tamer Level 5!]

[Skill – Apista: Basic Training obtained!]

 

“Huh?”

Lyonette sat up. The sun was still shining. The blanket was still soft. But the familiar presence at her side was gone. She looked around wildly and saw Mrsha.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll jumped guiltily. She immediately tried to hide what she was holding behind her back. Lyonette got up, her head bleary and saw Mrsha had gathered a pile of moldy pinecones.

“That’s not…how long have I been asleep?”

Mrsha looked innocently at her. Lyonette looked around and saw Apista was resting in a bed of flowers. She stared at the sun and jumped.

“It’s already evening! We’ve been out here for hours!

Mrsha nodded in agreement. Lyonette looked around.

“That’s long. Too long, maybe. We should get back to the inn. I told Erin I’d come back at some point.”

She looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was pouting.

“Mrsha, do you want to go back? Have you had enough fun?”

The small Gnoll cub considered this. She nodded reluctantly. Lyonette felt incredibly guilty about falling asleep when Mrsha could have wandered off. She tried to make up for it by packing swiftly. She stuffed her blanket and Apista into the rucksack and made tracks back towards Celum.

“The next time I fall asleep, wake me up! I should be the adult here!”

Lyonette moaned. She saw Mrsha nod happily and felt something rustle in her bag. An outraged Apista tried to climb out.

“Oh no.”

Lyonette blocked her with a hand. Apista tried to crawl past her.

“No, Apista. You have to stay. Otherwise someone will swat you in Celum. Stay in the bag.”

Belatedly, Lyonette remembered she’d just obtained a Skill to train Apista. She pointed at the Ashfire Bee and spoke in a firm tone, just like she’d heard the [Houndmaster] in the kennels speaking.

“Stay.”

Apista fanned her wings defiantly. Lyonette pointed.

“Stop that. Stay! Stay.

Apista flew out of her bag and defiantly flew rings around Lyonette’s head. Lyonette groaned. Mrsha laughed silently as Lyonette chased after her Ashfire Bee. The smile on the Gnoll’s face lasted even when they returned to the city, with a suspiciously buzzing bag firmly shut at Lyonette’s side.

This was her small accomplishment. Lyonette took pride in that. She and Mrsha took a moment’s reprieve just long enough to buy Mrsha a little spinning top at a local shop and then they returned through Octavia’s shop to The Wandering Inn. Just in time for chaos.

 

—-

 

“Lyonette! Thank goodness you’re back! It’s a disaster over here!”

The first person to greet Lyonette was Drassi. Lyonette blinked as the Drake waved a claw about frantically.

“It’s chaos over here! No one knows what to do! All of the Gnolls Ishkr brought are milling about and Erin’s busy with the building team with the bridge! They’re arguing and I can’t get my friends to pay attention!”

She pointed and Lyonette saw that Erin was at the center of a crowd of people vying for her attention. Some looked like laborers, while others were clearly [Barmaids] dressed for their job. Some were [Actors] and one was a stuffy-looking Drake waving a clipboard and shouting about Pallass.

“Hold on! Hold on! I’m trying to—stop trying to get my attention! First people first!”

Erin was trying to shout over the voices of everyone, sounding harried. There were too many people though and she kept getting distracted with each new problem that emerged. Lyonette heard angry shouting and saw that some of the customers were demanding food or drink. Others were just shouting for Erin to keep it down. Ishkr was trying to let people in from Celum and Liscor, Drassi was trying to wait tables and explain how everything worked to the female Drakes following her…it was a mess.

And for some reason, Lyonette felt good about that. Was that a good feeling to have? Probably not. But the sight of Erin turning to her in relief and shouting her name—it did feel nice. Because it meant that Lyonette was important. It meant that she was needed. And perhaps most importantly, it meant that Erin wasn’t perfect.

She was an [Innkeeper], someone who could connect to other people’s hearts, turn even the most taciturn of loners into a friend. She read people like books and created miracles and that made her a [Magical Innkeeper]. But if she had a weakness, just one, it was that she was no leader. Just a friend. And that was fine. Lyonette savored this precious knowledge for all of five second and then took a breath.

Attention, everyone!

Heads turned. Lyonette pointed.

“Miss Erin Solstice is extremely busy! Please form a line—I don’t care what order—and wait for your turn. No arguments. I said, form a line. Now!”

She didn’t scream. She didn’t wave her hands or stomp her foot. That was how a fool acted. Lyonette just gave orders and behaved as if they would be carried out. She promptly ignored the people who objected and headed straight for Erin. Half the people around the [Innkeeper] ducked as Apista buzzed over their heads. That helped too, of course.

“What’s the problem? Drassi first.”

“All my friends are here, all the ones who wanted to work, but they don’t know what to do! I’ve been trying to teach them, but—”

“Same here!”

Ishkr walked over. Lyonette nodded. That was simple. She pointed towards the kitchen.

“Drassi, show your friends where we keep the food and have them start passing around the popcorn in bowls to each table. Ishkr, can you show these Gnolls where our drinks are? Have them start filling mugs. We can help each other out once we’re sorted.”

“Got it!”

Relieved, the Drake and Gnoll hurried off, calling to their friends. At once half the shouting patrons stopped, realizing they’d finally get what they wanted. In the newfound silence, Lyonette turned to Erin.

“What else is wrong?”

“I’ve been telling these guys that I’m not hiring a team of adventurers just to watch them build my bridge! I didn’t know that was a cost!”

Erin looked exasperated as she argued with a [Foreman] or perhaps a [Fore Drake] who was supposed to be building the bridge. He growled.

“And how are we supposed to work without protection? Those waters aren’t safe to work in and we’ll be in the water some of the time! Just get the Gold-rank team that’s living here to watch us!”

“They’re busy! And I’m not hiring a Silver-rank team for two days straight! That would cost me too much gold! I told you, I have Hobgoblins—”

“We don’t trust Goblins to watch us!”

All the Drakes and Gnolls instantly burst out into angry protests. Erin folded her arms.

“They’re as good as any team of adventurers!”

That was another fault of hers. Erin was stubborn. She was relaxed about a lot of things, but issues like this—Lyonette listened to them argue for five minutes before offering her compromise.

“What about Hobgoblins and a Silver-rank team of adventurers?”

“What?”

The Drake looked confused. Lyonette pointed to the Horns of Hammerad, who were waiting in line for an unrelated reason that required Erin’s attention.

“If the Hobgoblins stand outside with you and the Horns of Hammerad remain in the inn, will that do? At the first sign of trouble they’ll come out. And we have an Antinium watching from above.”

“You do?”

“Oh yeah. We do!”

Erin grinned as Lyonette went to go grab Bird, who had been sitting in his watch tower and singing his rain song. The Drakes and Gnolls looked somewhat reassured by the Antinium. Ironic, but apparently an Antinium was better than a Goblin, especially to Liscor’s residents. Lyonette turned to Bird.

“Bird, if you see anything attacking the workers, tell us at once. Understand?”

“Yes, Miss Lyonette.”

“Is that fair?”

The [Builders] conferred, but eventually nodded and trooped outside. Lyonette beckoned the next person in line forwards and Erin sighed in relief.

“Lyonette, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“I know, but it’s a good job! I don’t know what I would have done without you. Never go on vacation again, okay? Kidding! But not really.”

She smiled at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] smiled back. She turned back to work, pleased. This was her job. She was a helper at Erin’s inn. This was what she could do. She was no [Princess]. She had no servants or subjects. Just an inn, and a friend. She helped Erin sort out the rest of her problems, let the new workers take over for Drassi and Ishkr, and picked out the two best Drakes and Gnolls out of the bunch. With Erin’s instant agreement she decided to hire them as long-term help.

Another of Erin’s faults—no, another thing about Erin that defined her was her unwillingness to commit to huge changes so easily. She saw hiring someone as a huge transition, whereas Lyonette saw it as a simpler thing. You could fire them if you had to. For Erin that was a tremendously stressful activity. But Lyonette felt like she could easily do that. She couldn’t cook, Erin could. Erin could manage the [Actors], and Lyonette could assemble the [Barmaids]. They had their strengths, their weaknesses. But they were a team. Lyonette didn’t know why she’d ever thought it had been just Erin.

That night she practiced with her sword and went to bed, tired, but happy. Lyonette closed her eyes and heard the voice again.

 

[Barmaid Level 15!]

[Skill – Balanced Posture obtained!]

 

[Warrior Level 4!]

 

[Class Conditions: Princess failed]

[Class – Princess lost.]

[Skill – Detect Poison lost.]

[Skill – Royal Tax lost.]

 

“Oh.”

In the silence of the night, Lyonette sat up for a second. She looked around. She listened. But the voice said nothing more. Slowly, she lay back.

“What happened?”

No one responded. By her side, Mrsha’s chest rose and fell. Apista slept near the window. Lyonette stared up at the ceiling.

It had just been an ordinary day. Just an ordinary day with ups and down and—she’s leveled four times. That was a lot. Was it because she reached Level 15 in [Barmaid]? Was it because she hadn’t been a [Princess] for so long? Because she’d given up?

No one answered. Lyonette stared up at the wooden ceiling over her head.

“It didn’t matter anyways. I never needed that Skill. I never leveled up. I never…”

She trailed off. Outside the rain fell. It pattered on the roof overhead. Lyonette listened to it, blankly. She didn’t feel bad. She didn’t feel sad. If anything, she just felt surprised.

“I lost my class. I didn’t know that could happen.”

She reached inside, searching for pain. For horror. For sadness. But she didn’t find it. She lost her [Princess] class. She was no longer a [Princess]. In name she might be, but in a real way, no, in the realest way she was no longer royalty. It didn’t hurt. Perhaps because she’d lost it long ago.

“Hm.”

Lyonette stared up at the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep. But neither could she find it in her to mourn. And eventually she fell asleep.

 

—-

 

The next day, Erin found Lyonette had gotten up before her. The [Barmaid] was cheerfully cleaning up the plates from last night’s play. She smiled as Erin blinked at her.

“Good morning, Erin!”

She kept her voice low as Erin waved blearily at her. A slumbering little ball of fur was lying on a table.

“Mrsha followed me downstairs. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Really? I could use like five more hours.”

Lyonette laughed a bit as she piled up plates.

“Well, I took a nap yesterday when I went out with Mrsha. And I leveled up last night so I stayed up.”

“What, you did? That’s great news! What did you level in?”

Erin brightened up. Lyonette smiled.

“I reached Level 15 in [Barmaid]. And uh, Level 4 in [Warrior]. And I got a Skill. [Balanced Posture]. I know that’s not much but considering that I haven’t been working for more than half a year at most, I thought—”

“No, that’s amazing! What’s your Skill do?”

The [Barmaid] shrugged, smiling, clearly pleased at Erin’s reaction.

“I think it gives me a better posture. I already had [Basic Footwork], but now I feel like I can’t trip.”

“Really?”

“Go on, push me.”

Lyonette invited Erin to push her. Tentatively, Erin did. Lyonette just shifted backwards. She let Erin push her, try to shove her onto one leg, and then let Erin give her a shove. Each time Lyonette had to take a step backwards or adjust her posture, but she was never in any danger of falling. Erin eventually managed to get her to windmill her arms—only by grabbing one leg and yanking it up. Even then, Lyonette felt incredibly steady.

“That’s so great! I mean, okay, it’s probably best for waiting tables, but I bet you won’t drop a bunch of plates.”

“That’s probably the best use I’ll get out of it.”

The young woman laughed as she agreed. By this time Mrsha had woken up. Not to be dissuaded, she had tried to upend Lyonette in her own way by tripping up the girl. It hadn’t worked. Now Mrsha raised her arms. Lyonette dutifully bent and picked her up.

“That’s really cool, Lyonette. Hey, we should celebrate! Nothing fancy—I bet you you’ll get more levels soon, but how’s a little party for Mrsha sound? We can go picnicking out in Celum! I can close up the inn for a while—maybe invite the others? We could all use some sunshine.”

“That sounds great, Erin.”

Lyonette smiled. She picked up the stack of dirty plates and Erin tried to stop her.

“Aw, come on. You don’t have to do that so early.”

“Someone’s got to. Besides, we need to clean the tables. Don’t worry Erin, I feel refreshed.”

“You sure? I feel like all this work is killing me. I’m so glad we got more help! Good work on getting Drassi and Ishkr to call their friends.”

“It wasn’t hard. And we can try out the new workers and give the others a break. I’m just glad business is picking up. Look Erin, don’t worry about it. I’m really glad I leveled. Really. I’ve finally got a class with enough levels that I can be useful.

Erin sighed, but she let Lyonette take the dishes into the kitchen.

“You were always useful! Now you’re just good at what you do.”

Lyonette laughed. She paused as Mrsha curled back up on her table.

“Come on, Mrsha. You can’t sleep on tables. You know that. If you want to sleep, go back upstairs. I’ll be here when you wake up. I have a job to do.”

Mrsha made a sound of protest. Lyonette nudged her. Erin smiled as the young woman bent over the Gnoll, trying to pick her up.

“Yes, my job. Come on, Mrsha. You get to eat and sleep, but some of us have to work. Some of us have a class. And my class means I have to clean tables. Come on Mrsha. I have a job. Mrsha?”

The Gnoll reluctantly uncurled. She looked up and blinked at Lyonette. Slowly she let herself be picked up by the young woman. Lyonette smiled and saw Mrsha crane her neck up. She felt a rough tongue lick at her cheeks.

“Mrsha! Stop that!”

She tried to stop the Gnoll, but Mrsha licked her other cheek. Lyonette tried to get her to quit, but the Gnoll kept doing it. She turned, laughing.

“Erin! Look at what Mrsha’s doing.”

“Mrsha? What are you up to n—”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen with a grin. Her wide smile stopped dead on her face. She stared at Lyonette and the smile turned into a look of confusion.

“Lyonette?”

“What?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Aside from Mrsha licking me? I think so. She must be hungry!”

Lyonette laughed. She expected Erin to grin and make a joke or announce what was for breakfast. But Erin just stood there. She stared at Lyonette.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“What? Erin—”

Lyonette frowned. She tried to put down Mrsha, but the Gnoll held on tight. She licked Lyonette’s cheek again. This time the girl tried to brush her away.

“Mrsha, honey, stop that. You’ll get my face wet.”

She scrubbed distractedly at her cheeks with her sleeve. Saliva was everywhere! She looked up, wondering if it was bad enough for Erin to stare. But the look on the [Innkeeper]’s face wasn’t that. Lyonette paused.

“Erin, what’s wrong?”

“You’re crying.”

Erin pointed at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] half-turned and then grinned.

“What? No I’m not.”

She looked at Erin, smiling broadly. Erin just stared. Lyonette felt Mrsha shift in her arms and looked down. The Gnoll looked up at her. Slowly, Mrsha raised her paw. She touched Lyonette’s cheek and then showed Lyonette her paw.

It was wet. Lyonette stared at the wet paw. She stared at Mrsha, and then slowly put the Gnoll down. She reached up and touched her cheeks. They were wet.

“That’s just saliva. Here—”

She wiped her cheeks dry with the hem of her shirt. She smiled at Erin. And then she touched her eyes. She felt the tears trickling down and froze.

“Huh?”

Slowly, Lyonette felt at her face. Her cheeks were wet again. Her eyes were…crying. Weeping tears that rolled down her cheeks. Lyonette looked at Erin, bewildered. The young woman stared at her. Lyonette looked down at Mrsha. The Gnoll looked up, confused. Frightened.

“It—I don’t know what’s going on. It must be something with my body. Or a mistake. Or—”

Lyonette looked around, smiling, realizing her vision was blurry. Erin moved towards her.

“Lyon? Did anything else happen last night?”

“No! Nothing important.”

Lyonette lied. She knew she was lying. Erin drew closer to her. She put a hand on Lyonette’s shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Nothing happened. Nothing important.”

The young [Barmaid] whispered the words and felt her throat close. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t sad. But the tears kept falling. Mrsha grabbed Lyonette’s legs and looked up. She was crying. She had no idea why Lyonette was crying, but the Gnoll cub wept.

“Oh Mrsha. Don’t cry! It’s not bad. It’s just—”

Lyonette reached for her. She picked Mrsha up and looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked into her eyes. Lyonette saw a blurry face in her vision.

“Lyonette? What happened?”

“Nothing! Nothing!”

She said the words angrily. Lyonette raised her voice. She felt the world blurring. She was unsteady. So she sat, holding Mrsha. She felt Erin’s hand on her shoulder.

“It was nothing. Nothing. Really. It was nothing. It was—”

A hiccup. Lyonette tried to suppress it, but it grew worse. She felt the hiccup come again, and then turn into shaking. Mrsha clung to her, and Lyonette felt her tears stain her shirt. She began sobbing as Erin held her.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

And then Lyonette wept. She shook and cried as the rain kept falling. It was a bright, sunny day somewhere else. But here the rain fell and Lyonette du Marquin sobbed as the other guests of the inn came down the stairs, searching for the noise. The tears kept falling, again and again. On and on.

It was the beginning of another day.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.25 L

“And so we pray. Not for a god, not because we are chosen or beloved. We are alone.”

The mass of heads bowed before Pawn. He stood at the small earthen dais at the back of the room. It was nothing more than packed earth. Pawn held a censer in his hands. It was not burning, although a faint cinnamon smell still emanated from it. He had no intention of lighting it; it was just for comfort as he spoke.

“We are alone.”

The words echoed through the chamber over the listening Soldiers and Workers. Painful words. True words. Pawn knew them to be true. He raised his voice.

“However. I believe in heaven. I believe in salvation and the worth of our souls. I believe in you. So if you would, join me and have faith that there is a place for our kind. And if there is none, we shall build it ourselves. Let us pray.”

Pawn lowered his head and put two of his hands together, clasping them as he sensed the other Antinium doing the same. He prayed then, prayed without words. He imagined what heaven might be. He hoped it was real and that his words were not meaningless. For a while he stood thus, and felt better. That was all. He raised his head and spoke softly.

“Amen.”

A susurration ran through the crowd of Antinium as they raised their heads. The faintest of sounds; they did not sigh or speak. The sounds of their hands unclasping, of them standing or adjusting their posture was faint. But there was a change. Pawn nodded.

“Please come forwards and receive your wafers.”

He reached for a basket of round little pieces of flatbread and the Soldiers and Workers fell into line seamlessly. They cupped their hands as Pawn offered them the tiny pieces of bread. It was small enough that the digestion of the Antinium wouldn’t be unduly disturbed by the food. And it was tasty. Pawn offered the wafers to each Antinium in turn until he only had a few wafers in the basket and there were no more Antinium in line.

“Thank you for attending the sermon. You may return to your business.”

The Workers and Soldiers silently savoring the small bits of bread didn’t so much as nod. They instantly broke up. Pawn sighed as he scooped the wafers in the bottom of the basket up.

“Here. For the wounded.”

He offered the wafers to a huge Soldier who approached him. Yellow Splatters took the wafers and nodded. Pawn had to give them away; if he left them alone the Antinium would let them rot rather than eat them without permission. The [Sergeant] stepped towards some of the Painted Soldiers who had been wounded. They looked up and received the wafers silently, regardless if they had prayed or not.

Wafers. They were Pawn’s latest innovation. He’d ordered them ahead of time and petitioned Klbkch to add them to his budget. They weren’t an expense at all, but neither were they strictly necessary. The Revalantor had been confused as to why Pawn needed them and Pawn couldn’t explain properly.

It was a small thing. A nice thing. That was all. It wasn’t an incentive to join his weekly sermon and prayer—which in itself lasted about twenty minutes—but it was nice. Pawn had eventually convinced Klbkch that it was important. He could feed all the Antinium with it; give them a treat between their horrible meals. Even the ones who didn’t pray.

Ah, yes. Pawn raised his head and looked around. Not all the Antinium were eating. Some Workers and Soldiers stood apart from the others, waiting patiently for the others to finish savoring their snack. They had not joined the mass and had declined to receive a wafer, even though Pawn made it clear the wafers were there for everyone regardless of whether they prayed or not.

Not all prayed. What was curious to Pawn, what lifted his spirits was that not all the Antinium who became Individual prayed. He stood in the Soldiers’ barracks that had been converted into the formal meeting place for his unit of Painted Soldiers and now Workers and saw hundreds of Soldiers, and dozens of Workers. Of that number, roughly two thirds had attended his sermon. The rest had not. And, Pawn suspected, never would. They did not believe. And that was fine.

Belgrade would not pray. Anand would, but Pawn wondered if the Worker truly believed. Garry had not ever had time to join one of the masses and as for Bird…no. The Worker had told Pawn that it was more fun to sit in his tower. Even if it was raining. You never knew if a water bird was going to fall out of the sky. That was fine too. Pawn would believe for all of them.

He was two things in this place. An [Acolyte], a believer in something greater than any one Antinium. And a leader of the Painted Soldiers and Workers here. It was the Workers that Pawn turned his mind to now. He stared at the awkward Workers milling about in small clumps of their own, not talking, but rather standing around. Enjoying not working, perhaps.

In the weeks since he had gained his [Benediction of Hope] Skill, Pawn’s congregation had grown. As had the size of his unit of Individual Antinium. It was no longer just the Painted Soldiers but Individual Workers as well. His experiments with the chess boards had created a population of Individual Workers who were not Aberration…but weren’t as distinct as Pawn, Belgrade, or the others.

They could pass the Hive’s tests which other Antinium would fail at. If they were asked what their names were, they would quietly reply they had none. They would not break if confronted with questions about their purpose or identity. They had a spark. But Pawn thought that without Erin, without the time and…affection she had given him, they could not be more.

Workers and Soldiers. Pawn had no idea what to do with so many of them. Klbkch had simple orders: turn them into a fighting force. The Painted Soldiers were already more capable than regular ones and the Workers could use bows and perhaps even swords and shields. Daggers, maces, clubs—he had talked to Pawn about purchasing arms to test this theory. But Pawn knew in his heart that he needed something more. The Workers needed more than chess. The Soldiers needed more than the occasional walk in the sun or bowl of real food.

So what could he bring down into the Hive? What wonders could he carry down from above? How could he show them who they were? Pawn didn’t know, but he knew who did. He turned to the two Soldiers who stood by him. One had returned from attending to the wounded. He was the largest Soldier, distinct because he had an inch or two of height and body mass over the rest. His body was decorated with yellow splatters of paint.

The other Soldier was of equal height with the rest, but his mandibles were painted purple, as was part of his face to give him a strange, purple smile. True to his name, Purple Smile was relaxed, calm, where Yellow Splatters stood to straight attention. Yellow Splatters had been part of the praying Antinium. Purple Smile had not. Pawn addressed both of them.

“I am going to consult with Erin now. Purple Smile, please oversee the chess games. Yellow Splatters, I leave you in charge of training and responding to any emergencies that arise.”

The [Sergeants] both nodded. They turned—Purple smile waved one of his hands at Pawn—and marched towards their designated spot. Yellow Splatters supervised a group of Workers clumsily sparring with wooden swords and Soldiers sparring carefully with one another. Purple Smile wandered over to a group of Soldiers clustered around a chess board on the ground.

The Soldiers could now play with an oversized chess board that Pawn had commissioned for them. It was about six times larger than usual, so the Soldiers could move the pieces about with their clumsy hands. There was only one so far, with two more currently commissioned. Pawn was glad to see that the Soldiers were attentively watching the board as a Worker slowly pushed a piece forwards, trapping the Soldiers’ king.

He saw the Worker pause and the Soldiers stare at the king. The Worker shrank, but the Soldier he had been playing against calmly toppled the king piece. Purple Smile clapped his hands and instantly another Soldier took his place. Pawn shook his head as the Worker hesitantly began to reset his side of the board.

“Awkward.”

That was the only word for it. Awkward. The Workers had no idea how to behave around the Soldiers. They barely knew how to behave with time off with each other. The Soldiers scared them. It wasn’t as if they ever mixed. And the Soldiers themselves seemed to treat the Workers as fragile things to be ignored or carefully avoided. Pawn wanted to bridge the gap between them. They were all Antinium, after all. But he had no idea how.

So he did what he always did. He went to see Erin. It was a flawless plan, except for all the flaws in it. But Pawn did it. He liked seeing Erin. He liked visiting the inn. He had friends there. He hadn’t gone to the inn recently because he had duties in the Hive. And duty mattered. What drove Pawn out of his Hive and onto the rainy streets was duty, not personal pleasure. Okay, and because he liked seeing Erin. And his friends.

 

—-

 

The rain hit Pawn the instant he stepped out of the Hive. He jerked in alarm before remembering that this was what happened above. Pawn looked up at the grey skies. Strange. You could forget it was raining in the Hive. The water that poured down never so much as pooled in the entrance of the Hive; it was carefully diverted by many, many tunnels and runoff vents designed solely to keep the Hive safe. Above, Pawn felt exposed by the water. He scurried down the street, hunching as the wind picked up and more water splashed him in the face.

He didn’t like water. It wasn’t as bad as Belgrade, but every Antinium living in Liscor’s Hive who lived through a rainy season knew of the dangers it presented. A tunnel could burst or collapse and water flood a passageway, drowning any Antinium caught there. The Hive was designed to prevent water from filling it if a single tunnel broke, but that was small comfort to the Workers and Soldiers who would slowly drown, helpless, unable to swim.

Not that Pawn dwelt on such thoughts particularly long. It was just hard to forget when the city was surrounded by water. Pawn wondered when the rains would stop. It would be long, far too long before he was able to patrol with his Soldiers above-ground again. True, the waters would drain, but they would leave far too much mud behind for far too long. He needed a distraction, no, an occupation for his people in the meantime. Erin had to have a good idea.

No one stopped Pawn as he hurried down the street. The Drakes and Gnolls were equally consumed with avoiding getting wet and so Pawn made it to the western gate where Erin’s magical door was without incident. He reached for the door handle, opened it, and saw nothing but a blank wall behind.

“Oh. The door is not active yet.”

Pawn was slightly crestfallen. He waited in the rain, awkwardly hunching his shoulders and wondering when it would open. This was a new problem for the inn and Pawn had understood it could be a big problem, especially if no one opened the door for hours.

Happily, he only had to wait for nine minutes before the door opened. Relieved, Pawn stepped aside as someone walked through. Then he froze as a familiar black-brown Antinium walked though.

“Oh. Pawn.”

“Ksmvr.”

Pawn’s good mood took a slight downturn as he spotted the once-Prognugator of Liscor’s Hive. He stared at Ksmvr who paused in the rainy street. The two Antinium regarded each other. They had a history.

“I wish you a good morning, Pawn.”

“Thank you, Ksmvr. I appreciate you opening the door.”

“I was intending to train with Yvlon at the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Good. For you.”

Silence. The two Antinium stared at each other. Ksmvr eventually jerked his head towards the gates.

“The issue of the magical door not opening will be solved soon.”

“How?”

“They are building a bridge from Liscor to the inn. Over the water.”

“Over?”

Ksmvr nodded. Pawn’s mandibles opened wide in horror. Over the water? He imagined walking on the bridge, while water was all around him, below him—

“I will never use that bridge.”

“Understandable. I, however, will cross it. To prove I am unafraid of water.”

Ksmvr’s voice shook a bit but he stood straighter, as if to prove himself. Pawn eyed him.

“Do you want to die?”

“No. But I must prove myself to my group.”

“But surely your teammates understand that you are unable to swim.”

The former Prognugator paused.

“That is irrelevant. I must conquer my fears. Any fears.”

Pawn shook his head. This was one of the reasons why he didn’t like Ksmvr. The other Antinium was just—Pawn edged around Ksmvr.

“I wish you luck. Truly. But I will go into the inn now. Is Erin there? I wanted to talk to her.”

The other Antinium nodded vaguely.

“She is. Although she is occupied. Captain Ceria told me to leave her and Lyonette alone.”

Pawn paused.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. The [Barmaid], Miss Lyonette, is crying. She has not stopped.”

“Lyonette’s crying? Why?”

Suddenly Pawn was in front of Ksmvr. Up until this moment he hadn’t been interested in talking with him—he’d been hoping Ksmvr would step out of the way so Pawn could get inside the inn. But now he was keenly, horribly interested in what the other Antinium was saying. Unfortunately, Ksmvr was the wrong person to talk to.

“I have no idea why she is crying. She is not a member of my team. Therefore I only recorded this information as a pertinent piece of gossip.”

“Pertinent to what?

“I do not know. Would you like me to ask why Lyonette is crying? Would that assist me in social gossip, do you think?”

“I must talk with her. Excuse me.”

Pawn shoved past Ksmvr. The other Antinium called out after Pawn.

“I resent your abrupt departure from the conversation!”

The door slammed shut. Pawn stared around The Wandering Inn, dripping, and looked around. He saw the Halfseekers eating, the Redfang Goblins sitting in a corner, Drassi and a Drake he did not recognize waiting tables—and no Lyonette. Where was she? Normally she’d be here, already hurrying towards him with his favorite drink—warm milk and honey.

“Crying?”

Why was Lyonette sad? Pawn saw Drassi point at him and come over. He stared around, hoping Lyonette would appear from behind a table. Maybe she was in the kitchen? Why was she crying? He’d seen her just the other day! But she’d been busy waiting tables and Pawn hadn’t wanted to distract her.

“Hey Pawn! Can I get you a seat? Are there more Soldiers coming in behind you? Do you want something to eat? To drink? Wow, you’re wet! We need a rug or something here. I should talk to Erin about that. Hey Pawn? Pawn?”

Drassi’s approach to meeting new people was to smother them with words. Pawn glanced at her distractedly.

“Oh. Thank you Drassi, but I am not hungry or thirsty. I came here to see Erin. Or Lyonette. Where is she?”

The female Drake’s face fell slightly.

“Lyonette? Um…she’s in her room. Taking a day off. She wasn’t feeling well. I dunno what was wrong, but Erin says she’s upset and so she won’t be down. But Erin’s in the kitchen. You want me to grab her?”

“Please.”

“Alright. Sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I am sure. Please get Erin for me.”

Pawn sat anxiously at a table, willing Drassi to walk faster as she entered the kitchen. Moments later Erin stepped out, wiping her hands which were covered with flour.

“Pawn! Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

“What?”

His heart beat faster as Erin looked distraught. She sat down as he half-rose and he sat with her.

“I completely forgot about your problem. We had plays all of yesterday and this morning there was this thing with Lyonette—look, I’m really sorry but I can brainstorm with you now if you’d like.”

“Oh.”

Pawn stared at Erin as she gave him a guilty look. The problems with the Workers and Soldiers. He’d forgotten all about that. It was why he was here of course. Pawn shook his head.

“That is unimportant at the moment. I was told by Ksmvr that Lyonette was upset. And Drassi. Is she well? Has something happened?”

“Lyonette? She’s…upstairs. She’s not doing so good. I don’t know why exactly, but I think something happened last night. Or it could be stress. She wouldn’t tell me.”

Erin frowned in worry. Pawn leaned forwards.

“She would not tell you? Why?”

“She didn’t tell me that either. Look, she might just be having a bad day, Pawn. Why? Did you need her?”

“No. I am concerned. May I see her?”

“See her?”

Erin chewed her lip, frowning. She glanced at Pawn.

“Well…I think she’d be happier to be by herself. But you two are friends. We can ask.”

“Please.”

Pawn stood up at once. Erin got to her feet with a sigh. She pointed up the stairs and Pawn led the way. All the while he wondered what was wrong. Why was Lyonette crying? Erin didn’t know. Why didn’t she know? She knew almost everything. Pawn had to ask. Lyonette was his friend. She was more than just a [Barmaid] that fed him and the other Antinium.

She was a [Princess]. Lyonette had told him. It was her secret, one she’d shared with Pawn. Pawn had kept that knowledge tucked in his chest. He didn’t know if she’d told Erin or anyone else. But he valued the trust all the same. He had gotten to know her when Erin was gone from the inn. If there was anything he could do—

“This door.”

Erin came to the first door in the hallway and rapped softly on the door. Pawn listened. He couldn’t hear much from inside, but at Erin’s knock he heard a quiet shuffling. It wasn’t Lyonette who opened the door, but Mrsha. The Gnoll cub stood clumsily on two legs as she pulled the door open.

“Hey Mrsha. Hey Lyonette. Sorry to bug you.”

The [Innkeeper] called cautiously into the room as Pawn tried to look over her shoulder. He couldn’t see past her. Erin stepped into the room as Mrsha stared up at Pawn. He stared back and waved one of his hands at her. The Gnoll didn’t wave back.

“No, don’t get up Lyonette. I didn’t want to bug you but Pawn’s here and he’s worried. You don’t have to—it’s okay? Okay, Pawn? Come on in.”

Hesitantly, Pawn stepped into the room as Mrsha dropped onto all fours and padded back inside. She crept up next to a young woman sitting with a blanket around her shoulders. Lyonette’s eyes were red and she was holding a wet handkerchief. She looked up at Pawn and tried to smile.

“Hi Pawn.”

“Good morning, Lyonette. I am terribly sorry to bother you. I was worried when I heard you were upset.”

“Thank you, Pawn.”

Erin stood up. She looked at Pawn and Lyonette, wavering.

“I have to get back to work. Lyonette, are you okay?”

The younger girl gave Erin a watery smile.

“I’m fine, Erin. Don’t worry about me, please. I know you have a lot to do.”

“Okay. Pawn? If you want to talk I’ll be in the kitchen later.”

Pawn nodded distractedly as Erin left. He kept staring at Lyonette. She was still crying. Tears ran from the sides of her eyes and she kept dabbing at them. Mrsha curled up next to her. Pawn had no idea what to say. At last, he tried to speak.

“I am sorry to bother you, Lyonette. I could come back later if you do not wish to talk.”

“It’s fine, Pawn. I didn’t want to make you worry. I’m just—having a bad day, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

What a wholly unsatisfactory response. Pawn searched for good words and found none. He almost regretted coming upstairs, to be honest. What could he say? He shouldn’t have bothered her. And yet—it was Lyonette. His friend. Was she his friend? He thought she must be.

She had been there when he first started to lead the Soldiers. She had taught him how to act, how to stand tall. She had fed them. And now she was crying and he had no idea why. He hadn’t known. That made Pawn’s chest hurt.

“May I ask why you are upset?”

Lyonette sniffed. She looked away.

“It’s…personal.”

“Oh. I see.”

Crestfallen, the Worker looked down at his feet. He was still wet. He should go. But he didn’t move. After a moment Lyonette looked up at him and sniffed again.

“It’s not that I don’t want to say. It’s just—it shouldn’t matter but it does. I lost it, Pawn.”

“Lost? What?”

“My class.”

Tears trickled down Lyonette’s cheeks. Pawn stared at her. She couldn’t mean her [Barmaid] class. If she was crying, then—

“You lost your [Princess] class?”

Lyonette nodded. Pawn was stunned.

“How?”

The young woman shook her head.

“I must have stopped being a princess. At last. I should have known it would happen. I work at an inn as a [Barmaid]. I’m far from my kingdom. I—I should have known. And it shouldn’t matter.”

She sniffed and Mrsha reached up to pat her leg. Lyonette gently stroked Mrsha’s head. Pawn felt like an outsider. He should not be here. And he had no idea what to say. She had lost her class.

“You should have it back. I will pray for your class to return.”

Lyonette blinked. She stared at Pawn and then laughed. It was a weak sound and there was nothing funny in the way she laughed.

“What? No. Don’t do that. It’s fine, Pawn.”

“But your class—”

Pawn didn’t know what to say. Lyonette was a [Princess]. She was…royalty. As close to his Queen as anything in this world. He knew that was not the same, but it was how he understood her class. It made Lyonette important. How could she not be sad? But Lyonette didn’t seem to see it that way. She cast around.

“You should sit. There’s a chair over there.”

“I will take it. Thank you.”

Awkwardly, Pawn pulled the chair over and sat. He was still higher up than Lyonette and he found himself looking down at her. She sat up and he waited.

“It’s not a big deal, Pawn. I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t. I lost my class because I wasn’t doing [Princess]-like things. That’s all. But I don’t need the class. I was only—only Level 6 anyways.”

“But it was your class.”

“I know. But I haven’t been feeling like a princess in a while. I think I knew it. That’s why I lost my class. And it’s not like I need it.”

“But—”

Pawn didn’t know what to say. He trailed off, staring at Lyonette. Tears flowed down her face and her nose was wet. She wiped it, looking embarrassed and Pawn looked away.

“Surely it was important, though. You are a [Princess]. Were. Was that class not important to you?”

“It was. But I lost it, Pawn.”

Lyonette whispered. She shook her head. Pawn realized he was repeating himself. After a while, he spoke.

“What was it like?”

“What?”

“Living as a princess.”

Lyonette looked up at him. Pawn saw Mrsha raise her head. She smiled sadly.

“What was it like? Being a [Princess] was—well, it was nice at times. I loved the balls and dancing and exciting things that came to court. And travelling wherever I wanted in the kingdom. Having money to buy whatever clothing I wanted. But I wasn’t happy. I never leveled. And when I came here, I gave all that up. So I traded being a [Princess] for actually leveling. That’s why—”

She broke off and sniffed, then blew her nose wetly into the handkerchief. Pawn waited. He was confused.

“Balls? Dancing? Why can you not do any of that here?”

“There aren’t any. No one knows I’m a [Princess].”

“But Mrsha has a ball.”

Pawn pointed at it. Lyonette stared and then laughed abruptly.

“Pawn, that’s not the same! A ball is a formal occasion. It’s where we dress up in fancy clothing and dance in a big open space. It’s not like anything Liscor has. It’s another world. A different world. I left it behind.”

“Which is why you lost your class.”

“Yes. Do you understand?”

He thought he did. It was just that he didn’t understand why Lyonette didn’t want her class back. Pawn mulled it over before he decided he had to ask.

“Why don’t you want it back?”

“Why? Because it’s gone. Because it doesn’t matter.”

“But it was your class. Surely you had Skills—”

“Two. Two, Pawn. And they weren’t that useful. They were—useless. Like my class. It’s gone and I’ll be better. I just need to cry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I should be okay. I just need a day. Then I’ll be better.”

“I see.”

Was that it? Pawn fumbled, searching for something else to say. There had to be something he could say that would make Lyonette feel better. Or—or help her.

“You’re sure you don’t want your class back? I could pray. I could.”

Lyonette laughed weakly.

“I’m sure! Pawn, I appreciate it but all I want is to be alone for a while. I’m glad you came by, I really am. But I just need to be alone.”

“I understand. I will excuse myself. Please forgive me for interrupting you.”

Pawn stood up at once. He felt embarrassed and bad. Lyonette looked up, worried.

“No, I’m not angry! Thank you for coming. It’s just—”

She waved a helpless hand. Pawn nodded.

“I will pray you feel better.”

“Thanks.”

Lyonette smiled at him. Pawn raised his mandibles and turned towards the door. He walked out, feeling helpless. Upset. Lyonette had lost her class. But she didn’t want it back. That seemed wrong.

Downstairs Erin asked if Lyonette was okay. When Pawn told her she wanted to be alone Erin nodded and offered to talk with Pawn about his problems. He declined. He wandered back to the Hive, feeling out of sorts. When he got back he tried to pray. But he couldn’t. Lyonette’s tears kept falling in his mind. She had lost her class. That was terrible. What could he do about it? Pray?

It didn’t feel like enough. And that was strange too. Pawn paced, anxiously. He felt helpless and upset and worried. What could he do? After a while he stopped and clasped his hands in prayer.

 

—-

 

Pawn had gone. Pawn had come back. He had promised to come back with ideas. He had returned with nothing. And now he was pacing. This indicated something was wrong, but neither Yellow Splatters nor Purple Smile knew what the problem was.

Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters were both [Sergeants]. It was a new concept to both Antinium and Yellow Splatters was keenly aware of the cost of failure. He had failed once and his Soldiers had suffered for it. He was anxious not to make another mistake, which was why he listened to everything Pawn said.

Only today, Pawn was saying nothing. Not to him at any rate. He had left the Hive and come back earlier than he had said. Now, rather than tell Yellow Splatters and the others about all the new ideas he had promised he was pacing back and forth. Muttering to himself.

“Surely the class is important. It must be! She was crying. She was upset. But is she better off without it? Surely not. But she says she does not want help.”

Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn as he paced back and forth. Other Antinium were staring too. Pawn’s behavior was not normal and the Workers and Soldiers were all paying attention. Pawn usually went to each of them and talked to them. But today he hadn’t. He hadn’t even noticed the biggest thing ever.

The Soldiers and Workers were still standing around the chessboard. They hadn’t moved since the last game. Ever since Pawn had brought the bigger chessboard the Soldiers had played games against the Workers constantly. They had lost every game. The current tally was four hundred and eighteen wins by the Workers…and now, just now, one win by one of the Soldiers.

That was huge. Yellow Splatters had been waiting for Pawn to come back and see and congratulate the Soldier—a new Painted Soldier named Rabbitears—on the victory. A Soldier had won a game. Won a game of chess!

The losses didn’t matter. But the one win? It changed everything. It meant—it meant Soldiers could be—the possibilities were endless! But Pawn didn’t pay attention to this earth-shattering fact. On any other day he would have been asking questions, perhaps ordering a celebration. Today the [Sergeants] watched as he paced back and forth and muttered.

“What can I do? Can I do anything? No, I should let her grieve. Grieving is a natural thing. Erin told me she will be looked after. But she was crying.”

It occurred to Purple Smile that Pawn would not notice the chess game. He signaled and the Soldiers slowly reset the board. The Soldiers did not feel many emotions. Grief, sadness, happiness…nothing much affected them. But now they felt something like disappointment. Nevertheless, they reset the board and Rabbitears began to play another game with a Worker. Pawn paid no attention.

Yellow Splatters looked sideways at Purple Smile. He pointed with one big hand. Purple Smile shrugged. He had no idea what was happening either. The [Sergeants] watched as Pawn kept pacing. They watched him stop and put his hands together. Was he praying? Why? The Soldiers didn’t know what was wrong, but they didn’t take their eyes off Pawn. They were observing. Listening. Learning.

And Pawn made up his mind. He had to go back tomorrow. To check on Lyonette.

 

—-

 

The next day, Pawn waited at dawn in front of the door to The Wandering Inn. As soon as the sun rose high enough for it to be actually daytime and not night still he opened the door. To his relief, the door was connected to Liscor. Pawn stepped in and immediately saw Lyonette.

“Pawn?”

She was setting food out for the Redfang Goblins. Lyonette turned, surprised to see Pawn so early. He stepped into the inn, conscious of the rain on his carapace.

“I am sorry to come so early. Am I interrupting?”

“No, come in. And please close the door. I keep telling Erin we need a doormat—let me get you a towel.”

Lyonette hurried into the kitchen as the five Hobs sitting at their table gave Pawn the fisheye. He ignored them. As soon as Lyonette returned with a fresh towel, Pawn thanked her. He sat at a table near the fire and spoke.

“Are you well, Lyonette? Are you feeling better? I was worried that you might still be in distress.”

“You were? Well, I’m better. I feel fine now. I’m embarrassed about yesterday.”

“You’re…alright?”

Pawn stared at Lyonette hard. She gave him a cheery smile.

“I am! I think yesterday was just shock.”

“I see.”

Pawn was confused. Lyonette seemed so much better today. It was completely at odds with how she’d seemed yesterday. She hovered around his table, waving at one of the Goblins who was raising a hesitant mug.

“Sorry, Ishkr’s not in yet. We’re training new staff, but I’m the only person for breakfast. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

The Antinium watched Lyonette take the mug that one of the Hobgoblins offered her. She refilled it and when she returned he scrutinized her again.

“So you don’t mind losing your class? Truly?”

“Not at all. I’m glad, actually.”

Briskly, Lyonette mopped down the table.

“But you are royalty still, aren’t you?”

The [Barmaid] shrugged.

“You mean my name? Lyonette du Marquin? Forget about it. It’s just Lyonette now. I’m a [Barmaid]. Not a [Princess]. And that’s alright. That’s perfect, really.”

“Really?”

At last Lyonette looked up with a frown.

“Really, Pawn.”

He met her gaze. She looked annoyed now. Pawn hadn’t intended that. He looked away meekly.

“Okay then. I was simply worried.”

Lyonette smiled.

“And I appreciate it. Thank you, again, Pawn. But I really should get back to work. Can I get you anything? Or did you want to talk to Erin again?”

Of course. He had his duties. Pawn shifted in his chair. He should really talk to Erin. But he couldn’t help but feel like his conversation with Lyonette had gone all wrong. She said she was okay. But was she really? He couldn’t imagine it. She was a [Princess]. She had been. She’d taken pride in it. And now it was gone. That couldn’t be okay.

And yet, if she said so, what could he do? Pawn watched Lyonette turn away. He opened his mandibles before he could stop himself.

“Wait. Can we not talk further?”

She turned back, surprised.

“Talk?”

Pawn hesitated. That had slipped out.

“I do not mean to take you from your duties. But it has been a long time since we have chatted together. Too long.”

“It has been a while. We used to talk back when Erin was gone and I was in my inn. Starving.”

A rueful smile stole over Lyonette’s face. She tossed the dust rag onto another table.

“I have missed it. You’re always busy. And I have a moment.”

“Then you do not mind talking with me?”

Hopefully, Pawn looked up at her. Lyonette smiled.

“Whatever gave you that idea? My problems are one thing, but I always have time to talk with you. Is something happening in the Hive? I heard you talking about more Workers joining your group. Is there a problem?”

She took a seat across from Pawn. He sat up a bit straighter.

“Not a problem, but we lack entertainment. You see, I was going to speak with Erin about the issue of—of boredom. Revalantor Klbkch has given us scheduled downtime, but we lack activities to perform in the rain. I was hoping Erin could help. Unless you have some ideas?”

“Well, why not teach them something? Or read them books?”

Pawn nodded. He relaxed a bit as Lyonette sat across from him, smiling. This felt better. She looked like normal.

“I could do that. But I was hoping for activities they could perform when I am not around?”

“Ah, I see the problem. And your people need activities? Well, have you tried giving them normal activities? Like needlework? Or pottery?”

“Needlework? Pottery? As in making trade crafts? The Antinium are not proficient in such areas.”

Lyonette laughed.

“No! For their own enjoyment! What about games? Surely you have something. Like—tag. Even I played that game growing up.”

“Let me write this down.”

Pawn looked around, patting his side. He had forgotten his belt pouch! Lyonette smiled.

“Erin probably has some parchment and a quill. Hold on, let me find it.”

She got up and went into the kitchen. Pawn waited until she came back. Then he gratefully accepted the quill and ink and began scribbling down notes. He was glad she was well. Only—was she? Lyonette smiled and offered him silly suggestions and good ones, laughing as she asked him whether the Antinium might enjoy learning to embroider. But he couldn’t help but think it was partly an illusion. Pawn sat and talked with Lyonette until Ishkr came in with two of his Gnoll friends and the inn began to fill with guests. Then Lyonette had to go.

“Good luck with your Antinium, Pawn. Let me know how it turns out, alright?”

“I will. Thank you, Lyonette.”

Pawn bade her farewell at the door. He hesitated, opening his mandibles. But Lyonette was already busy giving Ishkr orders. He turned away, still feeling like something was wrong. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

—-

 

The next day, Pawn surprised Erin by opening the door right as she was passing by. She jumped.

“Pawn?”

“Hello Erin. I am sorry to come so early. But I was hoping to speak with Lyonette. Is she here?”

Erin blinked at Pawn. It was very early. She rubbed her eyes.

“Lyonette? Yeah, she should be down shortly. Um. Is something the matter, Pawn?”

The Worker paused guiltily.

“The matter? No. I was just…wondering if we could speak more about her proposals.”

“Her what?”

“She gave me some advice as to how I could entertain my Workers and Soldiers yesterday.”

“She did? Good for her! I was going to suggest playing baseball inside the Hive or something stupid like that. Uh, so what did she say?”

“She suggested expanding the barracks to create a communal living space. And introducing a variety of crafts into the Hive. I have done so and wished to appraise her of the progress.”

Erin nodded, smiling and covering a yawn.

“Hey, that’s great Pawn. I’m sure Lyon would love to hear about it. Why don’t you sit and wait for her?”

Pawn nodded obediently. He sat and soon enough Lyonette came downstairs. She was surprised to see him.

“Pawn! You’re back. Again?”

Pawn nodded. He waved at Mrsha who blinked at him and waved back. He nodded to Lyonette.

“I am. I took your advice yesterday.”

“Oh. Good.”

“I wanted to tell you about my results. And perhaps talk more if we had the chance?”

Lyonette glanced at Erin who shrugged.

“Of course I have time. I just need to feed Mrsha. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No. I would gladly pay for a meal.”

“Hold on, then.”

Lyonette left and came back with some hot eggs which Pawn gladly ate. She ate with Mrsha, awkwardly telling the Gnoll not to gobble her food while she half-watched Pawn. When Mrsha was done Lyonette came to sit with Pawn.

“Okay, tell me about it.”

Pawn nodded and sat up eagerly. He had just finished telling Lyonette about how the Workers were attempting to learn how to crochet when he heard footsteps. He turned around and saw the Horns of Hammerad stumbling downstairs. Lyonette immediately got up.

“It’s already that time? Sorry Pawn, but I have work to do.”

“I understand. I am sorry to have taken your time.”

“No, it’s no problem. I enjoy hearing about the Hive. Really. It’s just…”

Lyonette gestured towards the adventurers. Pisces was yawning and only Ksmvr looked anywhere near awake. They all made a beeline for the nearest table, sitting and staring expectantly at the table in front of them as if willing food to appear. Pawn nodded.

“Please go about your work. I will leave.”

“You could stay. Once I finish I could talk more.”

The young woman’s smile made Pawn glad. He shook his head.

“No, I simply wanted to talk for a while. I have my own duties as well.”

He stood up and looked at Lyonette. He took a short breath and spoke as Lyonette was turning.

“And you are well?”

She froze. Pawn stared at her back.

“You felt better yesterday. Are you feeling as well today?”

Lyonette half-turned and smiled at Pawn.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Good. In that case I will…”

Pawn backed away. Lyonette nodded.

“Come again, any time!”

She took his plate. Pawn watched her head into the kitchen. She was good. That was excellent. He turned and walked towards the door. He had duties in his Hive now. The fact that Lyonette was well was all he’d come to confirm. He left as Lyonette hurried out of the kitchen with plates and Ceria and Pisces squabbled over who’d get the larger portion. He went back to his Hive and performed his duties distractedly.

The next day he went back. And the day after that. And the day after that.

 

—-

 

Yellow Splatters thought that there was a problem. It was Pawn. He didn’t like to think it, but three days had gone by and it was growing clearer to him that something was amiss.

Pawn. The Worker was present in the barracks every day of course. He ate with the Painted Soldiers and Individual Workers, gave orders, and left each morning for an hour or two before returning. That was all right. What wasn’t all right was what he was doing.

He came back each day with new things. Objects. Leather balls made to be tossed around or chewed on, custom chess sets, knitting needles, yarn…every day he would arrive with more strange paraphernalia, bought with the budget allocated to him by Klbkch. And that was fine too. Normally.  Yellow Splatters understood that new things could be wonderful. Like books. He loved books with bright pictures. But this?

“Have a group of Workers try knitting, Yellow Splatters. It is a useful occupation they may enjoy.”

“I have purchased a set of balls for playful fun. You can toss them and catch them. Like so. If anyone is interested, please, let them try.”

“Here is some clay. I think you can make pottery with it. If any Soldier creates something I will inquire about firing it in a kiln.”

The last time Pawn had come into the Hive, he’d brought a mass of wet clay in a wheelbarrow. Now Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters stared at it. The [Sergeant] poked a hand into the wet clay. It squished.

Pottery? It was a word Yellow Splatters had no notion of. He stared at Pawn as the Worker hurried over to his sleeping spot. Yellow Splatters had many questions. What exactly was he supposed to do. What was a kiln? How did one fire clay? With a crossbow?

He looked at Purple Smile. The other Soldier was not smiling today. Nor had he been for the last few days. He sensed it too. Something was wrong.

It wasn’t the new objects. It wasn’t Pawn buying things. All of that was good, in theory. It was that when Pawn went out and came back with new things for the Antinium to try, when he brought wonderful ideas into the Hive or encouraged the Soldiers and Workers to try this, it was always him telling. Not showing.

He…had not paid attention to the Antinium in the barracks for the last few days. That was what was wrong. Before, Pawn had had few items to share. He had saved up copper coins and petitioned Klbkch repeatedly for even a few books, a can of paint. But always, he had shown the Soldiers exactly what to do, experimented with them. Cared and praised them for their accomplishments and failures. But he was distracted now. He did not care.

And that hurt deeply. Yellow Splatters turned his attention to the chess board that the Soldiers and Workers had played at. It was unused. The Soldiers and Workers stood about or sat, not playing again. The board was where it had been left—checkmated. Rabbitears had won a fourth game. And stopped. Because Pawn had not noticed.

He had not noticed. In any other moment, in any other time, Pawn would have instantly shown this to Klbkch. He would have congratulated Rabbitears, spoken to the others. Told Yellow Splatters…something about what it meant. But he had not noticed and the Soldiers and Workers had noticed that. So now they did nothing. They waited, listlessly, not bothering to touch the interesting things Pawn had brought. They stared at him.

And he did not notice. He sat in his special cubicle, sitting as if he was sleeping. But his four hands were clasped together. Pawn was praying. He had prayed day and night when he was not out. Prayed for hours on end, late into the night, before dawn. And that too was good in theory. Yellow Splatters had seen Pawn praying over the wounded. He had heard Pawn lead them in prayer. It was a wondrous thing. Only now…the [Sergeant] stared at Pawn. The Worker was deep in prayer. It was a good thing. But Yellow Splatters was sure, absolutely sure, that Pawn was not praying for them.

He wondered who Pawn was thinking of. And when Pawn would finally remember his people. Yellow Splatters waited, his chest hurting. Now he was certain. It wasn’t just a problem. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

 

—-

 

Over the next week, it became customary to see Pawn in the inn before breakfast or in the early morning. He would always come in early unless the door to Liscor was closed. He would greet Erin every morning with a different line.

“Hello, is Lyonette there? I was hoping to get her input on possible embroidery designs.”

“I was passing by the inn and could not help but stop for lunch. Is Lyonette free to talk?”

“I wanted to consult with Ksmvr. Is Lyonette around?”

“It is rainy. I wanted to share that fact with Lyonette.”

The excuses seemed to amuse Erin. She started grinning every time she saw Pawn for reasons unknown to him. Each day he waited for Lyonette, sometimes while eating breakfast or a snack, other times sitting meditatively in silence or whispering a quick prayer. Each time Lyonette greeted him, asked how his Hive was doing and caught up on the latest Antinium gossip, such as it was.

In turn she offered him news about the inn. The Players of Celum were gaining more attention and had nearly finished their run of Othello and The Triumph of Liscor. They were about to switch plays now they had a new audience of Drakes and Gnolls coming in each night. Training the new staff was going well. The adventurers were busy preparing for the dungeon or arguing with each other and fighting over food. And so on. Pawn listened dutifully, nodding along and enjoying the conversation. And each time she finished or had to go back to work he asked her the same question.

“Is everything well?”

The answer was always yes. With a smile or a nod. Pawn accepted that. He came back day after day until the day when Lyonette’s patience finally ran out.

 

—-

 

“Good morning, Lyonette.”

“Oh. Hello, Pawn.”

For once Lyonette didn’t smile when she greeted Pawn. In fact, she hadn’t come over when she’d spotted him sitting by himself at lunch time. She’d kept serving tables though the Worker was sure she’d seen him. But it was a good ten minutes before she walked over.

It was almost as if she’d been avoiding him. But after he had sat and waited patiently, refusing to let Drassi get him a drink or food, Lyonette had walked over. Now she stood, looking somewhat tired as Pawn sat. He waited for her to take a seat. She did not.

“Would you like to sit and talk with me?”

“Not today, Pawn.”

Lyonette glanced tiredly around. So did Pawn. The inn was not busy at this time of day, which pleased him. He would have more time to chat.

“Do you want to tell me about the inn? Or would you like to chat about the Hive first? There are a few interesting developments that may intrigue you.”

He had been buying new objects left and right to put in the Hive. Knitting needles, yarn, little balls to play catching games, and so on. Pawn hadn’t seen the Antinium playing with some of the objects, but he was sure they would begin using them soon. After all, the Soldiers used to not read any of the picture books and now the books were the most sought-after object in the barracks. But to his surprise, Lyonette shook her head.

“Not today, Pawn. I’m a bit—busy. Look, why don’t I get you a drink and we can talk later? Next week, maybe?”

That was strange. Pawn hesitated.

“Of course, if you are busy I will come back another time. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Um…sure.”

Lyonette looked distracted. And a bit upset. She kept glancing over her shoulder and looking at Pawn. He nodded.

“I will not take up any of your time. But before you go—”

Lyonette was already turning away. Pawn called after her.

“And you are feeling well?”

She stopped, mid-step. Pawn saw Lyonette’s shoulder’s tense, and then she whirled.

“Why are you asking me that?”

Her voice was loud. Too loud. Pawn saw a few of the Drakes and Gnolls eating lunch look up and heard conversations cease across the inn. Erin poked her head out of the kitchen. Pawn hesitated.

“No reason. I am just interested in your wellbeing.”

“Really?”

Lyonette stared at him. Pawn shuffled his legs and looked away.

“Yes?”

“Then why do I get the feeling that you’re still thinking about my missing class?”

Pawn’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his voice smooth.

“I never mentioned it. I never said a word about it.”

“Yes. And you’re not saying it so loudly that I can hear it! You keep asking if I’m well. You keep coming here, day after day, telling me about the smallest things. I wouldn’t care. I’d enjoy it, but you ask me the same question each time. Why?”

Lyonette advanced on Pawn, angry. He tried to scoot back in his chair but the [Barmaid] stood right in front of him. Now everyone was looking at him. Pawn debated lying. He could say—

Lie? To Lyonette? He caught himself as he was about to utter an untruth. Pawn looked up at Lyonette and unwillingly, he answered her honestly.

“…I have been praying every day that your class will return.”

The shock that ran over Lyonette’s face was like a living thing. It drained the blood from her face, made her eyes go wide, and then, quick as a flash, ignited anger once more. Lyonette stared down at Pawn. Her voice trembled.

Why?

The Worker shrank. But he replied defiantly.

“I believe you need it back. Your class.”

You think I need it?”

“Yes.”

Pawn saw Lyonette’s mouth open angrily. He rushed forwards before she could speak.

“I think you need it. I think you should have it back. I think you shouldn’t be content not to have it. So I have prayed for it.”

“I told you I was better off without it! What about what I want?”

Incensed, Lyonette put her hands on the table. Pawn leaned back and then stopped. He spoke, his mandibles quivering slightly.

“I think you are wrong.”

For a moment Lyonette gaped at him. Then she glared.

“Stop it. Just stop it! Don’t pray and don’t tell me what I need!”

She stood up and turned away. Pawn scrambled out of his chair.

“Lyonette, please. I am trying to help—”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!”

She whirled and snapped at Pawn. He felt like he’d been struck. Lyonette glared.

“Why does it matter to you? Why do you care? It’s my class! It’s my life! Why does this matter to you?”

“I just want to—”

She spoke over him, her voice growing louder and louder.

“You want? What about what I want? I liked talking to you, I really did! You and I are friends! But this isn’t right! This isn’t fair to me! Don’t pray for me! Don’t try to change me! Don’t try to give me back what I don’t need!”

She stared at Pawn, and to his horror he saw her eyes were shimmering. Lyonette rubbed at them, and her voice caught.

“Please, just leave me alone! Let me move on! Let me—”

She moved as if to walk away and noticed her audience. She had been shouting near the end. Everyone was staring. Erin looked flabbergasted. Lyonette turned red. Her eyes welled up with tears and she turned.

“I—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Lyonette ran up the stairs. Pawn watched her go. He felt like something had ripped out his chest, spilling his insides across the floor. Slowly, dizzily, he looked around. Pawn stared at the others, stared at Erin, and then slowly walked towards the door. He opened it and turned his head as rain poured through.

“I am sorry. Please tell her I am sorry.”

Then he stumbled out into the rain.

 

—-

 

He had never felt so worthless. He had never felt so small. Pawn sat in the barracks and wished to disappear. He was a failure. He was useless. He sat and he sat and he knew everything was wrong. He wished he was dreaming. He knew he was not. That was worse than a nightmare. If things were a nightmare he could wake up. But he couldn’t. And everything kept getting worse.

Silence. It was horrible. It weighed down the barracks. No one moved. The Soldiers and Workers stood around Pawn as he sat on the floor, curled up into a ball. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat. He didn’t respond when Yellow Splatters approached him, or when Purple Smile poked him. He didn’t move when Anand called his name.

“Pawn. Pawn. What is wrong?”

The Worker didn’t respond. Anand stood over him, anxious.

“Yellow Splatters came to get me. I did not understand why. What is the matter? Are you hurt? Pawn?”

Pawn wished Anand would go away. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to live. He sat still, ignoring Anand’s words until the Worker left. He was the worst. He had made Lyonette cry again.

He had been sure. So sure! He had known that if he prayed hard enough, Lyonette’s class would come back. Then she would be happier. So he had prayed every day. He had gone to see her. But all he had done was anger her. She did not want his help. She did not want to talk to him.

She hated him. Pawn remained still, feeling the hard ground beneath him. He did not respond as Yellow Splatters tried to tug his arms apart. The Soldier was strong but Pawn held on with all his might and there was nothing that the [Sergeant] could do short of breaking Pawn’s arms. Pawn stayed where he was. Until someone kicked him in the side.

“Get up.”

Klbkch’s kick knocked Pawn sideways. The Antinium landed on his left side, but he did not uncurl. Klbkch made a harsh clicking sound and kicked him again.

“I said, get up.

Pawn did not respond. The kick had cracked the carapace on his side but he did not move. Klbkch grabbed him and dragged him up. Pawn didn’t move. He was a ball of misery.

“You have abandoned your duties. Anand tells me you have not moved for over half a day now. Why are the Soldiers and Workers here unattended to?”

No reply. Klbkch uttered another sound that Pawn had never heard an Antinium make. The Soldiers and Workers around him shrank. Then Pawn heard a rasping sound. Klbkch had drawn his swords.

“I see useless goods, bought with the Hive’s money. I see Workers and Soldiers, listless and lifeless. I see you, unmoving. Respond.

Pawn did not reply. He waited as he sensed Klbkch move around him. The Revalantor placed the sharp tip of his sword on the back of Pawn’s neck. The Worker did nothing. Klbkch raised his sword and paused. Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile were staring at him. Their hands were not clenched, but the other Soldiers and Workers were…watching. Klbkch waited. In the silence Pawn felt the cold sting and did nothing.

After a lifetime, a second, Klbkch withdrew the point of his sword. He turned away.

“You are a disgrace.”

He turned and stalked out of the barracks. Pawn did not move. If he felt anything, it was bad that Klbkch had not ended it all then and there. He stayed where he was as time passed on. Despairing. Hating.

There was no point to any of it. He had made a terrible mistake. He would never uncurl. He would sit here and starve, like he had once seen another Worker do. He was not Pawn anymore. He did not want to be Pawn. He just wanted to disappear.

And perhaps he would have. Pawn sat and sat until something changed in the Hive. He felt it. At first, it was distant movement. The stepping of many feet. He did not care. But then he heard a voice. Not the staccato click-speech of the Antinium, but a softer voice. A kind voice. It spoke at a distance, and then Pawn heard words.

“…how long?”

He heard a distant reply, crisp and precise, and then another one, quieter, more subdued. Klbkch and Anand. The voice grew louder.

“Wow. Really? And he’s just…okay, let me see.”

The footsteps approached. Pawn heard more shuffling. Soldiers and Workers standing and sitting around him drew back. He heard the voice clearly now. A kind voice. A loving voice.

“Oh no. I think I see the problem.”

He knew her. He wanted her to go away. But he didn’t move. Pawn shook as the voice, the person approached. He feared her. More than he hated himself. He feared what she might do. What she might say. The young woman knelt next to Pawn as he curled up into a ball. She looked around and sighed.

“What a mess. Okay Klbkch, Anand. Give me some room. I’ll try and sort this out, okay? I should have asked Lyonette what was really wrong earlier. As for Pawn…give me a few minutes.”

He heard an answering voice and then the footsteps retreated. Pawn stayed where he was. He felt the softest of touches on his shoulder and quaked.

“Pawn?”

Here she was. The one who would lay out his sins. The one who could move his heart. His creator in some ways. His savior in others. Terrifying, wonderful, magical, and peaceful. Pawn wished she would leave. He feared what she would do. And part of him, a tiny part of him hoped she could make it all better. Because if there was anyone who could, it was her.

Erin.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.26 L

In the depths of the Hive, Pawn heard her approach. Her footsteps were soft and she walked slowly. He didn’t move.

Pawn was curled up into a ball as if he were sleeping. Only, he wasn’t. He was just like this now. The curl wasn’t just physical, it was in his heart.

He’d hurt Lyonette. Made her angry at him. She probably never wanted to see him again. He’d made her cry. Again.

He’d just been trying to help. What had he done wrong? He just wanted to give her back her class. She was a [Princess]. Had been a [Princess]. Why didn’t she want her class back? Why, why, why—

And now Erin was here. Pawn listened as she walked towards him. Close now. He shivered but didn’t move. He didn’t want her here. She might be able to move him.

He wanted her here. Pawn felt his thoughts jumbling in his head. He told himself not to move. Not moving was easy. No matter what she did he wouldn’t move. He stubbornly thought that as Erin paused.

What was she doing? He could feel her eyes on him. He could even hear her breathing quietly, the only sound in the deserted barracks. Pawn tensed as she walked—

Around him? Erin didn’t immediately approach. She walked around Pawn in a slow circle. Inspecting him. He didn’t raise his head. He was curled up. He wouldn’t move. Pawn anticipated Erin speaking so much that when she finally did say something, it was a shock.

“Hey Pawn.”

That voice. Pawn shivered but refused to uncurl. That voice haunted him. It was unforgettable. He remembered her. She had asked him that fateful question. She had given him purpose, given him identity. No, not given—she had helped him find it.

What about just you? What’s your name?

A kind face, staring into his. A soft hand, placing chess pieces. Tears flowing as she placed chess pieces. A song. From such memories had she defined Pawn’s world. He could picture her perfectly in his head, bending over him. Erin spoke softly.

“Pawn?”

He wouldn’t move. Pawn stayed put. If he did that long enough, Erin would go away. Even she would go. And then he would be alone until he died. That was okay. He felt Erin shuffle closer. Her voice was very soft.

“Hey. Hey Pawn.”

Still, the Worker didn’t move. Erin was right by his earhole now. He felt her breath on his carapace. Pawn held himself still with all of his strength. Don’t move. No matter what she said. No matter if she touched him. Don’t move an inch. He heard Erin softly draw in breath. And then—

“Get up!

Pawn jerked. He couldn’t help it. Erin’s voice blasted through his body like a physical thing. The entire barracks rang with sound. Pawn half-uncurled and looked up.

Erin stared back at him. There she was, Human, smiling slightly, her hair tied back today. It was longer than it had been when she first met him. But everything else was the same. Pawn met her eyes for one heart-stopping second. Then he tried to curl back up.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Erin instantly grabbed him. But for all her strength, Pawn was an Antinium, a Worker. He could curl up and hug himself so tightly even a Soldier couldn’t pull him apart without breaking his body first. Erin grunted as he curled up, her hands slipping futilely on his body. Pawn curled up into a ball again and Erin had to step back. He couldn’t tell what she was doing, but he heard her muttering to herself. Then Erin seemed to come up with an idea?

“Oh yeah, what about this?”

She pushed Pawn over. Curled up as he was, he just fell onto his side. Then Erin pushed him again. Pawn felt himself rolling across the ground! His back shell made it easy for him to turn over again and again. Erin rolled him like a ball.

“Feel like getting up? Huh?”

Pawn didn’t respond, though he felt dizzy. After a few seconds Erin gave up.

“How about this?”

She sat on him. Pawn didn’t do anything. Erin tried to tickle him. Pawn had no nerves on most parts of his body. Exasperated, Erin eventually tried poking Pawn in the side but he refused to move. She couldn’t make him. He felt a certain satisfaction in that.

Six minutes after entering the barracks, Erin gave up. She sat down in front of Pawn and sighed.

“Alright, that’s enough playing around. Pawn, it’s time to get up.”

The Worker didn’t move. But he did feel…hurt. Annoyed, perhaps. Playing around? He wasn’t playing. He wasn’t having fun. What was Erin going to do? She couldn’t make him move. She squatted by him and spoke directly to Pawn.

“Pawn, you have to move.”

He refused to. Erin breathed out slowly.

“How long are you planning on curling up like this? Until you get hungry? You haven’t eaten in a day! Until you die? Are you planning on dying and making everyone sad?”

That was exactly what he was planning. Only, hearing it from Erin made Pawn realize that she would be sad if he died. And that—hurt. It made him feel guilty. He wavered. Erin went on.

“Anand is worried about you. So is Bird. He wanted to give you an egg. Belgrade is worried, and I’m sure Garry would be if I ever saw him. Klbkch is being sort of a jerk, but he’s worried too. And all of your Soldiers and Workers are very worried. Are you going to ignore all of them?”

No. Yes. Pawn tried to think. He didn’t want to uncurl. But he didn’t want to make them all sad. If they’d just leave him alone for a few days. A week! Then he might be able to uncurl. But if they were sad—Pawn wavered.

He wanted to uncurl, but he was afraid to. He’d made so many mistakes. It was so easy just to hide here. Erin studied Pawn for a second and then she sighed again.

“Pawn, I love you like the son I don’t plan on having, but you can’t just sit here. People need you. All the Soldiers and Workers in your unit have stopped eating.”

She didn’t see Pawn move. The Worker stayed folded up, all four arms wrapped around himself. But then the Worker spoke.

“They have?”

His voice was muffled, quiet. Sad. But it was a voice. Erin nodded.

“All of them. It’s a hunger strike. They refuse to eat, refuse to take orders—it’s so bad that Klbkch immediately came to me. He’s sure and I’m sure that so long as you don’t move, your people will starve themselves to death. Understand?”

Pawn did. And that cut deepest of all. The Painted Soldiers were starving themselves? Yellow Splatters was? Purple Smile? Now he knew he had to move, had to uncurl. But he couldn’t. He was afraid. He spoke to Erin in a small voice.

“Must I?”

Erin paused. She sat cross-legged in front of him. Thoughtfully, she sat with her hands resting on the packed earth floor.

“Honestly? No. You could sit here forever. It’s your choice, Pawn. But some of your people haven’t eaten in a long time. Every second you stay like that, they won’t eat. They won’t move. I know you’re too kind to let that happen.”

She was right. She was always right. Pawn tried to hold himself still. But something inside him responded to Erin’s words. Slowly, one bit at a time, Pawn raised his head. His arms unfolded. He looked up and saw Erin smiling at him.

“There’s that handsome face. Mandibles. Whatever. Good job, Pawn.”

She reached out and slowly patted him on the shoulder. Pawn stared at her. He whispered.

“I am lost, Erin. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know. It must have been bad if you curled up like that. I should have gone after you instead of letting you leave. Want to talk about it?”

Silently, the Worker nodded. He hugged his knees as he sat with Erin. She waited for him to speak. It was so…reassuring to look at her. After a while, Pawn felt like the words were ready to come out.

“I hurt Lyonette.”

“Yep.”

“…Is she alright now?”

Erin shrugged.

“I gave her the day off. She went to Celum for a while with Mrsha. Today she was good. Upset, but she wanted to do her job. And I think she’s not angry at you. Much. But she is still upset about what you said.”

“That is good. Good. Not what I said. But good that she is better. I didn’t mean to—it was not my intention. Does she know that?”

Pawn looked down. He felt very small. Erin watched him for a while.

“I didn’t ask. I’m sure she understands you wanted to help. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You tried to help her and she didn’t want it.”

Pawn nodded mechanically. He looked up at Erin, hesitated.

“Do you know what we were talking about?”

“I heard the shouted bits. And I got the rest from context.”

Erin smiled slightly. She looked pensive for a moment and then glanced at Pawn.

“I know she’s a [Princess]. That’s what it was all about, right? Did something happen to her class?”

“Yes. She lost it. I was trying to help her get it back. I didn’t think it was right that she lost it. But when I tried to pray—I—”

Pawn broke off, shaking his head.

“She lost it? Really? She didn’t tell me that!”

Both of Erin’s brows shot up. Pawn looked at her, surprised.

“You did not know? She didn’t tell you?”

The young woman shook her head.

“She told me she lost something. Not what. And I know she was a princess, but I don’t know if she ever told me herself. Ryoka definitely told me…um, I forget.”

Frowning, Erin tilted her head. After a while she gave up and shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter, I guess. Lyonette didn’t need to tell me anything. She told you, though. And you were worried, weren’t you? You tried to help her get it back.”

“Yes. And now she hates me. Because I did not respect her wishes.”

The Worker grabbed his knees and rocked back and forth. Erin watched him, concerned. She stopped Pawn with one hand and patted his knee gently.

“Hmm. I don’t know if she hates you. I think you went too far.”

Pawn looked at her, feeling a shred of hope.

“Really?”

Erin nodded.

“I know you don’t understand being social, Pawn. Lyonette understands that too. I think she feels bad about shouting at you. But—how can I explain this? You did do something bad. Just a tiny bit.”

She paused, biting her lip softly and trying to find the best words. Pawn waited. He ached. At last, Erin went on.

“We want to be talked to. We want to be cared about. But sometimes we also need to be alone. Some days we don’t want to talk to our friends. And that’s especially true of when we need to be alone.”

“But she was sad. I tried to help.”

Again, Erin nodded.

“And that was great. Really. Sometimes when you’re sad, you need to hug someone. But sometimes, some people just want to be alone. And that’s fine too. I think Lyonette liked you coming the first time. But after that? After you kept trying to check up on her? And change her? Pray for her to make her get her class back? That was too much.”

“But her class—”

“She lost it. It’s gone, Pawn. If she wanted to get it back, I think she would have asked. But she didn’t ask, did she?”

Pawn didn’t answer. Erin scooted a bit closer. Her hand was warm on his knee.

“Sometimes you can’t solve other people’s problems even if you want to. Sometimes people have to go through their struggles alone.”

A sad look stole over Erin’s face for a moment. Pawn looked up at her and opened his mandibles hesitantly.

“But why?”

“Why? Because you can’t solve everything for other people.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t, Pawn. It just isn’t possible. It’s their problem, not yours.”

Part of Pawn rebelled at what Erin said. He looked at her angrily.

“But that is not right! If someone is hurting, surely they must be helped. Is not leaving them alone worse? It is not right!”

Erin nodded.

“It’s not good, I agree. But you can’t make someone happy. And trying to force your help on someone makes it worse, Pawn.”

“But—”

This was not what he had wanted to hear. Pawn opened and closed his mandibles, softly clicking, trying to say something in response. But he couldn’t. Erin was right. He had gone too far. And he had made Lyonette angry. It was just that he still wanted to help. Erin stared at him, waiting. At last, Pawn asked another question.

“What is a ‘ball’?”

“What?”

Erin blinked. Pawn hunched his shoulders sulkily.

“I want to know. Lyonette told me about it. A ball is for dancing? [Princesses] do it?”

“Um—well, not just them, but yeah. Balls are for dancing. People dress up and dance in a big open room. It’s a fancy thing.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Nope. Why, did Lyonette miss dancing?”

“A bit. She said she is not a [Princess] here. She has nothing of her old life. But she was a [Princess]. I thought I could give it back. I thought—”

Erin cut Pawn off gently.

“You can’t make her. You can talk to her. I think she’d be happy to talk to you. But not if you’re trying to get her to do something. If you go back tomorrow and say sorry, I think she’ll forgive you. But you can’t keep…its not good to dwell on her problems. She’ll be fine. Okay, Pawn?”

Pawn looked at the ground. He opened and closed his mandibles softly. Erin waited.

“Pawn?”

“Okay.”

He said it in a small voice. Not because he agreed. Just to make Erin stop asking. He knew she was trying to help. He knew she was probably right.

He’d tried to help Lyonette. Too much. That was what she was telling him. But part of Pawn, a small part, rebelled against what Erin was saying.  It wasn’t that. It wasn’t just losing her class. He thought there had to be something more. He’d wanted to—

Pawn didn’t know. He didn’t feel better. He’d hoped that was what Erin could do. Make him feel better. Make everything alright. But she hadn’t. She’d only made him feel—guilty. Awake again. Conscious of his duties, of the people who were hurting.

His Soldiers. His Workers. His…people. Pawn felt a terrible weight settle on his shoulders.

“I have made everyone upset. I do not know if I can be forgiven.”

Erin’s smile lit up part of  Pawn’s heart.

“Of course you can be, silly. Everyone’s upset, but they’re worried. Even mean old Klbkch.”

Pawn nodded a few times. He looked up, hesitantly.

“Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

Erin watched Pawn slowly stand up. She smiled and hugged him. He let her. She smelled like a bit of rain, fried food, her inn—and humanity. As she let him go she smiled again.

How wonderful. How beautiful. Pawn followed her as she led him out of the barracks. He felt quiet inside. The grief was still there, but subdued for a moment. The guilt and pain—he could live with. She had helped.

But she was wrong. Pawn felt that too. Erin was wonderful, kind. She made him feel better. But for the first time, Pawn thought she didn’t quite understand what he was feeling. There had to be something else.

But what?

 

—-

 

Pawn sat in the barracks. He was not curled up anymore. Neither was he alone. The Painted Soldiers stood around him, or sat. The Workers did likewise, hidden behind their giant kin. They were silent, but it was not the silence of before.

Klbkch was gone. Erin had helped there greatly. She’d taken him away before he could discipline Pawn. As for Anand, he had gone back to let Belgrade and Garry know everything was well. That left Pawn with his Soldiers and Workers.

Slowly, Pawn raised a piece of dried meat to his mandibles. He tore off a piece and chewed. The Painted Soldiers and Workers watched. They slowly ate as well.

Food. It was so good and yet it didn’t fill Pawn up with delight as it used to. It was just good. His body wanted it more than Pawn’s mind. But he ate steadily, knowing the others were doing likewise. They savored their meals—it was a rare treat. A break to their day-long fast. A breakfast. Was that why it was called that?

Pawn looked around. Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile sat with him. Pawn looked at them. The two [Sergeants] watched him as they chewed. There was no judgment in them. Just expectancy. After a while, Pawn looked down at his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

The Antinium stirred. Pawn looked around.

“I am so very sorry. I did not mean to worry anyone. I did not mean to leave you alone. But I—I was distracted. I should not have been.”

They waited, watching him. Pawn looked from face to face. Yes, he had abandoned them. His gaze strayed to the pile of things he’d bought, useless and untouched. Of course they’d been hurt. What were objects? Meaningless. Pawn lowered his head.

“I should not have. But I was busy. I was trying to—it was because of Lyonette. Not because of her, but because I wanted to help her. Because she is my friend. And I wanted to make her feel better. Because I have no other friends.”

The Soldiers and Workers stared at him. Pawn turned the piece of dried meat over in his hands. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew he owed the others an explanation. So he began to talk. It hurt for the first few seconds. And then it felt like the words were leaking out of him, exiting the wound inside of his chest.

“I have learned much of this world. Much, and yet there is still more. Always more. I know of buying and selling, of combat, of laws and food and many things. But I had no friends. Not until Lyonette.”

Pawn looked around.

“Erin is not my friend. She cannot be. She is not Anand’s friend, or mine, or Belgrade’s or Bird’s or Garry’s. Or any of the others who died. She helped make us Individual. But she is not our friend. She is to we Workers what the sun is to grass. She made us who we are. She is more than a Human, more than an [Innkeeper]. More than…how can I put it?”

The Worker looked around blankly, seeing the uncomprehending looks in the eyes of the others. How could he explain what Erin was in a way they would understand? Pawn stared up at the dark ceiling overhead and then had it.

“She is the sky.”

The Painted Soldiers shifted. They looked up and then down at Pawn. Yellow Splatters nodded. The sky. Pawn nodded as well. They could understand that.

“So she is not a friend. She must be more. And I have no friends within the Hive. Workers, Individuals such as Anand and Belgrade, Soldiers…we cannot be called friends. We find friends. But we have ever been family.”

Another pause. Pawn’s word echoed in the barracks. Family. It was a foreign word, but perhaps the closest thing to what they were. Pawn went on after a while.

“So I had no friends. None. Erin’s friends were not mine. They were kind, but I did not know them. I only knew her. And you. If there was any…friend I had in this world, it would be her. Surely.”

Lyonette. Pawn looked up.

“She was there when Erin was gone. She had food. She helped me learn to lead the Soldiers. She talked to me when I was alone. She is my friend. The only one I have.”

Pawn told the others about how they had met. He told them about Lyonette, ushering him in to the abandoned inn, giving him honey, food for the other Soldiers. The Antinium listened, hungrily devouring the story while they ate. And Pawn felt better too.

It felt good to speak. It felt good to be honest and open about his problems. But Pawn also felt terrible. Here he was talking about his problems when he’d neglected his duties. When he’d abandoned the others who followed him! Klbkch was right. He was a disgrace.

“I should not have abandoned you. But I wanted to help her. She was a [Princess]. She lost something important, I think. She was crying. I wanted to help. But Erin told me I cannot help.”

Bitterly, Pawn looked down at his hands. He couldn’t help her. Erin had told him that. She had been clear. But he wanted to help. The Painted Soldiers looked at each other, and then at their [Sergeants]. Yellow Splatters looked at Purple Smile. The other Soldier scratched his head with one hand. And then he shrugged.

What could they say? What could they do? Pawn knew his struggle was as alien to the Antinium as laughter. Or tears. And he knew now, he realized that his understanding of Lyonette had been flawed too.

He knew nothing of her past. Nothing about her, except that she was kind now and had once been a thief. He didn’t know what she had been before she came to Liscor. What had she been [Princess] of? Didn’t princesses have kingdoms? Where was her home? Why had she left?

“What can I do? How can I apologize? But I know nothing of her. I still want to help, but should I just do nothing?”

Pawn didn’t know. He wanted to still do something. But he had no idea. The other Antinium looked at each other. They did not speak. But they shared opinion, thought, desire, putting their minds to the problem like a single entity. And it was Purple Smile who had an idea.

He tapped Pawn on the shoulder. Pawn looked up. The Soldier gestured with all four hands. He pointed up, and then two of his four arms rose. He made little spades out of his hands and put them behind his head. Then, with his other two hands he placed them flat on an invisible surface in the air. He opened his mandibles and raised them in a smile.

Pawn stared at him. He stared at the hands behind the Soldier’s head. The flat hands on…what? A counter? He stared at the hands behind the head again. They almost looked like ears. Wait. Pawn opened his mandibles in surprise.

“Her? You think I should talk to her?

Purple Smile nodded. Pawn stared at him. Then he got up. Purple Smile pointed and Pawn nodded. The Soldier led the way out of the barracks and Pawn followed him. The other Antinium milled about. They did not follow; they didn’t have permission to leave the Hive. And it was raining. But they waited. They didn’t play games. They sat or stood and looked towards the entrance of the barracks.

It was the same as before, only not. This time they were waiting and it felt better than when Pawn had not been paying attention. Because now they were paying attention to him. There was an expectancy in the air. Anticipation. The Antinium had never felt it. For once, they were waiting to see what happened next.

 

—-

 

She was at work in the rain when the two Antinium approached. Well, not in the rain. The stall’s slanted roof gave protection, but the blowing winds occasionally showered her with droplets. It was not fun, standing out in the open street. But business was business and it wasn’t like she had a shop.

Sometimes Krshia regretted that. How hard would it have been to buy a shop? She could have saved up and bought a nice little place to do business. But then she would be behind a closed door. She wouldn’t be out in the street where she could call to passersby, gossip, establish a network of clients that was based as much in trust of her good name as it was friendship.

That was how Krshia had earned money these last ten years. By being out in the open, dealing and selling in goods with people. It wasn’t just inventory or quality. Shopkeepers like Lism would never understand that.

Still, it was miserable being out in the rain. Krshia hunched her shoulders. She couldn’t put anything out on display, either. The few people who hurried down the street would either stop at her stall or didn’t have time to chat. They just bought what they needed and ran back indoors. Krshia hated the rain. But she still felt like she might hate having a shop more. Gnolls were outdoor people.

It was a slow day. Despite herself, Krshia kept glancing at the sky, wondering if it was time to pack up. Maybe she could rent a space for the next few weeks until it was clear? Or why not erect a covering over the entire street? Yes, why not? You could build a roof from house to house, a temporary one. Then all the shoppers would be more inclined to stay and talk. You could have the outdoor vendors sell all their food here, make a sanctuary from the rain!

“Doable, yes? But who would do it? I? It would be a hassle, and coin. Why not have the city do it? Only, they would not, no. This is what the Merchant’s Guild should do, yes? Only, they are not as interested in street vendors’ woes. Despite the fact that we are many. This is a Drake city and Drakes rule. But Gnolls have our own groups. Why not? I could petition myself, yes? And if I did it right—”

Her musing was cut off as she spotted a pair of shapes headed towards her through the rain. Krshia didn’t need a Skill to know she had customers. She straightened up and put a smile on her face. A smile which instantly turned into a puzzled frown as she sniffed and noticed exactly what was coming towards her.

“Antinium? In the rain? I thought Klbkch was the only one who left his Hive. Who—ah, Pawn.”

She saw the smaller Worker walk into view. Rain was pouring off of Pawn’s body. It was soaking the Soldier who stood next to him. Krshia eyed the purple paint and nodded.

“Purple Smile and Pawn, yes? Greetings! It is rare to see you above. Have you a need?”

“Hello Miss Krshia.”

Pawn waved at the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] and was rewarded with a toothy grin. He glanced at Purple Smile. The Soldier waved as well.

“I did not know that you knew Purple Smile, Miss Krshia.”

“Hmm. He used to pass by my shop with his patrol. And buy small things for his Soldiers and Workers. Food. I grew to remember him. And you I have not seen for a long time. Are you well, Pawn? Do you need more paint? Food? Supplies, perhaps?”

Krshia grew hopeful as she motioned the two Antinium closer so they could stand under the eaves of her shop. The Antinium were infrequent customers, but by the tribes they were good ones! They bought in bulk and didn’t haggle over prices. And they did all the picking up and delivering themselves. She was disappointed when Pawn shook his head.

“No, I—I do not have business for you, Miss Krshia. Revalantor Klbkch has removed my budget temporarily.”

“That is terrible news! What is the cause of your misfortune?”

Pawn looked down at the street as water ran across the flagstones.

“I neglected my duties. I have made many people upset. Revalantor Klbkch, Miss Erin, my fellow Antinium, and…Lyonette.”

Krshia frowned. Trouble among the Antinium? What could Pawn have done? She shifted, eying Pawn. She had not ever truly talked to any of the new Antinium, but she knew Pawn and he seemed earnest. Simple in a good way.

“That is bad news, yes? But I do not see why you come to my shop. What is my role to play here?”

Pawn shrugged. He glanced at Purple Smile, who had folded all four arms and was looking around, not paying much attention to the conversation.

“Purple Smile thinks you might be able to help. Miss Erin has already talked to me, but you are trusted.”

“Me? Why?”

Krshia blinked in surprise. Her ears twitched in embarrassment. And pleasure. She had no idea she was trusted among the Antinium. Pawn looked at Purple Smile and the Soldier made a few cursory gestures. He made a walking gesture with two hands, put two hands alongside his head as if he were staring, and opened his mandibles and closed them a few times. It was incomprehensible to Krshia, and Gnolls were good at reading body language. But Pawn clearly understood something because he turned back to her and bobbed his head slightly.

“Purple Smile says that when the Antinium go above, you do not look away or say…things. And when we buy food, yours is always good and not rotten. You are fair and, he thinks, wise. Sometimes you chat with him and he thinks you give good advice.”

There was no way to see Krshia blush, especially in the rain with the fur covering her face, but her tail did wag a bit. The Soldier had noticed all that? She remembered calling out to him and chatting while she helped him purchase food for his patrol, but the fact that he had remembered her was interesting! Strange, too. The Antinium were changing. Krshia cleared her throat and nodded at Purple Smile.

“I am grateful for this, yes? I do not consider myself wise, but if you have a problem, I would hear it. Come, step closer—it is raining too much to hear. Tell me what ails you, Pawn. And—yes, have a snack. I have a bit of cheese if you would like to eat it.”

Of course, the Antinium accepted. Krshia ushered them further into her stall as she found a hunk of cheese leftover from lunch. It was small divided up three ways, but it was tasty and offering food was ritual. Krshia offered Pawn her stool and the Antinium sat awkwardly while she and Purple Smile stood. The story that came out of his mandibles was hard to follow at first, but as Krshia listened and the rain thundered down over her roof, she saw everything clearly.

“…And so Miss Erin told me to leave Lyonette alone. And apologize. I am very sorry. And very guilty.”

Pawn finished his story, looking down at his hands. He had not finished his cheese. Krshia saw him pick at it distractedly. She shook her head, amazed by his story.

“And so that is where the matter rests, yes?”

“Yes. I came to you afterwards. I have not met Lyonette since. There is much I should do in the Hive, but—I do not know what to say. I cannot focus on my work when I have hurt her. I am guilty. I wish I could help. I want to help still. But that is wrong. Do you know what I should do?”

Pawn looked up at the Gnoll woman. Krshia shook her head. She felt something bubbling up inside of her. Oh, what a story! That Antinium could be like this? She felt younger, and remembered her tribe. The Silverfang Tribe—ah, if only her sister, the chieftain, could hear this! It was too much. Krshia had to do it. She threw back her head and began to laugh.

“Miss Krshia?”

The two Antinium in her stall jerked with surprise as Krshia chortled and then roared with laughter. She nearly doubled over as Pawn stood in front of her stall. He looked hurt, insofar as she could read Antinium expressions. Krshia tried to control herself, but it was nearly a minute before she could stop laughing.

“Apologies. I am sorry, Pawn. Truly. But your story was amusing to me, yes? Ah, it is good.”

“Is it? I do not think laughter is an appropriate reaction, Miss Krshia.”

Pawn stood up, his antennae vibrating with hurt. He wanted to go, but Krshia waved him back.

“No, no! I am sorry, yes? But Pawn, your problem is amusing. I cannot help but laugh. And I do have good advice to give you, I think. Better advice than Erin’s.”

“That is surely not possible.”

Reluctantly, Pawn turned back to face Krshia. He looked indignant, more indignant at Krshia calling Erin’s advice bad, in fact. He stared challengingly at Krshia as the Gnoll wiped water off her wet fur. She resisted the urge to shake herself; it was a faux pas even among other Gnolls.

“I do not mean to insult Miss Solstice, Pawn. She gave you good advice, yes? The best she could give. But I think she was wrong. Erin is smart, but she is young. Why not let me give you advice as I see it?”

Pawn tilted his head questioningly.

“What do you mean? Is there something you think I should do that could be different?”

“Oh, everything. Everything!”

Krshia chortled again. She wondered why Erin had not seen it? No—perhaps it was a thing of youth. She leaned forwards and smiled at Pawn. So small! She looked at Purple Smile and saw his mandibles rise slightly. She grinned back and leaned forwards to whisper to Pawn.

“There is a better way to resolve this. The best way, I think! It may go wrong, but such things happen. And if you listen to me…you say Lyonette spoke of balls, yes? Because she is a [Princess]?”

Pawn started.

“I never said—that is a secret!”

“Hmm. Yes. One I know. Do not look shocked! Gnolls hear much. And that is part of my plan. Why don’t you do this?”

The Gnoll spoke and Pawn listened. After a few seconds he began to object.

“That is exactly what Miss Erin said not to do!”

“But it is what I am saying to do. And who is more right? I think I am. But listen and then decide. The first thing you should do after that is…”

The rain fell and Krshia grinned. She was suddenly in a better mood. Today had been exceedingly dull. And wet. And miserable. But this made everything worth it.

 

—-

 

Lyonette was miserable. She mopped a table, cleaning the surface and watching her dull reflection stare back. She didn’t need to keep polishing, really. The new [Barmaids] and [Waiters] were doing great work and it was a slow day anyways. The Players of Celum weren’t in yet and it was raining still, so only a few Gnolls and Drakes had braved the weather to come in. There were more Humans in the inn right now, honestly. And they were being well-tended to by Drassi. So Lyonette had little to do but clean. Still, she felt awful and she needed to talk.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him. Not at Pawn. He didn’t know what he was doing. I should have just told him to stop!”

She glanced up and reached for a bucket. She dipped the dust rag into it and squeezed. The soapy water wet the cloth and she industriously polished the table again. Erin insisted on using soap with everything. It was important, she said. Lyonette stared at the wet table as she drew the cloth around in wide circles.

“It’s just that it’s my life. I snapped when I heard he was trying to change me. He didn’t ask—he was doing what he thought was right, but I’ve made my peace with it! You know?”

There was no response. Lyonette frowned.

“I liked him coming over, I really did. But he showed up every morning! When I was feeding Mrsha breakfast! And he was just so insistent! If he would have just come later we could have talked. We’re friends, after all! I think. Anyways, why am I feeling guilty? He should apologize. Even if he is sitting and doing nothing. Do you think Erin really helped him? She says he’s okay now, but is he really?”

No one answered. Irritated, Lyonette glanced up.

“Are you even listening?”

“Mhm.”

Sitting across the table, the young man with brown, disheveled hair looked up briefly. Pisces delicately flipped onto the next page of the spellbook. Lyonette glared at him.

“I said, are you listening? Pisces? Hello?”

The [Necromancer] sighed. He looked up from the charred spellbook recovered from the Ruins of Albez and gave Lyonette a bright, completely fake smile.

“Indubitably. How could I not be? Please go on with your riveting dilemma.”

Lyonette debated flicking her wet rag at him. Pisces was not the person she would have chosen to talk to, but he was the only one who was here. She began rubbing at a piece of crusted something on the table.

“Well? What do you think?”

“About what, pray?”

Pisces ducked as Lyonette flicked her rag at him. The water splashed the cover of his spellbook. He looked up reprovingly.

“I am a paying guest.”

“So? I have a problem and you’re not listening!”

Lyonette snapped. Pisces rolled his eyes and closed his book.

“I have been listening. I simply fail to see what your issue is. You had an altercation with Pawn. And now you feel guilty for wounding his feelings, despite the fact that it was he who was causing you inconvenience. Have I appropriately distilled the essence of your agony?”

The [Barmaid] opened her mouth. She hesitated.

“Well—yes. But it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

Pisces carefully cleaned one fingernail, flicking the dirt onto the table and ignoring Lyonette’s glares as he spoke.

“Pawn came to you every day, facilitating often meaningless conversation which you enjoyed despite the inconvenience of it at times. His fault was in attempting to help you against your will.”

“Yes!”

“And you wish to repair your relationship with him now.”

“That’s exactly right.”

Lyonette felt relieved. She leaned over the table.

“So what do you think I should do? Go visit him? Wait for him to talk to me? What should I say?”

The [Mage] raised his eyebrows and swept a lock of hair out of his face. Pisces sniffed and smiled superiorly.

I believe that you are rather missing the point.”

“What? How?”

Pisces gave Lyonette an enigmatic smile.

“Consider the events as an impartial observer. I regard your squabble with Pawn as indicative not of his social failings, but another, larger issue at stake. One which you should be aware of.”

“Which is?”

The [Necromancer] rolled his eyes to the ceiling innocently.

“I would hardly like to say. I do wonder if Erin noticed, though. I doubt it.”

“Noticed what?

Pisces only gave Lyonette a smug smile. She resisted the urge to throw the bucket at him. This was why people didn’t like Pisces. She was about to demand answers on pain of pain when she saw the door to Liscor open.

“Welcome! How can I—”

She broke off the instant she saw the Antinium in the doorway. Her first instinct was to think it was Pawn. But it wasn’t. The Antinium was too large. It was a Soldier, one with a purple smile painted across his face.

“Purple Smile?”

Lyonette hurried towards him. Her next thought was that he was leading a patrol and coming here for food, but he was alone. She had never seen a Soldier by himself! She stared at Purple Smile as he looked quizzically at a little towel rack that Erin had installed by the door. He wiped his feet on the rug and waved at Lyonette.

“Hello! Can I help you?”

Purple Smile nodded. He raised all four arms and pointed. At Lyonette. She blinked.

“Me?”

The Soldier nodded. Two of his arms shifted and pointed through the open doorway, into the streets of Liscor. Lyonette stared at him.

“Go into Liscor? Why? What do you need?”

Purple Smile didn’t respond. Of course, he couldn’t. He just pointed at Lyonette’s chest and then gestured with his other hand, beckoning. The third and fourth hands mimed walking.

It really was amazing how he could convey what he wanted with just his hands. Pisces stared in interest as Lyonette looked around.

“I could come but I have work—Erin’s in Liscor, though—what’s this about? Is it something to do with Pawn?”

Purple Smile raised all four hands and shrugged. Lyonette stared at him. She wavered, and then ran over to Drassi.

“Hey Drassi, I need to go out. The Antinium want me. Let Erin know when she gets back?”

“She won’t be back from her outing with Selys for a while. Do you want me to get someone to tell her?”

Drassi looked concerned as she peeked over Lyonette’s shoulder at Purple Smile. Lyonette shook her head.

“No, just let her know. And look after Mrsha?”

The Gnoll was in her room, reading a picture book that Erin had bought for her. It was expensive because of all the illustrated drawings, but the Gnoll had been delighted and engrossed by it. Drassi nodded.

“I can do that. Are you sure, though?”

“I think this has something to do with Pawn. I’m going.”

Lyonette hurried to grab a cloak. She nodded to Purple Smile.

“Are you taking me to Pawn?”

Again, the Soldier shrugged. He held open the door as Lyonette followed him out, and then stepped into the rainy street. Their departure went largely unnoticed in the quiet inn, but Pisces, sitting at his table, had seen everything. He smiled and flicked something under the table. A small, undead Shield Spider scuttled across the inn, unnoticed. It shot out of the door before Purple Smile could close it.

“Lead on.”

Outside, Lyonette followed Purple Smile through the rain. Neither one noticed their little follower. The tiny Shield Spider scurried after Lyonette, moving fast to avoid the water that threatened to sweep it into a sewer drain.

Sitting in the inn, Pisces sat back and closed his eyes. He could sense the Shield Spider moving, just as he could sense his rat-hunter Bone Horrors scouring Liscor’s sewers. He took direct control of the Shield Spider, letting it scurry in the shadows as it followed Lyonette and Purple Smile. They were headed straight for the entrance to Liscor’s Hive. Pisces smiled wider as he heard Lyonette asking Purple Smile anxiously about Pawn. He murmured to himself as he tapped his lips with one finger.

“Well now, this should be interesting.”

 

—-

 

Lyonette strode through dark, claustrophobic dirt hallways. She walked through crowds of Antinium who paused to stare at her. She felt like an intruder. Because she was. No Human had ever been in an Antinium Hive—well entered and survived, that was. This was foreign ground. Alien. But she followed Purple Smile as he led her down into the darkness because she was worried.

About Pawn. Something must have happened if Purple Smile had come for her. Lyonette couldn’t imagine what. Was Pawn hurt? Had Erin not helped him? Or—

Lyonette turned another bend in the dimly lit corridors. There was virtually no light in the Hive. No torches, lanterns or any fire. The only illumination came from some kind of strange glowing mold that the Antinium seemed to cultivate along the walls. It gave off a soft orange radiance, but the darkness was everywhere. Lyonette shivered. She tried not to give into her nerves as Purple Smile led her down a corridor. Then she saw light. She stepped into a brighter hallway, and then saw an opening. She turned and saw the chamber.

It had been a barracks. It probably still was, as the rows of alcoves against the far wall were clearly meant for Soldiers to sleep in. But instead of the cramped, tight chambers where Antinium slept next to each other, someone had hollowed out this room.

And decorated it. On the far wall, in between the sleeping spots meant for Soldiers were painted symbols.

A cup of brown and silver. A paw print in white. A picture of a bee on a plate, clumsily drawn. A smiley face.

Clumsy pieces of art. But all the more precious because they stood out on the plain earthen walls. Lyonette recognized them. They were the same symbols that adorned the Painted Soldiers. But each one was—she covered her mouth.

“I haven’t seen them. Any of them.”

Purple Smile gazed at the painted symbols. Each one was different. Unique. And Lyonette knew, knew that she hadn’t seen any of the Soldiers to whom they belonged. She understood then. That the wall was more than art. It was a memorial to the fallen.

For a second that drew her attention. Then Lyonette stepped further into the barracks and had a shock. She’d thought that it was empty. But the light that burned from two lanterns had only concealed the room’s visitors in the shadows. They stood in rows along the far walls, silent, dark silhouettes.

Antinium. Workers and Soldiers alike, standing to attention. They stared at Lyonette as she stepped into the room. The breath caught in her chest. She was afraid. But she forced the fear down. Hadn’t she seen them eating? Hadn’t she known them? The silence was unnerving, but these were people. She knew that. So she took another step into the room.

And then she saw him. He was standing in between the two lanterns that he had hung from poles planted on the floor. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room. Pawn. Lyonette stared at him. The Worker was looking at her as Purple Smile took a position next to the doorway, next to Yellow Splatters.

“Pawn? What is all this?”

“Thank you for coming here, Lyonette.”

The Worker bowed awkwardly to her. He was standing very straight and the other Antinium were focused as much on him as on her. Lyonette felt her heart pounding, but she didn’t know why. Pawn opened and closed his mandibles a few times.

“I regret calling you here without letting you know why. This is highly unusual. I did not ask Revalantor Klbkch for permission, but I think it had to be done. I hope you will not be angry. I wanted to apologize.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Lyonette felt awkward. And terrible. And confused. Was that why Pawn had called her here? Surely not. The Worker was fidgeting. And as Lyonette moved closer, she saw there was something behind him.

“What is that, Pawn?”

He ducked his head and Lyonette caught a flash of something bright. Yellow? The Worker cleared his throat a few times.

“I wanted this to be a surprise. It is an apology and—I hope you will like it.”

He stepped to one side. Lyonette’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth.

“What is—no!

Pawn had moved to reveal a…stand. A piece of wood, shaped to hold something. A dress stand. Meant to hold a dress. And it held one, a long gown of yellow. It was not elegant. It was not rich, or made of silk. But it was a dress. And it was beautiful in its own way. A dress for someone to wear. And Lyonette understood.

A ball is a formal occasion. It’s where we dress up in fancy clothing and dance in a big open space. Lyonette remembered telling Pawn that. She looked around and saw the newly excavated barracks, the waiting Antinium, the dress. She stared at Pawn as he waited, practically shaking with nerves. And she tried. She truly did. But the hurt in her chest rose and came out.

“Lyonette, I—”

“How could you? How could you?

Pawn broke off as Lyonette strode towards him. The [Barmaid]’s hands balled into fists as she glared at Pawn. He was a Worker and thus shorter, but she was short too and so they were on a level. She stared at him.

“I told you last time that I didn’t want your help! I told you and you do this?

She threw an arm out, indicating the dress, the waiting chamber. This was his idea? He hadn’t listened to her at all!

“I—wait. This isn’t—”

Pawn’s stammered, but Lyonette was too angry to care. Incensed, she shouted in Pawn’s face.

“Why won’t you just let me forget? Why can’t you let me be? Why can’t you just listen to me? Why do you have to do this? How could you? How could—”

She felt tears springing to her eyes again. Lyonette turned away. She felt betrayed! Let down. She saw Pawn look down at his feet. The other Antinium were silent as Lyonette covered her face, trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry.”

Pawn whispered the words. Lyonette didn’t turn back towards him. She spoke, her voice thick with sadness.

“Just let me be. Just drop it. Why can’t you do that? I asked you. I told you—”

The Worker bowed his head behind her.

“I know. I know. I understand it is your wish. I understand that it is not right for me to do this. Erin told me.”

“Then why—”

“It’s just that I can’t.”

Pawn interrupted Lyonette. She turned back to him. The Worker stood, awkward, defiant, speaking softly as the other Antinium looked on.

“Why not?”

The Worker stared at the [Barmaid].

“Because you looked so unhappy that day. It can’t be better to lose your class. You were a [Princess]. It mattered to you. You still aren’t over it.”

“But I am. I am, Pawn. It’s fine this way. Fine.”

Lyonette whispered through bloodless lips. She didn’t know if she believed the words coming out of her mouth. And Pawn—he looked her in the eye and shook his head.

“No. I do not think you are. I do not think it is better. Because doing all of this is easier than seeing you cry. Because it matters to me.”

“But it’s my life. You can’t just interfere with it!”

“Can’t I?”

Pawn tilted his head. Lyonette opened her mouth and he rushed on.

“Erin told me it was not right for me to interfere with other people all the time. I understood that. I know it is wrong. Socially. But I had to try. I had to do it for you.”

“Why, Pawn?”

The Worker was silent.

“Because if it were Erin, it would not matter as much, I think.”

“What?”

Pawn shrugged.

“That is what I feel. If Erin was grieving, I would give her space. As I would for others. If it were Relc who was crying I would be concerned. But I would let him be himself. If it were Mrsha who wept I would help and give her space when needed. If it were anyone else…I could do that. But not you. You are my friend. I cannot leave you alone. Not when you are hurting. Not when you are wrong. I am sorry.”

Lyonette was speechless for a moment. She tried to summon the words, to protest what Pawn was saying.

“Pawn, I know you think you know what’s right. But what if you don’t? I’m happy as a [Barmaid]. I still have that. I don’t need my [Princess] class anymore. I’m just a [Barmaid] now.”

No.

This time the word was authoritative. Pawn looked up. He stared at Lyonette, and there was something fierce in his gaze. Defiant.

“I am an [Acolyte], Lyonette. I pray. I have faith. I believe. I believe in things that may not exist, may never exist. I believe in heaven for the Antinium. I believe in redemption, in the salvation of souls. I believe there is a place after death for my people, that we might make it ourselves. I believe in gods. I believe in gods. But when you tell me you are a simple [Barmaid], I cannot believe in that.”

His voice rang in the chamber. Lyonette was speechless. She tried to form an argument, but Pawn’s voice was too loud. He spoke to her and her alone.

“You are a [Princess]. You showed me how to lead. You wept for your class when you left it. You have not been happy since you lost your class. I see it. I am your friend and I see your grief. You must have it back. It may not be my place to interfere, but it would be just as wrong for me not to. And if you tell me again not to interfere, to go, I will. But I have to tell you directly. Lyonette, I think you are wrong. And I want to help you. Please. Let me.”

Pawn held out his hands. Lyonette stared at them. She looked up at him and didn’t know what to say.

“You really believe I need my class back?”

“I do.”

Pawn took a shuddering breath, and then another. He looked around, helplessly.

“I am sorry. Again. I did this wrong. I should not have said all that so…suddenly. I should have done it after.”

“After?”

Pawn nodded. He scuffed a toe on the floor.

“After the dancing. You see, this ball is to restore your class. Well, not just for that. It is really for something else. Miss Krshia told me it would be most suitable.”

Lyonette started in surprise.

“Krshia did?”

How had the Gnoll thought that any of this was a good idea? Pawn nodded energetically.

“She told me to come here and tell you how I felt. I did that. Only—she said you might be angry, but I should tell you how I felt even if you shouted. She said you would understand.”

“Understand? Understand wh—”

Lyonette stared around at the ball. She stared at the newly-excavated barracks, the dress, at Pawn, helplessly insisting on helping her, and then thought about Krshia. Her eyes widened.

“Oh.”

And suddenly it all made sense. Lyonette blinked. She looked around and stumbled slightly. Her entire world shifted. And suddenly she looked at Pawn and saw something else.

Pawn. A Worker. He had come to the inn every day after learning she was sad. He had tried to cheer her up, tried in his way to make her happy. And when she had shouted at him he had curled up, refused to talk to anyone. And now, even after knowing she didn’t want help, he had tried to cheer her up. Yes, the ball was for her class. But it was also something Lyonette had said she liked. And that meant…

The Worker was babbling on nervously as Lyonette stared at him, stunned.

“Miss Krshia says that Erin got it wrong. I do not think Erin was wrong, but Miss Krshia told me to do this. She told me to tell you how I feel. About you as my friend.”

“Did she?”

Pawn nodded.

“So I did. I am sorry if it makes you angry, but I had to say it.”

He paused.

“It is strange, though.”

“Oh? How so?”

The Worker hesitated and scratched at his head.

“She asked me if I liked you, Miss Krshia, I mean. I said yes. She kept asking how much. And I told her. I like Erin. I owe her my identity and my life and more than I can give. But for some reason I like you more.”

Lyonette opened her mouth and her head went white. Pawn went on, oblivious.

“Erin is very kind. So are you. But I miss talking with you. I miss the days when you and I talked and you gave me advice. When I looked at you crying, I hurt.  I still hurt when you are angry because of me. But when I don’t see you I feel bad. When I think of you I am confused. But all of that feels good, too. Is it not strange?”

He looked at Lyonette. She shut her mouth, opened it again, and had to turn away.

“Oh no. No, no…is that what all of this was? Really?”

“What?”

Lyonette looked at Pawn. Despairingly. About to laugh. She covered her face. Her cheeks felt hot. How had she not seen it? She spoke, her voice muffled by her hands.

“You like me.”

“I do.”

“You…like me.”

“That is what I said.”

“No, Pawn. You like me. Not as a friend. You like me as…in a different way.”

“Which way is that?”

Romantically!

Lyonette burst out. Pawn opened his mandibles wide. Around the room, the watching Antinium froze in shock.

“I do?”

“Yes! Maybe!”

Lyonette was blushing. She looked at Pawn and turned beet red. Of course that was what it was! It wasn’t just concern. He liked her more than Erin? More than Erin? Lyonette didn’t know what to say. Pawn didn’t either. He looked around, confused.

“No one told me. How do you know?”

“I just do! It’s obvious! Krshia must have known. She must have—why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t—”

I believe that you are rather missing the point.

Pisces’ words echoed in Lyonette’s head. She froze. He had noticed. But what he had noticed was different from Krshia. She thought back to what she’d done. Yell at Pawn. Feel guilty for hurting him. When he’d gone to talk to Erin before, she’d been hurt. She’d missed—

“Oh no.”

“What?”

Pawn was vibrating with nerves. But Lyonette was stock-still. She looked at him. She looked at the dress. She wanted to laugh and cry, and felt more afraid than when she’d faced down the swarm of Ashfire Bees. She looked at Pawn and they stood there in silence for a long time. At last, at long last, Lyonette croaked.

“You made this ball for me.”

“Yes. So you could dance and be happy. I bought this dress, too. Miss Krshia helped me pick it out.”

Lyonette looked at the dress. She looked at Pawn. And she giggled as she realized something.

“Wait, dance? By myself?”

“Um. Yes?”

The young woman shook her head.

“You know, a ball isn’t really meant for one person to dance alone, Pawn.”

“It isn’t?”

The Antinium was devastated. He looked around wildly.

“I can fix this! I will get Miss Erin! Or Miss Krshia! Just wait—”

He wanted to run off but Lyonette grabbed his hand. It was so sudden that both [Barmaid] and Worker froze. Then Lyonette spoke.

“Erin isn’t who I want to dance with, Pawn. Neither is Krshia. A ball needs two. So does a waltz. Why don’t I dance with you?”

“Oh.”

Pawn turned to Lyonette. He stared at her hand. She held out her other one.

“Take my hand, Pawn.”

“Your hand?”

He hesitated. Lyonette held it out. Pawn took it. She felt his strange, cool, smooth fingers take hers. The shock of contact made her jump and Pawn’s antennae waved wildly.

“Is this—is this how it works? I have seen Erin dancing.”

“She does it a bit differently. A ball is formal. You have to hold your partner. Here, let me show you.”

Lyonette held her hands up with Pawn. She didn’t know what she was doing. She felt flushed, dizzy. Pisces couldn’t be—Krshia was just—she looked at Pawn. He stared back. Lyonette’s head went empty and she let years of training take over.

“Like this. Raise your arms. Stand closer—and step. When I step forwards, you step back. When you step forwards—yes. Keep your feet together. Like this. See? One, and two, and one, and two—”

“Oh. How fascinating. Is this dancing in a ball?”

“A bit. But you don’t just step back and forth. You turn—yes, like this! And there’s more moves. And there would be music.”

“Music? Oh no. I can get some—”

“No. We can dance without it. If you want to.”

“I think I do.”

Pawn held Lyonette’s hand as she showed him the moves of the dance. He remembered them all well. She had to adjust for his different body, his less graceful steps. But as they stepped together, Lyonette stopped feeling silly and remembered. Yes, this was what it felt like? She turned and suddenly the barracks opened up in front of her. It was truly large. She spun with Pawn and though there was no music, suddenly she felt caught up.

“What a strange activity. How pleasing. I am glad you did not grow angry. And I am sorry again for upsetting you.”

The Worker babbled as he waltzed with Lyonette. She wanted to laugh again and suppressed the urge. They danced past the dress stand, ignoring the yellow dress. It wasn’t needed.

“I want to say sorry too, Pawn. I didn’t notice how you felt.”

“No. I did not either. Are you sure I like you? Romantically? I thought that was a thing only Drakes, Humans, and Gnolls did.”

“I’m pretty sure. The signs are all there.”

“Oh.”

Pawn thought about this as they spun. Lyonette showed him how to spin with her. She felt too close to him. She hadn’t been this close to anyone but Mrsha. But she didn’t pull away.

“Should I do something about it? I understand that romantic interests lead to death and fighting.”

“Who told you that?”

“Revalantor Klbkch. He says that a third of the disputes he must settle are based in romantic conflict. Will I start attacking you? I could not bear to do that.”

“No, Pawn. That’s not—do you understand what I’ve been telling you?”

“…Maybe?”

“You like me. You like me romantically. Pawn, that means you might love me.”

“Love?”

The Worker slowed as Lyonette walked across the floor with him. He copied her flawlessly, absently. It was as if the dance came to him as naturally as breathing. Of course, it was just following orders. It was effortless for him and Lyonette found herself moving into more advanced positions absently.

“I do not understand love. Is it like liking?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

“And I love you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it inconvenient for you? I would hate for that to be so.”

“No. It’s not. It’s…flattering, really. Mostly. Sometimes it can be awful if someone likes you and you don’t like them back. But not always. And I—I think I like you too, Pawn. Maybe.”

“I see.”

The Worker just stared at Lyonette. She turned beet red.

“Well?”

“That makes me happy. Am I supposed to have another reaction?”

“No! Yes! Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Abruptly, Lyonette stopped the waltz. Pawn stopped too. He let go of her hands and took a step back.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. This is all so surprising. I only know that I like dancing with you.”

“No, don’t be—”

Lyonette was embarrassed again. She looked at Pawn.

“Pawn, this is a mess. I thought you were obsessed with my class. With helping me.”

“I am.”

“But you like me, don’t you see?”

“That is why I want to help you.”

“But does it mean you want my [Princess] class back?”

“Of course! It defines you. It is who you are.”

“But can’t I be someone without it? That’s what I want.”

Lyonette spread her hands out helplessly. Pawn waited, trying to comprehend and she spoke.

“For so long I’ve been defined only by my class! Only by being a princess! Now I have a job. I’m leveling in other classes! I think part of me, a large part, wanted to lose my class. So I could be someone else.”

“But why do you have to be? Why can you not be a [Princess] and everything else?”

“I—it’s because it’s so huge. And I don’t want it. All the things I could never live up to, all the duties I’m abandoning by being here—it’s too much. Do you understand?”

“No. Is the dance over?”

Pawn looked at Lyonette. She threw up her hands.

“I don’t know!

In the silence Pawn shuffled his feet.

“I enjoyed dancing with you.”

“So did I. We could try again.”

Lyonette reached for Pawn’s hands, but both Antinium and Human turned as they realized they had company. A Soldier stood next to the two. Lyonette stared up at Yellow Splatters. He wasn’t the only one. Every Soldier and Worker in the barracks had abandoned their posts along the walls. They were nearly lined up in front of Lyonette and Pawn.

“Pawn? What do they want?”

“Oh.”

Pawn sounded disappointed. He looked at Yellow Splatters and turned to Lyonette apologetically.

“I am sorry, Lyonette. They want to dance too.”

“With me?”

“No. With me.”

Lyonette gaped. But the Antinium were looking at Pawn. He hesitated and glanced at Lyonette.

“I—”

Someone brushed past him. Pawn and Lyonette saw Purple Smile interpose himself in between Yellow Splatters and the two. He raised two hands and blocked the [Sergeant]. He held up his other two hands and gave Pawn a thumbs up. The Worker nodded gratefully as the other Antinium were shepherded by Purple Smile into their own pairs.

“It seems Purple Smile will take over teaching.”

“Teaching? But they didn’t do anything but watch. How can—”

Lyonette nearly choked on her tongue. As one, the Workers and Soldiers began waltzing in pairs. At first it was only simple moves. Step forwards, step back. Turn. But then they began moving and performing more complex moves. Lyonette watched in amazement as the Antinium performed a minuet, flawless peel off, and then a promenade down the floor. The bulky Soldiers and Workers moved down the floor, passing by Lyonette and Pawn.

“It is a wonderful thing. This form of dancing. It is relaxing. Elegant. Both Workers and Soldiers can do it together. I think it is what we were looking for.”

Pawn looked back at Lyonette. She stared at him.

“This?”

He nodded.

“The Antinium cannot go outside now. Many of us do not know what to do. We have no purpose outside our function. But this? This is not what we were designed for. This is something special that we can do with each other. It is beautiful and we can make it.”

“That’s true.”

Lyonette remembered balls with gold and magic. She remembered rooms packed with the famous, the powerful. She had seen wonderful dancing, seen the Lord of the Dance himself take to the floor. But this was magical in its own way. The dancing Antinium lit something in her. She looked at Pawn.

He was a Worker. The same as so many others. But different. Oh, so different. Lyonette felt it. Did she like him? Did he really like her? She didn’t know, but something in her prompted to hold out her hands.

“Shall we?”

“I would be delighted.”

The two took hands. They stepped out into the pairs of the Antinium. Alone in a room filled with bodies. Together. Lyonette whirled with Pawn holding her.  In that moment as she danced with him they spoke, honestly, close together.

“I’m not a good [Princess], Pawn. I never was.”

“That does not matter to me. I just wanted you to be happy.”

“And I can’t be without my class?”

“I think you could be. But I think you do not have to lose something to be happy.”

“Nothing stays the same, Pawn. Things change.”

“But nothing ever disappears. The past matters.”

“That’s true. But what would I be?”

She felt Pawn’s other two hands pick her up. Lyonette felt her feet leave the ground as he gently lifted her. She felt breathless. The Antinium were made for such a maneuver.  Pawn stared at her.

“You would be a [Princess] in an inn.”

“That’s not enough. I need something else. A [Princess] must have subjects. She must have a kingdom. I have neither.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“I could be your subject. I think I would be a good one. I follow orders.”

Pawn.

Lyonette grabbed his hands and looked seriously into his eyes.

You have subjects. You can’t abandon them.”

“I know. But I cannot leave you alone either. Is that love?”

“I think so.”

Lyonette closed her eyes. She stepped with Pawn, showing him more forms as they moved on. In silence, they danced. Until Pawn spoke.

“Is that why you gave up your class? Because you left them?”

“Who?”

“Your subjects. Your kingdom.”

“My subjects?”

Lyonette froze. She opened her mouth to protest that they weren’t hers and stopped. Wasn’t she a [Princess]? Weren’t they hers? Even a sixth princess had duties. She hesitated.

“I…I never thought of them.”

“I see.”

Distracted, Lyonette looked away. She bit her lip.

“I might not be able to get my class back, Pawn.”

“I think you will. If you want to.”

“Why are you so certain?

“Because I know you. Because I believe in you. Because you are wonderful.”

Lyonette’s head turned back. Pawn stared at her. She looked into his eyes. The dark, multi-faceted eyes of an Antinium. Eyes without pupils. But not without soul. And when Lyonette looked into them, she saw something that frightened her. Because in Pawn’s gaze there was nothing else in the entire world but her. For a moment she was the center of the universe.

“You really do like me, don’t you?”

“I am afraid I do. Is it bad after all?”

“No. I think it’s nice.”

The two fell silent after that. Lyonette watched the room spin around her. There was no music. She wore only a [Barmaid]’s outfit. Her partner was an Antinium, naked save for a loincloth. But in this moment, it felt like she was dancing back in a ballroom back home. She whirled and Pawn held her hand as she spun. Lyonette felt tears springing to her eyes.

“I’ll try. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And Pawn?”

“Yes, Lyonette?”

“Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

 

—-

 

She didn’t know how long she danced. Long enough for her feet to tire. Long enough to hurt. But only after they were done. Lyonette curtsied and Pawn imitated her until she told him he should bow. Then Lyonette straightened and looked around.

The Antinium had stopped with them. They looked at Lyonette and Pawn. Some of them still held hands. Lyonette realized she was still holding Pawn’s. She let go and then wished for a second that she hadn’t.

The ball was over. Pawn looked around and noticed Purple Smile standing back. He’d danced less than the others, content to watch. The Soldier was crunching on something. He must have found a bug roaming around, a rare treat.

“Do you feel better now, Lyonette?”

She turned to him and smiled.

“I think I do. But I have to go now, Pawn. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. I enjoyed the dancing.”

Lyonette waited, but Pawn didn’t seem to have anything else to say. She nodded at last and turned away. He watched her go. Lyonette looked at Purple Smile and the Soldier beckoned. Silently, he led her back out of the Hive. Lyonette walked, trying to make sense of her emotions.

She walked out of the Hive. It was already dark. The rain poured down, drenching Lyonette. She didn’t pay it any mind. She walked into the inn.

“Lyonette? Are you okay? Is Pawn okay?”

Erin hovered around Lyonette. The [Barmaid] looked at her.

“Pawn? He’s fine. I think. I—I’m going to sleep early.”

“Okay. Are you sure you’re—”

Lyonette walked up the stairs. She sensed someone following her and saw Mrsha padding along. The Gnoll sniffed her and Apista buzzed around Lyonette. The young woman managed a smile.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Mrsha, Apista. I just had a talk with Pawn. A dance, actually.”

She went into her room. Lyonette sat and saw the rain coming down through the windowpane. She blinked a few times.

“Was that all?”

She patted her breast, felt her face. She didn’t feel so different. She’d danced with Pawn for hours! She’d looked into his eyes. But she had a bad feeling. Well, not a bad one.

It was just that she wasn’t swept away. She wasn’t head-over-heels in love. And that was bad because Lyonette felt she should be. But she didn’t feel the rush of emotions she’d felt with her obsessions in youth. She didn’t feel…besmitten.

And that hurt. Because Lyonette felt she should be. Pawn was so honest, so earnest! So…new. And he was Antinium. She couldn’t answer his feelings honestly.

That was what Lyonette told herself. She kept telling herself that, as Mrsha tried to get her to play and Apista crawled over her head. She wasn’t in love. And that presented a whole new set of problems. For that matter, what about her class? Pawn had reminded her that she had duties. He had told her he believed in her.

But—Lyonette’s mind drifted back to the dance. She closed her eyes and felt herself whirling in the cool, stale air far underground. She didn’t love Pawn. But she remembered him looking at her.

A dress in yellow, a room full of dancing Antinium. Lyonette told herself it wasn’t love. But she couldn’t forget it either. It was something else. And as she sat in her room and Mrsha curled up next to her, Lyonette wondered.

“Will it happen?”

She put her head back on her pillow, willing herself to sleep. It couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t. But part of her hoped. Why had she lost her class to begin with? Because she had no subjects? No kingdom? Hadn’t she just left it behind?

A [Princess] in an inn. Surely there was something else. Surely there was something more. Lyonette’s head felt foggy. She was falling asleep. She tried to imagine it. But all she could see was a Worker’s face as they danced together in the lantern light. It wasn’t love. But if it wasn’t that, what could it be?

 

[Class Conditions: Princess met.]

[Class – Princess restored.]

[Skill – Detect Poison restored.]

[Skill – Royal Tax restored.]

 

[Princess → Worldly Princess Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Warrior removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Barmaid removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Beast Tamer removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Tactician removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Carer removed.]

 

[Worldly Princess Level 11!]

[Skill – Basic Crafting obtained!]

[Skill – Weapon Proficiency: Sword obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Negotiator obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Leadership obtained!]

[Skill – Flawless Attempt obtained!]

 

“Oh!”

In the darkness a young woman sat up. She looked around and touched her face.

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Then she lay back down. Lyonette felt like she should shout. Or celebrate. But she just felt a bit empty. It was almost like all of what she’d gone through didn’t matter. She frowned up at the ceiling.

“Huh.”

It wasn’t what she expected at all.

 

—-

 

The next day, Lyonette avoided Erin’s questions about what had happened. She fed Mrsha and Apista breakfast, dutifully helped serve the guests, and felt nothing different at all. It was disappointing. Her new Skill, [Flawless Attempt] was in her mind, but Lyonette didn’t feel like using it. She just…waited. She didn’t know for what. Until when, a few hours past morning, the door opened and Pawn poked his head through.

“Am I too early?”

Lyonette turned and blinked at him. And then she did feel something. Lyonette’s face turned bright crimson. Pawn stared at her.

“Lyonette?”

“Come over here.”

She hurried him over to a table before Erin could poke her head out of the kitchen. Lyonette sat at a table with Pawn. He peered at her anxiously.

“Are you okay, Lyonette? I mean—”

He caught himself.

“I should not ask that. Correct?”

“No, I’m well. Better than well, actually. I…got my class back.”

“You did?”

Pawn half-rose out of his seat. Lyonette grabbed him.

“Sit, please.”

He did. Lyonette breathed in and out until she could control herself. Then she looked at Pawn.

“I guess it worked. The ball, I mean.”

“I am relieved. I had hoped that was so, but I was not sure. Are you…happy now?”

“Happy? I don’t know. I think I’m more surprised than anything else. Classes shouldn’t disappear and come back like that. I don’t know why it happened.”

“I don’t know either. But I am glad for you. Truly.”

Pawn fidgeted in his seat. Lyonette looked at him.

“What is it?”

“I was…thinking about yesterday. A lot, actually. I realize now that Miss Krshia may be right. And you too, of course. I may indeed be in love with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I realize this may be inconvenient for you. So I will try not to be. In love, that is. I will remove myself and go back to my duties now you are well.”

Pawn awkwardly nodded his head. Lyonette stared at him.

“No.”

“No?”

Why didn’t he get it? Lyonette hesitated, and then reached across the table and grabbed Pawn’s arm.

“Pawn, you don’t give up when you’re in love. Not like that.”

“But it may be inconvenient for you.”

“But I like you, Pawn. As a friend. And if you love me, how could you just give up and not see me?”

The Worker tilted his head.

“Is that not love? Giving up for someone else?”

Lyonette was speechless. She let go of Pawn and sat back. Eventually, she spoke.

“Maybe. But love is more than that. Much more, Pawn.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

“Love is…coming back every day. To see me. Even if I’m not crying. Even if I have my class back.”

“I see. What else is it?”

“It’s…a lot of things. And I don’t know if I love you! I like you.”

“I see. And I do not know if I love you. The Antinium have never loved, I think. How might we be able to tell the difference between like and love?”

Lyonette stared at Pawn. He looked so matter-of-fact. She laughed, abruptly, and then held out her hand.

“Maybe like this. Take my hand, Pawn.”

“Are we dancing again?”

The Worker took Lyonette’s hand uncertainly. She held it, and then stood up. As Pawn watched she edged around the table to sit by his side. He shifted, looking at her and his hand.

“How strange. What an odd sensation. Is something supposed to happen?”

“Maybe. But holding hands is sort of the point.”

Lyonette gently squeezed Pawn’s hand in hers. His hand was smooth. Foreign. Cool. But there was something familiar about it. She closed her eyes and remembered dancing. And next to her, Pawn shivered.

“When do you let go?”

“When you want to, I suppose. Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

The Human girl looked at Pawn and then looked away. He looked away as well. Both felt awkward. Embarrassed. They sat there like that, looking away. Lyonette felt her cheeks turning red. She couldn’t see Pawn’s face change and was disappointed—until she saw how violently his antennae were twitching. She felt so awkward and yet she didn’t let go of his hand. She didn’t want to.

Pawn stared at Lyonette and looked around. The inn was the same. Lyonette was the same. He was the same. But he couldn’t help but feel different. He looked at their hands, at Lyonette.

“Is love like this all the time, Lyonette?”

“Like what?”

She looked at him, her face flushed. Pawn searched for the words. Then he spoke.

“Something new.”

She paused. And then she smiled.

“Maybe. It might not be love, you know. I’m still not sure myself. But it could be. Would you like to find out?”

Pawn nodded.

“Yes, please.”

They looked at each other and then away. And they didn’t stop holding hands. Lyonette sat in The Wandering Inn. A [Princess] in an inn. And she smiled. The class had nothing to do with her smile. She and Pawn sat there.

Together.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.27

There were about two hundred varieties of fish in the waters outside of her inn. Erin had been told at least a quarter of them were objectionable in some way, so she stared hard at the dead Quillfish’s insides.

“It doesn’t look poisonous. And my [Dangersense] isn’t going off. My [Advanced Cooking] says I can cook it—what do you think, Mrsha?”

She held up the Gnoll and let Mrsha eagerly sniff the fish, which had been carefully descaled and dequilled by Erin. She’d been wearing gloves. Now the fish was in fillet form. Mrsha sniffed it a few seconds longer and then gave Erin the nod.

Having passed three of her tests, Erin decided the Quillfish was safe to eat. So she cut the fillet into smaller pieces and found a lemon. She squeezed it, rubbed it into the fillet, and then found flour and put a pan on the stove. The fire was already going and Erin had put enough fuel in the stove to last her a while.

“Pass me an egg, Mrsha?”

Erin mixed the flour up with a bit of dried breadcrumbs and a tiny bit of powdery cheese. Then she pressed the fillets into the mixture. She took the egg Mrsha handed her, cracked it into a bowl, added some water, and then dipped the fillet in the egg before returning it to the flour. Soon she had a coating on each fillet and her pan was hot.

“Oil—thanks, Mrsha. Stay back from the pan, you might get hit by oil spatters!”

The [Innkeeper] ushered Mrsha back as the Gnoll greedily watched her place the first fillet on the pan. The fish pieces browned quickly and soon Erin had many little fried pieces of fish. They were mostly circular and looked sort of like potato chips. They were meant to be bite-sized and the result pleased Erin. She absently smacked Mrsha’s paw as the Gnoll reached for one.

“Not yet. It needs the finishing touch.”

So saying, Erin reached for a dark brown bottle of sauce filled with little seeds and dried spices. Erin tasted a bit. Her eyebrows shot up in approval.

“Mm. Gnolls make good sauces. This one’s spicy. Want some, Mrsha?”

She fed the Gnoll a spoonful of the spicy fish sauce, watching Mrsha lick her chops and then poured it over the fish pieces. Lightly—she could always add more. Erin thought for a moment and then found her mayonnaise. The condiment was hard to make, but she felt it had a place here.

“Chives? Where are…oh, there they are.”

Erin found a bunch of fresh chives sitting out in the open, ignoring all health codes or refrigeration standards. She checked them carefully before she began chopping them up.

“It’s not that they get bad, but now some of my veggies start growing! And bugs still love eating them. You tell me if you see any of them crawling in here, okay, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded and snatched her paw back from the fish flakes as Erin turned her head. She watched as Erin mixed the chives into the yellow mayonnaise, her tail beating impatiently. When Erin added the bowl of chived mayonnaise to her plate Mrsha gave her a look that said quite clearly that she would die without food in the next moment.

“Fine. Here. You may have one piece.”

Erin let Mrsha carefully select the biggest flake and dip it in the mayonnaise. The two sauces mixed as Mrsha chewed the flake carefully. The Gnoll closed her eyes as she chewed and Erin waited. Mrsha’s tail started beating faster and a smile appeared on her face. Erin smiled too.

“That’s a good endorsement.”

With that, she took the food out of the kitchen and into the common room. Mrsha jumped off the kitchen counter to follow her.

“Experimental fish flakes are ready! Anyone want a bite? On the house!”

She approached two of her early-morning guests. They were sitting apart from each other, but both looked up at Erin’s voice. Selys, tail swishing idly, and Ylawes, sitting with perfect posture in his seat.

“What’s that, Miss Solstice?”

“Breaded fish…flakes. Fresh from outside! They look like flakes. It’s a snack. Or dinner if I find a bigger fish to cut up. Want a try?”

Erin offered the plate to him. Ylawes hesitated and she wondered if breaded fish were not a thing he’d ever tried before. But Selys clearly had and Mrsha’s leaping up on the table to peer greedily at the platter convinced him. He took a piece and bit into it. Erin watched him chew and swallow before the [Knight] smiled at her.

“Ah. That is delicious. May I?”

“Sure. Selys, you want in on this?”

“Sure. Hey Mrsha, do you want to eat with me?”

Selys smiled at Mrsha as the Gnoll realized she’d get a helping too. They began eating at Ylawes’ table. The [Knight] glanced sideways at Selys and then helped himself to another fish flake.

“Did you say this was freshly caught?”

“Yup. Bird shot it this morning. He says there aren’t enough birds so he practices on the fish when he’s bored.”

“He can’t swim. How did he fetch them?”

“Oh, I had one of the Goblins go pick it up. Actually, this fish isn’t the one I got. A bunch of Quillfish were nibbling at the one Bird shot so Headscratcher grabbed them all. With his bare hands.”

“Ah, the Goblins.”

Ylawes paused in eating. He looked around, but the Goblins weren’t here. Neither were most of Erin’s guests. It was a bit too early for that; both he and Selys had arrived at the early morning shift, before Erin’s usual crowd showed up. The Goblins were, in fact, busy sparring outside of Erin’s inn. If she listened she could sometimes hear a thud when one of them hit each other particularly hard.

As for her adventurers, neither the Halfseekers nor the Horns of Hammerad liked getting up early. Back when Griffon Hunt had been around they would come down early, but the other teams liked sleeping in.

You got to know your guests. Erin knew she had about thirty minutes before the adventurers would come down so she settled down at the table. She bit into her fish flake and smiled as the hot oil and spices made her mouth water.

“Yum. Spicy, though. Hey, try dipping it in the mayonnaise, Selys.”

“Mm. This is good too. But I like spices.”

“Drakes love spices. But I’ve gotta think about my Gnoll and Human customers. You want a drink, Ylawes?”

The armored man had gotten a hot pepper seed and was flushing slightly. He nodded.

“I would be grateful.”

Erin found a tankard and filled it with milk behind the bar. She passed it to him and Ylawes drank quickly. Selys looked around.

“No Lyonette today? Is she still having…issues?”

Erin smiled.

“The opposite, actually. She’s doing well. I sent her into Liscor to do shopping while we wait to test her Skill again.”

“Oh? She got a new Skill?”

“Yeah. Would you believe it? She leveled again. She won’t tell me what level she is now, but get this—she got a rare Skill! [Flawless Attempt]!”

Ylawes looked up with interest as he dipped a fish flake in mayonnaise. Mrsha looked up as well, her mouth stuffed. Selys frowned.

“That is rare. I’ve never heard of that variation before. I’ve heard of the flawless line of Skills of course—[Flawless Strike], [Flawless Dodge], uh—”

“[Flawless Defence]. That’s a [Knight] or [Warrior]’s Skill.”

Selys nodded gratefully at Ylawes.

“Exactly. They’re good Skills. You can perform a perfect attack once every few hours. But attempt? What does that do?”

“We’re not sure. Lyonette says it’s not like the others. She can’t do things perfectly, but she does it…to the best of her abilities? She made Mrsha an omelette with it this morning.”

Both Drake and Human immediately glanced sideways at Mrsha. She looked up, her face smeared with sauce. Erin handed her a napkin which Mrsha ignored. The Gnoll started licking her fur instead.

“Doesn’t sound too impressive.”

“You’d think so, but this was a great omelette. One of the best! It wasn’t perfect, but it was close! I think that’s what the Skill does. Anything Lyonette can do she does at her best. But we have to wait for it to recharge or something.”

“Right. You can’t use active Skills right away. There’s always a cool down. But that’s a nice Skill.”

Erin grinned.

“Isn’t it? We’ve been brainstorming how to use it best. The thing is, Lyonette doesn’t need to use it for most things. I can cook and I have [Advanced Cooking] so there’s really no point in her using it there. I was sort of hoping she’d use it to play chess with me.”

“Of course, you would.”

Selys rolled her eyes. Ylawes chewed his actual breakfast, a half-finished omelette and took another sip from his cup. Erin shrugged.

“What? She said it would be interesting and my magic chessboard’s been inactive recently. Besides, new opponents are always fun. I hardly get to play as much with all the plays going on every day.”

“I heard about that. A bunch of Drakes I know are talking about visiting tonight. Something about you putting on a new play?”

“Right. We put on the Triumph of Liscor and Othello, but now the Players of Celum want to really draw in an audience so they’re going to put on Juliet and Romeo for our audience tonight. I think it’ll be a hit!”

“I haven’t seen that one. I think. I saw the one with the angry Human who kills his [King].”

Hamlet. Or maybe you’re thinking of Macbeth? There’s a lot of killing of [Kings] in Shakespeare’s stuff.”

“Well, I’ll watch the one tonight if I have time. But I’m really here just to talk to your Goblins. It’s my day off but Grandmother insisted so here I am.”

Selys twitched her tail as she reached for a fish flake and discovered only crumbs. Ylawes brushed at his clean-shaven face with his handkerchief and glanced at Erin.

“Have they been causing trouble? Your ah, security?”

Erin glanced at him.

“Not a problem. Why?”

The [Knight] glanced at Mrsha and then cleared his throat.

“No reason in particular. Forgive me, Miss Solstice. As an adventurer I worry. Hobgoblins are a far cry from regular Goblins, and ordinary Goblins are dangerous enough. I can’t help but feel as though the ones in your inn are similar to a group I met in Esthelm. Those were dangerous fighters. Although, they were honorable in their own way.”

He broke off, musing to himself. Erin paused as Selys rubbed Mrsha’s tummy. The Gnoll was happily stuffed and content to let the Drake comb through her fur with one claw.

“Well, you can listen to Selys lecture them about becoming adventurers.”

Ylawes nearly spat his drink out.

Becoming—are you serious?”

“Mhm. Selys got her grandmother to approve the paperwork. They’ll be a Bronze-rank team. They won’t go into Liscor obviously, but this way they can earn money killing monsters.”

The [Knight] stared at Erin, aghast. He shifted his gaze to Selys and the Drake gave him a nod and a rueful grin.

“You are serious. Silver and steel. Miss Solstice, I must protest. Goblins are not—

“Adventurer material? Funny, I bet people say the same thing about Antinium. And guess who’s on your sister’s team?”

Erin sat back at the table as Ylawes frowned. She glanced at her stairs. Yvlon was probably still upstairs. She always came down with her hair combed and her armor on. That was dedication.

“You’re here to see Yvlon, right?”

Ylawes frowned, caught off-guard by the change in conversation. He hesitated and then nodded.

“I’d like to talk with her, yes. I can’t help but feel she’s been avoiding me of late.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

Erin rolled her eyes. Ylawes frowned.

Is she?”

For a second Erin wished she had a mug to polish. That was a very [Innkeepery] thing to do, she felt. She shrugged as she poked Mrsha’s stomach and made the Gnoll giggle silently.

“She’s your sister. You tell me.”

“Would that I could. But I’ve never been able to understand my sister’s mind. I would be grateful if you could advise me.”

Erin paused, frowning.

“I’m just an [Innkeeper]. I shouldn’t have to tell you. Although I could give you psychiatric help. The doctor is in!”

She grinned, struck by a nostalgic thought. Ylawes just looked blank.

“Pysc—what?”

“Advice. For five copper coins.”

Erin didn’t really expect Ylawes to bite. She was just teasing him and indulging herself. But when the [Knight] reached for his belt pouch and produced the coins, Erin had to find a mug to shake them in. Selys and Ylawes watched, although the Drake knew enough to know Erin was just being weird.

“Alright, I’ve had enough fun. You want advice, Ylawes? When your sister comes down the stairs, don’t ask her to come back to your home or tell her your family misses her. In fact, don’t tell her what to do. Just say hi and have a nice chat.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

Ylawes broke off, and Erin nodded knowingly.

“See? That’s honesty. Which is good! You were going to ask her if she wanted to return home, weren’t you? She’d hate that. That’s why she doesn’t want to talk to you. That, and she resents you being here.”

“She resents me being here? Why?”

This time both Selys and Erin sighed as one. Mrsha copied them happily. Ylawes looked at them, confused. Erin looked at him, exasperated and amused.

“Why do you think? You’re her big older brother, coming to tell her what to do and ‘protect’ her when she’s a grown woman! Plus, you’re the thing she wants to be. A [Knight], a Gold-rank adventurer…all the things she failed to become. I just bet she always got compared to you growing up, didn’t she?”

“She did. I never gave it any thought. But how could you know that?

Ylawes looked stunned, which greatly pleased Erin. She gave him her most mysterious smile.

“Let’s just say I had a feeling. Do you trust me now?”

The [Knight] had to nod. Selys gave Erin an admiring look.

“You’re pretty good at this advice thing, Erin. Is it because of your class? Or a Skill?”

“Nah. I mean, maybe it is but this kind of story was really common back in my—uh country. In any…country, I bet. But you’re right, I am good at this! Hey, maybe I should open up a side business!”

“Before you do that—”

Ylawes coughed and all three females turned their gaze back to him. Mrsha, Selys, and Erin—three races, alike in their exasperation for a brother’s lack of understanding. Well, maybe not Mrsha. She was just pretending. But she was having fun, which was the key. Ylawes stroked his chin, frowning.

“You say Yvlon’s trying to get out of my…shadow. But then why did she agree to let me help her explore the dungeon? And why hasn’t her team entered the dungeon yet? I know they’re prepared. But every time I ask Miss Springwalker I get only evasive answers. That was why I came to talk to them today, actually.”

Erin’s smiled faded a bit. She took a deep breath.

“Hoo boy. Um…that’s a different reason altogether.”

“Would you explain it? My teammates are growing tired of waiting. As am I.”

Again Ylawes reached for his belt pouch but Erin stopped him. She chewed her lip and threw a quick glance up the stairs. No one was coming down yet.

“Alright, but this is secret.”

“You want me to leave?”

“Not that secret, Selys. It’s just—okay, here’s why. Ylawes, I know Calruz might be alive in the dungeon. Even though the odds are like a thousand to one.”

“Quite. The idea of someone surviving down there is remote. But there is a possibility, which makes it imperative to act now. I cannot understand why the Horns hesitate.”

Erin toyed with the empty platter.

“Maybe because of the past. If I told you that Ceria casts [Silence] on her and Yvlon’s room every night, would you understand?”

“Not in the slightest. Why would that be all important?”

Ylawes looked mystified. Erin sighed. Again she looked towards the empty stairs and then lowered her voice.

“It’s because Ceria wakes up screaming every other night. And Yvlon too. Pisces tells me they did it while they were exploring Albez, too.”

“Screaming? Why—”

“Because of the dungeons, Ylawes.”

The [Knight] paused. His furrowed brows unknit and he sat back. He closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

Selys looked at the two Humans and then stroked Mrsha’s head. She shook her own sadly.

“Nightmares about the crypt?”

Erin nodded.

“They still remember it. Obviously. Both of them lost their entire team—Yvlon was in charge. And they fought Skinner and Ceria was trapped for days inside a coffin with nothing to eat. I think Olesm has nightmares too, but he doesn’t talk about them.”

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t. Even the best adventures have to deal with trauma. We’re told to prescribe sleeping potions and get them to good [Healers], but most never go.”

Selys looked sadly at her claws. Lines appeared around Ylawes’ eyes as he grimaced.

“I should have recalled. Yvlon didn’t talk long about it, but of course—of course she remembers. And fears going into the dungeon again.”

He shook his head bitterly.

“If that’s the case, I should go in with my team and tell her—“

No.

Erin cut him off forcefully. Ylawes stared at her. She frowned, vexed.

“Haven’t you been listening? The worst thing you could do is bring that up. Leave them be, Ylawes. Let them enter the dungeon when they’re ready. It won’t be long.”

“But if they fear it—”

“Ceria won’t abandon Calruz. She’s going to enter the dungeon.”

“And if she waits longer?”

Erin shrugged.

“Then the Halfseekers or Griffon Hunt will get in there. They’ve been untrapping the dungeon’s entrance for nearly a month now. Either way, someone will find Calruz if he’s alive. But telling them not to enter, telling them you’ll handle it? Don’t do that. How would you react if someone said that to you?”

Ylawes was silent. Caught, perhaps, with the novel idea of introspection. At last he raised his head.

“I see. Thank you for your advice, Miss Solstice. The best course would be to handle matters…differently.”

She eyed him.

“Planning on entering the dungeon without telling Yvlon?”

The golden-haired adventurer jumped. Erin sighed again. He really was easy to read. Like an open book with big letters and pictures.

“I won’t stop you. If Calruz is alive, someone has to save him. Just promise me—”

She broke off as she heard a creak from the stairs. Everyone looked up as Ksmvr marched down the stairs.

“We are arriving at breakfast approximately two minutes later than average, Captain Ceria.”

“Thanks, Ksmvr.”

A dark brown Antinium descended the stairs, followed by a bleary half-Elf, a yawning [Necromancer], and a woman with gold hair and bright metal armor. Behind them, Moore edged down behind the pale-scaled Jelaqua and Seborn appeared at the foot of the stairs, scratching at the crustacean half of his face with his claw. The Horns of Hammerad were up, as were the Halfseekers. Jelaqua sniffed the air happily and wagged her tail.

“Hey, what’s that smell? Isn’t it great to have a working nose? Well, nose holes. Hey, if it isn’t Ylawes.”

“Brother.”

Yvlon nodded cautiously at Ylawes. Erin shot him a quick glance, but the [Knight] only smiled.

“Good morning, Yv. I was just stopping for the morning. Erin treated me to her latest creation. I won’t be stopping long.”

A look of relief flashed by Yvlon’s face and Erin mentally raised Ylawes’ subtlety score a few points in her mind. She hurried towards the kitchen as the adventurers took seats nearby and saw the door open. Lyonette stumbled into the inn, drenched. Mrsha ran over to her and Erin saw a bee take wing. The young woman was holding several bulky bags filled with food and supplies.

“Lyonette! Good timing! Need a towel?”

The [Barmaid] already had one, courtesy of the towel rack and Mrsha. She wiped her face, smiling happily. And then the front door opened and the Redfang Goblins, wet, sweaty and bruised, trooped in. They paused when they saw the crowd. Erin made a face. Her inn had a habit of getting busy real fast. She counted heads.

“Alright, who wants fish flakes and who wants omelette? Hands?”

Everyone looked at her. They exchanged glances. Jelaqua leaned forwards, excitedly.

“What’s a fish flake?”

 

—-

 

The rest of the Silver Swords and Griffon Hunt appeared for breakfast not ten minutes later. They trooped into the inn. Neither team of Gold-rank adventurers was wet—the three [Mages], Revi, Typhenous, and Falene had seen to that. They were just in time to try Erin’s new fish flake snack and get some regular food of their own. The inn was noisy with conversation  as the adventurers began a strategy meeting for the umpteenth time. Selys listened with one earhole as she sat in front of the Redfang Goblins.

“So. I’m uh, a [Receptionist] for the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor. Erin asked me to talk to you. Well, my grandmother did. She’s the [Guildmistress] and we—we need to make a few things clear.”

She was trying not to babble. But Selys had somehow forgotten how scary five Hobs could be, especially when they were sitting right in front of her. She wished Erin was here. Or Mrsha. But Erin was busy cooking and the traitorous Gnoll had left to go play tag with Apista, which mainly involved her leaping from table to table as the bee flew away. Selys cleared her throat again.

“Erin proposed this, not me. But I agreed to it. The thing is, you’re Goblins.”

The Goblins stared at Selys. They exchanged glances as if this was news. Selys went on.

“And you’re…good fighters. In fact, you went into the dungeon. And came back with treasure. That’s phenomenal. Really. So—and Erin proposed this—we thought you’d be able to earn the city money. And yourselves money. Fighting monsters. As adventurers. We’re going to make you a Bronze-rank team.”

The Redfang Warriors’ jaws dropped. Selys, who had been nervously expecting their reaction, blinked in gratified surprise. The Hobgoblins stared at her and one of them—Numbtongue?—croaked.

“Us? Adventurers?”

“That’s right. We’ll grant you the rank and let you turn in bounties. Uh, by proxy. But you’ll be paid for certified monster kills and turning in useful parts—you could even do a request. If anyone agrees to work with you, that is.”

The Redfang Goblins exchanged glances. They looked dumbstruck. Adventurers. It seemed to matter greatly to them for reasons Selys didn’t understand.

“Does this sound like something you’d want?”

Instantly all five Goblins nodded energetically. Erin, who’d been hurrying to their table with a plate of fish flakes, beamed.

“Did they say yes? Selys, you should have waited! Congrats, guys! I thought it would be a cool thing to do!”

The Goblins stared at her, and then at Selys. The Drake nodded, feeling less nervous than before.

“It is good, Erin. They’ll be able to earn money and they’ll be sanctioned—even if I doubt Watch Captain Zevara would ever open the gates for them. But they can still earn money. They just have to know the rules. There are things adventures have to do. For instance, there is a yearly fee as well as an entrance fee which Erin paid on your behalf—”

The Goblins shifted their attention to Erin. She smiled at them as she sat. The Goblins looked back at the [Receptionist] sitting across from her. Adventurers? Like Garen Redfang? They were agog. They listened with rapt attention as Selys went over their obligations, many of which Erin had never known about.

Adventurers were bound by more than just a varied interest in treasure. There were many small rules that varied between Adventurer’s Guilds, but a few common ones united adventurers universally. They were subject to the Guild’s authority and while that usually depended on the [Guildmaster] for enforcement, it also depended on the city they worked from.

“In times of crisis any city with an Adventurer’s Guild can demand for you to aid in its defense. You can refuse, but you stand to lose your rank and even be expelled from the Guild, especially if your reasons for refusing are bad. Generally if the request is reasonable and you don’t believe you’ll be in mortal peril, you’re required to lend your assistance. And the city is also required to compensate you for your time and effort.”

“Like with the moths, right?”

“That’s a good example, Erin. Also, a city collects a fee on any artifacts recovered within its jurisdiction. As does the Adventurer’s Guild. I think that’s why Grandmother agreed to making you adventurers, really. Next time you recover treasure or anything from the dungeon, you’ll have to pay a small tax on that to the guild.”

The Goblins exchanged a glance. One of them looked worriedly towards a table. There were three mages sitting around it. Typhenous, Pisces, and Falene. All three were inspecting the artifacts the Redfang Warriors had recovered.

A white bundle of cloth. A bell made of two types of metal. And a necklace with a glowing symbol etched on the black stone. All three mages were taking extreme care not to touch any of the artifacts directly and that went double for the bell. Selys noticed their anxious looks.

“Don’t worry. Those don’t count. But if you get items next time—did I mention you could earn money through bounties?”

The glowing red eyes swung back towards her. Selys nodded carefully.

“There’s bounties on all kinds of monsters. Sometimes because they’re a nuisance—you can earn money by turning in dead Quillfish, although it’s not much.”

“Just give them to me and I’ll make food. That’s more profitable.”

“Right. But there’s stuff that’s worth a lot more! Shield Spider shells for instance. An unbroken shell is worth a lot so the Guild will pay you for any you recover. You can earn money from killing the new Raskghar—the city’s put a bounty on them—killing Lurkersnatch Fish, turning in enchanted armor which is good for melting down, and so on. There’s all kinds of stuff you can earn money from collecting! Even low-level monsters can be worth a lot. There are slime cores, Dropbat teeth, Corusdeer horns—”

“Goblin’s ears.”

Numbtongue spoke softly. Selys gulped. Erin sat up.

“That’s right. Only no one’s attacking you. It would be a crime to attack another Bronze-rank team. Isn’t that right, Selys?”

The Drake nodded.

“They would have to identify themselves. But yes, it is illegal to attack an adventurer. So…”

She looked at the Hobgoblins. They stared at each other and made a few gestures she could’t explain. Then they stood up. Selys scooted her chair back as the Hobgoblins looked at her. Headscratcher spoke.

“We do it. We be adven—”

He stumbled over the word. He was a lot less fluent than Numbtongue.

Adventurers.

The word was almost reverential. Selys nodded and saw some heads staring her way. Revi shook her head slowly.

“So much for standards.”

Erin glared at her. The Stitch-Woman didn’t so much as blink. The Redfang Goblins stared at her, and then seemed to put her out of their minds. They looked at each other and patted each other on the shoulders. Then their heads turned as Pisces pushed his chair back from the table. He looked around importantly.

“I am positive that the necklace is cursed.”

All the side conversations in the inn went quiet. Ceria looked up as she chewed on her second plate of fish flakes, extra spicy.

“You sure, Pisces?”

“Positive. The enchantment is simply too suspicious. The intent of casting, the gripping spell that would keep it from being removed—I can categorically state that it is cursed.”

“What an astute observation. Which I had made ten minutes ago.”

Falene smiled cattily at Pisces. He flushed and narrowed his eyes.

“You brought up the speculation. I am making a definitive statement.”

“I note the difference. The real question is, are the other two cursed? Or do they exude harmful effects?”

“That is uncertain. And I am getting a headache trying to puzzle it out. Neither artifact is straightforward—the cloth is certainly not spelled as a simple protective garb, if it is clothing at all.”

Typhenous rubbed at his eyes, frowning into his white beard. Pisces looked around, annoyed.

“Well, we have identified one of the possible dangers. It is entirely likely the other two are beneficial—the dungeon makers would have had to hide their treasures somewhere.”

“Assuming they didn’t make everything cursed.”

Revi muttered under her breath. Jelaqua nodded.

“Identifying the scary artifacts is good, kids, but even if you’re fairly certain the other ones aren’t trapped, who’s going to test them out? Any volunteers? I can replace my body and I wouldn’t do it if you paid me. This needs a real [Enchanter].”

All eyes swung towards the Redfang Goblins. They stared at the artifacts. Rabbiteater picked at his nose. Instantly, all eyes swung away in disgust. Erin sighed. It looked like there would be more trouble still. She wondered if she should see about making food in preparation for tonight—there would be a crowd from Liscor for the play! Then she glanced over her shoulder and swore.

“Damnit—Lyonette! When did we last check the door?”

“Oh no!”

Lyonette rushed over to the magic doorway. She checked it—the bright green mana stone told her it was attuned to Celum. The [Builders] still hadn’t finished the bridge to Liscor so the only means of getting to the city was via the doorway. But that meant that if they didn’t check it, no one could get through via Celum or Liscor.

Normally they had Ishkr or Drassi or one of the new helpers change the door every ten minutes. It was a royal pain, but they’d gotten a system working. Unfortunately the help only arrived at lunchtime and until then Erin and Lyonette had left people hanging. Lyonette fumbled with the little bowl beside the door.

“We’re late for our daily check in with Pallass!”

“Don’t worry. Venim just gives us a list of people going through and it’s normally no one. He’ll just be mad is all, but I bet a [Guardsman] will have it if we ask—”

Erin broke off as Lyonette put the yellow mana stone on the door and opened it. She heard the voices.

“—do you think we must wait? Should we perhaps keep one of us here while the others—”

The door opened, bringing in sunshine, a cool breeze without a trace of rain, and an open street. Erin saw through the doorway to Pallass a group of furry people, armed with bows and light leather and hide armor, clustered in front of the doorway. They looked up and gaped as the door opened.”

“By the tribes!”

“At last!”

One of them exclaimed. They stepped forwards as Lyonette backed up. Erin stared as the Gnolls clustered in front of the doorway.

“Oh wow.”

“Greetings! Are you in charge of the doorway? We are requesting entrance to Liscor. We have paid for transport, yes? The [Mage] will—what is the phrase? Supply the door with mana?”

A Gnoll with light grey fur called cautiously to Lyonette. She looked at Erin for instructions. Erin hesitated.

“Uh—sure! Come on in! Yeah! Just…step through!”

Cautiously, the Gnolls did. They came through in single-file, looking around, sniffing the air. Not just one or two of them. Not just three or four. Nine armed Gnolls came through, their pelts in every color from the light grey of their leader to a Gnoll with russet red fur and dark black stripes across his chest and ears. They all had bows of differing style—Erin identified some as composite bows from her crash-course in bows from Krshia, while other Gnolls had different versions. They also carried shortswords, clubs, and in one case, a nasty looking barbed spear. When all the Gnolls were through Erin saw a Drake [Mage] step back.

“Everyone through?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The Drake nodded abruptly and walked away. Lyonette hesitated by the door and then closed it. Erin stared at the Gnolls.

“Uh.”

They regarded her with curious brown eyes. Even the shortest of them was taller than Erin by a good bit. They were lean and muscled and as they looked at the other silent adventurers, Erin got a definite sense that they weren’t here for a social visit. She knew from the way they stayed together, even the way they deferred to the grey Gnoll. These were adventurers.

And they clearly recognized the others. Some of the nine Gnolls pointed surreptitiously at Halrac and another looked straight at Ylawes.

“That is him, yes? The one who fell?”

The other adventurers exchanged glances as the Gnolls looked around as if they were spectators at some kind of show. Erin still had a lot of questions, but she put on her best smile.

“Hi there!”

All the Gnolls immediately looked at her. Erin waved at Lyonette covertly and the young woman started.

“Sorry about the delay. Really sorry. We were a bit busy and uh, forgot to check the door. Welcome to my inn! My name is Erin Solstice. I’m the [Innkeeper]. Can I get you something to drink? Something to eat? Where are you all from? You’re adventurers, aren’t you?”

The Gnoll in charge blinked down at Erin. He looked younger than some of his companions, but Erin guessed he was around her age. Younger? He bared his teeth and then seemed to realize that wasn’t socially polite in Human culture. He changed his smile to a more restrained, toothless one.

“Greetings, Miss Solstice. I am Nailren of the Fletchsing Tribe. We are adventurers. I am leader of my team—The Pride of Kelia. We thank you for  your hospitality and allowing us use of your door.”

“Oh! It’s no problem. Sorry again for waiting. Wow, you’re a Gnollish adventurer team? I’ve never met an all-Gnoll team before!”

Nailren grinned proudly.

“No? Ah, it is not common in Liscor I suppose. But Gnoll adventurers are a common sight further south. We came north to tackle Liscor’s dungeon. We would be grateful to speak of it to you, yes? And to reach Liscor. We understand this inn is not part of the city and it is raining. Is there a route or boat we may hire?”

“Boat? We have something better! A magic door! But hold on—before you go to the Adventurer’s Guild why not stay for breakfast? Er—brunch?”

Erin tried to usher the Gnolls to a seat. They looked at Nailren and one of them, a female Gnoll with yellowish fur and a feather behind one ear, muttered.

“Look at the teams, Nailren! And this inn was the one in the moving pictures, yes?”

“Yes. That is, we would be honored to stay. Please, may we put our gear somewhere for a moment? We are armed for travel. I would not want to offend.”

“Oh no, I’m not offended! Please put them anywhere! Uh—how about that wall? Don’t mind the bee. That’s Apista. Lyonette, let’s get some drinks for our guests! Everyone else, move back!”

Shooing the other adventurers back, Erin scrambled to get food and drinks ready. Gnolls! They sat after putting their gear away. The other adventurers hadn’t yet spoken but as Erin and Lyonette rushed into the kitchen Jelaqua moved forwards.

“Adventurers from the south? Good to meet you. My name’s Jelaqua Ivirith! I lead the Halfseekers—don’t mind the smell. It’s a new dead body I’m using.”

She grinned at them, showing her teeth. One of the Gnolls sniffed her and audibly murmured.

“Selphid.”

Nailren didn’t miss a beat. He stood up and shook Jelaqua’s clawed hand, baring his teeth in a welcoming Gnoll smile.

“I am honored to meet a Gold-rank adventurer! And one of recent fame! May I ask who else is gathered here?”

The Gnolls in his team murmured agreement, looking at the other teams appreciatively. The  adventurers preened a bit at that and began coming forwards to introduce themselves. As the ice broke, the mood instantly warmed and Erin saw them standing around the table, asking exactly how far the Gnolls had travelled, what their team specialized in, and so on. She saw Mrsha pad forwards, her tail wagging as she stood up on two legs to see the new Gnoll team.

For a second the Gnolls didn’t see her, but one sniffed and looked down. His gaze focused on Mrsha and his eyes widened. The Gnoll leapt up from the table with a shout.

“White fur!”

The other Gnolls looked around. They stood up instantly, staring at Mrsha. She fell onto all fours and her ears and tail went down. Instantly she ran backwards and hid behind Moore. Erin stopped, hands filled with her plate full of fish flakes. Nailren was growling at the Gnoll who’d shouted.

“Hush, Bekr! It is a child!”

“But the fur—”

Nailren turned, saw Erin staring and reached back to cuff his teammate on the shoulder.

“Shush!”

“That’s Mrsha.”

Erin put the plate carefully on the table. She saw some of the Gnolls sniff as the scent of the hot fish flakes reached their noses, but they didn’t take their eyes off of Mrsha. Erin folded her arms.

“She’s a survivor of the Stone Spears tribe. They were attacked by the Goblin Lord. She lives here. Is that a problem?”

“No.”

Nailren replied instantly and authoritatively, although some of his teammates seemed less than sure. He glanced around, growled quietly, and they all sat down. Nailren lowered his head to Erin.

“My deepest apologies Miss Solstice. We are not as…traditional as our tribes. We do not bear hostility or fear towards those with white fur, but it is a surprise.”

“I understand. But Mrsha is friendly. Isn’t that right, Mrsha?”

Erin tried to coax Mrsha out from behind Moore’s back, but the Gnoll child was scared now and refused to budge. Nailren looked at his companions and then growled something softly. Erin had no idea what he said, but he seemed to repeat himself after a second.

Another Gnoll, the female with the feather and yellow fur, echoed the growl and Mrsha slowly came out from behind Moore. She approached slowly as everyone watched and her tail wagged a bit. She stood up and waved a paw at them. Nailren looked confused. He glanced at Erin and she realized the second miscommunication.

“Mrsha can’t speak.”

“Ah.”

That second piece of information did its round across the Gnoll faces. Nailren looked at his companions and shook his head.

“Forgiveness. Again. We are glad to see a Gnoll child, especially after travelling the Drake cities. Please ignore our rudeness.”

He glanced at the others and then quite obviously changed the subject.

“Is this Deki paste that I smell? On fried fish it seems? But what is the yellow-white things? And why do the fishes smell of flour and bread?”

Erin smiled, relieved, as Lyonette gathered Mrsha into her arms and Moore sat back so the Gnoll could watch with him.

“These are fish flakes! Here—try some.”

Crisis averted, the Gnolls sat and the other adventurers found themselves hungry for a snack after breakfast. Erin rushed back into the kitchen and paused.

“Oh damn, I forgot. Lyonette? Check if anyone’s in Celum. Octavia might be starving to death. Again!”

The [Barmaid] put down Mrsha and stood up. Eager to help, Mrsha raced to the door and removed the yellow stone herself. As the others watched she put another mana stone on the door and swung it open. Instantly, Erin heard another voice, a woman’s, speaking loudly and with great irritation.

“For the last time Miss [Alchemist], we are not buying one of your potions. We already bought something out of courtesy. No, we don’t need another healing potion. Or a stamina potion. Or a mana potion. We have plenty! Please take that bottle away before I shove it up—”

There were more people standing in Octavia’s shop. A woman was arguing with the Stitch-Girl, poking her finger at Octavia who was giving her a desperate smile and holding a glowing yellow potion. The adventurer was flanked by five teammates, all Human, and as they turned they stared.

“Dead gods!”

One of them exclaimed. Erin saw the woman arguing with Octavia shift and the weapon on her back, a sledgehammer of all things, caught the light. Her companions were decked out with other fighting gear including ropes slung across shoulders, crossbows, swords, and even a net! They were adventurers too. And they stared into Erin’s inn.

“It really is a magic doorway! Look at that, Earlia!”

“I see that! Hallo there! Is this inn open?”

Earlia, the woman with the sledgehammer, called at Mrsha, who was the one she could see. Mrsha immediately ran for it and hid behind Moore again. Erin hurried into view.

“Hello! Hello! We’re in! Come on through! Anyone want food? I’m Erin!”

The adventurers stared at her and then Earlia grinned.

“Alright then! Pile on through you lot!”

They hurried into the inn with a bit too much eagerness. Erin saw Octavia sigh and peered at her suspiciously. The [Alchemist] waved and then the door closed. Suddenly the inn was full of people! Erin saw the adventurers gaping at the huge space behind her and was acutely grateful for her [Grand Theatre] Skill.

“Sit anywhere you like! Put your stuff anywhere you like! Hi, I’m Erin. This is my inn. I’m terribly sorry for the delay—you’re the second band of adventurers who’ve come through this morning! These are all other adventurers—want food?”

“Dead gods, what a lot of teams! Is this some kind of inn that caters to adventurers?”

Earlia stared around at the other teams. She shifted her warhammer and then caught sight of one of the Redfang Goblins standing at the back of the inn. She immediately changed grips.

“Hobs!”

Her teammates instantly grabbed for their weapons. Erin waved her hands frantically.

“Wait, wait, wait!

She needn’t have shouted. As soon as Earlia had exclaimed she was shouting at her teammates.

“Hold! Hold, damn it all! They’re not attacking!”

She’d made the obvious conclusion that if the Hobs were in the inn with the adventurers, they couldn’t exactly be rogue monsters. Still, half of her teammates refused to put down their weapons. Erin saw some of the Gnolls shifting uneasily too. She waved her hands for everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me! We have an important rule in this inn! Please read that!”

She pointed to the sign she’d put on the wall right by the doorway. The adventurers read it.

“No killing Goblins?”

They exchanged incredulous looks, but Earlia nodded as if she’d expected it. She whistled softly as she glanced at Erin and then looked around the giant common room.

“So the rumors are true after all.”

“Rumors?”

The adventuress nodded. She stowed her warhammer against a wall and held out a hand. Erin shook it, feeling her rough calluses. Earlia gave her a cocksure grin.

“Sorry about that, Miss. Yes, the rumors! I didn’t believe it myself—though we’d have to travel for another four days to get to Liscor! But we heard all manner of talk the closer we got to Celum. People say there’s a crazy inn just outside of Liscor with Hobgoblin security and a magic doorway. They say the inn’s guarded by Hobs and Hollowstone Deceivers, and that the innkeeper can melt folks with her eyes!”

“They do?”

Erin was flattered. Earlia laughed.

“Not just that! We heard for a fact that the inn’s got more than a few tricks up its sleeve. This place fought off hundreds of moths during the Face-Eater Moth attack on Liscor! It’s famous! Uh, what’s the name of it?”

“The Wandering Inn!”

She didn’t know whether to be indignant or happy. Erin propped her hands on her hips.

“And I’m Erin! Erin Solstice! I told you that. Do people talk about me?”

Rumors had already spread about the attack on Liscor? That made sense—Wistram had broadcast the images of the battle across the world. But to Erin’s great disappointment Earlia bit her lip.

“Uh—no. We heard there’s a crazy Human living here—that you?”

“That’s me! They don’t even mention my name? What about me during the battle? What about the city?”

The adventurers were seated now and Lyonette was running from the kitchen to the common room. They were out of fish flakes so she brought out Erin’s other snacky foods. Earlia grabbed some bread and soft cheese and bit into it as she spoke, talking around her mouthful.

“Not much, honestly! Everyone’s talking about the battle for Liscor, but only how intense it was. We heard all about it as we were headed this way. Second-hand. Apparently there are recordings, but no one had a scrying orb to show us so we got it out of a [Mage] who’d seen most of it.”

“Recordings of the battle?”

Erin saw a stir among the adventurers. It was Nailren who nodded and replied.

“Pallass is selling the recollection. It is an expensive thing. A playback of events. Apparently Wistram has created many minor magical artifacts that replay the battle in its entirety. They call them…what was the word? Movies, yes? We paid to see the battle. The price was dear, but worthwhile, yes?”

Movies?

Erin’s jaw dropped. Pisces glanced at her face and his eyes narrowed. The other team of Humans looked envious.

“You saw it? I heard it was a hell of a fight! Of course, some adventurers lived it. Real badasses helped hold the line I heard! Took down a moth as tall as the walls of the city themselves!”

At her words some of the aforementioned badass adventurers turned red. Earlia glanced at them. Her eyes widened.

“Five Houses! Look you lot!”

She pointed straight at Moore. The half-Giant blinked. Earlia’s jaw dropped. Her eyes found Seborn and then, swung to Jelaqua as she identified the Selphid. She got to her feet in amazement.

“You must be the Halfseekers! And are you the Silver Swords?”

She’d spotted Ylawes, Falene, and Dawil as well. The adventurers nodded or bowed or in Moore’s case, waved a gigantic hand. Earlia’s team exclaimed and all stood up. They wanted to shake hands but a loud sound interrupted them.

“There’s another famous team here as well, you know.”

Revi and Typhenous looked disgruntled at not being identified. The Stitch-Woman folded her arms and Earlia’s team of Humans exchanged looks. The young woman stared at Revi and Typhenous and then looked at Halrac. His answering scowl made her eyes flicker.

“Halrac the Grim? Griffon Hunt?”

They nodded and Earlia’s team was star struck all over again. One of them exclaimed as they turned to shake hands.

“I heard you were a team of four!”

“We were.”

And like that, the good mood in the inn went out. Erin looked at Halrac sadly and guiltily and then clapped her hands. Everyone turned towards her.

“Alright, let’s get this sorted so I’m not confused! We have Goblins! Yes! We have Mrsha! Wave, Mrsha. She’s cute. I’m Erin! This is Lyonette! And we have six adventuring teams in here so far! Griffon Hunt! The Halfseekers! The Silver Swords! The Horns of Hammerad! The Pride of Kelia and…

Erin looked expectantly at Earlia. The adventurer stood up.

“Sorry you all! Should have done that sooner. We’re Gemhammer! A Silver-rank team from the north! The name’s Earlia—I’m the Captain.”

“And we are a Silver-rank team from the south. I failed to mention that. I am Nailren, leader of my team.”

Nailren spoke, bowing slightly. The new adventurers looked around, surprised.

Three Gold-rank teams here? That’s a sight you wouldn’t see that often in Invrisil! Sorry we didn’t recognize you. It’s just that the Halfseekers are a lot more noticeable.”

Earlia turned towards Griffon Hunt, all of whom shrugged moodily. Nailren looked at the other teams and bowed slightly to Jelaqua.

“The Halfseekers are known in the south of Izril as well. We were impressed by the battling of all three of your teams. Truly courageous. Sir Halrac’s defeat of the giant moth by himself was astounding, as was the Silver Sword’s prowess. But the Horns of Hammerad also astounded, truly.”

At that, Earlia glanced towards the Horns, who were sitting back, slightly overshadowed by their illustrious colleagues. She offered them an apologetic smile.

“Horns of Hammerad? I’m afraid we haven’t even heard of your team. We’re from far up north, past Invrisil. We’ve been on the road for the last month, ever since we heard about the dungeon!”

“They were part of the fighting against the moths. One of them actually cast the weather spell that ended the battle.”

“You did? Incredible! We heard about that? Are you a [Weather Mage]?”

Earlia looked at Pisces, and then Ceria. Both demurred and then Earlia spotted Ksmvr.

“An Antinium?

“I am Ksmvr. Hello.”

Erin looked around desperately. There was no end to the explanations! She looked at Lyonette and pointed.

“Break out the whiskey, Lyonette. I think we need a few drinks so everyone can get to know one another.”

That idea was received well by all parties, except by the newcomers, strangely enough. Earlia raised a hand.

“Oh, not for us. We can’t drink now.”

“Neither we.”

Nailren nodded. He was looking out the window at the pouring rain and sniffing. He coughed politely and looked to Erin.

“As much as we would delight in talking, we cannot drink or eat overlong. We are bound for the dungeon as quickly as possible. And we would greatly appreciate directions.”

“Same here.”

Earlia nodded and shifted her grip on her warhammer. The other adventurers stared at them. Revi was the first to speak up.

“Are you serious?”

 

—-

 

“A Gold-rank dungeon. When was the last time one of those has been discovered? A century ago? Two?”

Earlia shook her head wonderingly. She hadn’t heard the latest news about the dungeon, that Tekshia had proclaimed it suitable for teams of Gold-rank or higher. Neither had The Pride of Kelia. They sat at their tables as Ylawes, Jelaqua, and Revi delivered the bad news in turns. Earlia shook her head.

“I can see why, though. Isn’t the dungeon underwater at the moment? It’d be a hell of a thing for a Bronze-rank team to enter. And the moths that came out—that’s Gold-rank for sure.”

“Exactly. So sorry that the Adventurer’s Guild hasn’t spread the word. But that’s the way it is. You can probably find some work dealing with the fish or something, but I’m afraid you’ve come all this way for nothing.”

Revi gave both teams a sweet, fake smile of regret. Earlia eyed her and looked at Nailren. The Silver-rank Gnoll Captain was looking at his team. He bowed his head, his ears twitching slightly.

“A danger indeed. We have heard rumors about the dungeon. Treasure obtained, monster hordes…it is a threat worthy of the rank.”

“Yeah.”

Earlia sighed. Then she slapped her knees and stood up.

“Alright, let’s go in. Nailren, want to cooperate until we get into the dungeon? Word is it’s a labyrinth so we can split up easily.”

The Gnoll grinned as he stood with his team.

“You read my mind, yes? We can at least hire a boat together. Shall we?”

They strode for the doors. The Gold-rank teams scrambled to stop them.

“Wait, wait! Didn’t you hear? This is a Gold-rank dungeon!”

Revi looked outraged. Earlia stared at her and then frowned.

“So?”

So? So it’s dangerous you moronic—”

Revi was muffled by Ylawes as he moved to block her. The [Knight] smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry Miss Earlia, but the dungeon is truly dangerous. A Silver-rank team should not enter it. Even we Gold-rank teams hesitate to venture further in unwary. The Halfseekers have been cooperating with Griffon Hunt to enter via one entrance for two months and they have still encountered many, many setbacks. It would not be right for us to let another team enter when so many have perished or unleashed horrors by mistake.”

Earlia heard Ylawes out, nodding and looking concerned. Then she shrugged.

“Thanks, but we didn’t come this way to turn back now. Gold-rank or not, we’re entering this dungeon.”

She tried to brush past Ylawes. He moved to block her. Earlia frowned and put a hand on her warhammer’s hilt.

“Hey. Stop joking around here.”

“We’re not.”

Jelaqua answered for the others. She folded her arms, her tail curling up around one leg.

“I know you came all this way, but you kids are in over your heads. We can’t let you enter the dungeon. And the Adventurer’s Guild and the city will back us.”

“Really?”

The Human and Gnoll adventurers looked at each other. Earlia stood straighter to confer with Nailren.

“Might be best to head in right now if the Adventurer’s Guild and the city’s going to cause a fuss.”

“Are you insane?

Revi burst out. Earlia gave her an impatient look.

“Maybe? Move aside, Gold-ranks. We’re going in. My team and I did not ride for a month straight just to turn back now.”

“What about caution for your lives?”

Ylawes folded his arms. Earlia snorted.

“Caution is for Gold-rank teams, old man. We’ll never succeed if we hide and run from every challenge. Or have you forgotten what makes us adventurers?”

She jabbed a thumb at her chest.

“We know the dungeon’s above our pay grade. But that doesn’t mean we can’t handle it with luck and Skill. We’ll go in, get our measure of the place, and go out. We might get killed, we might not. But if we don’t try, who’ll conquer it? You lot? No thanks. There’s treasure down there and we mean to have it.”

“Exactly. We have come for the dungeon. It is wrong of you to try and stop us. If it is death we seek, let us find it and fight it with tooth and claw.”

Nailren growled and his team growled with him. The Gold-rank adventurers looked at each other uncertainly. Earlia tried to step around Ylawes and this time ran straight into Dawil.

“Hold on, Human. You may not know this, but the last group of adventurers set off the attack on Liscor.”

The others looked at him askance, but Dawil went on, never taking his eyes off of Earlia.

“They had no idea what they were doing, bumbling about. How’ll you lot account for the dead if you screw up?”

He looked up challengingly at Earlia and Erin held her breath. But the young woman didn’t so much as blink. She bent down and grinned toothily at Dawil.

“We’ll figure that out when it happens, Dwarf. But if we were good at planning ahead we wouldn’t be adventurers.”

Her team laughed at that, and cheered, lifting their weapons. Earlia looked around and raised her voice.

“We’re going in. Danger or not. We’re adventurers. Not Gold-rank. Not yet. And we’re not running from a challenge.”

Nailren nodded. His ears slowly flattened and he drew his bow.

“It is perhaps best we met you so we could say it to your faces first, no? We will not abide by your rules. We will enter ourselves. And if you would stop us, then try.

The Silver-rank adventurers raised their weapons. The Gold-rank ones, the ones blocking the way, put a hand on theirs but looked uneasy about a fight. Earlia looked around and called out.

“You! Horns of Hammerad! Are you with us?”

The Horns of Hammerad jumped. Ceria looked at the Humans and Gnolls.

“Who? Us?”

“That’s right! We’re going in. Are you being held back by these Gold-rank teams too? Join us! We could fight down there together or join forces for reconnaissance!”

Ceria looked uncertainly at her team. Erin saw her hesitate, bite a lip. The [Innkeeper] watched as Ceria looked at the two Silver-rank teams, shining with confidence and bravado and hesitated. Ceria’s heart pounded. Her hands, flesh and skeletal, shook. Her mouth went dry.

Terror. Skinner dragged himself down the hallways, the armor of flesh on his body gaping at her. The undead charged forwards as Skinner’s red eyes shone at her. Ceria saw Gerial stride forwards, saw the hand descend. Calruz’s scream etched itself in her ears. The coffin’s stone lid was hard as she pressed her hands against it, trying not to scream.

“I—”

“We’re not letting you through. Any of you.”

Ylawes drew his sword and grabbed his shield. Earlia unslung her warhammer. The adventurers in the inn braced. Erin saw Moore glance at Jelaqua who nodded slightly and Falene stand up, grasping her staff. She saw Revi raise a wand and be yanked backwards by Halrac who said something to Typhenous. But all of that was a blur because Erin was running forwards. She leapt in front of Ylawes and Earlia.

Stop!

Her shout echoed in the inn and the pressure that went with it stayed all hands. Every eye fixed on Erin as she stood in front of the adventures. She turned around slowly and the pressure that had gripped everyone but Mrsha, Lyonette, and Apista faded.

“Wait one second. Put away your weapons. Listen.

She looked at Earlia and Nailren. The two adventurer Captains stared at her with wide eyes. Erin took a deep breath.

“Look. You’ve just got here so let me lay this on you. Liscor is flooded. To get anywhere you need my magic door or a boat. And there are two entrances to the dungeon. One through the main entrance which is aboveground. But there’s tons of magical traps. It’s not been cleared yet. The other way’s through the underwater rift, which is what you’re suggesting. You’d need a boat to get out there, and you’d need to hold your breath just to sink all the way down. There are evil fish in the water. And if you get into the dungeon itself, the odds are you will be ambushed in the first five seconds.”

Earlia glanced at her team. She shook her head impatiently.

“Thanks Miss Innkeeper, but you can’t—”

Wait.

Erin’s command halted Earlia’s tongue. The [Innkeeper] took a deep breath and went on.

“The ambushers are Raskghar, the distant ancestors of Gnolls. They’re big, really strong, but can’t level. They can see in the dark and use poison-tipped arrows to shoot you from afar when you enter. That’s how a lot of teams have gotten killed or maybe captured.”

Nailren snarled softly.

“We know the Raskghar. It is one of the reasons why we came. To do battle against our ancient, traitorous brethren. They do not scare us.”

“Yeah? Well, watch out for them when you enter. Get a shield. And maybe try my patented, special magic food. Lyonette?”

Erin turned. Lyonette nearly tripped as she ran forwards with a bowl of what looked like blackened rocks mixed with limes. Erin offered it to Earlia and Nailren, who sniffed it dubiously.

“Free sample. Try it. It tastes awful.”

“Why would we want to try that?”

“Because it makes you stronger? Or how about my scale soup? I have another one that makes you warm even if you’re naked in the snow. I have magic food. It won’t last forever, but it’ll even the odds.”

Earlia hesitated and looked at Nailren. She lowered her warhammer a bit.

“That’s…useful. Are you telling us you’ll sell us the food?”

“And I’ll get you a boat and escort. I know where the dungeon is.”

What? Erin, you can’t be serious!”

Jelaqua was outraged. The Selphid strode forwards.

“You’re planning on letting this lot enter?”

“Absolutely. And I’m going to need a copy of that map. Which I will buy from you and which other people can buy from me. If you need potions, Octavia can get you extras. And I’d get more because Raskghar are the least of your worries down there! There’s Flesh Worms, undead, giant metal armor dudes, this thing that collects heads—Selys will write up a list.”

“I will?”

Erin ignored Selys. She locked gazes with Earlia and Nailren, looking from face to face.

“It’ll all be here tomorrow. Information, transport, everything. You can find an inn in Liscor or Celum. I’ll keep my door open. Find an inn, get settled, and if you need to, talk with the Adventurer’s Guild. But regardless, come back here and I’ll help you get into the dungeon.”

“Erin!”

She spun and glared at Jelaqua.

What?

Jelaqua looked furious. She pointed at the Silver-ranked adventurers.

“You’re going to get those kids killed! This is insane, even for you. If you let them go in—”

“If I don’t they’ll find another way. Or are you planning on beating them up and locking them up?”

Erin challenged the Selphid. Jelaqua opened her mouth furiously and tried to come up with a response.

“We—”

She hesitated and looked at Ylawes and Halrac uncertainly. The [Knight] was scrubbing a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. Halrac folded his arms.

“Erin’s right.”

“Halrac! You too?”

The [Scout] nodded. Erin gave him a grateful look. She turned and faced the others.

“You can’t stop Silver-ranked teams from going in. That’s what being an adventurer is all about, right? However, I can help. This inn will be more than a place for people to rest. If adventurers are going into the dungeon, I’ll try and make sure they come back out.”

“You are insane.”

Revi poked a finger at Erin. She glared back.

“Oh yeah? You do something then! Go ahead and stop them. I’ll try and stitch you back together once the fight is over, but no promises! I’m bad with needles.”

The Stitch-Girl looked around helplessly, mouth open in outrage. But Erin knew she was right. Both The Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer were ready to fight. And they were right, in a way. Erin didn’t quite look at the Horns of Hammerad.

“Playing it safe is all very well, but if they want to enter the dungeon responsibly, that’s their call. All I can do is help. That’s why I’m an [Innkeeper], not an adventurer. With that said—”

She swung back to both teams and looked at them.

“Tomorrow. You don’t rush this. You get some sleep, figure out where you’re sleeping, and come back when you’re ready. You can try going now but I guarantee you that my magic stuff and maps and so on will help. Got it?”

Earlia and Nailren looked at her. It was the Human who lowered her sledgehammer first.

“You’re as crazy as they say. I like you! We’ll do it your way, Miss Erin. You wouldn’t happen to have any rooms for us, would you?”

Erin gave her a wide, relieved smile.

“Sorry. My Hobgoblins took all but two. I have a basement open if you can’t find any inns in Liscor, though. But I’m sure Celum has space.”

 

—-

 

Later, Erin found herself carefully writing on a piece of parchment with a quill and ink. It wasn’t easy. She had cramped handwriting and she had trouble getting it to look good, since it was meant to be read from afar. At last she gave up, had a smart idea, and went to get Lyonette.

“Why don’t you do it with your [Flawless Attempt]?”

That made everything incredibly easy. Erin watched with envy as Lyonette wrote huge words on the parchment, even managing to add a rough sketch in charcoal. When it was done, Erin plastered the parchment to the wall of her inn by the magic doorway. She paused.

“We might need a bulletin board. This works for now, though.”

Lyonette went to stand by her. She looked up and read the words she’d so carefully inscripted on the parchment.

 

Wanted. Information on the sightings of the Minotaur known as Calruz. He has one arm, possibly wields a battleaxe and is bad-tempered sometimes. Credible information provided under [Detect Truth] spell will be rewarded with 50 gold coins.

 

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“If adventurers are going down into the dungeon? Why not? This way they’ll all keep an eye out, even if they’re not actively looking. And I’m going to make sure they all come through my inn before they enter.”

Erin folded her arms and frowned with determination. Her ears still rang from her shouting match with Revi. But she knew she was right. The dungeon was a threat. It had to be entered. And adventurers would keep going in. And if they were going to go in, they might as well go in prepared.

The Gold-rank teams were smart. They were cautious. They planned ahead. But they were also sort of elitist. They wanted to keep the map, the information about the dungeon, and the right to enter to themselves. Erin understood that, but she knew it wasn’t practical. And if something wasn’t practical, what was the point? She nodded at Lyonette.

“Think the bridge is ready?”

“I think so. The Gnoll in charge told me it was nearly done.”

“Good! Then let’s check it out.”

Erin left the inn and stepped out into the rain. Still raining? Yup. Her cozy, well-lit inn was at odds with the downpour outside. Erin thought she might get more business if she let people from Liscor go to Celum or Pallass for a holiday in the sun. She stared down her hill to where the water met the land.

There was a bridge there. It was simple, made of wooden planks tied onto rope with two rope handrails. The bridge sat on the water and it stretched to a tall pole jutting out of the water. A hill, or the top of one. The [Builders] had anchored the bridge there and stretched it to another hill. Thus, the bridge zigzagged from the top of hill to hill until it reached the city.

“Weird. But they said it’s good, right?”

“It should be.”

Lyonette watched as Erin walked down the hill, slipping a bit with all the wetness, and reached the bridge. As Erin stepped onto the first plank she saw it sink into the water. Instantly, cold water filled the bottom of her indoor slippers.

“Gah! Cold!”

Still, Erin didn’t pull back. She took another step, further onto the bridge, letting it hold her weight. The bridge sunk a tiny bit as she stepped onto the wooden boards, but it was remarkably stable. Erin wiggled her toes and smiled.

“It’s so cool! It’s underwater but not! This is great!”

“It’s also dangerous.”

Lyonette observed as she stared across the bridge as it networked from hill to hill and then finally reached Liscor’s walls. From there one had to climb a ladder up to the battlements. She frowned at the rain-thrashed waters.

“Anything could still pop out. If you’re an Antinium or unprepared for a fight, it could be risky. I won’t let Mrsha go on the bridge and I think I’d prefer to use the magic door too.”

Erin nodded.

“Definitely. But this is a way for other people to get here. Look! I think we already have visitors!”

She pointed. In the distance, Drakes were headed across the bridge. Drakes and Gnolls and a few Humans. Lots of them. Dozens already and Erin suspected there would be more to come. Behind her, she could hear the inn humming with life. The Players of Celum had already set up and they were getting ready for The Triumph of Liscor performed by their second-string cast, before they put on Juliet and Romeo for the first time in her inn for Liscor’s crowd.

“Lyonette, I feel like we’re actually successful, don’t you?”

“If your inn becomes a hub for adventurers on top of a place where plays happen every night, I don’t see how it wouldn’t be.”

Lyonette smiled at Erin. The [Innkeeper] grinned back. She looked speculatively back at the inn and shivered as the rain drenched her.

“Think it’ll work?”

“What, the plan with the adventurers?”

“No. Yes. I mean, the plan to get them to overcome their fear.”

There was a reason Ylawes had stopped objecting. Erin sighed as she looked back up to the inn. Lyonette shook her head.

“I don’t know, Erin. They’ve been through so much. Do they have to do it? Wouldn’t it be kinder to let them—”

“What? Stay here? Keep talking about doing it and never go in? Calruz might be alive, Lyonette. If this is anything like a story—he is. It might be dangerous. They might die.”

Erin gulped as her throat suddenly closed. The thought of her friends dying made her want to cry. But she didn’t. She wiped rain out of her eyes instead and took a deep breath.

“But that’s what makes them adventurers.

 

—-

 

The Drake stood on the balcony, dressed in rich, elegant clothing fit for a noblewoman. She looked down and spoke, her chin raised, her manner refined.

“If they do see thee they will murder thee.”

Below her, concealed in the bushes, a Human man looked up. His clothes were no less fine, but the colors muted. He had snuck here uninvited and his life was in as much jeopardy as she said. But he responded with brash confidence.

“Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity.”

His words made the Drake smile unwillingly. She opened a fan to conceal her expression and replied. Pisces didn’t have to hear her to know what she’d said. He’d watched Juliet and Romeo performed countless times in Celum. Wesle and Jasi had refined their craft since then, and they embodied the [Lord] and [Lady] they were supposed to be.

“A fine performance, wouldn’t you say?”

He glanced sideways at the others sitting at his table. Ceria looked up moodily from her beef casserole. She hadn’t set into it yet, which was uncharacteristic of the half-Elf; by her side, Yvlon’s plate was equally untouched. Ksmvr was shoveling down his food like there was no tomorrow.

“What? The play? There’s certainly enough people for it.”

She glanced around the room. Erin’s [Grand Theatre] Skill afforded her a room three times as big as a normal inn, already large. It was nearly packed by Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans. Celum’s theater-loving crowd had filled some seats, but Liscor’s citizenry had finally heard of the wonders of the stage and they had come to see what all the fuss was about. So far, they hadn’t been disappointed.

“A standing ovation for The Triumph of Liscor. Subpar writing, an unctuous display of patriotism—from Humans to Drakes, I note—only redeemed by the star of the cast. Me. What would be the appropriate response to a true work of art? Wild orgies in the streets?”

Yvlon snorted and then glared. Pisces smiled, pleased at himself. Ceria grinned unwillingly and then looked morose again. Ksmvr looked up.

“What are—”

“Later, Ksmvr.”

The Horns of Hammerad sat as they looked around the room. The Wandering Inn had risen fast, hadn’t it? From an empty house it was now a full one, and populated by movers and shakers and dancers as it were. Wall Lord Ilvriss was there, sitting with a group of Drakes. So were three Gold-rank teams, and now, three Silver-rank ones as well. The Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer had come back to eat and see the play and they were entranced. Ceria couldn’t take her eyes off them for different reasons. She played with her fork, spreading her cheese around the plate listlessly.

“Do you think they’re right, Pisces?”

He looked at her, distracted by the play.

“Hm? Ah, well, they are certainly forthright.”

“Confident to the point of suicide, perhaps.”

Yvlon frowned, looking at the Human team. She touched her arm unconsciously and Ceria glanced at her.

“Yeah. Yeah. The Gold-rankers certainly seem to think so. It’s just that they’re…well, they’re our level, aren’t they? Silver-rank. And they’re good too, according to what Selys managed to dig up on them.”

“Good isn’t enough for this dungeon.”

The armored [Wounded Warrior] spoke through tight lips. Ceria hesitated.

“Maybe. But they’re still willing to risk it. And here we are. We haven’t gone into the dungeon. It’s been a long time since Pisces told us that Calruz might be alive. So are we—I mean, am I—a coward?”

She choked on the words. Pisces looked up. Ksmvr stopped noshing and Yvlon turned.

“Ceria—”

“I’m the team leader. I was part of Calruz’ team! He was my leader. I should be telling us to go in now, but every time I want to, I freeze up. I know we have to move. I know, but—”

Ceria gestured at her hands. Pisces saw her skeletal hand, holding her fork. It was shaking so badly she could barely hold on. She tried to hold her hand with her other one, but they were both shaking. Ceria shook her head, tears springing to her eyes.

“I’m a coward! I shouldn’t be Captain. But I—I know what’s down there. I know. Things like Skinner. Maybe worse. I’m afraid, but I can’t back down! And you all need a leader! I shouldn’t be a Captain. I—”

“It’s my fault too.”

Yvlon grabbed Ceria’s arm. The half-Elf looked at her. Yvlon looked pained.

“I’m afraid too. I haven’t said anything. I agreed with you—because I lost too much too. I should have asked if we wanted to go in, really wanted to risk our lives. But I was afraid of looking cowardly. I was afraid of disappointing my brother. It’s not just you, Ceria. It’s…I’m scared.”

“I know. It’s not fair to ask you to go in. Not for Calruz. Not when we could die. When it’s so likely.”

Ceria looked at Yvlon, then at Pisces. He met her gaze and then fiddled with his utensils. Ksmvr looked around.

“But you are our Captain, Captain Springwalker. How else should we move, if not by your will?”

“Oh, Ksmvr. I can’t ask you to die for me. And this—I’m not worthy to do it.”

The half-Elf closed her eyes. She sat still as the play went on in the background. Pisces was still for a while, his eyes flicking to the play behind Ceria, and then he sighed.

“And yet, we follow you.”

Ceria looked up. Pisces pushed his plate back and looked at her, looked at Yvlon.

“You are afraid. You fear for our lives, rightly so. You have declined to enter the dungeon. Of course I was aware of this.”

“I was not.”

Ksmvr raised a hand. Everyone looked at him. Pisces cleared his throat.

“Friend Ksmvr. Now you are aware. By her own admission, Ceria calls herself a coward. Unfit for duty. Does that change your opinion of her? Of your position in the group?”

The Antinium cocked his head, thinking. He shook it.

“Never. If Captain Ceria and Yvlon fear to enter, command me. I will go in alone and find this Minotaur. I am part of the team. If my Captain fears, I will be fearless. If there is death, I will fight it.”

He looked around proudly and saw the pain in Ceria and Yvlon’s eyes. Ksmvr hesitated.

“What? You gave me purpose. You gave me a place. How could I offer you anything less?”

“Ksmvr.”

Ceria closed her eyes and Yvlon reached out to grab his hand. Pisces sniffed.

“Well spoken. For my part, I do not intend to die. But neither do I intend to leave this group. I have waited. The other teams prepare. Ceria, Yvlon. If you fear to enter the dungeon, say so. I will not think twice at walking away. But if you do not—”

Pisces’ eyes glittered.

“Then say so and we will follow you into that hell.”

“Even if we die?”

The [Necromancer]’s eyes shone in the dim lighting.

“I do not plan on dying. If you intend to order us to our deaths then by all means step down. But tell me there is a chance of victory and I will seize it. Point us to glory, Ceria. Did we not enter Albez ourselves? Are we adventurers or cowards? If we are the latter, why have we risked our lives and fought together? If we are the former, why are you afraid?

A shock ran through the other three adventurers. The Horns of Hammerad looked up. Ceria felt strength return to her shaking hands. She made a fist and looked Pisces in the eye. There was a shining light there, a burning passion. She had seen it once before, in a younger man’s eyes. She felt her limbs stop shaking. She opened her mouth and heard a voice from the stage.

“If that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow.”

Jasi bent to stage-whisper to Wesle. The Drake gave the Human a smile full of young, reckless love. Ceria heard a sigh from the Humans and nothing from the Drakes. And then a voice.

“A Drake marrying a Human? Outrageous!”

A shout broke through the sacred silence of the play. Wall Lord Ilvriss leapt to his feet, bursting with outrage. He tried to rush the stage. Two Hobgoblins ran to stop him.

“This play is a disgrace!”

“Disgusting!”

The Drakes in the audience were getting to their feet. Their beatific smiles were replaced by pure hostility as they hurled drinks and food at the shocked actors. The Humans in the crowd were stunned—until that shock turned to anger.

“What’s wrong with that? Let the girl marry him!”

“It’s not like we like your scaly faces either! Get lost you tailed freaks!”

The audience turned on each other. Shouting about the sanctity of Drake species turned into threats. The Drakes and Humans shook fists and claws and thrashed tails, and then began to hurl things at each other. From their seat the Horns of Hammerad didn’t see who threw the first punch, but as soon as it started a brawl broke out.

Drakes leapt onto tables and kicked Humans to the ground while Humans grabbed chairs, mugs, anything they could get their hands on. The five Hobgoblins began hitting Humans and Drakes alike but the angry mob was too far gone and they turned on the Goblins as well.

“Dead gods.”

Ceria was shocked by the sudden turn of events. She saw Erin trying to restore order—right until someone hurled their plate of spaghetti in her face. On the stage the Players of Celum defended themselves as Drakes rushed at them. Ceria got to her feet and saw the adventurers in the room get mixed up in the fighting too.

Jelaqua was already defending herself from angry Drakes who were using this moment to object in no uncertain terms to her using a Drake’s body. Moore was a target purely based on his size. Ylawes had gotten into a brawl by trying to break it up. Griffon Hunt was standing against the walls as was The Pride of Kelia, but Gemhammer was already on their feet. Earlia punched a Drake, laughing as her friends upended their table for cover from the flying projectiles.

“Whoa. This inn is great!”

The Horns tended to disagree. They were sitting at a far wall, but the fighting was spreading fast. Yvlon spotted Ishkr pulling Drassi back to the kitchen while he tried to shield himself with a platter.

“What a mess!”

There were multiple sides. Drakes, Humans, the Gnolls who seemed keen to either escape or fight indiscriminately, and Erin’s faction. They were badly outnumbered, however. Yvlon saw Headscratcher vault over a table and kick Ilvriss in the chest. The Wall Lord roared, punched the Hobgoblin, and then was struck on the back of the head by an angry [Actor].

Ilvriss turned, decked the Human with a single blow and then grabbed a chair. Headscratcher was borne to the ground by a trio of Humans, but they all staggered as a piece of firewood cracked into their backs. Erin lowered her hands and strode forwards. The Horns could hear her shouting angrily.

“I just bought those. Can I go for one month without my inn being wrecked? One month?

The Hobgoblins rushed to protect her as Erin expertly poked a man in the eyes and kneed him in the groin. [Bar Fighting] at its best. Ceria shook her head.

“We’ve got to get in there.”

“You’re sure?”

Yvlon and Pisces looked at her. Ceria hesitated. She looked at the other two. She wasn’t talking just about the fight. She smiled ruefully.

“Yeah. I’m sure. Glory? Wealth? Power? I want all those things. I’ll be honest. This thing scares the crap out of me. We lost once. But we have a friend who might be in there. This is about more than pride, more than fear. This is personal. Let’s go kick some teeth in.”

Ceria shook as she spoke. But she was right. She looked at her friends helplessly. She was afraid—until she saw their faces. Pisces smiled and Yvlon grinned ruefully. They nodded and Ceria felt warm inside. Ksmvr stood straight and nodded.

“Well said! I will be the first to fight!”

“Wait, what? Ksmvr! I was talking about—”

The Antinium didn’t hear her. He charged into the melee, received a [Minotaur Punch] from Erin and spun once before a pair of burly Drakes smashed him to the ground.

“Cat guts! I’m going to get him!”

“Get Lyonette too!”

Ceria saw a frightened Gnoll running through the feet, being pursued by Lyonette. A Drake woman tried to attack the [Barmaid] and received a flawless counter in return. Lyonette ran after Mrsha as Apista flew overhead, bravely stinging everything and anyone she could find. Yvlon nodded.

“I’ll get Ksmvr! You get Mrsha and the others!”

“Got it!”

No one had drawn blades yet although there were a lot of pieces of wood and jagged glass being waved around. Ceria knew that bearing steel would make the brawl a lot deadlier. Still, that didn’t mean she was going in weaponless. She made a club of ice with one hand and charged with Yvlon with a shout.

Pisces stayed back. He ducked a thrown tankard and observed the chaos at his table. He sighed. Good art had been ruined once more. Well, it was to be expected. He watched his teammates enter the fighting and rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help but contain a smile. He muttered to himself, so softly no one else would hear.

“It’s about time.”

Then he grinned, disappeared with an [Invisibility] spell, and entered the fray. Twelve seconds later Ilvriss kicked him over a table. The Wall Lord shifted one of the rings on his clawed hand and grunted.

“Damn [Mages].”

He turned and Erin punched him in the stomach.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.28

Erin stood in her wrecked inn and looked around. Broken chairs, upended tables, spilled drinks and food marked what had been a very nice setup. She stared aimlessly at a chair lying on the ground with only one remaining leg and then spotted an unconscious Drake lying behind it. She stared around at the comatose bodies, the broken wood, and shook her head.

She knew it was traditional. In stories, that was. She knew it was normal for drunk people to be violent. Sometimes. But, and here was the thing…not everyone who drank got violent. In fact, the aggressive drunks quickly learned that there were some fights you shouldn’t pick. Especially in an inn with Hobgoblin bouncers. And in a world where healing potions cured all wounds but didn’t regrow teeth…being a jerk was a dangerous proposition.

“But here we are.”

Erin kicked at a mug and watched it skitter across the floor. Someone groaned. Erin ignored the sound. Right, so bar fights were traditional. And this wasn’t even the worst aftermath Erin had had to clean up. Just this month the inn had been full of dead moths for crying out loud! Alcohol stains were a lot more pleasant to wipe away than moth blood.

Still, she didn’t have to like it. And she really didn’t. Erin wondered how much it would cost to replace all her tables and chairs again. She mentally added up the damages of broken plates, mugs, bent silverware, and so on until someone interrupted her train of thought.

“So who won?”

“Huh?”

She looked back over her shoulder. Relc was clumsily scribbling on a piece of parchment as he stood amidst the debris. Relc and five other [Guardsmen]—and three [Guardswomen]—had come after the fight had ended. They were now tossing people through the door to Liscor where the rain would wake up the unhappy unconscious Drakes, or forcing their Human counterparts to wait until the door could take them to Celum.

Almost all of the injured guests were Human or Drake and it was telling that Relc was one of only three Drakes that Zevara had sent to clean things up. The Gnolls had stayed out of the fighting by and large and had left peacefully once the fight had ended.

“Well?”

Relc clumsily dipped his quill in the inkpot he held in one huge clawed fist as he stared at Erin. She stared back.

“Who won?”

“Yeah. There’s gotta be a winner in a fight like this, right? I’m so annoyed I missed it!”

The Drake looked around enviously, noting how many unconscious bodies were still there. Erin’s inn had been able to hold several dozen people comfortably within its walls before she obtained the [Grand Theatre] Skill and the room had been packed when the fight broke out. In fact, some people still hadn’t quite realized it was over. Relc spotted a Drake getting to his feet. The drunk Drake looked around, spotted a Human, and lurched towards Erin. Relc turned, punched the Drake off his feet and grinned in satisfaction before turning back to Erin.

“Come on, Erin. Don’t leave me hanging. This is for the report!”

“Well…”

Erin had to think back on the night’s events. Her gaze slid sideways towards the door as it opened. Oh. Griffon Hunt was leaving. They didn’t have a scratch on them. Whereas the Halfseekers had retired to their room with bruises, and both Gemhammer and the Horns of Hammerad had stumbled away looking for healing potions after they’d been woken up.

“I guess if you had to say anyone won, it was Wall Lord Ilvriss and his lot.”

“Really?”

Erin nodded.

“He was the one who started the fight. And he kept it going. He took out Headscratcher, Badarrow, Pisces, Ylawes…all with his bare hands!”

“Claws.”

“Yeah. But he didn’t use his claws. I knew he was good because he was a Wall Lord and all, but he was good. The adventurers aren’t good with fighting with their hands. And all his cronies beat down anyone who attacked him. But still; he was knocking everyone around while I tried to get people to safety.”

What a mess that had been. Erin vaguely recalled punching Ilvriss in the stomach before Ceria and Yvlon had charged him to rescue her. Then it had been trying to restore order with her friends and employees while the main fighting burnt itself out. Erin scowled.

“We did a good job, but even four Hobgoblins had trouble keeping everything contained! In the end everything stopped once eighty percent of the people were knocked out.”

“Yeah, that generally happens in a fight. But what about the Wall Lord guy? I can’t imagine he’d stop fighting just because everyone else was down. I’d have tried to take out everyone standing and then run for it before the Watch showed up.”

Erin glanced sideways at Relc.

“Aren’t you…”

He stared at her expectantly. She decided not to ask and continued.

“Well, he was winning right up until he wasn’t. Mrsha was running around and she nearly got hurt. So then Moore got mad. He grabbed a table and started hitting people with it! Gently. I think Ilvriss tried to stop him—Moore picked him up and threw him across the room. That’s the wall he hit.”

Erin pointed at one of her walls. Relc peered at it. There wasn’t any visible damage thanks to another of Erin’s Skills, but there was a suspicious stain halfway up the wall, as if someone had thrown up a bit when they’d been hurled full-force into the wall. He grinned.

“Awesome.”

The young woman glared at him. Relc raised his claws innocently.

“What? It is! That is one of the coolest bar fights I’ve heard of in a while! And it started because they didn’t like your play?”

“Yup. They didn’t like it. Not one bit.”

Erin sighed. This entire affair had begun over Juliet and Romeo, a slightly updated take on the Shakespearian classic. Unfortunately, one of the updates had been casting a Drake as Juliet and a Human as Romeo. Both Wesle and Jasi had managed to escape the bar fight without many injuries, but the Players of Celum were understandably upset. Erin looked helplessly at Relc.

“Tell me I’m not going to have to replace all of my broken stuff? Please?”

“Nah, you’re cool.”

Relc finished scribbling on the piece of parchment, blew on it, and then tucked it into his leather armor. He waved a claw around carelessly as more people started waking up. It was just past dawn.

“Standard procedure is for us to compensate you for all your broken stuff. Fine the perpetrators all something or toss them in jail if they can’t pay. But since Wall Lord Ilvriss started the fight, we’ll probably just charge him.”

“Just like that?”

“He’s rich. And it’s easier that way.”

Relc shrugged nonchalantly. He spotted Ilvriss getting up—the Wall Lord had used a healing potion and so he looked furious but no worse for the wear. The Drake was having the rest of his retainers pick up the unconscious ones or kick the rest awake as Relc called out to him.

“Hey Wall Lord! We’ll tally the damages and send you a bill for it later, okay?”

Ilvriss looked up. He glared at Erin and shouted back, making most of the unconscious patrons groan and wake up.

“Do what you want! As for, you, Human—”

He jabbed a claw at Erin.

“That play is a disgrace! I demand it be changed!”

“No! Go away, you jerk!”

Erin shook a fist angrily at Ilvriss. She pointed back to her trashed stage.

“That was an innocent love story! What’s wrong with a Human loving a Drake?”

Ilvriss didn’t even deign to respond. His tail curled in contempt as he turned away.

“No self-respecting Drake in Liscor will visit your inn until that bile is taken off the stage! Out of my way!”

He stormed through the door to Liscor, glaring death at Numbtongue who was watching him and the other Drakes. The Hob had a table leg gripped in one hand. Erin shouted at Ilvriss’ back as he walked out into the night and rain.

“Yeah, go ahead and boycott my inn! It won’t be the first time!”

She turned back towards Relc and tried to shrug dismissively.

“He’ll come back after a week or something. No big deal.”

Relc looked skeptical as he glanced around the inn.

“I dunno about that. Drakes like Ilvriss get really touchy about stuff like that play. More than even getting insulted. You might lose a lot of Drake customers. Some Gnolls maybe.”

“So? I can manage. I’ve been a pariah before.”

Erin sighed. She felt tired, cranky, and she wanted to sleep. She gave Relc a pleading look.

“Look, is there anything else?”

He grinned.

“Nope! Looks open and shut to me. We’ll toss the rest of our people out and you can let the poor Humans go to Celum. Oh, and Erin?”

She turned, already heading over to Headscratcher so he could help expedite the cleanup process. She looked at him expectantly and Relc smiled again.

“Next time you put on that play, mind inviting me first? I’d love to bring a few of my buddies. Uh, but don’t tell Embria.”

Erin gave him a blank look. Then she turned and walked away. As she passed by an unconscious Human she kicked him in the side. Sort of gently.

 

—-

 

The next day Griffon Hunt and the Pride of Kelia returned to The Wandering Inn for a standing breakfast. There were some tables, but since Mrsha and Lyonette occupied one with the Halfseekers, the Goblins had the second, and there weren’t enough chairs for the third, they elected to stand.

“We should have eaten somewhere else.”

Revi grumbled until Typhenous cast a spell that created a rotating disc of shimmering air for the others to put their bowls and cups onto. The Gold-rank adventurers ate in silence, eying the Pride of Kelia as the nine Gnolls munched on fatty bacon and sniffed the air.

“Still planning on entering the dungeon?”

Nailren looked up and grinned toothily at Revi, ignoring her acerbic tone of voice.

“A bar fight will not stop our team, Miss Revi. We await Gemhammer’s decision, but we will enter the dungeon today regardless of whether we will be joined. We invite you as well, if you wish it.”

“Bah.”

Revi turned away and scowled at Halrac. He shook his head and Nailren nodded. The adventurers looked up and saw Erin hurry over with a plate of hot bacon.

“Sorry! Ow! Sorry! This is hot off the stove! Don’t grab for it, Mrsha! Anyone want seconds?”

Hands were raised across the inn. Erin came over to Griffon Hunt and placed a rasher of bacon on Halrac’s plate. The [Scout] grunted his thanks.

“So…I hear that Gemhammer’s resting up, but they’ll be coming to the inn around lunch and then going to the dungeon after they eat my horrible magic food. What are you guys doing?”

The [Innkeeper] slid into the conversation with all the grace of a bloated wyvern. Typhenous smiled and accepted a single slice of greasy bacon to go with his bread as he replied.

“Ah, thank you Miss Solstice. I believe we will continue our job. That is, untrapping the dungeon’s main entrance with the Halfseekers. If they’re recovered?”

He glanced at the three non-Humans. Jelaqua waved a claw, grinning.

“We’re good! Moore’s the only one who got hurt and that was only after the Drakes rushed him. I’d be more worried about the Silver Swords!”

“My brother’s fine.”

Yvlon spoke quietly from her seat. She kept adjusting the gauntlets on her arms, tapping at them and grimacing. By her side, Ceria was sharpening her dagger on a whetstone while Ksmvr ate. Pisces was reading from a spellbook. They looked like normal on the surface, but the [Necromancer]’s leg was jiggling and Ksmvr was gobbling his food a bit too fast.

“We’re planning on entering the dungeon too. Today, I mean.”

Ceria met Nailren’s eyes. The Gnoll nodded at her.

“Interesting. We would welcome a joint expedition. Unless you plan on entering through the trapped area?”

Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers frowned, but Ceria shook her head. She cast her head sideways and glanced at Pisces who stopped reading.

“We shall be using a different entrance.”

“A what?

All the adventurers stared at Pisces. He sniffed smugly, clearly enjoying the situation. Revi leaned over and hissed at Halrac as Erin hurried into the kitchen, muttering about buying chairs in bulk from Celum.

Another way in? How in the name of quilting did someone find—you don’t think they’ve got a leg up on us, do you?”

Halrac shook his head, his eyes flicking from Pisces’ face to Ceria’s nervous motions.

“If they have another entrance it doesn’t matter. We’re all entering the dungeon from different areas and no one knows where our objective is. They’ll be uncertain of their backs and that’s more dangerous than our route.”

“But we’re still untrapping—”

Revi broke off as the door opened. Watch Captain Zevara strode in—not from the magic door, but from the regular entrance that now led across the water. She shook water off her boots onto the rug as Erin poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Uh oh. Here comes trouble.”

“Not yet, Human.”

Zevara looked tired but resigned as she met Erin in the inn, looking around. The first thing she handed Erin was a bag of coins—payment for her broken furniture. Erin’s eyes went round.

“Wow, you’re sure? But I’m not a part of Liscor! Am I?”

The Watch Captain shrugged.

“You are not. But the fight was started by citizens of the city and Wall Lord Ilvriss. And Drake law is clear—we compensate business owners for damage.”

Erin eyed the Watch Captain.

“What about Krshia?”

The Drake looked blank.

“What about her? We compensated her for her shop and goods. As much as we could after appraising the magical items the thief—er, Miss Lyonette’s seized possessions. We don’t pay out of the city’s funds.”

“But what about the—”

Erin hesitated. She bit her tongue as Zevara peered at her suspiciously.

“Well, thanks! I guess Ilvriss has a lot of money.”

“He is a Wall Lord. What about Miss Krshia?”

“Nothing! So, why are you here, Watch Captain? Just to give me money?”

The Drake grunted, folding her arms and peering at Erin. After a while she gave up and shrugged.

“No, I am also investigating the cause of last night’s disturbance. This play. I’ve received a petition with a thousand signatures on it already. Can you arrange a viewing for me? Or recreate the offending scene?”

Erin sucked in her lips.

“Maybe. Let me see if I can find Wesle. If not…well, I’m no [Actor] but I could give it a shot.”

As it happened, Erin was able to send Lyonette into the city and locate Wesle within ten minutes thanks to Mrsha’s nose. By the time breakfast was over and the Halfseekers were conferring with Griffon Hunt, they saw Zevara watching Erin and Wesle acting out the controversial scene in question. The Watch Captain watched as Erin waved down at Wesle with a handkerchief and shook her head. Then the [Innkeeper] and [Actor] turned anxiously to Zevara. She looked at both of them and sighed.

“It’s not offensive.”

Both Humans sighed in relief. Watch Captain Zevara swished her tail as she studied Erin.

“This was played by a Drake, wasn’t it? Not offensive. Or rather, it’s not something I’d arrest anyone over. You can continue putting the play on. Just don’t expect many Drake visitors. Particularly the male ones. And consider staying out of the city for a day or two. There’s an uproar about the content of the play already.”

“Those jerks!”

Erin scowled, but Zevara had already turned her attention to the two Gold-rank teams. The Halfseekers were getting ready to go and Griffon Hunt was already at the door. The Watch Captain stared at the fiery golden breastplate Jelaqua was carefully putting on.

“So Miss Selys really did lease the Heartflame Breastplate.”

“That’s right.”

Jelaqua turned, her pale body illuminated by the magical glow of the artifact. Every head in the room turned towards her. Zevara stared and then coughed.

“I’m told your group is entering the dungeon today? As is a pair of Silver-rank teams and the Horns of Hammerad?”

She stared at the other adventurers who looked wary. Jelaqua nodded carefully.

“That’s right. Do you have a problem with that?”

Zevara hesitated before grimacing and shaking her head.

“I’ve consulted with the Adventurer’s Guild and Guildmistress Tekshia has declined to intervene. I will do the same on a few conditions.”

She turned her head and stared around the room, finding each team leader’s eyes, save for the absent Silver Swords and Gemhammer.

“I don’t care if you lot live or die down in the dungeon. That’s not my role. But the defense of the city is my role, and that means that if you wake up anything in the dungeon, I will hold you accountable for whatever comes out. This is classified information, but a Silver-rank team was responsible for the attack on Liscor.”

Zevara waited for a response, but even the Pride of Kelia didn’t react. Revi rolled her eyes.

“We know. We told you.”

The Watch Captain silenced her with a withering look. She turned up her glare a few notches.

“You have a responsibility as adventurers. I want a [Message] spell sent to the local Mage’s Guild the instant you find anything…extremely dangerous. Something that could threaten Liscor. I don’t care about treasure or adventuring secrets—if there’s something down there like the moths I expect to hear about it.”

She stared around and then grudgingly nodded.

“Please.”

With that, she turned and strode out of the room. Erin looked around as Wesle walked back through the door to Celum. She smiled anxiously.

“So that was nice. You’re all going in then, huh?”

“We’re going right now. Good luck to you.”

Halrac nodded at the other adventurers. The Pride of Kelia came over to shake his hand. Typhenous touched staffs with a Gnoll wearing beads and feathers. A [Shaman]? The Halfseekers did likewise and Jelaqua grabbed Ceria’s hand.

“You stay behind the Silver Swords. They’re good. I’ve seen them in action. It’s never wrong to retreat.”

Ceria nodded, trying not to let her hands shake. To everyone’s surprise, Revi hugged the half-Elf fiercely and then did the same to Nailren.

“Don’t you dare die, you idiotic rookies. I hate having to learn new names.”

She left them at that. Griffon Hunt lined up next to the door to Liscor and the Halfseekers stepped over to join them. Moore looked at the small doorway with dismay and ducked his head.

“Everyone set?”

Halrac glanced over. The others nodded. Erin cleared her throat as she set the door to Liscor.

“I’m going with you.”

The room went silent. Ksmvr choked on his bacon and Ceria nearly fell out of her chair. Erin looked around.

“Just to the entrance. I want to see. I’ll be back to see off the others.”

“Oh come on.”

Revi grumbled, but Halrac studied Erin’s face. She met his eyes and he nodded briefly.

“Come, then.”

Then he opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

 

—-

 

The rain fell over Liscor. Unending. A torrent. It seemed some days as though it would never stop. But it would. It had been part of Liscor’s history since the city had been founded. And though the residents quickly grew accustomed to the gray skies, the never-ending background roar, the flooded waters, they never quite forgot the memory of clear skies. Of the sun.

And they were on the streets. Moving from building to building in clumps, or just giving up and letting the rain soak them. The Drakes and Gnolls of Liscor walked in a miserable fugue until they saw the fire.

It walked down the street. A burning, catching the eye. Light. Heat. A Drake walked forwards, her breastplate gleaming as her body burned. The Heartflame Breastplate shone as the Selphid walked down the street. But she was not alone.

A half-Giant walked by her side, his back stooped, a giant staff in his hands. He towered above the tallest Gnolls, made the fiercest warriors think twice about their strength. And in his shadow a Drowned Man dressed in black flickered between shadows. His hands never left the enchanted daggers at his side. One Human hand, one crustacean claw.

Next to them walked a man with a scowl on his face. An unfriendly Human, but one that attracted as many looks as the Heartflame Breastplate. Because his face was a hero’s. His bow did not shine but the arrows stowed in his quiver were magical. He walked silent through the rain. By his side strode a Stitch-Girl, tugging at the strings holding together her body. Next to her strode an old Human, white bearded, his eyes shining with magic.

Six adventurers. They walked out of a door at the western gates, headed straight through the center of the city without pause. The streets cleared before them. It wasn’t a conscious thing. It was simply instinct. The citizens of Liscor watched the Gold-rank adventurers pass and felt the rain intensify as they passed. And they felt a chill. Of excitement? Or fear? It was impossible to say, but the passing of the adventurers struck a chord in those who saw them.

And behind them tripped a young woman, almost unnoticed by the crowds. She followed the adventurers to the northern gates—to the battlements and down a ladder, actually. There was another rope bridge leading north across the waters. The young woman stepped cautiously onto the bridge, watching her feet sink into the waters. Then she looked out at the distant plume of earth visible amid the flooded plains. She followed the adventurers as they headed across the bridge, looking around carefully for dangerous maritime life.

“Whoop, whoop. Whoa.”

Erin unsteadily walked across the bridge as it shifted slightly underwater. The footing was surprisingly firm given the downpour, but the dark skies and the way the bridge would sometimes move underfoot was unnerving. After a while, Revi glanced behind her and muttered to her companions.

“Why do we have to put up with her?”

The Halfseekers ignored her. So did Revi’s team at first. Her complaining was something they had gotten used to. But Halrac turned his head back to answer as they drew closer to the mound of earth guarded by a platoon of [Guardsmen] from Liscor.

“Because she’s helped us before. And because she sells us magical food cheap.”

“Ah. Right.”

Revi grimaced and tugged at her tongue as if she wanted to pull it out. Erin wondered if she actually could. Stitch-People did weird things. The Scale Soup she’d served the adventurers was certainly effective—according to Moore it was like a lesser [Barkskin] spell. But it was also about as appealing as eating a bunch of fish scales mixed with glue, which, it had to be said, were major components of the actual soup. Now her stitch-flesh was tough enough to withstand cuts from an unenchanted dagger. But it was still unpleasant.

“So that’s the entrance to the dungeon?”

Erin called out as she followed Griffon Hunt. Ramparts made out of dirt and stone had been constructed at the end of the water bridge. And in behind them, a large gaping tunnel lead down into the earth. Drakes and Gnolls stood on the battlements, staring into the depths or peeking back at the approaching adventurers.

“That’s right. The Antinium dug up the ground around the entrance. It hasn’t begun to leak yet.”

Jelaqua called over her shoulder. Erin stared at the drenched fortifications ahead. She remembered the entrance sitting out in the open, surrounded by adventurers and [Merchants] eager to explore it.

Now the dungeon was a small dirt fort surrounded by water, abandoned by all but a few groups of adventurers. There was no sense of curiosity or excitement surrounding it anymore. It sat wetly in the pouring rain, the dark opening waiting. In that, Erin thought she liked the dungeon more now. It looked like what it was. A trap.

“Well, here we are. I don’t think you want to come further. You can go back now.”

Revi looked pointedly at Erin as the others began climbing the ramp leading up to the dungeon. The [Innkeeper] looked at the Stitch-Girl.

“You be careful, okay? If you’re in trouble send a [Message].”

“As if you could do anything about it.”

The [Summoner]’s harsh words were betrayed by the way she let Erin hug her. She patted Erin awkwardly on the shoulder and headed into the dungeon.

“Better not hug me. I’m on fire.”

Jelaqua grinned at Erin. She nodded and the girl tried to smile. Moore was next. Erin grabbed his hand. Typhenous let Erin hug him and Halrac merely nodded. Erin looked around and frowned.

“Seborn?”

Here.

She jumped. The Drowned Man stood behind Erin. The Human half of his face looked unreadable as ever. Erin looked at Seborn and tried to smile.

“So you’re going in. Are you nervous?”

We’ve done this dozens of times before. Don’t worry about us.

“So I should worry about the others? Will they be okay?”

Seborn paused as he checked his daggers. The others were talking with the [Guardsmen] on the ramparts.

No one’s ever not nervous. But I think we’re determined to make progress today.

“Because of what the others said?”

The Drowned Man half-smiled. It was a strange look, watching half his face twist while the other half remained still.

Let’s just say that they reminded us we’re not alone. It’s not pleasant, being called a coward.

“They didn’t say—”

They didn’t need to. And they’re right, in a way.

“Really?”

Erin had never heard Seborn talk this much. It was a sign of nerves. The Drowned Man nodded as he drew an enchanted dagger that sent a fiery spark into the waters.

We could be more aggressive. It’s true. What the Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer are doing is dangerous. Exceptionally so. But it’s not more than what we did when we were Silver-rank.”

“You did stuff like that?”

An obvious question. But Erin just wanted to let Seborn talk. He nodded.

“Silver-rank teams risk their lives to reach the level of Gold-rank adventurers. We’re more cautious with our lives because we have that much more to lose. It is cowardly, but it’s why we get to keep on living. Sometimes though, we have to remember to be bold. That’s what makes us Gold-rank. Not cowardice.

“And Named Adventures? What makes them?”

Seborn paused. He looked at Erin and his gaze was…sad.

They’re the ones who never stopped diving into the abyss. Some of them are heroes. Most are just insane.

He turned.

Thank you for coming. I think the others appreciate it more than they’ll say. We’ve done this dozens of times, but adventurers are superstitious too.

“Hey.”

Erin stopped him as Seborn went for the entrance. He turned and she held out a hand.

“Come back safe.”

He blinked at her. He shifted his dagger but she waggled her hand. Slowly, the Drowned Man held out his claw hand. With exquisite care he closed the crab-like hand over Erin’s. She shook it, feeling the cold, hard shell under her skin. Seborn looked at her and then smiled.

We truly were thankful to meet you. Keep a table open. I still like seafood, you know.

Then he turned and walked up the ramp. Erin watched him go. The first group entered the dungeon. The second departed at lunch.

 

—-

 

“We’re good. Thanks, Miss Solstice.”

“You’re sure?”

“We’ve got boats. We’ve got rocks to sink with—hell, we could probably do it with what we’re carrying. If we get chewed up on the way down that’s that. But we bought a potion of water breathing and we’ll share it between us so we can get back up if we miss our target.”

“Indeed. Thank you for the soup.”

“I dunno if you should thank me. It’s awful, I know.”

“I’ve never found a potion that tasted great.”

Earlia smiled as she balanced in the rocking boat. Her team was already sitting and there were two more boats. Both were crewed by Drakes hired from Liscor. They were going to head straight for the rift.

“Like Zevara said, send a [Message] if you’re in trouble. You can use that spell, right?”

“Our [Gem Mage] can. Not sure about the Pride’s [Shaman] but we’ll stick together. This is just testing the waters. Maybe more if we get rolling. Alright, we’ve got to go before the boats fill up.”

Earlia nodded to Erin and headed to her boat. Nailren smiled at her.

“Do not be so anxious. Not for our sakes. We are acquaintances, yes? You barely know us.”

“I want to get to know you more. Come back, okay?”

“If we can, we will.”

The Gnoll’s eyes were calm but he gripped Erin’s hand tighter than he had before as he stepped towards the boats. She saw them cast off into the waters.

There were no waves. Only the churning rain. So the boats moved fairly quickly despite the load as the Drake [Rowers] carried the adventurers across the Floodplains. They attracted less attention. They did not shine. But a good number of Liscor’s population were on the walls. They cast fishing lines into the water or sat on the battlements as a social thing beneath temporary canopies. They watched the adventurers head to the rift in silence.

Silence and trepidation. The two teams looked so few in number and the waters swallowed their vessels the further away they got. They floated out further on the waters, where things lurked in the depths. The sky, the mountains around Liscor were tall. But how far down did the waters go? Uncertainty filled the hearts of many. But there were still some, children and adults both who stared at the Silver-rank teams with admiration as well as fear.

They dropped into the water as Erin watched. First one, and then in groups of three. Vanishing below without a trace. The boat Drakes watched the ripples fade and then rowed away. They would come back if the adventurers sent a request via spell. If they were contacted.

And then there was nothing. Erin went back into her inn and felt trepidation. She looked at the last group, at Ksmvr helping check Yvlon’s armor, at Pisces trying to fight Mrsha for her wand and then giving up despite Ceria’s scolding, at Ylawes rubbing his head and Dawil joking with Falene and her not joking back.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s time.”

Ceria hugged Erin, and then Lyonette, and then Mrsha. The Gnoll clung to her, not wanting to let go. She howled as the Horns of Hammerad walked outside. Not to go to Liscor, but to a pair of waiting boats. These ones had no Drakes attached—they’d been leased for the day. Yvlon was next. She held Erin’s hands, smiling.

“We’ll make it. This time is different.”

“I know. I know.”

Erin squeezed gently, trying not to look at Yvlon’s arms. Beneath their gauntlets they looked normal. But metal had become part of her flesh. And that had been in Albez. What would happen…?

“I will defend my team with my life. But I will not die and abandon them.”

Ksmvr nodded at Erin. She hugged him.

“That’s good. Just be careful, okay?”

“Caution is not always a valid strategy.”

She laughed. Next came Ylawes, Dawil, Falene. She didn’t know them as well so they didn’t try to hug her or shake her hand. But they smiled at her.

“We’ll take care of them, Miss Solstice.”

For once Falene’s touch of superiority was comforting. Erin looked at Ylawes.

“Be a good brother, okay?”

“I will try.”

He saluted her. Dawil thrust him aside.

I’ll take a hug, thanks. It’s nice to be shorter! Humans are at a comfortable level for my head!”

He laughed raucously as Ylawes covered his face and Falene looked disgusted. Dawil’s head was at breast-height. The Dwarf meant it as a joke, but Erin hugged him fiercely anyways.

“You silly Dwarf! Come back and I’ll give you another hug.”

“Ah, lass. I’ve no intention of biting it in this dungeon. Dwarves prefer to die in stone. Which this dungeon has, mind you. But there’s too much water for my tastes. Keep a keg ready when we get back!”

And that was that. The Silver Swords walked out. Pisces was the last one. He stood, looking paler than usual. He smiled at Erin.

“Well Miss Solstice? Will you wish me well?”

“Of course I will.”

Erin hugged him. Pisces looked surprised.

“It feels like we met long ago. But it was not too long that I was threatening you for food, wasn’t it?”

“It does feel like that! And I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal of all this! Just come back, okay?”

Erin sniffed into Pisces’ robes. The [Necromancer] squeezed her ever so hesitantly and then stepped back.

“That you care matters. And this is the first time we are entering the dungeon. I…I will promise you this. It will not be the last.”

He turned and then hesitated. Pisces seemed to fight with himself for a moment and then turned back.

“We will be well.”

He left with that. No smug comments, no arrogance. Erin knew he really was worried. She sniffed as the Horns cast off with the Silver Swords following.

No one watched them go. A few people saw them head out but when they headed away from the dungeon’s rift, they assumed the adventurers weren’t bound for the dungeon. There were more boats cautiously fishing with nets and hooks in the water. The two teams passed all of them by. They headed north, past the city and then towards a hill partially submerged in rain. The adventurers disappeared into the crypt, a spot almost forgotten. The horrors of Skinner were long vanquished. What reason had they to be there? Only Erin knew. She watched as they went. Then she turned.

Lyonette was holding Mrsha as the Gnoll sniffed. Drassi was staring out into the rain anxiously. Behind them, the five Redfang Goblins looked restless. They straightened as Erin looked at them.

“Do you want to go in there too?”

They didn’t respond. But Headscratcher met Erin’s eyes for a second and then looked away. She nodded.

“Wait.”

That was all they could do. So Erin sat at her table. Then she got up and pointed.

“I’m going out. Lyonette, wait there. I’ll be back. I need to set something up. Drassi, how would you like to be paid to sit and talk with people for an entire day?”

“Ooh, what did you have in mind?”

Erin opened the door to Liscor. She stepped out into the rain and strode through the streets. She was waiting. And in the dungeon three teams stepped into the darkness. And the darkness was waiting.

 

—-

 

Three groups entered the dungeon. The first halted at a door tagged with glowing chalk. They formed up, Seborn and Halrac in front. The Drowned Man had a dagger in his hands. Halrac had an arrow glowing with frost drawn.

“Let’s begin.”

Behind the two trap experts stood Typhenous and Jelaqua. Revi and Moore brought up the rear. Seborn held up a hand as he inspected the door. They’d come through this door countless times but he still checked it. Not just for traps; for signs someone had opened it.

Hay’s still there.

He plucked a piece of straw out of the doorjamb. Halrac nodded. He held up three fingers and counted down. Seborn waited and then yanked the door open. Both adventurers looked into the room. Halrac trained his bow on the first thing he saw until he recognized it.

“Metal pillar. We’ve been here.”

He nodded at a mark made on the far wall. Seborn squinted at it.

Recheck.

“Of course.”

Both [Scout] and [Rogue] used their Skills to check the room for changes. But there was no discernible difference so Halrac motioned.

“The pillar’s a blade trap. Stay to the edges. We disarmed it without you but you never know.”

Seborn nodded and Jelaqua relayed the quiet words to Moore and Revi.

We can get Moore to hit it on the way back out if we have time.

“Does that…help?”

He might be able to grow plants over the thing if he can make a gap. Or just break the mechanisms.

The adventurers made their way through the room. Again, Halrac and Seborn checked the door. This time they didn’t speak as they made their way to the next corridor. The first room was done. The next one would be random as well. Such was the nature of this dungeon; each room was selected from a group of trapped rooms and so the layout was different every time. It was meant to frustrate anyone trying to enter the dungeon safely.

However, there was a flaw to that kind of dungeon making. With time and patience, a good team could neutralize every trapped room and proceed freely regardless of which room they got. The next room was similarly neutralized; Seborn recognized the narrow corridor.

Pit trap. Metalbite Slimes. We took out the pressure plate.

“Understood.”

The two moved ahead. They spoke little, but their conversation alone hinted at the good relationship they had. They proceeded through the fourth room and fifth, each time running into a cleared trap.

“This is a record for us. You?”

We made it this far before. Took out a trap that tried to boil us alive.

“You mean burn.”

Nope. Doubt we’ll get lucky again.

The [Rogue] pushed open the door and nodded.

“Thought not. Look at that.”

This room was almost insultingly safe looking. A bed had been placed in the center of the room, a lovely-looking king-sized bed. It looked enchanted, which was probably the reason it had held up so long. Halrac grunted.

“They’re not even trying. What is—”

A hand blocked his view. Instantly Halrac jerked back. Seborn averted his gaze.

Some kind of spell on the bedposts.

“Clever.”

Halrac had barely looked at the bed but he felt something sting his sensitive eyes. He drew back and Seborn shielded him from the doorway.

“Everything alright?”

Jelaqua looked at the two. Halrac relayed news of what lay ahead. Typhenous stroked his beard.

“Rune trap magic, most likely. I can try to dispel it—”

“Don’t bother. It’s not the only trap. They want us to try and get close to the bed. I’m sure it’ll do something. Turn out to be an illusionary golem or something. We’ll take it out from afar.”

“Ah. Let me know if you need a spell.”

Halrac looked back at Seborn. The Drowned Man was fishing at his belt.

“We could use a [Sticky Webs] spell. Or do you think it’s too risky?”

I was going to try activating the spell by hitting the post with something cutting. See what we’re up against. We can always block off the doorway.

“You’ve got something that will work? I could shoot it.”

“Too risky. Might activate and damage your eyes. I’ll hit it blind. I’ve got these bags of flour from that [Alchemist]. I’ll fill the room and make a—”

“Dust explosion. I know.”

Halrac nodded. He was familiar with the idea. Back in his village he’d once seen a mill go up due to that very thing. It had been their only mill, in fact. They never built another one. Lost in thought, he waited, averting his eyes from the room beyond. There must have been a compulsion spell mixed in there too because he wanted to walk in there and lie on the bed. He did not.

Seborn busied himself, preparing the bags of densely packed powder. After a while Halrac spoke absently.

“It’s called straw, actually. Hay is feed. Dried grass, legumes. Straw is dead stalks.”

The Drowned Man looked up briefly.

Really? I didn’t know that. We don’t get much straw at sea. What’s the difference between a hay bale and a straw one?

“You don’t feed straw to animals.”

Halrac said nothing more. He waited as Seborn tossed the bags of flour over his shoulder. They fountained up, filling the room with fine particles. Typhenous sneezed as everyone moved back. Then Seborn pulled out a tightly stoppered flask.

Ready?

The [Scout] nodded. He braced himself as Seborn lobbed the vial into the room. Then he slammed the door shut. Everyone waited. They heard a sound of something breaking, then a thump. Halrac waited behind the door calmly. The magical doorway held, but when he opened the door the room was in flames. There was something thrashing around in the center. Halrac took one look.

“Mimic. Looks like the wards are covered or obscured.”

“Let me cast a spell first.”

Typhenous stepped forwards. Halrac waited until the mage threw long ropes of sticky webs into the fire and then nodded at Seborn. He stepped out, aimed at the mimic and began loosing arrows. Typhenous threw a ball that ate part of the elongated mimic away and made it scream.

So far, so good.

 

—-

 

“Watch it!”

One of the adventurers from Gemhammer snapped a warning. The Gnoll from the Pride of Kelia froze. The Human pointed.

“Loose stone. Take another handhold.”

The Gnoll nodded. The descent continued as the adventurers shook water that fell to the dungeon floor below. They weren’t far up, only fifteen feet or so from the place where water met dungeon. But a fall from that height was still dangerous.

“Good catch.”

Nailren was descending with Earlia. The Gnolls were less burdened and moved faster, but Gemhammer was moving well too. Earlia slowly climbed downwards, grunting, taking care not to let the water slip her up.

“Let us go first. We’ve got shields and your people can get up and down faster.”

The Gnoll grunted in agreement. He growled softly and the Gnolls below him paused to let the Humans go past. Curiously, Nailren stared at the Humans. Gemhammer chose their grips carefully. They were not good climbers compared to the Gnolls, but they seemed oddly certain.

“Strange.”

“Not strange. They have Skills related to mining. We were all once [Miners] before we found out we could kill monsters with hammers and pickaxes.”

Earlia was about ten feet from the ground, next to an overhang that would expose her to the rest of the dungeon. She looked up. Nailren nodded and sniffed. He growled and made a gesture with his paws. He showed Earlia two fingers, then three.

“Shit.”

She didn’t say anything more. She looked at the other adventurers that had paused with her at the overhang. Then she nodded. Earlia grabbed the next handhold and moved down. She slipped, cursed, and then dropped.

“Shields up!”

She screamed an order as the rest of Gemhammer dropped. The adventurers swore as they landed but three grabbed heavy shields and pulled them up. Just in time. Crude arrows shattered on the shields and one struck one of the adventurers in the arm. She cried out but the chainmail had absorbed the blow.

“Attack! Drop and take cover behind the Humans!”

Nailren roared as the rest of the Pride of Kelia scrambled down the cliff. He dropped, ignoring the pain of landing and rolled behind an adventurer with a shield. He saw Earlia dive as she tried to bring her shield up. Arrows were flying everywhere. One missed her head.

“Loose!”

There were shapes in the darkness. Snarling. The Raskghar loosed arrows, unpleasantly surprised that they had been anticipated again. They attacked quietly, sniffing. The Gnolls growled as they smelled an ancient scent. They drew their bows and began to loose arrows, eliciting quiet howls.

“Gemhammer!”

Earlia kept her voice to a low snap. She grabbed her shield and raised it, hunkering behind it. The Humans formed a wall of their bodies and shields for the Gnolls.

“Hold the line! When the warriors come up, I want Timgal, Fea, and Blaik on me! The rest keep your shields up!”

The Gnolls kept loosing arrows and the Raskghar moved back. One began to beat the walls in a quick rhythm with a stone mace. The sound echoed down the corridor.

“Calling for reinforcements.”

Nairlen’s voice was tight as he aimed and loosed. He snarled as his [Double Shot] made a Raskghar fall with two arrows in his chest. Earlia snarled herself.

“It was an ambush! Just like the [Innkeeper] said! Hold tight! We’re getting through this!”

The adventurers and Raskghar fought, the sounds echoing but not too far. Both sides kept quiet for fear of what they might attract. But they were already being watched. And as more shapes moved out of the darkness, the adventurers realized there were a lot of Raskghar. And then the brutal ancient cousins of Gnolls moved in for the attack.

 

—–
“So this is the secret entrance you were talking about.”

Falene shook her head as she stared down the dark shaft of stone leading down that Pisces and Olesm had found. She peered into the darkness and looked back.

“I assume you checked for traps?”

“We did. Conduct your own investigation if you are so concerned.”

Pisces snapped back. He stepped to the edge as Falene whispered a spell. Behind him Ceria looked on with Ylawes.

“Incredible. A third entrance to the dungeon and this one connects to the crypts. One wonders how extensive this dungeon is.”

Ylawes stared into the pit, looking troubled. Dawil was more practical. He grunted as he squatted down over the edge, not bothered by the drop.

“That’s far down. What’s the plan for getting down there? Jump and [Featherfall]? Or rope?”

“It’s dangerous to leave an exit for monsters to get out of.”

“More dangerous than cutting off our escape route?”

Ceria countered, looking at Ylawes. He shrugged.

“I’d be more comfortable letting Falene toss a rope back up when we need to go. She can do it with [Telekinesis].”

“What if she’s dead? Or hurt?”

The [Knight] paused.

“She won’t be.”

Ceria exchanged a glance with Yvlon. The female warrior looked troubled.

“And if she is?”

Ylawes frowned, but in the end agreed to put down a rope for a quick exit. He waited until Ksmvr had declared it secure with Dawil’s approval before nodding.

“You take that rope down. We’ll go in first.”

“What?”

“I insist. We’re a Gold-rank team and prepared to deal with whatever is down there.”

“There should be just bones. Isn’t that right, Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] sniffed.

“There are bones. It is a burial chamber for the Raskghar. I scouted it with a Shield Spider before and one is down there now.”

Everyone stared at him. Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, come now. Did you expect us to enter a dungeon without proper scouting?”

He looked pointedly at the Silver Swords. Falene narrowed her eyes slightly. Ylawes looked put out.

“So you intend to scout with…undead?”

“Far better than living beings. Unless one of you has a class specializing in trap detection? How were you planning on exploring the dungeon?”

Falene raised her eyebrows.

“I am quite capable of detecting magic.”

“And floor traps?”

Pisces didn’t wait for a response. He looked at Ceria and Yvlon.

“Once we arrive below I intend to reanimate at least eight of the skeletons. They will form an advance guard and scout ahead. I can also fashion a Bone Horror.”

“One of those things?”

Ylawes looked appalled. Ceria just exchanged a glance with Yvlon. The blonde woman nodded. Her mouth compressed to a tight line but she did nod.

“Do it, Pisces.”

The [Necromancer] smiled briefly and began climbing down the rope. Caught off-guard, the Silver Swords watched him climb down and then saw Ksmvr hurry after him. Ylawes gripped his sword hilt, frustrated.

“Incredible. Are you actually serious about this, Yvlon?”

“You knew he was a [Necromancer], Ylawes. What’s the point in having a teammate with that ability if we don’t use it to survive? His undead have saved our lives more than once.”

“Still.”

The Horns of Hammerad descended one at a time while the Silver Swords took a more direct method. They jumped and slowly floated down. Ceria rolled her eyes as Falene drifted past her, Dawil grumbling about his stomach. When they were in the burial chamber they saw Pisces had already gotten to work. Six Raskghar were standing and two more were striding out of the entrance.

“Feh.”

Dawil wrinkled his nose but Pisces ignored him. He pointed.

“There is a trap ahead. It destroyed my Shield Spider the first time. I suggest we proceed carefully down the corridor checking for traps. There may be more that are only attuned to the living.”

“Indeed. I will inspect the trap, then.”

Falene strode forwards but Pisces held an arm out. Affronted, she stared at him. He looked pointedly at Ylawes.

“Should not a warrior go first? In case of ambush? Perhaps Sir Ylawes and Dawil?”

Ceria nodded in agreement. Ylawes looked irate at being ordered, but he stepped forwards with Dawil. He held his shield up as the Dwarf gripped his hammer.

“Alright! Let’s explore this damn dungeon already!”

Dawil’s voice boomed down the corridor. Ceria nearly bit her tongue.

“Shut up! Do you want to attract attention?”

“What? Oh. Sorry.”

The Dwarf mitigated his voice a bit. Ylawes strode forwards, his eyes searching every direction. Ceria stared as Falene followed after them. Pisces blew out his cheeks and Yvlon paused as Ksmvr brought up the rear.

“Hey Ceria. You don’t think—”

“I think so. Rot, rot, rot. How did we not think of this?”

“They never said!”

“Said what?”

Ksmvr was watching the rear as he had volunteered to do. He glanced at Ceria and Yvlon as they conferred. Pisces was watching the two with a frown on his face. The Antinium glanced at his teammates and shook his head. He had a bow in his hand and the enchanted dagger in the other.

“I never understand what is going on.”

 

—-

 

Earlia didn’t know when she began shouting. She flung a bag filled with spreading vines ahead and watched the Tripvine Bag engulf a charging Raskghar. The huge not-Gnoll tripped as it tried to leap at her with club in hand. The club was crude stone and wood, but the monster was huge! A head taller than a Gnoll and a third again as wide! Its head was too small, and its claws could lay open her skin as it thrashed wildly.

No time to hesitate. No time to be afraid. Earlia charged with a shout.

“Cover me!”

She rushed the Raskghar. It was fighting to get free. It struggled up as she raised the warhammer and saw the metal head falling. It raised an arm. Too slow. Too late. The blow cracked the arm and the thing howled.

Again! Earlia’s arms strained as she lifted the warhammer. She brought it down hard. This time the blow cracked the Raskghar’s head. It made a horrible gurgling sound and slumped. The Tripvines continued to spread as Earlia staggered back. Something hit her chest—an arrow, breaking on her chainmail.

“Captain!”

A hand yanked her backwards. Earlia fell back behind the group of her people holding shields. She felt at her chest. The chainmail had held. If it had been a better bow, or if the arrow tips had been made of anything but crude stone—

“More coming!”

The Raskghar were assaulting their position. The Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer were entrenched, exchanging shots while the [Warriors] held their ground. But they were outnumbered and frankly, outmatched. The Raskghar were terrifyingly huge and strong. Earlia wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to beat the one in front of her in a fair fight. But there was still a way to victory.

“Hit them with a Pepperspray Potion!”

She roared at one of her teammates. The man fumbled for a potion and the charging forms visibly hesitated. They retreated, howling, as the man lifted the potion. Earlia grinned savagely.

Yes, that was it! The Raskghar didn’t have potions or alchemical equipment. And they didn’t have levels. One of the Gnolls behind her snatched at the air. Nailren lifted the arrow he’d caught and put it to his bowstring and sent it back into the darkness. There was another howl.

“How’re we doing?”

Earlia shouted at him. Nailren’s ears switched as he sniffed the air.

“Many are here! Many more—coming! They are howling for support!”

“Damn! They really want us dead!”

The Human woman cursed, glancing around. They knew they’d be walking into an ambush, but the innkeeper, Erin, had told her that the Goblins had fought off only a handful of Raskghar. Had they lied? Or had the monsters doubled their watch?

“Captain! More coming from the left!”

A wail came from Fea. The girl was the youngest and her finger trembled as she pointed around her shield. Earlia saw a group of eight Raskghar approaching.

“Dead gods. Get me another Tripvine bag! Or one of our explosives! Hurry!”

She saw the adventurers fumbling as the Gnolls began showering the Raskghar with arrows. But the huge hulking creatures were tough! They charged, howling, impervious to arrows. Earlia shouted and Gemhammer rushed forwards. Their warriors met the Raskghar in a melee of blows.

“[Hammer Blow]!”

Earlia used her Skill too early to crush a Rasgkhar’s guard and break the screaming monster’s ribs. The Raskghar were everywhere, hurling Blaik to the ground, fighting with the Gnolls who’d drawn their own weapons. And there was another group coming back on the right! Earlia’s heart beat faster and faster as she swung, keeping the Raskghar off Blaik. Too many!

Then she saw a flicker. Something raced out of the shadows and stabbed through a Raskghar about to leap at her. A masked woman pirouetted and slashed another Raskghar across the back. Earlia gaped.

“Who the hell are you?

She received no answer. The adventurers closed ranks as the Raskghar howled. Several seemed to recognize the masked woman and beat more frantically on the walls. Gemhammer launched a desperate counterattack with the Pride of Kelia as the masked swordswoman cut and danced gracefully through the battle. She was good! But the fight wasn’t over yet. More were coming.

A lot more. Earlia knew they could beat them if the Raskghar bunched up. They had potions! Alchemy weapons! Spells! She was about to shout at the [Gem Mage] in their company to break a topaz and blast the Raskghar when she saw something move in the darkness.

“What is—”

Something moved. A giant Raskghar roared as he charged forwards. He was wearing armor. Not crude hide armor, not corroded metal or bone. Real armor. It shone and Earlia knew it was enchanted. And then she saw the Raskghar with the bow. He raised it but she couldn’t see an arrow. He made a gesture as if loosing something and she didn’t see the arrow. But something struck her in the chest. It went right through her chainmail. She staggered and saw nothing. And she fell as more Raskghar charged. And behind them were Goblins.

Lots of Goblins.

 

—-

 

“Room eight. Think it’ll be another trap?”

Unless we have to go through all of them, there has to be an end to it. We know there are monsters, even if we’ve only seen the ones in traps.

“Right. Get ready.”

This time Halrac and Seborn stood well back from the door. Their clothing was ruffled. The last trap had been activated, but the razorblades of wind had nearly cut both men. They were on guard as they swung the door open to reveal—

“A path down.”

Halrac stared at the ramp heading down into the darkness. His internal sense of danger that was separate from his [Dangersense] immediately rang an alarm. Behind hm Jelaqua slowly breathed out.

“Looks like it’s my turn. Change formations. Unless you think it’s a trap?”

I’ve got nothing. Halrac?

“No. How do you want to do this?”

Jelaqua pursed her lips. She stared down into the darkness. Halrac’s eyes could see further but even his sight had a limit. There was a larger room below. This might be another trapped room, but his instincts told him they were in another part of the dungeon. They’d done it. The seven layers of randomly generated rooms at an end. Which meant that anything could be beyond.

“Let me and Seborn do it. I’ve got the armor and Seborn’s quick.”

Halrac wanted to argue but he didn’t. That made sense. You sent a [Warrior] forwards when you thought you might run into monsters, with a [Rogue] or [Scout] or [Treasure Hunter] or whatever you had following close behind. He elected to move back to the rear of the group since his bow was useful at all ranges. Moore stayed with him as Revi and Typhenous took the middle.

That was the other thing. You watched the rear as well. Halrac had the group pause at this new juncture to go over tactics.

“First sign of major trouble and we retreat to the doorway. Delaying spells?”

“[Sticky Webs] for me and Revi uses her Face-Eater Moth or Corusdeer summons. Moore, do you have a barrier spell?”

“I could grow vines similar to a Tripvine Bag. It isn’t the most useful spell, though.”

“Huh. You don’t have another one?”

Moore shook his head.

“Not my specialty. Typhenous?”

“I know [Force Barrier]. Should I use it?”

“That spell is horrible. Barrier spells aren’t good at sealing off large spots. Not if something’s coming at us fast! Just web and let Moore use [Thorn Spray] or something.”

Revi objected and the other adventurers nodded. Halrac checked his belongings. He had his own prepared weapons and potions. He nodded at Jelaqua and Seborn.

“Then we leave it to you.”

“Right. Let’s go. Seborn, tell me if I’m tripping on anything.”

Jelaqua stepped forwards, Seborn right behind her. She did not stride forwards but rather walked cautiously, at a slow pace so Seborn could check for traps. If he so much as spoke or tapped her she immediately froze. Halrac was reassured to see that—it was a sign of Jelaqua’s seniority. She did not rush forwards in a panic, and neither was she afraid to press on. The group moved down slowly into the room when they saw—

“Statues.”

Revi breathed the word as the adventurers stopped. They’d come to a large, winding corridor full of stone statues. Between them were scattered pedestals with gleaming necklaces. Only there were a few odd discrepancies. Halrac saw three instantly.

“Hold.”

The adventurers paused as he pointed out what he’d seen in the murk.

“Some of the pedestals are missing the necklaces.”

“You’re right. Hey, has someone come down here before? Or is that part of the trap? We’re assuming those statues are going to come to life, right?”

“Without a doubt.”

Typhenous peered over his staff at the pedestals. It did indeed seem like someone had been here before. Halrac confirmed this by pointing out the other two things he’d seen.

“Look there. The wall is caved in. It’s been resealed with rocks and dirt. But there was someone here. And I think I know how. Goblins.”

He pointed to a small pile of bones next to one of the statues. It was hard to see, but he thought the statue’s fingers still had blood on the tips. Jelaqua muttered an oath.

“Great. Goblins. Well, we knew they were down there. Wonder if they took all the loot.”

“If they did the statues scared them off. I’m sure some of them are enchanted to attack if we get close.”

“What’s the plan then? Hit one and draw back? I can try to bash them up but my flail is not enchanted and they could be pretty hard.”

“They don’t look like good Golems. Why don’t we change up our formation? How about—”

The corridor full of stone statues was still as the adventurers conferred. The deadly stone golems frozen in place did not move. They awaited their victims. When something finally triggered the spell to activate them, the stone statues moved at once. They surged to deadly attention—

“Hiyah!

Jelaqua’s flail smashed the first one in the face, cracking the crude stone and sending fractures down the body. She immediately whirled and struck another of the statues that had come to life. The humanoid things reached for her but she was already moving back. Her flail whirled, striking repeatedly as a flaming, spectral Corusdeer slammed into another statue.

“[Sticky Webs]. Ah, what a lovely spell.”

More of the Golems found themselves caught in a barrier as Typhenous poured on the webbing. Behind him Halrac calmly shot one statue with an arrow using his [Piercing Shot] Skill and watched it crumble. He waited as the other adventurers fought. Behind Jelaqua, Seborn flicked out of shadows, cutting at the golems and chipping away their bodies and jumping away. The adventurers weren’t doing much damage and the Golems were pushing out of the web. One punched Jelaqua in the chest and his fist cracked. The Selphid grinned.

“I didn’t feel that! This armor is good! Hey Moore, your turn.”

The stone statue raised another fist and a giant hand engulfed its arm. Moore lifted the statue up with a groan and hurled it into its fellows. The adventurers heard a crack and then the half-Giant waded forwards. He brought his quarterstaff down like an avalanche on a statue’s head, swung a vine and thorn-covered fist into a second, and backed up by Jelaqua and Revi’s Corusdeer, began smashing the rest.

It was a brisk fight. It might have been a bad one but for Moore. The stone statues were relentless, but the half-Giant had the strength to break each one to pieces while the others covered him. By the time the last statue lay in pieces on the ground, Moore was sweating, and dusty. Jelaqua offered him two stamina potions which the half-Giant gulped down.

“Amazing work, Moore.”

“That was impressive.”

Typhenous blinked around at the statues. Moore had crushed the one nearest him by swinging the thing into the dungeons’ wall repeatedly until it broke. Typhenous looked back at Halrac.

“Well, it seems these traps are getting simpler. Or am I simply becoming more naïve in my old age?”

Halrac shook his head.

“As traps went that wasn’t bad. It would have been a bad fight if we’d picked it alone. Only Revi’s summons and your spells would have done any work.”

“And I suspect most adventurers armed with a warhammer aren’t as adept at fighting eight stone golems at once. Ah, yes. I see your point. But we have emerged victorious and to the victors go the spoils. I don’t suppose there’s even a chance these ones are safe, are they?”

“Don’t touch them.”

Typhenous nodded. The remaining pedestals did indeed hold wonderfully beautiful necklaces and jewelry, but all six Gold-rank adventurers would have rather gone back and fought twice as many stone golems as touch them. They were too inviting.

“I’m positive they’re cursed. How do you want to transport them? Should we?”

Typhenous peered at a necklace set with a huge diamond and tsked unhappily. Halrac reached for his belt.

“I’ve an empty bag of holding. Push it in here. Unless Revi can use her summons?”

“Stuff that idea! I don’t want to lose one to a cursed artifact!”

In the end, Halrac nudged each cursed ornament into his bag of holding, after Typhenous and Moore had decided  they weren’t going to explode on being handled, of course. The adventurers took a rest in the destroyed corridor and nodded to each other then. Jelaqua grinned.

“Now isn’t this a welcome surprise? Actual progress! And look at that entrance! I wonder if we could excavate it, maybe find a real shortcut into the dungeon? Because we know exactly where we are now. What do you think?”

“Maybe don’t give monsters an alternate route in.”

“True. In that case we need to shore up the wall. Damn. That’s a lot of work. A project for today, you think? We’ve already explored two more sets of rooms which I’m sure will be full with traps the next go around. And we have treasure! If we can get it disenchanted those jewels and the gold will go for something.”

“True.”

Both teams knew they’d done a good day’s work. They’d earned money—deferred, true, but a good amount with the cursed loot which might not be cursed if they were extremely lucky—and gotten to a new part of the dungeon. A wise team would do just what Jelaqua had said and resume untrapping the dungeon before proceeding. However…

It was Seborn who gave voice to their thoughts. The [Rogue] lifted a flask of water and drained half of it.

Let’s go a bit farther. See what else we can find. We’re all in good shape.

The other adventurers looked at each other. No one said it. But they were all thinking of what Seborn had told Erin. The other Silver-rank teams. The unspoken accusation.

Cowards. The Halfseekers looked at each other. Griffon Hunt turned to Halrac. He nodded.

“Another room.”

The adventurers got up and headed down the corridor in higher spirits. They came to an opening to their left, inside of which was a huge, circular room. It was vast, a half-dome with an extraordinarily flat floor. While the walls and ceiling of the domed room looked weathered by time, the floor was perfect.

Too perfect. And while there was a door on the far side, the adventurers weren’t about to try crossing the floor to get to it.

“This is clearly a product of bad dungeon making. Look at the walls and ceiling! They might have fooled adventurers centuries ago, but whoever enchanted the floor didn’t think to account for the decay of stone and moss and lichen and so forth.”

Typhenous shook his head sadly as he peered at the floor. Halrac nodded. He stared at the door on the far side.

“What kind of trap are we looking at here, Seborn? Classic pit trap?”

Something to do with the floor. Want to see what happens?

The Halfseekers enjoyed setting off traps. Griffon Hunt did not, but Halrac respected the idea. A trap could be deadly, but not knowing what it did could be just as deadly. He nodded.

“Everyone stands up the corridor. We trigger it and get ready to run. Agreed?”

Let’s do it.

Seborn waited until the others pulled back, and then found a good chunk of the stone statues. He lifted it, nodded at Halrac, and hurled the stone into the center of the room. It bounced off the suspicious floor and tumbled a bit. Halrac watched it with narrowed eyes.

“No good. Looks like the trigger’s something else. Revi?”

“I don’t want to lose a summon!”

“You only lose your ancestral spirits permanently. What about the Corusdeer?”

“I won’t be able to call on it for a week if the spirit is destroyed!”

“Good enough. Summon it.”

Revi cursed but did as Halrac asked. The [Scout] leaned back as the flaming spirit cantered down the hallway. Seborn, to whom fire and dryness were doubly unwelcome, moved further back. The Corusdeer walked slowly into the center of the dome as Revi crouched by them, controlling it and frowning. The summoned creature pawed at the ground and nudged the stone.

“Nothing. Do you think it’s a trap that reacts to living things?”

“Could be. Or it could be that the trap’s activated by the door. Can you—?”

“Got it.”

The Corusdeer walked over to the door. It lowered its head and butted the door a few times. Halrac waited, his breath held in his chest. The Corusdeer awkwardly scraped its antlers against the door, and then Revi made it bow its head. The handle was a lever and the tall deer’s horns pushed against it gently. Halrac heard a click—

And the floor disappeared. Halrac jerked back as the Corusdeer plummeted, its fiery body falling into the depths. That wasn’t surprising. He’d expected something like that. What was surprising, what made Halrac shiver and Seborn curse and Revi panic was what they saw below.

The half-dome was a huge room. Large enough to hold Erin’s entire [Grand Theatre] and then some. It was also a pit trap. And it went down a long way. But that wasn’t dangerous. Not to a good Gold-rank team or even a decent Silver-rank one. And the dungeon architects had to know that. So they had put something else in there. Something that looked up and sensed the prey above them as the Corusdeer fell into their nest.

Halrac had the best vision. He was standing closest to the newly revealed pit. And the Corusdeer was still falling. He saw it fall down, down, and down past huge webs, past gigantic scuttling shapes that turned and looked up. Halrac stared down a mile of darkness as the Corusdeer fell past a Shield Spider the size of a house, past a giant spider twice as large as Erin’s inn, past thousands, tens of thousands of smaller Shield Spiders, down, until it landed on a web. Instantly, hundreds of smaller shapes smothered the blazing deer, tore it apart. Halrac stared at the spiders as they all looked up. Straight at him. And then they began to scuttle upwards in a silent rush.

“It’s a lair!

Revi screamed. Seborn tossed a bottle down and Halrac saw the explosion kick off a dozen spiders from the walls. There were several thousand for everyone that fell. He had an arrow in his hands. He was loosing it before he could think. He shouted desperately.

“It’s a lair! A monster lair! It’s part of the damn dungeon!”

“What? What?

Jelaqua charged down the corridor with Typhenous and Moore. Halrac was too busy loosing arrows and retreating to explain. But it was all clear. The huge, spiraling pit. The traps which were easy—a bit too easy. And the monsters who’d been given time, thousands of years in fact, to reproduce. To grow to unnatural sizes.

The Shield Spiders were here. The Face-Eater Moths had probably been in another trap like this one. And now they were coming out. Halrac’s arrow took the first giant spider that crawled out of the pit and sent it falling back down. A horde followed. And after that came tens of thousands more.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.29

It was passing strange. A curious phenomenon. An odd thing. Headscratcher couldn’t describe it. He had been a warrior for six years, a Goblin’s lifetime. He had fought monsters far more terrible with his tribe, survived adventurer attacks and climbed the treacherous High Passes all his life. He had faced down great challenges with his tribe, following the back of his hero.

Garen Redfang, a Goblin hero. And all his life Headscratcher thought he had known what strength was. He had leveled. He had become an elite among the strongest tribe of Goblins. Or so he had believed. But only now, over a hundred miles from his home, cut off from all but four of his fellow warriors, having lost his brothers in arms did he feel as though he was changing.

Growing stronger. Headscratcher looked down at his hands. Large hands with jagged fingernails. Clean fingernails, though. Erin insisted he wash his hands before every meal. Absently he chewed at them. Yes, it was strange.

This inn was a soft place. Full of too much food, too much niceness and…and safety. It was not a place Headscratcher would train a warrior in. And yet, and yet—he felt stronger. Stronger than he had ever been in his life. For the first time in the seven years he had been alive, Headscratcher’s belly no longer rumbled when he slept. He, a Hob, was full and didn’t have to worry about what tonight’s meal would be or how much of it there would be.

And he had leveled. So had Badarrow, Numbtongue, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater. They had leveled defending the inn, surviving all these cold months away from their tribe. They had become Hobs. And now, in this soft inn, Headscratcher felt something in him hovering on the brink of change.

It felt like a gap in his chest. A wide, vast, mysterious feeling waiting to be set free. And his head! Sometimes it felt like Erin had cut the top off and exposed a new world to Headscratcher. A wonderful, strange, frightening, cruel, joyous world. Headscratcher stared at his hands and wondered what he would become. He was not afraid. He wanted to be more. To be like his hero. He wanted to protect his tribe, this inn—

And his friends. Headscratcher looked up. Badarrow was lounging against a window, fiddling with his shortbow. It was small in his claws. Too small for the Hob he’d become. Next to him a box of bright yellow flowers bloomed. The [Archer] Goblin pretended to be staring out into the rain, but Headscratcher was sure that Badarrow was smelling and looking at the flowers.

The rasp of a stone moving down a blade’s edge made Headscratcher turn his attention to the Hob sitting across from him. Shorthilt was sharpening his blade, carefully maintaining the edge. He was engrossed in his work. It seemed as though he could sit there and maintain his weapon forever. It wasn’t in preparation for battle. It was just something the Goblin enjoyed doing in quiet.

Peaceful. That was a word Headscratcher had not known before coming here. He looked to his left, at Rabbiteater. The Hob wasn’t doing anything. He was sleeping at his table. Just sleeping. But he looked so content with that. Sleep was a luxury to Goblins. Rabbiteater’s ears twitched slightly as he dreamed without fear.

Tok. Tok.

Headscratcher heard a slight sound and looked up. He didn’t see Numbtongue, but the sound he heard, the sound of a claw striking the chords of a guitar, was impossible to miss. He stared towards the door leading to Erin’s basement and knew what the other Hob was doing.

He’d stolen the guitar Erin had bought. Again. No one had noticed but Headscratcher’s stomach still knotted up with worry thinking about it. But the sound that came from the basement weren’t just the random sounds of someone that didn’t know what they were doing. The rhythm of Numbtongue’s claw striking the chords was replaced by a note.

The Hob played a note, a single soft sound that only the Goblin’s sharp ears could hear. It wasn’t anything like the music they’d heard once, the beautiful sounds. But each night, whenever he could, Numbtongue would hide in the basement and play notes, laboriously learning each hold on the guitar to make different sounds. Recreating from memory what he’d heard.

Not a [Warrior]’s task. Not something that was useful. But something that was good. Headscratcher closed his eyes as he heard another soft sound. And his heart—he knew it would be soon. He would level. And what would he become then? When he dreamed of battle, he only felt rage. All-consuming. He would throw himself into battle before another of his comrades died. In battle he was fire. But here—

It was peaceful. Just for a moment. Then Headscratcher’s ears twitched again and he listened to the two Humans talking. They sat at the table. How curious they were too. He had been sent to kill Erin Solstice, but now he guarded her inn. He had thought of leaving a hundred times. And he would. But for now he rested under her roof. Until they returned back to the dungeon. Until they risked their lives for more treasure. Headscratcher thought of the strange white cloth, the bell, the necklace, and his claws twitched reflexively. Soon. But just for a moment longer he listened to Numbtongue play. He could die later. For now, he wanted to live.

 

—-

 

“There it goes again! See?”

At their table, Lyonette and Erin watched Mrsha’s ears twitch. The Gnoll was closing her eyes as she let both young women comb her fur with brushes. But every now and then her little ears would twitch as she heard something. The other two couldn’t hear a thing, but watching Mrsha react was as amusing as anything else. And it was a distraction.

Erin was worried. She tried not to be restless. Everyone else was lounging around. The Goblins looked content, she was distracting Mrsha by brushing her, and Lyonette was doing the same. Apista waggled her antennae as she ate her honey in a bowl. Everything was quiet as the rain poured down outside.

But Erin couldn’t hold still. She felt worried. The adventurers were in the dungeon. Six teams in all. She hadn’t heard anything from them. It had been an hour—no problem! They could be down there for hours. But she felt worried. Why couldn’t she keep tabs on their progress? Why, yes, why did she have to sit here and worry?

“I should get an artifact.”

“Excuse me?”

Lyonette looked up. Erin gestured distractedly.

“An artifact. You know, like a book that can receive [Message] spells? Or a monitor. A big board on the wall where I can see any [Messages] people send me. Or what about a scrying orb? Would those work in the dungeon? Something so I know what’s happening at all times.”

Mrsha stirred a bit. Lyonette stroked her head.

“Erin, something like that would cost a fortune.”

“So I’ll have to earn a fortune. I could do it! We’ve got a good amount of gold saved up from the plays!”

“Which we had to spend to buy new chairs and tables. And dishes. And cutlery. Never mind that Wall Lord Ilvriss paid a fine. You have employees now, food expenses…and you paid for all those glass windows. We’re not earning that much money. And if the Drakes boycott us—”

“Yeah. I know.”

Erin sighed, feeling her stomach clench unpleasantly. She frowned.

“I don’t get why they’re doing it. Of all the things to get mad about! I’ve done way worse things! I think.”

“But the play had a Drake marrying a Human.”

“So? I have Hobgoblins living under my roof.”

“I’m sure they’re not happy about that. But the play—look Erin, Drakes and Humans sometimes get along, but marrying each other? There’s a reason why most Human cities don’t have any Drakes in them and vice versa. Even Liscor, a border city, has a lot of Drakes who hate Humans.”

“But they have Drakes who like Humans.”

“Yes, Erin. But think of it like this. Liscor is next to Human lands. They’re liberal compared to most Drake settlements.”

“…Ah.”

“And marriage really gets people upset. Back at home there was a couple I heard about. A young [Lady] who married a half-Elf. A mob nearly tore both of them apart before they fled. The parents of the [Lady] disowned her and hired assassins to kill her.”

Erin looked appalled.

“Their own daughter?”

Lyonette nodded.

“Better to kill their daughter than let them marry the enemy. This could be a real problem.”

“I’m not going to ask the Players to change Jasi out for someone else! That’s not right!”

“Well…”

Erin heard the meaningful tone in Lyonette’s voice. It said that Erin was making a mistake. The [Innkeeper] crossed her arms and had another thought.

“I just hope those Drakes don’t come back for more trouble tonight! If they do I’m gonna get Headscratcher and the other Hobgoblins big clubs to keep order!”

The Goblins looked up. Lyonette winced.

“Can’t you stop them from fighting without needing force?”

“You mean with threats? That’s what the clubs are for.”

“No, I mean, with your Skill! You have [Inn’s Aura], don’t you? Why didn’t you calm everyone down with that?”

“I tried!”

Erin protested indignantly. She paused and frowned.

“I tried. I mean, I think I tried. I’m pretty sure it didn’t work because of Ilvriss. And because everyone was so mad.”

“Oh. I guess your aura couldn’t handle the crowd. Or Wall Lord Ilvriss cancelled it with his own.”

“Wait a moment. He can do that?

Erin sat up. Lyonette nodded. She scratched behind Mrsha’s ears as the Gnoll listened drowsily to the adults talking.

“[Lords] can do that. They have aura Skills, just like anyone else. It’s more impressive you can do anything against him.”

“I remember him trying to pressure me once. Crap. I mean—”

The young woman bit her tongue as Lyonette pointed at Mrsha. She adjusted her vocabulary.

“You know about auras, Lyonette?”

“Maybe. I do have…expertise in the matter.”

“Uh huh.”

The two shared a meaningful look. Erin knew that Lyonette knew that she knew that Lyonette knew that Erin knew…something. About her being a [Princess]. She put her hands on the table, grateful for something to occupy her nervous thoughts.

“Okay, lay it on me. Anything I should know about my Skill? I can’t believe none of these things come with an instruction manual.”

“It would be nice. Sometimes a Skill or class has a secret to it that only a few people know. Auras are rare among most classes, so you don’t hear of them much. Noble classes, leaders, sometimes [Mages]…it’s rare even for them. I can’t remember hearing of an [Innkeeper] with an aura, but it is confined to your inn so it makes sense. Although that’s odd too.”

“What is?”

People have auras, Erin. Inns, objects, generally don’t. Actually, everyone probably has an aura of some kind. But a Skill lets you manipulate it. Still, anyone can learn to resist most aura effects.”

“Right, right. I think I get it from watching Ilvriss. Or Zel, maybe.”

Lyonette looked sadly down at Mrsha who’d stopped smiling.

“Yes. Zel did have an aura, I think. He might not have been trained, but it would have made him look more…impressive. You can imagine it. A shining [General] leading an army.”

“What about a [King]?”

“They could have auras they make other people kneel to them. See them as shining figures. Or make them afraid. I hear that some royalty have auras so powerful that people kneel before them as they pass.”

“Wow. Could I do any of that?”

Lyonette laughed. Erin looked hurt.

“Hey! I have a Skill!”

“Yes, but you don’t know how to use it, Erin. An aura expert can make their aura visible or even use it as a shield for their body. You can terrify people with it when you’re mad. But you don’t practice.”

“Well, I can practice now. Let me try!”

“If you want. But auras aren’t something you can master overnight.”

“I bet I could stop a fight if Ilvriss wasn’t here.”

The [Princess] shook her head.

“Erin, auras work on the unprepared. I don’t have a Skill, but I doubt you could get yours to work on me. Not if I tried to resist it. Maybe you’d have been able to a few days ago. Now? No.”

There was a newfound confidence in her eyes as she looked up. She wasn’t insulting Erin—rather, she was explaining. Erin smiled.

“But I could practice, right?”

“You could. And I could teach you how to use your Skill on purpose rather than unconsciously.”

Lyonette smiled. She patted Mrsha on the head and stood. The Gnoll looked up curiously. Erin smiled and noticed Headscratcher poking Rabbiteater awake. They had an audience.

“Okay, what do I do first?”

“Get mad.”

“Mad?”

Mrsha reached up and Lyonette scooped her up into her arms. The Gnoll snuggled against her chest as Erin frowned. Lyonette nodded.

“Get angry. Use your emotions. Concentrate—an aura is something you focus like any part of your mind. Focus on what you want to do. Pressure me with your will.”

Erin tried. She reached into the core of her being, searching for…something. The force? A magic power inside her? She gritted her teeth.

“Okay, here goes. I’m getting mad! I’m pumped! I’m focusing my energy!”

“You don’t…have to say it out loud.”

“It helps! Okay! Here goes! Mad, mad—table flip! Getting really angry! I’m awakening my warrior instincts! You can’t stop me! This is not my final form! Graaah!

Erin raised her arms and shouted, trying to push against Lyonette. The [Princess] and Mrsha stared at her wide-eyed as Erin shouted. In the silence, Erin lowered her raised arms.

“I feel silly.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

The sweet reply made Erin blush. Lyonette sighed as Mrsha smiled, looking not the least bit discomforted.

“Erin, you know how to use your aura. You’ve done it before. Don’t make a show. Just…project your authority. Remember when you used it?”

Erin thought back to when she’d been sitting across from the [Innkeepers] from Celum. Or when she’d yelled at Safry and Maran. She paused.

“Oh.”

This time, Headscratcher and the Goblins didn’t see Erin move. She didn’t make any flashy gestures or say anything. Her brows simply furrowed and when she raised her head, her gaze was—

Something changed in the inn. Headscratcher heard the sound of Numbtongue playing softly below stop. Mrsha looked up. Badarrow looked up and uttered a Goblin curse. Suddenly, the air felt heavy. Headscratcher got up and staggered. He tried to take a step and felt slower, as though something was weighing him down. The other Redfang Warriors exchanged glances.

Erin glanced at them. Her gaze wasn’t angry, but it was focused like the edge of Shorthilt’s sword. She looked intense. She watched the Goblins get up, feeling at their bodies.

“Can you move?”

They could. The Redfang Warriors tried running, vaulting over tables, punching each other. All of these actions were possible and it wasn’t as if they were slowed, but everything took more energy. Headscratcher couldn’t put all of his strength into his hands. He glanced at Erin, impressed. Fighting in her inn would be dangerous! And then he saw Lyonette.

The [Barmaid]—or rather, former [Barmaid]—was standing in front of Erin, looking a bit pained. In her arms Mrsha was squirming uncomfortably and whining. Lyonette took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She did nothing visible either, but when she opened her eyes they had that same, focused look. And something changed.

Headscratcher could see her body relax as the invisible pressure dissipated around her and the Gnoll. But only around them. Amazed, he tried to copy her, but he had no idea what she’d done. Erin glanced at Lyonette and smiled.

“Cool. Okay, I’ll be Ilvriss and you be me. Do you want to put Mrsha down?”

“She’ll be fine.”

Lyonette’s held Mrsha confidently. Erin nodded and frowned harder. Headscratcher felt the weight on his shoulders increase. He sensed something in the air around Erin, a localized disturbance as her aura grew stronger. It concentrated on Lyonette. But the [Barmaid] didn’t move. She met Erin’s eyes and stood tall. Erin stared at her and Headscratcher felt the aura in the inn, her will pushing at Lyonette. But the young woman refused to give in.

The two locked gazes and something clashed in the air between them. The Redfang Warriors watched, holding their breaths as the silent battle went on for seconds, and then minutes. The pressure Erin was exuding was powerful. But it seemed that whatever she tried, she was unable to pressure Lyonette like the others. The young woman stood before Erin, not backing down. And at last Erin had to admit defeat.

“You’re good! Whew!”

The intensity in the air vanished and the sense of conflict evaporated as she sat at a table. Lyonette sat with her and Mrsha hopped out of her arms. The two young women shared a glance. They’d fought, not physically but in another sense. Erin got up and fetched cups for the two of them. She offered Lyonette some wine and the [Princess] accepted. Erin poured her a glass and Lyonette raised it. They touched glasses and smiled.

“Thanks.”

“The experience helped me too. I’ve never done that against anyone before. Not successfully, anyways.”

Lyonette sipped from her cup and shooed a curious Mrsha and Apista away. Erin nodded. She was about to ask Lyonette for more tips—could she use her aura to turn her hair golden and make it stand up, for instance? And then the door to Liscor burst open.

Erin!

Drassi stood in the doorway, breathless, panting. She was covered in rain—she wasn’t wearing her cloak! Erin turned and her sense of calm vanished.

“What?”

“Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers have found a Shield Spider nest in the dungeon! There are tens of thousands—hundreds of thousands! They’re attacking!”

“Oh no. No, not again!”

Lyonette gasped in horror. She rose as Erin leapt to her feet. The Redfang Goblins instantly rose.

“Are they hurt? Are they retreating?”

“I don’t know. That was the first [Message] that came through. I ran to get you—the guild sent a Street Runner to summon Watch Captain Zevara and Olesm!”

Erin strode towards Drassi and hesitated. She turned.

“Shield Spiders. A nest. You mean like the Face-Eater Moths?”

“Yes! What do we do? Are we going to be under attack again?”

Lyonette had grabbed Mrsha. She looked frightened. Erin felt terrified. But beneath her sudden panic, a cooler part of her took charge. She glanced out her windows, looked through the door to Liscor at the rainy streets and shook her head.

“No. This won’t be the same. Lyonette?”

“Yes?”

“Get to Bird. Tell him what’s going on. Then open the door to Celum. Warn Octavia, tell Wesle and send a Street Runner to let Celum’s Council know what’s going on. And then get back here.”

“Should we leave Mrsha in Octavia’s shop?”

Erin didn’t have to think.

“No. She’ll be okay here. But warn everyone just in case. Tell Pallass too. Headscratcher—”

She whirled. The Redfang Goblins had grabbed the weapons they’d stolen from the Raskghar. Shorthilt had his sharpened blade at the ready. Erin nodded.

“Stay here. I’ll come back if there’s more trouble or we need you. For now, secure the inn with Bird. Got that?”

They nodded. Rabbiteater rushed down the basement stairs to grab Numbtongue. Erin turned towards Lyonette.

“It’ll be fine this time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure. I’ll go to the Mage’s Guild. You let everyone know, but don’t start evacuating. The threat’s not to us. It’s to the adventurers.”

So saying, Erin looked at Drassi. The Drake didn’t need an invitation. She turned and pelted through the streets, Erin following at a run. The Drake ran as fast as she could, but she didn’t exactly have Ryoka’s training. And she kept babbling worriedly.

“Oh Ancestors, what are we going to do, Erin? It’ll be the Face-Eater Moths all over again! Do you think Pallass will send reinforcements? What about Celum? Why are there so many monsters?”

“We’ll be fine, Drassi!”

Erin had to slow or wipe out on the slippery cobblestones. She slowed to a jog as Drassi ran just in front of her. The Drake wailed.

“How do you know?”

“Because we’ve done this before.”

Erin answered with confidence. She felt it. There was a certainty now in her chest. Drassi stared at her side-long as they ran.

“Really? That’s it?”

“Yes. We’ve survived one disaster. And we have experience.”

Experience. That was the key. Erin had survived Skinner. She’d survived fighting Regrika, Gazi, the moths, and Goblins. Each time she’d learned something more. She was no [Tactician], but she’d fortified her inn. Bought healing potions and other alchemical weapons. She pointed up.

“It’s raining. Liscor is flooded. The Shield Spiders have only one way into the city and that’s over a bridge that can be cut. They’ll never reach the inn or Liscor’s walls. Maybe they can build webs and float? Either way, it won’t be the same as last time. The adventurers in the dungeon though are in danger. How long has it been since they reported the attack?”

Drassi gasped for air as she slowed further.

“Six—eight minutes? I ran here the instant I heard the [Message] come in! Like you told me!”

Erin nodded. She’d offered Drassi the chance to sit in the Mage’s Guild and gossip all day long in case an adventurer sent a [Message] in. She ran towards the Mage’s Guild and saw Drakes running through the street towards the Guild as well. Zevara, Olesm, Ilvriss—Erin let them go in first.

It wasn’t the same. Liscor couldn’t fall to the same disaster twice. Each time something bad happened, each time there was an attack, they grew. Erin grew. That was the point of leveling. And this time, Erin swore, she’d do all she could to bring back her friends safely. But that was only assuming they were still alive. She raced into the Mage’s Guild, while rain poured down from above. And below there were spiders.

 

—-

 

“Fall back! Fall back!

Halrac shouted the order as Shield Spiders poured out of the massive shaft that had been converted into their nest. The mile-deep vertical drop was filled with their nests and the spiders, sensing light and life above, swarmed upwards in an unending torrent, intent on consuming all that lay above.

It was a trap. Halrac cursed and loosed two arrows that exploded, sending the first wave of spiders fleeing in burning agony. But more came after. He nearly ran into Jelaqua as she charged forwards.

“Back! We need to form a barrier!”

He roared at her. Jelaqua hesitated, but then raced backwards as Moore and Typhenous reversed direction. Revi sprinted past them, screaming and swearing and Seborn flickered into view, a moving shadow.

“There’s hundreds of thousands!”

“Dead gods!”

“Typhenous, Moore , put up a barrier! Buy us a minute. Revi—”

“Give me time!”

The [Summoner] was already raising the instruments of her trade. Pieces of fallen monsters encased in amber and more precious, ornate talismans manufactured from fallen Stitch-People. Ghostly warriors appeared behind her as Revi summoned them one by one. But the Shield Spiders were already pouring up the corridor full of destroyed statues. Halrac loosed another arrow, watching the explosion barely faze the spider horde.

“Typhenous?”

The [Scout] glanced over his shoulder. Typhenous’ face was concentrated. The spiders were closing. Ten feet, five feet—Jelaqua whirled her flail and Seborn braced. Then the [Mage] pointed his stave. A loud booming voice spoke at the same time he did.

“[Barrier of Thorns]!”

“[Flame Wall]!”

Moore and Typhenous cast the spells almost at the same time. A wall of thorns erupted from the ground as the first Shield Spiders scuttled forwards. The dense brambles engulfed the first group of spiders, making the second wave crash into the branches. Surprised, the spiders tried to climb for a second—before a burning wall of flames burst into life. It ignited the thorns, the spiders, and made the living ones screech. Halrac heard and saw the spiders crash against Moore’s barrier, but it held.

Three living Shield Spiders had been quick enough to escape being caught in the wall of thorns. They were all about the size of sheep, huge, horribly large spiders with armored carapaces and terribly sharp pinchers. One reared up to bite. A pair of glowing daggers sliced its head off. The other two dashed forwards and Halrac’s arrow went straight through the first at close range. A pair of spiked flail heads crushed the other in a single blow. The spiders twitched and fell still.

“We have a minute at best before the barrier fails.”

None of the Gold-rank adventurers wasted time exclaiming. Moore peered at his flaming wall of thorns, glancing back at Typhenous.

“Good spell. I thought you were doing webs?”

“Not against spiders.”

Typhenous grinned. Halrac stared past the flaming barrier. The Spiders were attacking it despite the intense flames. He looked around. At times like this, everything slowed. The idle banter, the sound of the spiders cracking the sturdy brambles, the feel of the bow in his hand—all of it crystallized. He looked around and saw the other Gold-rank adventurers were in the same state of mind. They didn’t speak normally, but in a rush that merged together, somehow making sense.

“We saw hundreds of thousands—”

“Big nest?”

“Illusory barrier. Lost my Corusdeer—”

Send a [Message] spell to Liscor warning them.

“Already on it. Plan of attack?”

“Has to be me. My armor—”

“Containment’s key. Can you hold if they rush you? If they knock you off—”

“I’ll cover her with arrows if larger ones appear. We need to narrow the corridor. Killing field.”

Push them back to the pit. What about creating barriers? More walls of fire?

“Do that. Revi, your summons will screen Jelaqua.”

“How do we want to do this? Push with warriors? I can use my trump spell—”

“Hold it, Typhenous. Don’t exhaust yourself. Smaller spells until we push them into the pit. Moore—”

“My staff will do the work.”

“Leave the big ones to me. Seborn, guard Jelaqua.”

Got it.

“Alright. Go!

The conference had taken about thirty seconds. The Shield Spiders were already breaking down the flaming barrier when it vanished. A huge spider nearly as wide as the corridor reared up, surprised. Halrac aimed and loosed. The Phoenixflame Arrow he’d chosen was expensive. The flaming head penetrated the Shield Spider’s body and then the enchantment activated. Like a phoenix, the arrow exploded into flames bursting the spider’s body like a bubble of soap. The adventurers charged with a roar as the Shield Spiders rushed forwards.

Here we go!

Jelaqua was first into the waves of Shield Spiders. Her body was wreathed in flame, her flail swinging. The spiders were all around her, but the Selphid’s flail tore through them, smashing spiders, spinning, hitting and striking in every direction countless times per second. The Heartflame Armor burned as the Shield Spiders tried to bite Jelaqua. But their mandibles and legs glanced harmlessly off of her fiery body. Not off of an object, but deflected by the magical flames themselves. Jelaqua spun, her flail bashing a spider’s head, tearing another one’s eyes away. Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike—

“Contain them!”

The corridor was wide. Too wide for Jelaqua to hold it alone. Her flail couldn’t even stop all of the ones trying to push past her. But the adventurers were equal to that. Another barrier of thorns burst out of the walls beside Jelaqua, halving the corridor’s width. Moore grunted as he swept his staff like a broom, sending a wave of spiders flying back over Jelaqua’s head. Typhenous set both barriers alight and then there was a choke point. And behind Jelaqua, Seborn and Revi held the line.

“Go! Kill the damn spiders!”

Revi shouted at her summoned Stitch-Warriors as she shot glowing missiles of light from her wand. Her spells were weak—they sent a few Shield Spiders reeling backwards as the magical arrows cracked their armor or burnt their eyes away, but their armored carapaces usually deflected her spells. The summoned warriors were a different matter, however.

Eight glowing figures formed a line of steel and magic behind Jelaqua, cutting off both ends of the flaming barrier Moore and Typhenous had set up. They did not flinch from the flames and moved in tandem. They cut, sliced, kicked, and stabbed every Shield Spider that got past Jelaqua, moving tirelessly, holding the line.

And behind them, a shadow flickered between the gaps, slicing any Shield Spider that managed to pass the summoned warriors. Seborn had neither Jelaqua’s reach nor spells, but his blades were sharp enough to slice a Shield Spider in two and he attacked from the shadows, always catching the spiders by surprise.

“[Light] spells.”

Halrac grunted as he shot an arrow past Jelaqua, catching a Shield Spider as tall as she was and piercing its small brain. Typhenous threw a ball of light up, illuminating the dark corridor. Halrac nodded. He didn’t need the light, but the warriors did. Now the Gold-rank adventurers could see each of their foes. They moved forwards, Jelaqua the tip of their spear. And the Shield Spiders began to be pushed back.

They filled the corridor. Thousands of them, trying to scuttle on top of each other, small ones, large ones—the offspring of centuries of breeding in the darkness. They could overwhelm a city. The giant ones in the pit might be able to cut a tower in two in a single bite. But the Gold-rank adventurers took not one step back.

No one had said retreat. No one had suggested it. The corridor was right next to the nest, but it was the perfect place to hold. And they were adventurers. They might not have faced this threat before, but they were equal to it.

“I’m wading through spiders here! We need to push!

Jelaqua shouted as she moved forwards. Her flail was striking hard and fast, but the spiders were literally flooding the corridor. Piling up on each other. Soon they’d be too thick to crush and if that happened she would be born down. Her armor might allow her to survive that, but the other adventurers wouldn’t.

“Typhenous!”

“My trump card?”

The white-haired mage turned to Halrac, his staff aglow with magic. Halrac shook his head.

“Fireballs first! Give me five! I’ll hit them with burst arrows!”

Typhenous nodded. He raised his staff and Halrac selected a Lightningstrike Arrow from his quiver. He aimed, waited. A [Fireball] flashed from the tip of Typhenous’ staff. Revi covered her eyes and Jelaqua turned, sensing the movement. The fireball struck the mass of spiders in front of her.

Halrac felt the kick in his chest. He heard a roar, saw pieces of Shield Spiders fountain upwards in flame and smoke. He aimed past the explosion and loosed. His arrow sped past Jelaqua and hit another clump of spiders.

Lightning boomed. Revi, Moore, Seborn, all couldn’t hear it. The ringing in their ears remained at the same pitch. But they saw the spiders blast apart. Jelaqua had been hit by the blast too. She staggered, shook her head, and shouted though no one could hear her.

“Dead gods that’s loud!

Neither the flames nor electricity had touched her through the enchantment. She saw another fireball flash towards her and flinched reflexively. But as it landed among another group of Shield Spiders she felt only the slightest nudge that knocked her back a step. Another arrow blew the Shield Spiders to bits.

“Forwards! Forwards!

Jelaqua turned her head. She couldn’t hear Halrac but she could see him pointing. She grinned and charged.

The Shield Spiders were limitless. They were ravenous. But they were not fearless. Nor were they stupid. As three more fireballs and arrows blew the oncoming horde to bits, the Shield Spiders retreated. The noise, the heat, the death was too much. And the flaming Selphid that charged them was invincible! They retreated back into the pit. And the adventurers pressed forwards.

“Revi, Seborn—kill the ones at our backs!”

“Dead gods, this is disgusting!”

The Stitch-Girl hung back, blasting the Shield Spiders that had survived the blasts with her wand as her summons covered the Gold-rank adventurers’ backs. Halrac, Typhenous, and Moore pushed forwards. Halrac kicked a Shield Spider aside as he ran towards Jelaqua. She was knocking Shield Spiders off the ledge, her flail moving.

“Jelaqua! Jelaqua!

The Selphid spun as the other approached. She raised one hand to her ear.

“What? I’m deaf! I think the blasts damaged my ears!”

Halrac cursed as he realized the problem. The other Gold-rank adventurers had paused to pour healing potion down their ears which had helped them regain their hearing. But Jelaqua’s body was dead.

“Stand back!”

He motioned and Jelaqua sprang back. Halrac stepped away as her flaming armor nearly struck him. Jelaqua shouted.

“I can repair the eardrums! But I need a minute!”

“Okay!”

What?

Halrac turned his back on her. The Shield Spiders were swarming back down the tunnel but he could see giant ones crawling up from below. The mother spiders weren’t as afraid of fire and they were coming up, squashing their offspring. He didn’t know if they could widen the dungeon corridor with brute strength. And he didn’t intend to find out.

“We’ve got them pushed back. Typhenous, Moore. I’ll shoot down any spider coming up. Give me your best spells. Typhenous, use your trump card.”

The old [Mage] grinned as Halrac began shooting spiders down from the ledge. He raised his staff and the crystal on top began to glow brightly. He looked up at Moore.

“Do you have a Tier 5 spell, Moore?”

“No. I can use [Thorn Spray] to clear out the spiders.”

“Do that, then. Halrac could use the help. I will prepare my opus.”

The half-Giant nodded. He pointed his staff down and a rain of wooden thorns as large as Typhenous’ hand shot downwards like hail. They perforated the first rank of spiders that swarmed up the ledge. The second shower was equally devastating.

Typhenous ignored the violence below. He raised his staff which shone even brighter. The Spiders rushed upwards and a giant one three times as large as Moore approached, ignoring the thorns and Halrac’s arrows alike. It did not seem to realize the danger.

Typhenous’ eyes began to glow as the magic energy in him reached a critical point. He pointed his staff down and a gentle smile crossed his face. The grandfatherly mage stared down at the spiders and whispered the name of his spell.

“[Valmira’s Comet Storm].”

In the dark shaft, there was light. Not the faint glow of a [Light] spell, but true light. Searing. Intense. The Shield Spiders far below looked up as something fell from above. Something bright which burned and hurled the first giant spider downwards. Vaporizing, crushing. It fell, a bright nova which burned through the darkness.

A comet. It struck one of the giant spiders, crushing its front two legs. The giant behemoth tried to hold onto the wall but the impact and flash of magic knocked it off. It fell, taking thousands of the smaller spiders with it. The crunch as it landed on the floor was like thunder; the spiders around it swarmed the giant, devouring it, ignoring the twitching legs. The rest of the spiders still headed up. They did not realize what was happening. But then the second comet fell.

Jelaqua was still. Motionless. She looked like she’d passed out on her feet, but that wasn’t true. It was just that her body, her real body was in the head of her vessel, busily trying to repair the shattered eardrums. It wasn’t easy. True, she had a lot of material to work with since the body was fresh, but repairs weren’t something she liked to rush. Still, hearing was important so as soon as she thought she’d restored most of her hearing she reconnected herself to her body’s nerves.

Just in time to see the flash and hear the explosion. Jelaqua raised her flail instinctively and saw that it was damaged. The spiked heads of her two-handed flail were horribly dented and the chain linking them to her handle looked like it was fatigued. It would break. Swearing, she tossed it aside and reached into her bag of holding.

“I need a damn enchanted flail! At least I have spares.”

She pulled out another one and strode forwards. Moore, Halrac, and Typhenous were standing at the edge of the pit. But none of them were moving. Jelaqua reached forwards and realized she was still on fire. She quietly hissed and the flames on her armor went out.

“What’s going—”

She stopped as she saw a comet fall. The burning, blazing ball of light was magic, blue and green and red and purple surrounding a white core. It had weight, though. It fell and blew apart a group of Shield Spiders retreating down the cavern. Typhenous’ eyes blazed as he conjured another comet and hurled it down. This time it struck one of the mother spiders. Jelaqua saw the mother’s face vanish and the dead spider fell, curling up reflexively before it struck the ground.

“Dead gods.”

The Selphid whispered as Typhenous continued to call comet after comet out of the air. The attacks were slow, but where they struck, the Shield Spiders just…vanished. Halrac nodded. He reached for a stamina potion and drank half roughly before handing it to Jelaqua. She accepted it and drank. The [Scout] watched her hurl the bottle into the pit.

“That’s his trump card. We used to use it against Griffin flights when outnumbered.”

“It’s Tier 5?”

“Tier 5. His best spell. One of the reasons why Ulrien and I wanted to hire him so badly. As Tier 5 spells go, it’s apparently one of the better ones in the world.”

“I’d believe that. Tier 5. Moore doesn’t know a single one. Where’d he get the spellbook that taught him that?”

The next flash illuminated Halrac’s face. He glanced at Typhenous—the [Mage] didn’t hear him or Jelaqua. His eyes were glowing with magic as he shaped each comet.

“He never said.”

“Could have used that on the moths.”

Jelaqua leaned against the wall. Halrac shook his head.

“No. They’d swarm him because of the light. He has to form each comet close to him. And they could probably dodge some of the attacks. They’re slow.”

“Moths like light. But I get your point. How do you get it to work on Griffins, then?”

“Trade secret.”

Jelaqua left it at that. She felt the adrenaline running through her host body and adjusted the glands to stop it. The battle was over. She began checking the Drake body she was inhabiting for stress fractures, damaged muscles, and so on. Moore sighed heavily and leaned on his staff. Sweat and spider blood covered his face.

“How long will Typhenous’ spell last, Halrac?”

“A few more shots. He might be able to cast a few spells after that.”

Halrac watched Typhenous, keeping an eye on the pit. After a while Revi and Seborn came over.

“He’s doing the spell? We got them?”

We’ve cleaned up the Shield Spiders here. A few small ones might have escaped.

Halrac nodded. Typhenous gasped as the last comet flew downwards. He sagged and both Halrac and Revi caught him.

“Easy, Typhenous.”

Revi offered him two potions, a stamina potion and a mana potion. Typhenous reached for the mana potion first. His hands shook a bit with fatigue. All the Gold-rank adventurers congratulated him. Jelaqua slapped Typhenous on the back.

“For an old guy you’ve got spirit! Wish we could contribute like that!”

“Your armor really let us cut those damn spiders off. As for the threat—”

Halrac glanced into the pit. Typhenous’ comets had wrought havoc among the spiders. But there were far, far too many hiding below for his comfort. He grimaced.

“We’ve pushed them back. I doubt they’ll make an attempt for the top for a while. But there’s no way we’ll be able to descend without clearing them out.”

“Not a task I’d relish performing alone.”

Typhenous grimaced as he took a swig from the mana potion. Seborn nodded as he gazed down.

Clearing them out will be a difficult task. We could try poison. But the important part is making sure the spiders don’t escape up here. We’ll have to seal the entrance.

“That’s our job. Moore can shift dirt and we can use the caved in part of the dungeon. Excavate some stone, seal it up.”

Jelaqua flexed her arms, and the other Gold-rank adventurers nodded. Typhenous took a few deep breaths.

“All worthy tasks. Still, we do have a captive audience. I feel as though I could hurl a few more fireballs down there.”

“Don’t tax yourself. Depleting a monster nest isn’t an overnight job. And now that we know there’s one shaft like this…I’d bet that if we tried another route into the dungeon we’d run into another shaft. The one the Face-Eater Moths came from, perhaps.”

Revi made a disgusted face.

“You think that’s the way the dungeon is set up? Horde style?”

“It makes sense. How else do you explain two mutually antagonistic monster populations thriving down here? They have to be separated from each other. Not to mention fed somehow.”

Halrac looked at the others and got reluctant nods. Jelaqua’s tail twisted through the Shield Spider blood and remains.

“Wonderful. But hey, we did it! Not much to salvage here with all the bits, but—”

She turned and gave the others a wide, toothy Drake grin. Revi’s scowl turned into a reluctant smile, and even Halrac had to nod.

“We did do it. The Adventurer’s Guild owes us a bounty, I think.”

“Our first mass-slaying bounty for clearing the dungeon. Think they even know what that is?”

“We’ll explain it to them repeatedly.”

The others laughed at Revi’s comment. All the tension they’d been feeling drained and they took another look into the pit. Revi stared dreamily at the huge Shield Spiders clustered at the bottom out of range of any further comets.

“Look at those huge spiders. If we could poison one and somehow get to it with the body intact—Typhenous, I could summon one of them! The mana cost would be insane, but just think of it! Halrac, Typhenous, do you think…?”

“Anything for you, my dear.”

Typhenous stroked his beard. He tapped his staff and a fireball appeared.

“But let’s save collecting monsters until we’ve thinned the nest a bit more, shall we? Not that it appears we need to do more work. There’s far fewer of them left than I thought—my comets must have been aimed well!”

Moore looked up.

“I’m receiving multiple [Message] spells from the Mage’s Guild in Liscor. They want to know how many spiders are down there. They’re threatening to cut the bridge if we don’t respond.”

“Hah. They’re probably panicking. Let them know it’s alright, Moore. I don’t fancy swimming back to Liscor.”

Jelaqua was inspecting her damaged flail to see if it was worth hauling back to be reforged. Halrac was still staring into the dark pit. His eyes narrowed.

“Hold on. Someone pass me a torch.”

“Here.”

Seborn pulled a torch out of his bag of holding and Halrac lit it on the fireball Typhenous had conjured. He hurled the torch down into the pit. The flame became a speck that none of the other adventurers could see as it landed among the spiders. But Halrac’s eyes picked out something and he cursed.

“Moore! Send a [Message]!”

The half-Giant had a finger to his temple. He looked up sharply.

“To the Mage’s Guild?”

“To the Silver-rank team if you know their [Mage]! If not, have the Mage’s Guild relay it! And tell the Silver Swords the same thing! We didn’t kill nearly as many Shield Spiders as we thought. They fled. Into the dungeon!”

“Aw, heck.”

Jelaqua grimaced. The other Gold-rank adventurers looked at each other and shook their heads. They’d stirred the nest and subdued it, but the cost was agitating the Shield Spiders. They’d fled Typhenous’ comets and now they were flooding into the dungeon. They might run into other monsters and traps and that would be good. But there were adventurers down there. Halrac looked at the others. True to his nickname, his face was grim and resigned.

“Warn them. That’s all we can do. They’ll have to handle it. We need to seal this entrance off. Let’s get to work.”

The Gold-rank teams nodded. They allowed themselves a moment longer to enjoy their victory, and then they got to work. They could hear the spiders moving far below, a vast rustling sound as the ones capable of squeezing into the tunnels drained out of their nest and into the dungeon.

 

—-

 

The mood in the Mage’s Guild of Liscor was tense. Erin stood behind a gaggle of Drakes besieging the front desk. The nervous [Mage] on duty was not ready to have Watch Captain Zevara, Olesm, and Ilvriss demanding answers of him from all sides. Especially when he didn’t have any to give.

“I’ve cast the spell eighteen times, Wall Lord, Watch Captain! The mages must be busy!”

“Request another status update.”

Ilvriss glared at the shrinking Drake.

“Wall Lord, I did—”

“They can at least spare the energy to tell us whether they’re retreating or whether the spiders are moving out of the dungeon!”

“Wall Lord, I cannot force the [Mages] to respond. I only know what they’ve said.”

The Wall Lord stared at the [Mage] and then turned.

“Very well. Watch Captain, what is Liscor’s status?”

“Prepared, Wall Lord. I have already given orders to my men on the walls and I’ve concentrated everyone on the north and eastern walls. We’re ready to cut the water bridges the instant we see Shield Spiders.”

Zevara didn’t blink. She folded her arms and Ilvriss backed down slightly. From her position at the back, Erin thought she could feel him pull back his aura. Yes, now that Lyonette had mentioned it she thought she could feel the Wall Lord trying to use it to take command! But Zevara was equal to the pressure because she didn’t blink.

“I have command of the walls and Olesm assures me an assault on Liscor will fail, even if twice as many Shield Spiders crawl out of the dungeon than the moths. There is too much water. And Shield Spiders don’t swim.”

“Then we must simply worry about what will happen when the rain stops.”

Zevara nodded slightly. Olesm looked between the two and coughed nervously.

“I think the Gold-rank teams can hold them off. It’s rare that lower-level monsters can overwhelm a good team and there are two currently fighting.”

“Understrength teams. Both have lost members. Although I agree with Swifttail’s appraisal. But they have not responded. Mage, tell them that I am requesting a report—”

Erin heard pounding footsteps and turned. She saw the Mage’s Guild doors flung open. Embria and two of her [Captains] strode into the room. The Wing Commander looked furious.

“Why was my command not informed about an attack on Liscor?”

The other Drakes stared at her. Erin saw Zevara turn her head. Olesm closed his eyes. She audibly heard Zevara whisper.

“Festering scale sores, I forgot.”

Embria advanced and the Drakes in front of her cleared out of the way. She nodded curtly at Ilvriss, and then Zevara. But it was Olesm she looked at.

“What is the situation, [Strategist]?”

Olesm straightened and saluted. His tail wagged nervously although it wasn’t visible by anyone but Erin and Drassi who were watching from the side.

“Two Gold-rank teams report a massive infestation of Shield Spiders in the dungeon, Wing Commander! They claim they’ve discovered an artificial nest containing hundreds of thousands of them! Large Shield Spider mothers similar to the Face-Eater Moth colony that assaulted Liscor. They speculate that the dungeon is a horde-style vengeance dungeon!”

“Horde style? Vengeance dungeon? I’m unfamiliar with these terms.”

Embria glanced uncertainly at her [Captains]. Olesm bobbed his head.

“These are adventurer terms, Wing Commander. It refers to a dungeon constructed solely to eradicate trespassers and damage intruders, rather than test them or safeguard treasures. It is considered the most malignant dungeon type. Horde style dungeons rely on massive monster nests rather than advanced traps or other features, although they may have multiple forms of protection.”

“I see. In that case I will instruct my men to deploy to the walls in case the spiders breach the dungeon.”

Embria raised a claw and Zevara spoke up.

“Not necessary, Wing Commander. I already have my people on the walls. I would appreciate your soldiers holding back until called for.”

Embria paused. She locked gazes with Zevara.

“My [Soldiers] would bolster your Watch, Captain Zevara.”

“I have no doubt, Wing Commander Embria. But this is my city.”

Zevara held her gaze until Embria nodded reluctantly. Erin whistled under her breath. She felt bad for the Watch Captain; Zevara had to deal with both Ilvriss and Embria all the time. She thought Embria was about to ask another question when the forgotten [Mage] gasped. Instantly all eyes turned back to him.

“They’ve done it! Moore of the Halfseekers reports that the Shield Spiders failed to push back their teams! They halted the advance and greatly damaged the nest with a Tier 5 spell! They’ve taken no casualties and are preparing to seal the nest until they can return to it!”

A sigh rose around the Mage’s Guild. Erin felt the tension in her chest ease and saw Drassi’s eyes sparkling. The news would spread around the city the instant the Drake left the Guild. Ilvriss nodded.

“Adequate. Ask them for an estimate of the spiders and—”

“Wait.”

The [Mage] interrupted the Wall Lord. Her eyes flicked rapidly as she held one purple-scaled claw to her brow. Then her eyes widened.

“We have an immediate request! Someone send a [Message] spell to Gemhammer’s [Mage] or The Pride of Kelia’s [Shaman]! The Shield Spiders are retreating into the dungeon and it is Halrac the Grim’s assessment that the other teams may come under threat!”

Some of the other [Mages] on duty immediately raised claws to their temples. Ilvriss looked around, frowning.

“A threat to the other teams? But not to Liscor?”

“Doubtful. The only other entrance we know of is through the underwater rift. We’re still safe.”

“What about Liscor’s Hive?”

“What about it?”

Olesm cringed as the others stared at him.

“Well, they did suffer an attack when the Face-Eater Moths attacked Liscor. It may be that their Hive will be assaulted again.”

Ilvriss dismissed this with a flick of his claws.

“A few Shield Spiders burrowing through the walls of their Hive isn’t a threat worth informing the Antinium over. Let them be.”

“Yes, Wall Lord.”

“As for the other teams—well, their survival is to be hoped for. But it seems this crisis has passed.”

“It does. For us. I’ll request a meeting with both Gold-rank teams when they return.”

Watch Captain Zevara adjusted her belt, looking visibly more relaxed. Erin watched both her and Ilvriss leave the Mage’s Guild. She didn’t feel any less tense. And when a [Mage] looked up and gasped, it was Erin who pushed her way through the crowd.

“The Pride of Kelia’s [Shaman] has replied! They have received the warning but cannot currently retreat! They are under attack!”

“From spiders?”

Everyone’s mind leapt to the same conclusion. But the Drake was shaking his head.

“No. A smaller group of monsters—”

Where? And what monsters?”

Erin interrupted the gaggle of Drakes. The [Mage] looked irritated but he replied.

“Not Shield Spiders—no. They’ve been engaged with a band of Raskghar for the last hour! Apparently they’ve been fighting just below the rift. They do not intend to retreat, but they claim the enemy has magical armaments. I’m awaiting another update.”

“The Raskghar have magical weapons? That makes them a lot more dangerous. They’re intelligent, and I have every reason to believe they’ve been hunting adventurers. Guildmistress Tekshia should be warned about this threat.”

Olesm muttered to himself as he scribbled on a piece of parchment. The other Drakes weren’t really listening. The threat to the adventuring teams was a low priority and most of the crowd had dissipated to relax now the crisis was over. Embria stormed out of the Mage’s Guild growling about being kept out of the loop. Olesm’s mind was still racing, though.

“I wonder if the Silver-rank teams can handle them. And why weren’t the Silver Swords and the Horns of Hammerad warned? Wait—they didn’t go into either entrance. Do you think they’d be willing to comment on these new developments for me, Erin?”

The Drake waited for a response, but none came. After a moment he looked up.

“Erin?”

She was already gone.

 

—-

 

“Captain! Liscor says there’s a Shield Spider nest being stirred up somewhere in the dungeon!”

What? Who the fuck cares about a nest! Tell them we’re a little busy over here!”

An arrow flew over Earlia’s head, nearly grazing her helmet. She ducked and shouted at her group’s [Gem Mage]. The man was hiding behind a shield and wasting his time on [Message] spells. She pointed.

“Stop chatting with the Drakes and cast some magic!

She saw the man in front of the mage holding the shield stagger. Nothing had struck his shield. Nothing visible at any rate. But Earlia knew from the burning pain in her shoulder that the invisible arrows the Raskghar with the bow were firing were powerful indeed. Another arrow struck the shield bearer in front of her from the side and she saw an arrow sprout from his leg. He screamed and nearly dropped his shield.

“Don’t you dare lower that shield! Shield your faces!”

Earlia screamed at her team, grabbing another healing potion. She yanked the arrow out of Timgal’s leg and heard him scream. Ruthlessly, Earlia poured the healing potion onto his leg. The potion was a good one—it would neutralize the poison as well as heal the wound.

“Not barbed. Thank the cities.”

“Do not falter! Take cover if you are wounded! Focus on the one with the enchanted bow!”

Nailren bellowed as he tossed another explosive vial of alchemist’s oil at the Raskghar. The flames made them howl in fear and panic and pull back despite the urging of their leaders. Earlia spotted the huge Gnoll in armor waving a maul and pointed at him. Then she saw a flash. The slim [Swordswoman] who’d joined the fight raced into a pack of Raskghar. She heard them howl in pain and saw them fleeing. Earlia grunted.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Whomever it is, they have a death wish. There are too many Raskghar out there!”

The Gnoll Captain followed the masked woman as she dodged and wove among the Raskghar. His prediction of death didn’t come true; the mysterious fighter was adept at striking the Raskghar and fleeing or dodging backwards before they could follow.

With her skirmishing in the shadows they could divide the enemy’s attention. Nailren shot another arrow at a Raskghar threatening to club down the strange ally from behind and then spun as he heard a roar. He growled and Earlia pointed. The armored Gnoll was charging!

“He’s coming! Ready the ropes!”

The huge Raskghar bounded forwards, the magical armor he was wearing shining as the Gnolls tried to hit his unguarded face. But the Raskghar was clever enough to shield his face with a gauntleted hand. With the other he charged the Humans with shields. He would have shattered them with his maul, but Earlia raced forwards with three of her companions. They tossed something at the Raskghar.

Rope. Just plain, sturdy rope. But it was attached to grappling hooks or looped. The Raskghar grunted in surprise as the adventurers split up. They ran past him, the ropes dragging around the giant beast. Too late he realized what they were doing. Entangling him! Trying to tie him up!

The Raskghar immediately swung his maul, forcing one of the adventurers with rope to roll away. But then Earlia was charging him.

“Let’s see you dodge this!”

She swung her warhammer with a roar. If she’d still been able to use her [Hammer Blow] Skill, she would have. The Raskghar blocked the blow with an arm and howled. Earlia felt the impact run all the way back down her warhammer. It hadn’t broken the armor but it had to have hurt to block. Tearing at the ropes, the Raskghar swung at her.

“Hold him steady!”

Earlia wanted to swing again, but the Raskghar tore free of the other two adventurers and stumbled backwards. The other axe and club-wielding Raskghar who’d come forwards with him fell back and the Gnolls who’d showered them with arrows before meeting them in a brutal melee fell back.

“Anyone wounded?”

“Cuska lost her thumb! The Raskghar bit it off!”

Nailren saw one of the Gnolls howling over a bloody appendage. He snarled and raised his bow. One of the Raskghar fell as it retreated. Nailren would have shot again, but his instincts made him duck behind the shield one of Gemhammer’s [Warriors] was holding. The invisible arrow glanced off the shield.

“Stalemate. Everyone, heal any injuries! Captain Earlia, we must break this situation before reinforcements arrive!”

“You’re reading my mind!”

Earlia took cover and downed a stamina potion, feeling the rush of energy fill her limbs. She glanced over the shield she was hiding behind. They’d been fighting for over an hour here, right at the entrance to the dungeon. It had mostly been an archer’s duel with a few bloody skirmishes. And so far it felt like they were winning.

“Miss Swordswoman! Over here!”

In the sudden lull, Earlia took the opportunity to shout at the woman who’d appeared in the middle of the fighting. The slim figure turned, her sword wet with blood. She tilted her head slightly as Earlia waved to her frantically. She strode towards them, ignoring the arrows flying past her.

“Dead gods, you must be insane! Are you Gold-rank? What’s your team? How long have you been down here?”

Earlia grabbed for the stranger, dragging her behind the wall of adventurers. She received a shock—the stranger was light as a feather! The masked adventurer didn’t respond. She nodded at Earlia, pointed at the Raskghar, and made a slicing motion across her neck. Earlia stared. Then she laughed.

“Works for us! Stick with our groups. We’re making a push!”

The woman nodded. Earlia looked around. They had the upper hand now.

The Raskghar were numerous. Strong. But they lacked magic. With two exceptions they were simply strong [Warriors] and both Silver-rank teams had the Skills and magical gear to even the odds. The real trouble was the Raskghar wearing armor who was difficult to kill and the one with the invisible arrows and enchanted bow. But so far Earlia’s team had beaten them back.

The one in armor feared to approach again lest he be caught by Gemhammer’s rope tricks. And the Raskghar archers were losing the duel of arrows for all they outnumbered The Pride of Kelia. Their stone arrows and cruder bows were no match for Gnollish recurves and composites. And the Gnolls could heal anything but a mortal wound with potions.

But the longer the fight wore on, the more the Silver-rank teams would be at a disadvantage. The only thing that gave them the edge were the healing potions. And Erin’s Scale Soup, which had allowed them to survive the Raskghar’s primitive arrows. Earlia looked at Nailren and got a nod. She tapped the man in front of her and he moved forwards. She shouted as Gemhammer pushed towards the Raskghar clustered down the tunnel in front of them.

“Advance! We need that armor or that bow! Don’t let them escape!”

Boldness. The Raskghar expected them to hold in face of their numbers. But the Silver-rank adventurers wanted that armor and that bow. Earlia led the charge and heard the Raskghar howling as they fell back. She saw the one in armor point and then smaller shapes with glowing red eyes filled the space between them. Earlia cursed.

“They’re sending the Goblins forward!”

The small Cave Goblins were fast, far weaker than the Raskghar, but deadly in numbers. Earlia swung her warhammer and felt the tip crunch into a Goblin’s head. She halted as her team began to cut into the Goblin’s ranks.

“Damn, there are a lot of them!”

“Watch for arrows!”

The masked adventurer danced past Earlia, her blade cutting through the air. She beheaded a Goblin, turned, slashed another one across the chest, and speared a third through the neck. She was quick! Earlia was a master of brutal, powerful blows. This stranger used light, swift cuts and relied only on her grace to survive. The two women cut a path through the terrified Goblins. Until Earlia heard a warning call from behind.

Captain! The Raskghar are retreating!”

“What!?”

It was true. The Raskghar had taken the opportunity given to them by the Cave Goblins to move back. She saw them turn and run as the Cave Goblins broke, fleeing before the adventurers and leaving scores of their dead behind.

“Why would they do that?”

It wasn’t like they were losing that badly. The not-Gnolls were bloodthirsty as any monsters Earlia had ever seen. Mystified, she looked at Nailren. The Silver-rank Gnoll Captain frowned.

“I hear howls of retreat. Of…of danger? I cannot tell. The Raskghar do not sound as we do. But they are retreating.”

“From us? You’re pulling my leg.”

“I am not, no. There is something else at work here.”

Earlia frowned. Her instincts were singing that this wasn’t good, but she wasn’t sure why. She looked back at her team and then at the bodies.

“I’m of the mind to pursue, but I don’t want to run into a trap. There’s a bounty on Raskghar. Let’s collect some heads first. Unless you object?”

“Not at all.”

Nailren grinned savagely. Earlia turned.

“Alright, set a guard and let’s get to collecting bounties!”

She saw the other adventurers in her team groan. They didn’t enjoy the gruesome task of hacking monsters apart to collect trophies they could turn into the Adventurer Guilds. The Gnolls just set to work with grim purpose, finishing off any monsters that moved.

“Miss Adventurer, care to join us? We’d be honored to share the bounty.”

The masked woman hadn’t moved since the Goblins and Raskghar had fled. She was staring into the dungeon. She jumped—literally jumped—when Earlia addressed her. She spun, warily. Earlia paused and gave her a friendly smile.

“How long have you been down here, Miss? We heard rumors there was someone in the dungeon. Are you part of the guild? We’re Gemhammer. That group of Gnolls is The Pride of Kelia.”

The adventurer tilted her head left to right, staring at Earlia. She didn’t respond. Her mask had neither breathing holes nor a place for her mouth. It looked crude, patchwork. But something shone in the eye sockets. A purple glow. An enchantment? Earlia hesitated. She felt…afraid. Just as quickly, the light vanished and Earlia’s nervousness vanished.

Had that been an enchantment? A Skill? Earlia bit her lip. Good form was to introduce oneself, but you got all kinds of strange adventurers in the higher ranks. In the lower ones too, but they tended to die off quick. She’d heard of Named Adventurers that acted like this. Could this woman be that good? No, she was probably Silver or Gold-rank. If she had survived down here, Gold-rank for certain.

“Will you join us? We’re collecting bounties.”

Again, the masked woman didn’t respond. Earlia wondered if she even understood. The Captain of Gemhammer knelt by a Goblin body and the masked woman knelt with her.

“Are you hurt? Do you need a potion?”

No response. Then the woman slowly shook her head. Earlia nodded encouragingly. She could work with this! She tried to chat as she got to the dirty work in front of her.

“I hate this part of the job. Collecting heads. Ears. At least they let us do ears for the Goblins. It’s not worth hauling around a bunch of heads—unless you have a bag of holding. And I don’t have the coin to buy one for my team yet. You know?”

The masked woman shook her head again. Earlia laughed.

“Close enough!”

Back to work. Earlia grunted as she knelt by a Goblin and fished a dagger out. Goblin ears weren’t worth much, but every bit counted when you were saving. She began to saw, cursing at the blood when she heard something. Earlia looked up.

“What’s that sound?”

She listened as the other adventurers looked up. Nailren, who’d already been frowning, shook his head.

“Not just sound. It’s a vibration. Something—”

Someone grabbed Earlia’s wrist. She shouted in alarm. The Goblin wasn’t dead! Earlia raised the dagger but the Goblin wasn’t trying to attack her. Its lips were moving. It gurgled a sound at her. Earlia paused.

“What?”

The Goblin repeated the word. It was in its tongue. Earlia shook her head.

“What’s that? Mercy? Sorry. I’ll make this quick.”

The Goblin twitched. It said another word. This one sounded like common. Earlia frowned.

“What was that? Say it again.”

“Wave.”

She looked up. Nailren was standing over her. He looked at the Goblin. Earlia felt a jolt of surprise as she realized it had died as she’d looked away. The Gnoll frowned as he bent over it.

“It said ‘wave’.”

“Wave?”

Someone laughed. But Earlia frowned. Wave? That was a strange word, especially for a Goblin to use. Especially one in a cave. It couldn’t have seen the ocean. The ocean was hundreds of miles from Liscor and the Floodplains had no tidal action, for all it was underwater. So how—

The masked woman had readied her sword when the Goblin moved. She had frozen when it spoke, but all of Earlia’s attention had been on the strange word the Goblin was repeating. But as Earlia spoke the word she reacted. She backed away from the Goblins and waved her hands. The other adventurers stared at her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

The masked woman was suddenly panicked. She waved her hands, pointed up at the ceiling, and then pointed frantically with her arms down a tunnel. Earlia tried to make sense of it.

“Wait! Slow down. What do you want us to do? Follow you? It’s too dangerous!”

The masked woman stared at her. She looked over her shoulder, at the Goblins, and then ran. She waved her arms frantically as she sprinted down a tunnel. All without a sound. Earlia ran after her.

Wait! Don’t go! What do you—

Too late. The masked woman vanished into the darkness. Earlia stopped, bewildered. What was that about? She turned to look back at the other adventurers. They were just as confused. But now they were afraid. The masked woman knew something they didn’t. Earlia saw one of the Gnolls glance up and perk his ears up. He glanced at his Captain and murmured softly.

“Nailren. The rumbling. It is growing louder.”

One of the Gnolls called out uneasily. Earlia looked up. The distant rumbling was growing louder. And she could feel it now, too. In her bones. A distant vibration. She felt uneasy and shifted. This was like an earthquake underground. She saw the rest of Gemhammer reacting the same way.

“You think this is why the Raskghar cleared out?”

“It must be. But what does the wave mean?”

Nailren looked around. He sniffed the air and then turned. The rumbling sound kept growing louder and louder. Earlia gestured.

“Team, form up. Whatever’s coming, I want to be ready.”

The adventures abandoned collecting trophies. They formed a wall in three directions, their back to the rift leading up. Earlia stared into the darkness. Now the rumbling was a physical sound. She felt her heart pounding. What was this? What was—

Nailren saw it first. He sucked in his breath and made a very un-warrior like whimpering sound. Earlia turned to him.

“What is it?”

“Spiders.”

He whispered the word. Earlia stared at him. She turned to the [Gem Mage] who’d received the [Message] and then to Nailren, uncomprehending.

“Spid—”

Then she saw it. In the distance, the black dungeon corridor suddenly turned into a rushing torrent of motion. A huge Shield Spider charged out of the darkness, pushing—being pushed by—a wall of spiders. They surged forwards, climbing on top of each other, scuttling forwards, crushing, devouring, burying everything in their way.

A wave.

The Silver-rank teams stared in horror for one second. Then Earlia moved.

Up, up! Climb for your lives!”

The adventurers ran for the rift. But the wave was closing and they didn’t have time to scale the rocky walls! The spiders were closing on them. A hundred feet, fifty feet—

 

—-

 

“You are terrible at this. I’m trying to be nice, but I can’t explain it any other way.”

Ceria glared at the Silver Swords. She was this close to firing an [Ice Spike] at Ylawes. She pointed angrily at the dented and battered suit of armor lying on the ground. Half of the visor was melted off and a huge gaping hole had been torn into its chest. The enchanted suit of armor was dead. Inanimate, rather. And the Silver Swords had done the killing.

Ceria was furious. She stood around the downed suit of armor, shaking with frustration as Yvlon backed her up. The Silver Swords stood on the other side while Pisces and Ksmvr hung back. Pisces was interpreting the tense scene for Ksmvr, who, as usual, was at a loss. She raged at the Silver Swords, trying not to shout in the confined dungeon.

“I thought you were going to help us! Instead, your team is a liability!”

“Watch your mouth.”

Falene frowned at Ceria. The older half-Elf looked peeved; her ears were twitching angrily. Ceria didn’t care.

“Watch my mouth? I’m speaking the truth!”

“Miss Springwalker, we are a Gold-rank team and we’ve been together for eight years. I would appreciate a bit of civility. We are not amateurs.”

It was hard to tell who was more annoyed, Ylawes, Ceria, or Falene. The [Knight] looked angrily at his sister.

“Yvlon, your Captain believes we are inept. Please talk some sense into her.”

Yvlon folded her arms and sighed.

“I agree with Ceria.”

The Silver Swords stared at her. Ceria grabbed at her hair. She stood in the dungeon’s corridors, not five turns from where they’d begun. They had made almost no progress in an hour. For one reason.

“See? We’re trying to tell you the truth!”

“Sister, your tone is beyond insolent. I do not wish to be lectured by—”

Falene’s sharp voice was cut off by a rumble from Dawil. He raised his hammer and banged it on the ground loudly.

“Oh shut up, you stinking half-Elf. Not you. Our half-Elf. Although both of you smell.”

Both half-Elves glared at the Dwarf. Dawil appeared not to notice. He looked at Ceria.

“Go on.”

Ceria took a deep breath and tried to be diplomatic. She failed.

“Okay, listen. Your team is Gold-rank. You’re good at fighting monsters. No one’s denying that. Dead gods, you might even be better than Griffon Hunt or the Halfseekers in a straight up fight.”

“Hah. I like how this is starting.”

Dawil grinned. Ylawes and Falene just kept frowning. Ceria sighed.

“But. You’re not a good team for a dungeon. You might be the worst team I’ve ever seen for dungeon diving, and that includes Bronze-rank teams!”

The Silver Swords gave each other incredulous looks. Ylawes coughed into his gauntleted hand.

“You’re exaggerating, surely.”

“Am I?”

Ceria pointed at Ylawes with a trembling finger.

“Every time you see a monster, you attack it! Or challenge it to a duel! In a dungeon filled with traps! You think the best way to get rid of traps is to walk onto them and hope you survive it!”

The [Knight] blushed a bit. Ceria pointed at Falene next.

“As for you—you think that [Detect Magic] is all you need to check for spells! And you won’t shut up when we’re supposed to be quiet! And you always have a snide comment! Even Pisces shuts up sometimes!”

“Why thank you, Ceria.”

Falene sniffed.

“I resent the comparison.”

Ceria nearly screamed.

“That’s what I’m talking about! As for you—”

She pointed at Dawil. The Dwarf blinked at her accusatory finger.

“Why does an [Axe Champion] have a hammer instead of an axe!?

A moment of silence followed Ceria’s last shout. She colored as she realized she didn’t really have anything bad to say about Dawil. But it had been bugging her. Dawil chewed on his beard for a moment and then fished at his belt.

“I’ve got an axe. Here.”

He raised an ornate throwing axe. Ceria stared at it. Dawil tossed it up and down casually and shrugged.

“I got my class because I won a throwing competition. Drunk. Got crowned as champion and got the class. I don’t like axes as much as hammers. I’ve got one good throwing Skill. That satisfy you, Miss Nosy half-Elf?”

“Yes.”

Ceria rubbed at her head. Dawil nodded.

“Then I think it’s time we headed back.”

Ylawes and Falene looked at him in shock. Ylawes protested.

“You can’t be serious, Dawil! You agree with her?”

The Dwarf nodded calmly. He looked at the other adventurers and rumbled.

“She has a point. Lots of good points, actually. We’ve never cleared a dungeon anywhere near as dangerous as this before.”

“We made good progress. We killed the suit of armor. And the Face-Eater Moth we found. And the pack of ghouls.”

“And nearly walked over an exploding rune trap. And the other one that took out half of my skeletons.”

Pisces sniffed. Ylawes paused, glanced at him, and then away. Dawil nodded.

“Face it, Ylawes. The only thing that kept us from walking on traps were all the [Necromancer]’s little toys that did it for us. None of us have trap finding Skills. More importantly, we don’t do well as a team.”

He glanced meaningfully at Ceria and she nodded reluctantly. It was true. Neither team got along well. They stepped on each other’s toes, argued…and she could tell that Ylawes was willing to admit that, if nothing else. The [Knight] looked frustrated. Dawil stroked his beard and then grinned before bringing up a final point.

“Plus, two half-Elves is worse than one. Stands to reason we’re not getting anything done. We barely functioned as a team with one pointy-earred git holding down the team. With two…let’s call it a day, lad. We can work out a way to solve things over a hot meal.”

He gestured back the way he’d come. This time Falene was the only one who glared. Ceria just laughed. Dawil shot her a sideways grin and Ylawes nodded, resigned.

“If that is how it must be, I suppose we have little choice. I had intended to make great progress, but—”

He broke off, shaking his head. In silence, the two teams trooped back down the corridor, passing by the patrol of enchanted armor they’d destroyed. Dawil paused to kick at one of the helmets.

“Not bad steel here. We could use a bag of holding. Claim the bounties on the moth and ghouls too. Worth a bit of coin.”

“Yeah. There’s that at least. You can have the bounty on the armor and moth. We’ll take the ghouls since Pisces snapped all their necks.”

Ylawes frowned.

“We should split it equally. We are a team, if in name alone.”

The headache that Ceria thought was fading sprang back into her head. She glared at Ylawes.

“Yes, but we didn’t do anything for the armor.”

“But as a team—”

Yvlon groaned and Pisces rubbed at his eyes tiredly as the two began arguing again. Ksmvr, watching the discussion and the way Falene slid herself into the conversation, tilted his head. His antennae twitched a few times and he turned. He clicked his mandibles a few times and raised his voice.

“Ah. I believe we are in danger.”

All the other adventures spun. They readied their weapons but heard nothing. Saw nothing in the darkness. Ceria looked at Ksmvr.

“You’re sure?”

“I detect vibrations down this tunnel. Something is approaching.”

Ksmvr paused.

Many somethings. At speed.”

Soon, the other adventurers heard it. Ceria swallowed as she felt the vibration in the stone walls.

“Tree crap. We should retreat for the entrance.”

“And be cornered? Whatever it is moves fast. We should hold our ground. See what we’re facing.”

Again, Ceria felt a severe disconnect as Ylawes planted his feet on the ground and raised his shield. Dawil raised his hammer, grunting.

“I’m with you there, lad. I don’t fancy being the last one in a race for the exit.”

“You may retreat behind us. We will wait here.”

Falene glanced at Ceria. The younger half-Elf glared back at her. She looked at Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr.

“Let’s see what it is. Pisces, can you send a skeleton forwards?”

“On it.”

The [Necromancer] pointed and the remaining pair of skeletons rushed into the darkness. They were unarmed, but the Raskghar made for imposing skeletons nevertheless. Ksmvr raised his shortbow and Yvlon raised her shield, taking the other half of the corridor. Ceria and Pisces lined up. She saw his eyes flickering as his skeletons rushed forwards and then he groaned.

“Spiders.”

“Spiders? You mean, the ones Halrac and the others warned us about?”

Ceria breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been concerned when they’d received the message about Shield Spiders, but if the Silver Swords were good at anything, it was a standup fight. But Pisces’ pale face made her think twice.

“It’s not one or two Shield Spiders. It’s a—a wall of them. They are coming down the passage. Tens of thousands. I recommend we flee. Now.

“A wall?”

The other stared at Pisces. He took a step back and pointed.

“Did you hear me? I said, run.

“From Shield Spiders? Even in number, they’re not a threat.”

Ylawes looked dismissive. Pisces colored, and then shouted.

“And if there are enough to bury you alive, you incompetent fool? I said there is a wall of them coming! Enough spiders to flood this tunnel from bottom to ceiling!”

He pointed up to the twelve-foot high ceiling above. Ylawes stared up.

“Ah.”

“That’s a lot of spiders. How fast’re they coming?”

Dawil looked ahead uneasily. The rumbling sound was getting louder fast. Pisces turned.

Quickly.

He began to run. The other adventurers looked at the fleeing [Necromancer] and then sprinted after him. Ceria felt the rumbling behind her enter her bones. She chanced a look over her shoulder. The light from her [Light] spell didn’t reach far back, but if she stared far into the distance she could see a lot of rapidly moving shapes…

“[Light].”

Falene flung an orb backwards as she ran. The glowing yellow ball of light illuminated the corridor, passed the broken pieces of armor and then—

Oh dead gods, run!

Ceria saw the spiders. They crawled over each other, a torrent, a sea of skittering legs, staring eyes. Small ones crawled forwards, crushed by larger members. And behind them pushed a massive spider as large as the corridor. It was rushing forwards like a bull. Ceria imagined tripping, being covered by the tiny spiders as they bit her before the larger one simply crushed her with its weight. They were so many. They could bury her alive just with their numbers. There was nowhere safe. Like Pisces said, they went from floor to ceiling.

And they were fast. Ceria picked up the pace and passed by Ylawes and Dawil and Yvlon. Falene was lagging at the rear while Ksmvr and Pisces and Ceria took the front. But only Pisces was outdistancing the Shield Spiders with his [Flash Step]. The rest were falling behind.

“We’ll never make it!”

Falene shouted at the others. They were four corridors away from the burial chamber, but it was too far. She spun, her robes flashing with magical symbols and planted her staff.

“We need not flee. I will use a barrier spell!”

“Falene!”

Instantly, the other two Silver Swords halted and ran back towards her. For an agonizing moment Ceria turned and saw Yvlon staring back at her brother. Then she halted.

“Pisces! Ksmvr!”

The two turned. Ksmvr immediately ran back, but Ceria saw Pisces hesitate. He looked back at the spiders, and at her and she met his eyes. Pisces whirled—and ran back.

“A spell?”

“Yes. Do not interrupt me. I will cast a barrier across the tunnel. It will hold the spiders.”

Falene was sweating as she raised her staff. She glanced over her shoulder at Pisces and Ceria.

“I would…appreciate any assistance you could give me.”

That was almost a plea coming from her. Ceria bit her lip. She wasn’t an expert with Tier 4 or Tier 5 spells at her disposal! She had one good spell, though. Ceria concentrated, drawing her wand and pointing it at the ground in front of her.

“[Ice Wall]!”

A wall of shimmering ice grew out of the ground. It stretched towards the ceiling, thin as a roll of parchment at first, then thickening as Ceria poured her magic into the spell. She saw Pisces raise his hands and point. A whirling mass of air formed in front of her wall, and then bones began to rise behind it, forming a crisscross pattern.

“[Wind Shield]. [Bone Wall]. This isn’t going to work.”

“Don’t tell me that now!”

Ceria poured her magic into the spell. Pisces bit his lip as the temporary bones he’d summoned out of the ground thickened. The ice and bones mixed into a solid mass. Ceria eyed it hopefully as the wave of spiders approached.

“It can hold! It’ll be four feet thick! Six!”

“That’s not enough. Falene’s spell will not hold either. The spiders are moving too fast and they are too heavy.

Pisces snapped back at Ceria. She saw the fear in his eyes and wavered. Falene cast a glance over her shoulders. It was full of pride, of scorn, and, Ceria’s heart lurched, beneath it all, uncertainty.

“I am a Gold-rank [Mage]. My [Force Barrier] spell will hold. I will pour all of my mana into it.”

She pointed. Behind the ice and bone, the air twisted as a barrier appeared. [Force Wall], a Tier 4  spell. Ceria stared at it hopefully. Pisces took one look and shook his head.

“Keep running. We have bought ourselves seconds at the price of minutes! We could attempt to go down that passageway there—find an escape.”

He urged the others down the corridor. There was a split ahead, a T-junction. Ceria gritted her teeth.

“We can’t go down that corridor! We’ll run right into a trap!”

“Then run back to the entrance! Hurry!”

“I am pouring my mana into the barrier. It will hold.”

Falene spoke in a half-trance. She refused to budge. Pisces swore and turned.

“Die if you wish! The rest of you, follow me!”

He turned and ran. Ceria hesitated for only a moment. But Pisces was right. And if there was any expert on spells she trusted—no, she trusted his cowardly instincts more.

“Go!”

Ksmvr and Yvlon dashed after Pisces. Ceria saw Ylawes and Dawil exchange glances. Dawil grunted.

“You keep doing your spell, Falene. Don’t mind us.”

He grabbed Falene’s arms and Ylawes grabbed her legs. The half-Elf barely reacted as they ran, Dawil carrying her over his head and Ylawes supporting her legs. The half-Elf spoke slowly. She was putting all she had into the spell.

“It will hold. Do not run. We will be safe. We will—”

The adventurers slowed as they passed the T-intersection. To the left, Ceria saw the dungeon stretching beyond. Unknown. She chanced a look, but it was too dangerous. She halted as she saw Pisces had stopped. Ksmvr was rummaging around in his pack.

“I will endeavor to help as best I can.”

“Too late.”

The [Necromancer] stared back to the triple-layered barrier. Ceria turned and looked too as Ylawes, Dawil, and Falene skidded to a stop. She knew they should keep running. But she couldn’t help it.

The mass of Shield Spiders came down the tunnel like a breaking wave. The spiders were insane with fear and anger. They didn’t care that there was a wall in the way. They smelled living things. And they were moving too fast. They hit Pisces’ spinning barrier of air, hit the wall of ice and bone, and hit Falene’s [Force Barrier] spell with a collision that made the ground shake.

Ceria felt her magic shatter as the wall broke. She cried out—from shock more than anything else. But she had only cast the spell. She hadn’t tied herself to it. Ahead of her she saw Falene’s eyes go wide. The half-Elf convulsed as bone and ice splintered down the corridor. Ceria saw spider chitin flying like shrapnel, saw a confusing mess of body parts and then saw the spiders.

They were still moving. Thousands had been crushed by the impact, but the giant spider behind them was intact. And as more poured forwards, they regained their momentum. The spider wave began charging again. Straight at the adventurers.

“Falene? Falene!

Ylawes was shaking Falene. The half-Elf was bleeding profusely from both nostrils and she’d bitten through her lip. Dawil cursed and fumbled for a health potion.

“She’s suffering backlash! We need to—”

“Drop her and get ready! They’re coming!”

Yvlon snapped at the two males. The Silver Swords turned. The giant Shield Spider pushed its smaller brethren as they charged. Down the corridor. There was only the corridor to the left now. But even if they ran, they wouldn’t make it. Ceria raised a trembling hand. She could cast a spell. An overcharged [Ice Spear] like last time. But even if she did—

“Everyone, it’s been an honor.”

Yvlon raised her shield. Her sword was steady as she eyed the oncoming spiders from beneath her helmet. Ksmvr was still fumbling in his pack, as if they had anything that would stop that many spiders. A [Fireball] wouldn’t do it. Five fireballs—they should have been shooting them from the start, not blocking!

Another error. If she’d been thinking she would have come up with it. Ceria closed her eyes. She looked at Pisces. He was standing still, his eyes on the spiders. He hadn’t drawn his rapier. It wouldn’t do much good anyways.

“You can still run.”

She looked at him. Pisces met her gaze. He had [Flash Step]. He could outdistance the spiders. Leave them behind. He glanced over his shoulder, back at her.

“That is true.”

He didn’t move. The spiders rolled towards them, and Ceria raised her skeletal hand. How had it gone? Maybe if she put everything she had into it. Maybe—

“Ah. I have found it. It is true that it is always in the last place I look.”

Ksmvr lifted something triumphantly. Ceria looked at him and wanted to laugh.

“Oh Ksmvr—”

He had a small, leather ball in his hands. A toy. It looked like one of Mrsha’s toys. Pisces’ eyes widened while Ceria turned away. At least Ksmvr tried. She saw the Antinium stride forwards.

“Allow me to help!”

“Ksmvr come back! Come—”

Yvlon shouted at him. Ksmvr was approaching the spider horde without fear. The Antinium tossed the little ball. Ceria watched it fly. Not towards the spiders. Left. Down the corridor. She heard it land softly, somehow, between the roar of the oncoming spiders. And then she heard the most terrifying, startling, horrendous shrieking sound she’d ever heard in her life. It was terrible, louder than the spiders, a sound designed to cause physical pain upon hearing!

And she had heard it once before. Ceria clapped her hands to her ears and saw Ksmvr run backwards, waving his three hands delightedly. The effect on the Shield Spiders was immediate. They stopped, slowed, rearing up, some rolling over, agonizing as the piercing sound reached them. It was coming from the little leather ball. The enchanted leather ball. The very one Ryoka had brought back from Invrisil.

An adventurer’s trick for luring monsters. The shrieking little ball rolled down the corridor. Instantly, the Shield Spiders turned to chase it. Ceria watched, mouth agape, as the living flood of spiders turned left and abandoned their pursuit of her team. Only a handful of spiders continued onwards, to be crushed by Dawil’s hammer and cut by Yvlon and Ylawes’ swords. The rest of the spiders chased the little ball as it shrieked and rolled forwards rapidly.

And then? And then the sound was muffled. The rumbling continued. But the spiders couldn’t turn back on their momentum. They flooded past the stunned adventurers, heading down the corridor into the distance. And then the rumbling was faint. And then it was distant.

And then there was silence. Ceria stood in the darkness, her heart pounding, drenched in sweat. She only closed her mouth when a tiny spider crawled into it. She spat and then looked at Ksmvr. He stood proudly in front of his team, in front of the Silver Swords and the comatose Falene. He looked hopefully at Ceria.

“Did I help adequately, Captain Ceria?”

 

—-

 

Earlia climbed up, hearing the roar of the wave of Shield Spiders behind her. She knew they were too slow. The spiders would climb up the walls! If they could reach the water they might be safe. But her team was tired, burdened by their armor. The Pride of Kelia might make it. Some. But the rest would die.

She didn’t weep. She didn’t give up. Earlia reached for another rocky handhold and screamed for her team to move faster, damn them. She saw something flash past her face and thought the first spider was coming. She reached for her dagger and saw something long. And light. And sturdy.

A rope. Water showered down onto Earlia as the rope dropped through the enchanted barrier above. She looked up. A rope had fallen. No, three. No, eight. The adventurers stared.

“Someone’s dropped ropes! What in the—”

Up!

Earlia let go of the cliff and grabbed the rope. She began to climb feverishly. The others didn’t wait to ask about the ropes either. They climbed. Just in time. The Shield Spiders swarmed up the rocky walls as the adventurers climbed up. They swarmed up the ropes. Earlia saw Timgal screaming, felt the water break over her head, reached back, and pulled him up. The Shield Spiders let go as they entered the water. The adventurers felt the ropes pull and they were moving up.

The way to the surface was so long! Earlia gagged for breath. She saw Timgal’s eyes rolling up and put a hand over his mouth and nose. She felt the blackness close in and then her head broke the surface. She felt rain pounding her, felt the rope dragging her up further still, heard screams and sobs and felt the first breath of air enter her lungs. She sobbed for air and then looked around.

A smiling young woman stood on a large boat crewed by Goblins. They heaved and grunted, pulling the other adventurers on board, hurling one of the dead Shield Spiders still biting Nailren back into the water. Erin grinned at Earlia’s stupefied face.

“Hello there! The Wandering Inn provides you with a Hobgoblin escort to and from the dungeon plus emergency rescue! And we have a boat. Three, actually. Want a lift?”

Earlia looked at her. She could have kissed the young [Innkeeper]. Or wept for gratitude. She settled for passing out.

 

—-

 

One last thing. Dawil was surprised after the stunned relief had ended that the Horns of Hammerad insisted on continuing exploring the dungeon. Or rather, he was only surprised until they explained to him and Ylawes their reasoning.

“We have a once-in-a-lifetime shot at this. The Shield Spiders did us a service. We can follow their trail.”

“You must be joking. This is a joke, isn’t it? One of the ones I never understand?”

Ylawes looked from Ceria to Pisces to Yvlon. But they were all serious. Yvlon explained to him as they tended to the unconscious Falene.

“This isn’t like rushing into danger, brother. The Shield Spiders aren’t a threat.”

“How is that the case?”

“They cannot move backwards. At least, a horde of that size cannot. Their momentum would not allow it.”

Pisces pointed the way the spiders had left. Crushed spiders, dead ones or confused stragglers from the pack littered the corridor. But it was true. The spiders had not returned. The [Necromancer] smiled smugly.

“You see, they are able to hunt with this impressive technique, but it has significant weaknesses. Unless they are able to loop backwards—which I doubt given the structure of the dungeon—they will continue forwards. And everywhere they pass will be much safer for us to travel than say, an unknown space.”

“Why?”

Dawil understood this one. Ylawes was a bit slow on the uptake when it didn’t come to being a heroic [Knight] or hitting monsters.

“Ah, because the nasty little things have sprung all the traps, haven’t they? And chewed up anything they find.”

“Exactly. We would have free reign to explore as it were. And following the Shield Spiders is a simple task at the moment. They have left an obvious trail for us to follow.”

Pisces smiled and rubbed his hands together. Ylawes looked at Falene with concern.

“I understand. But Falene is injured. I feel that I should retreat—as you suggested earlier.”

“She’s not in any danger. She just overtaxed herself. Let’s go just a few corridors and see what we find. Alright?”

The Horns urged Ylawes and he couldn’t easily protest. Dawil stared at the Silver-rank adventurers with a frown. They were a bit too eager to explore after they’d almost died. Still, he chalked it up to youthful enthusiasm and followed them.

The tunnels the Shield Spiders had gone down were uneventful. They’d triggered all the traps, and the adventurers noted the effects and locations of each by the corpses left behind. They quickly copied down the branching passageways, and then, as they reached the third intersection since following the spiders, Dawil saw another suspicious thing. He saw Ceria glance at Ksmvr and him nod ever so slightly down another passage.

“Why don’t we head this way?”

“But the spiders went that way.”

By this point Falene had woken up and was well enough to retort, although in a simple-minded fashion. Ceria grimaced.

“I think I heard something. Alright?”

The Silver Swords exchanged a glance. Dawil glanced up at Ylawes and coughed. When the [Knight] glanced at him, Dawil made a covert gesture that looked like he was stroking his beard. Ylawes nodded.

“If you think it is safe.”

“Yeah.”

The Silver Swords followed the Horns of Hammerad down the corridor and came to a surprise. A gap in the sturdy dungeon walls. They stared at the gap. It led into the earth. Ceria’s eyes widened.

“What’s this?”

Dawil glanced at Pisces who looked suitably impressed. Ksmvr he couldn’t read, but Yvlon was a terrible actor. The Horns insisted on exploring the tunnel of course, and the Silver Swords weren’t about to object. They followed it, passing down a corridor filled with…

“Pit trap. Boulder trap. Ooh. This will collapse the tunnel on us if triggered remotely.”

Ksmvr walked forwards, taking point. The Silver Swords edged by all the deadly traps built into the dirt tunnel. It was not part of the dungeon. Nor had it been built by the original architects. Dawil was a poor Dwarf when it came to traditional things like building and smithing, but he was sure of that. His eyes locked on Ksmvr’s back and narrowed. He followed the Antinium until the corridor widened. Ksmvr stepped out into a wide space, already raising his hands. Dawil followed, swore, and tried to back up.

Too late. Ylawes bumped into him. The [Knight]’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and he reached for his shield and then froze. Falene looked around.

“Oh my.”

They were standing in a large room. A chamber from which three separate tunnels entered. It was not a dead end though. A single tunnel led through this spot. But to get to that tunnel…Dawil stared at the barricades of stone and dirt. He stared at the dead monsters, piled up. The Shield Spiders riddled with arrows. Crude arrows, but hundreds could be fired at once. He stared up at the silent Workers standing in alcoves.

“One, two, three…twenty…”

They were lined up on three sides, facing inwards so whomever was funneled into this spot would be assailed on all three sides by arrows. Behind the stone barricades, giant Antinium Soldiers waited, ready to engage anyone who made it that far. And behind them…

An Antinium sat at a table. He was not a Soldier. Nor was he armed. He had what looked like a book in one hand and he had been reading. Dawil stared at the Worker as he slowly got up. The Worker opened his mandibles a few times as he stared at the Horns of Hammerad, all of whom had shocked faces and had raised their hands, and then at the silent Silver Swords.

 

—-

 

Belgrade slowly closed the book he was reading and stared at the intruders. Not monsters. Intruders. Adventurers. From the dungeon. He stared at Ksmvr. He stared at the Silver Swords. He looked around at the very conspicuous Antinium fortifications. He looked around. Anand was off-duty. Klbkch was above, dealing with a potential crisis. Belgrade couldn’t exactly gulp, but he could click his mandibles. Which he did.

“Oh dear. This could be problematic.”

 

—-

 

“The Antinium have a route into the dungeon. An entrance underground.”

Ilvriss stared hard at Pisces. The [Mage] shifted in his chair and smiled.

“So it would seem. A quite efficient kill-zone. I observed a score of traps. And I believe it is three entrances into the dungeon if the tunnels were any indication.”

He watched Ilvriss exchange a swift glance with Zevara and Embria. The Watch Captain and Wing Commander had joined this little interrogation session in the Watch barracks. Well, interrogation was a strong word.

If Pisces had any thoughts on the issue of betrayal, it was his fascination with what the word constituted. Betrayal. What was the line past which no sins could be forgiven? Was selling secrets that much of a trespass? Surely, putting personal gain above the needs of the group was objectionable, but that was what every individual did. What was the difference between selling a small secret and a large one?

After a while, Watch Captain Zevara spoke.

“We were aware that the Antinium had suffered an attack from Face-Eater Moths during the assault on Liscor. But we assumed they had burrowed through the earth.”

“And your assumption was clearly wrong. The Antinium have ever had a way into the dungeon. Longer, perhaps, than the entrance has existed aboveground.”

Pisces smiled. He put his fingertips together as the Drakes exchanged another look full of meaning and worry. How he did enjoy moments like these. He could practically see the thoughts playing out among them and he couldn’t help but nudge them along to some inevitable conclusions.

“Of course, the Antinium have a vested interest in securing their Hive. It would be unthinkable to imagine they were not aware of such a large underground structure, is it not?”

“So they knew. They knew and unleashed the dungeon on the city.”

Pisces rolled his eyes as the red-scaled Drake made a fist out of her claws.

“No. Wing Commander Embria, I believe it is quite the opposite.”

“Explain.”

Ilvriss fixed Pisces with a stare meant to frighten. The [Necromancer] gave the Drake his smuggest smile in return, noting the way Ilvriss looked disgusted.

“It is quite a simple conclusion, Wall Lord. The Antinium never tried to disclose information of the dungeon, did they? In fact, it was only after the dungeon was ‘discovered’ that they offered their services. Always to help. And they came to the defense of the city quite readily.”

“Their aid could have been seen as slow during the Face-Eater Moth attack.”

“Only because their Hive was actively under siege! No, Wall Lord. I believe the Antinium were entirely helpful in their assistance to Liscor. After all, without Gold-rank adventurers and Liscor’s support, they would never be able to claim the dungeon’s riches for themselves.”

The Drakes sat up as Pisces dropped the obvious clue into their laps. Ilvriss leaned forwards.

“The dungeons’ riches? We haven’t found more than a few magical items in there.”

“And yet, the Antinium seem to regard the dungeon as important. Why else would they leave open a pathway from the dungeon into their Hive? An open wound by which monsters might pour in? And fortifications? Antinium do not build defenses. Yet this kill box they have constructed seems purpose-built to last for years if necessary. And while it is a splendid defense, it would also serve another purpose.”

“As a staging ground for an assault on the dungeon.”

Pisces sighed internally with relief as Embria sat forwards. She pointed to the rough sketch of the tunnel he’d provided and looked at Ilvriss and Zevara with concern in her eyes.

“Wall Lord, Watch Captain. If this Human is correct, the Antinium could flood the dungeon with their numbers at any time.”

“Why? For treasure?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps they want to claim it? They could double, triple their Hive without us knowing it if they sealed off the entrance. But the idea of treasure—I’ve spoken with Olesm. He claims that even the worst of dungeons hide some kind of treasure.”

All eyes turned back to Pisces. He nodded, still smiling.

“A dungeon is a receptacle for the past, in the end. Even vengeance dungeons are made to hold a nation’s greatest treasures. And one of this magnitude, well. I imagine the greatest treasure recovered from Albez would not compare with what this dungeon might hold. Of course, that is speculation.”

The three Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss was the first to speak.

“What do the Antinium know that we don’t?”

“Anything. It could be anything.”

Watch Captain Zevara cursed. She stood up and began to pace.

“I could speak with Klbkch. He’s open about his Hive. What he doesn’t tell me reveals more than…”

“Don’t play our hand too early. This requires more thought. High Command should know.”

“As should the Walled Cities. If the Antinium are poised to uncover a grand treasure…Ancestors, how far does this stretch? Was the entire purpose of putting a Hive in Liscor because they knew the dungeon was here?”

Both Drakes looked at Ilvriss and their scales turned grey with shock. Pisces tried not to laugh as the Drakes began panicking. So simple. But he sat up and adopted his most avaricious face as Ilvriss turned to him.

“This information is…helpful. Thank you, Human. We will compensate you. But this stays secret. I will know if you speak of it to anyone. Understand?”

He tried to glare at Pisces while pressuring him with his aura. The [Necromancer] pretended to be suitably cowed and accepted the bag of gold from Ilvriss, peering greedily into it before being dismissed. He left the Watch barracks under an [Invisibility] spell, letting the Drakes continue arguing. Oh, to be a spider on the wall…but they were too alert. Better not to risk it.

Pisces strolled back towards The Wandering Inn, counting the gold and smiling to himself despite the pouring rain. He picked up his pace slightly; he had excused himself from the party at the inn and he was already gone far too long.

All six teams were celebrating surviving the dungeon. None had come out with great treasures, but there were bounties to be claimed and they might level. More importantly, they had lived. They were drinking, toasting each other, and talking about how they’d each survived. It was a jovial mood. For a second Pisces felt a pang that he couldn’t honestly celebrate with the others.

And then he stopped. Someone was leaning against the wall in an alleyway close to where the magic door to Erin’s inn was. Pisces turned, sighed, and stepped into the alley. He reappeared and heard a gasp.

“It is easier if we are not both seen missing from the party.”

The other figure paused.

“I had to know. How did it go?”

Pisces smiled with genuine satisfaction.

“Extremely well. They all paid close attention to the prompts I gave them. They are doubly suspicious of  the Antinium motives. I believe some urgent communications are going out to the Walled Cities now. Which is why I shall be sending [Message] spells with my valuable information as soon as I have the opportunity. Is that to your satisfaction?”

He waited as Ceria brushed water out of her eyes. The half-Elf glanced at Pisces and nodded.

“It is. Are you planning on selling the secret of the Antinium entrances to all the Walled Cities?”

“The Walled Cities—all except Oteslia perhaps since they seldom spend money on purchasing secrets. And the information will be public knowledge among those privy to it soon enough. But yes, the Walled Cities and a select list of nobles in northern Izril.”

Ceria eyed Pisces.

“You have a list? Really?”

“Springwalker, I bought a list of those who might in turn purchase secrets from me. Secrets are valuable wherever one travels and there are those who pay well for any advantage over their competitors. By this time tomorrow everyone will know that the Antinium want something out of Liscor’s dungeon.”

“Yeah. Treasure maybe. Or strategic advantage.”

Ceria shivered in the rain. Pisces nodded.

“I suspect more adventurers will flood into Liscor soon. Far more. And if the Walled Cities do not immediately fund an expedition, well, I would be stunned.”

“Which means there’ll be a lot of competition. A lot more bodies entering the dungeon. The other teams would kill us if they knew we were doing this.”

“Or at the very least, not sharing the profits.”

Pisces hefted the bag of gold. He offered it to Ceria. She swore.

“He gave you that much for talking?”

“He assumed I was going behind all of your backs, so yes. A Wall Lord knows to be generous especially to backstabbing Humans.”

Pisces watched Ceria half-open the bag, and then close it. His old friend closed her eyes, looking pained.

“I know how much trouble this is going to cause. I know. And the other teams deserve to have the first shot at the dungeon. But—”

She looked helplessly at Pisces.

“Do you think they’d understand?”

“We do.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr stepped out of the shadows. Pisces sighed.

“You do know that a sheet over one’s head is not a disguise, Ksmvr?”

“It is not a disguise. I am keeping the rain off of myself and Yvlon.”

“Ah. Carry on.”

The two other Horns of Hammerad joined Pisces and Ceria. Yvlon wiped water out of her hair. Pisces resolved to use a flame spell to dry their clothes before returning to the party. And come up with a suitably unbelievable excuse that hinted at something innocuous. One of them had to be professional about all of this.

“We all talked it over, Ceria. We all agreed. We can’t search that dungeon alone. We’re not qualified. If there is any chance at someone finding Calruz—”

“It’s with everyone fighting to be first into that dungeon. I know. I came up with the idea with what Ksmvr told me.”

Ceria leaned against the wall. She looked at Ksmvr.

“You’re alright with all this, Ksmvr?”

“Yes, for the eighteenth time, Captain Ceria. I am not betraying my Hive.”

Ksmvr stood proudly. He’d acted his part out well. The Shield Spiders had not been part of it, nor had the Silver Swords’ incompetence, but all had worked out in the end. He nodded at his team.

“The knowledge of the dungeon’s entrances will not inconvenience my Hive. I am sure of that.”

Pisces was not, but he watched Ceria pat Ksmvr on the shoulder and the Antinium stand taller without comment. He looked at his team. Fellow conspirators all. He would never have expected this kind of plan from them, but they were always surprising him. Pisces smiled.

“Well, it seems you’ve finally begun taking advantage of my varied and extraordinary skill set, Springwalker, Miss Byres. I hope you will at least enjoy the next phase.”

“Next phase? I thought the next part was that we didn’t talk about this ever again.”

Yvlon eyed Pisces with deep distrust. He sighed.

“Of course, that is part of our design. But we are allowed a bit of enjoyment. Please consider how amusing it will be.”

“What will be?”

The [Necromancer] smiled.

“Why, everything that follows of course.”

He smiled. Above the dungeon adventurers celebrated and grand plots were spun, the outcomes of which only he could guess at. And below the dungeon waited. It had failed to claim the adventurers who had begun to wake it. But there was always more dungeon. And there was always next time.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.30 G

In Liscor, Wall Lord Ilvriss stood at a table with Olesm, Watch Captain Zevara, and Wing Commander Embria. He had sheaves of reports on the Antinium spread out in front of him and he was talking into his personal scrying orb. At the same time, Olesm was furiously sorting through pieces of parchment while Watch Captain Zevara laboriously dictated messages to the other Walled Cities. Their topic was the Antinium and the recent suspicion of the Antinium’s motives in regards to Liscor’s dungeon had everyone’s tail curled up.

If Pisces could have observed the way his subtle blend of fact and suspicion had sent Drakes across Izril into a panic he would have been beside himself with glee. As it was, the Antinium problem once again dominated the discourse between the Drake cities, overriding lesser politics and infighting.

So many [Message] spells and higher-Tier communication spells were sent back and forth that the covert discussions were soon drawn to the attention of anyone of an ear for magic. The contents of the secret talks would soon find their way into reports read by individuals such as Magnolia Reinhart, the Archmages in Wistram, and so on. And the news of the Drakes’ concern would also pass through other channels to the Antinium, who would begin wondering exactly what the Drakes were concerned about.

Of course, all of this was second to the larger issue in the back of everyone’s minds. The Antinium were still not as pressing as the threat of the Goblin Lord. But as anyone with half a scale’s worth of sense would have pointed out, the Goblin Lord’s army was currently north of Liscor. In Human lands. There was little the Drakes could do about them at the moment.

Sending another army had been debated and then shot down. Moving any force past Liscor would be an act of war and there was no negotiating with the stubborn Humans. All they could do was wait and see what would happen, hence their focus on Liscor and the Antinium.

The Goblins were a Human problem now. But the group best-placed to deal with the growing threat had not risen to the occasion. And far, far north of Liscor, north of Invrisil, the gathering of nobles and leaders who had ridden to Lord Tyrion’s call were growing increasingly anxious.

Yitton Byres strode into the large pavilion and heard the loud voices arguing before he could wipe the water out of his eyes. The spring rains continued to soak the vast war camp of Lord Tyrion’s army and though the downpour was not nearly as harsh as it would have been in Liscor, it still made for an unpleasant walk. The rain and mud soured tempers and the assembly standing in the tent was already angry enough.

“When will we move? I did not ride eighty miles with my army to hide here like a coward while the Goblin Lord marches towards my lands!”

A large, roughly-dressed [Lord] in his early forties shouted as Yitton stepped into the gathering of his peers. Yitton recognized the man at once—the tattoo of a snarling dog on his cheek was enough of a hint, but if he had needed more proof, the smell of wet dog and the way the other nobles stayed well clear of him was another hint. Lord Gralton of Lycit was close to frothing at the mouth as he paced back and forth, his hands closing as if he wanted to throttle something.

“I answered Veltras’ call because I expected to take the battle to the damn Goblins rather than hide like a stinking Reinhart. But it was Magnolia Reinhart who took the fight to the Goblins while we sit here with three times as many men! If this is some joke I’m not laughing! What is Tyrion Veltras doing?

As he raged, Lord Gralton snarled. He turned and Yitton saw his contorted face. It was no wonder many called Gralton the ‘Dog Lord’ behind his back in jest. Only, no one was laughing now. Gralton looked close to lashing out and a rabid dog was something to be feared. Moreover, he had a point.

“I agree with Lord Gralton. We have been sitting here far too long. Rains or not, we should be pushing south towards the Goblin Lord. How much food has this army consumed so far? A fortune, I should wager!”

A [Lady] fanned herself and pointedly glanced at the appetizers laid out behind the nobles. Some of those in the tent jumped guiltily and pretended not to be hovering around the rich treats. Yitton stood tall, ignoring the food, though he had had little more than cold bread, a bit of cheese and some meat himself. Byres didn’t have the funds to lavish themselves with supplies and he had elected to eat the same as his men to boost morale.

The other nobles murmured, most not openly agreeing with Lord Gralton, but expressing hesitant support. Lord Tyrion Veltras was one of the most powerful [Lords] in the realm, but his influence had limits. The nobles were sick of waiting to take a fight that they would easily win as they saw it. Still, no one wanted to be the first to say something and potentially make the Veltras family their enemy.

Gralton glared about, seemingly dissatisfied by the half-hearted support.

“Cowards. Why isn’t Veltras here himself? Let’s drag him out of his tent and have him explain himself now. No more excuses about the right moment! Does any man among you have the balls to join me?”

The [Lords] in the pavilion tent shifted and several flushed with outrage. But before Gralton’s words could lead to a fight, Yitton Byres spoke up.

“Do you intend to assault our field commander, Lord Gralton? If so, I would rather we come to blows here than suffer mutiny in the camp.”

Heads turned and the nobles made a path as Gralton spun. He eyed Yitton Byres without a shred of fear. Rather, he glanced at the longsword at Yitton’s side as an acknowledgement of what a battle would cost him in blood and flesh and judged it appropriate. He rolled his shoulders and growled at Yitton.

“If Veltras won’t come, what would you do, Byres?”

“Discuss. Object. Perhaps leave with my men, were he that sort of coward. But I suspect Lord Veltras would agree to meet with us candidly—were a delegation sent to persuade him of our discontent. If that is your objective I would be the first to join you, Lord Gralton.”

Yitton met the other man’s eyes without blinking. Yes, exactly like a rabid dog. Gralton bared his teeth, but he nodded with bare restraint. It was said that he trained the fiercest war hounds and the finest trackers in all of Izril. His lands were prosperous, a far cry from Byres’ modest holdings.

“In that case I would put forward my name as well.”

Another [Lord] stepped forwards. He had no sword. He was not a warrior. Yitton glanced at Lord Erill in surprise. Erill was a merchant-lord, a noble who had built his fortunes and amassed enough power and land to be considered true nobility. It seemed that Lord Erill was no stranger to boldness, despite his aversion to battle.

“Well then, I will join you three boys. Let us see if a unanimous front is enough to open Tyrion’s stubborn lips.”

The [Lady] who’d spoken fanned herself and then closed the fan with a snap. She swept past Yitton and only now did he place her face and voice. She had to be Lady Ieka, one of the few nobles capable of performing true magic. She had attended Wistram it was rumored, but had been expelled for reasons unknown after four years.

The four nobles didn’t wait for the other nobility to fall over each other volunteering. They strode out of the tent, Gralton in the lead. It was rainy but the rain only fell hard on Gralton and Yitton. Lord Erill and Lady Ieka were protected by enchantments that kept the rain from ever touching their clothes or skin.

Yitton walked after Gralton, hearing a dog bark as it recognized its master in the distance. He told himself this wasn’t rebellion. He had waited patiently for Tyrion to move after their last conversation. But several days later, he hadn’t seen any changes. Something had to be done. And Tyrion Veltras and this army was the force to do it. Why on earth was the man hesitating? It wasn’t like any of the tales about him.

 

—-

 

“Have our guest housed in our tents. Supply her with water, food—clothing. Send for a City Runner if she lacks any amenities. And send a [Message] spell to her family. I am sure they would welcome the good news.”

Lord Tyrion Veltras was instructing one of his retainers. The man bowed and hurried out of the tent. Tyrion turned and strode back towards the desk he had been sitting at. He glanced at the wet chair across from the table—his guest had stumbled in wet, dirty, and quite exhausted. He didn’t begrudge the mess. Rather, the information he had been given along with the latest report—he glanced down at the slip of paper in his hands and grinned.

Lord Gralton would have recognized the grin as that of a hunting wolf. Tyrion’s fingers smoothed the parchment. He had received the welcome news not ten minutes ago. And if he added that the covert [Message] spell he had received…Tyrion spread out a map on his table.

“‘Proceeding south, down Almest Road.’ Hmf. That puts them…here. Poor speed but they have endured a sea voyage. They can catch up. And here—”

His finger traced another route south-west, passing through a forest and marshy terrain, past a city labeled ‘Filk’. Lord Tyrion measured the distance with a bit of marked string, nodding to himself and jotting down notes. In his mind he ran another series of calculations, checking the figures with his internal sense of how fast a horse could run. Then he stepped back and looked at the map as a whole.

“From here to here—and the time is—”

Lord Tyrion glanced at a calendar and eyed the date he had marked. He smiled again. At last, he could see all the pieces falling together. More perfectly than before, in fact.

“Lord Veltras!”

Tyrion turned. His guard at the tent door should have kept anyone from entering, but a brief exclamation was all the warning he received before the guard was thrust aside. Tyrion saw Lord Gralton stride into the tent, followed by Lord Yitton, Lady Ieka, and Lord Erill. The four nobles stopped before his desk and Tyrion saw Erill and Ieka’s eyes dart to the dirty chair. Yitton stood with his hands behind his back and Gralton approached.

“Veltras! We’re done with waiting!”

The man was all savagery and no tact. Tyrion refrained from wrinkling his nose. Gralton had let his class take over too much of himself. The man slammed his hands on Tyrion’s desk and leaned forwards. He was taller and bigger than Tyrion.

“When in the hells are you going to move? That Goblin Lord is a nose away from reaching the mountain with the other Goblins! They could be there by the end of today! And here we sit! Enough talk! Tell us whether we’re moving or not or we’ll—”

“Take your hands off my desk.”

Lord Tyrion’s voice cut through Gralton’s fury. The other man choked and growled, and then looked down. His hands were wet and not exactly pristine to begin with. He was dripping on Tyrion’s expensive maps. He looked up and met Tyrion’s gaze.

The clash of wills in the tent made Yitton grimace. It was unpleasant being privy to a battle between powerful [Lords], even if you weren’t the target yourself. Lady Ieka fanned herself and Lord Erill sighed as Gralton and Tyrion locked gazes. Gralton snarled but then, slowly, took his hands off the desk. Lord Tyrion nodded cordially.

“I thank you. May I assume your objection is shared by the rest of the nobility?”

He glanced pointedly at the other three nobles. Lady Ieka nodded.

“We did not come here to be treated like ignorant children, Tyrion. We waited because we assumed you had a plan. But this idling about is ridiculous. Tell us what you intend or I fear that a good portion of your nobles will quickly desert your army.”

She met his gaze, telling him in no uncertain terms who would be the one to prompt that exodus. Lord Erill coughed delicately.

“I’m afraid I too must insist on some idea of our plan, Lord Veltras. Funding an army of this size becomes pointless if it is not employed to good use.”

Lord Tyrion nodded. He turned his attention to Yitton without betraying any emotion.

“And you, Lord Byres?”

“I have faith in your military expertise.”

The older man met Tyrion’s gaze without wavering. He looked around and bowed slightly to the more powerful nobles around him, all his junior, if only slightly in Gralton’s case.

“However, I agree with my peers. Loyalty is something that must be earned and continue to be earned. Blind faith is not something I demand of my men. The countryside burns.”

“And the Goblins are not just content to stay put as we are. I hear rumors of raiding parties assaulting towns, villages, and cities everywhere south of our position. Not even our nobility is safe—Lady Bevia Veniford has written to me with a request for aid. Apparently the Goblins have surrounded her location. Will you ride to her defense, and the defense of thirty peers of the realm, Tyrion?”

The [Mage Lady] closed her fan and gazed at Tyrion fiercely. He met her gaze. They had been childhood…friends. Acquaintances. It was still poor manners to use his name, but he had observed that [Ladies] bent the rules of etiquette more often than men in their own way. The four nobles waited tensely for Tyrion’s reply. They were all taken aback when he smiled.

“As it happens, Lady Ieka, I have just received the news I was waiting upon.”

“You have?”

She blinked at him. Lord Tyrion lifted the scrap of parchment in his hands. She stared at it with burning curiosity. Tyrion nodded as he passed it to her over the table.

“I have been waiting for a specialized group of reinforcements. They should be arriving at our position shortly. However, I intend to strike the camp before then.”

“Oh my.”

The instant Ieka read the note her brows shot up. Without another word she passed it to Lord Erill who scanned the note, nodded as if it all made sense and handed the message to Yitton.

“One group? We were waiting on one stinking—”

Again, Lord Gralton was about to rage but as Yitton tapped him on the shoulder he grudgingly read the parchment. It took him longer than the others but then his demeanor changed.

“Huh.”

Tyrion nodded decisively.

“Quite. As you can see, the time is now. I am able to put forwards my plan at last. To that end, I am ordering the camp struck. I want our forces moving within the hour. I will briefly inform our peers on our plan of action. However, we may well outpace a good portion of our foot and supply. I intend to move the army now and cover at least fifty miles within the first day. Lord Yitton, I will be taking some of your horse with me and several thousand [Knights], [Lancers], and other advanced rider classes in a scouting party. Lord Gralton, you may wish to prepare your hounds for travel. If they cannot keep up—”

The man strode around his desk, talking rapidly. The other nobles stared as he strode into the rain. Lord Tyrion snapped at the soldier on guard.

“Soldier. Strike the camp and summon my command to the war tent.”

“Sire!”

The man raced off, shouting orders. Instantly the camp buzzed to life. Lord Tyrion strode into the rain, too quick for the others to follow. It was time. He had waited patiently. Men like Gralton could not see the use of waiting. He was a dog, straightforward, refreshingly direct. But Lord Tyrion was the hunter. And his prey was in position.

 

—-

 

“Redfang. Redfang.

Garen Redfang looked around blankly. He glanced up and saw Tremborag staring at him. The huge Hobgoblin was glaring and Garen realized he’d been called.

“What?”

He shifted impatiently on his Carn Wolf. The massive beast paced along, twice as large as any other Carn Wolf. It was still dwarfed by Tremborag. The massive Great Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe was a colossus and with every step the fat on his body jiggled obscenely. He clearly did not enjoy the rain gently showering them from above. Garen didn’t mind. They were on the outermost edges of the storm front and had only been drizzled on sporadically. Still, Tremborag was annoyed. Perhaps it was being outdoors that did it.

“What are you listening to?”

Tremborag’s rumbling voice was tinged with irritation. Garen shrugged. He turned his head, listening again. It was a faint sound he heard.

“Something. Distant sound. Howls.”

The huge Hobgoblin paused.

“The scouts heard nothing.”

Garen shrugged. Tremborag eyed him and grunted. He turned and another Redfang Warrior, one of the few that had stayed with Garen, dodged out of the way, his Carn Wolf yelping in alarm.

“Do you believe it is a trap?”

“Doesn’t matter. We go to meeting place. He goes. After…”

The Chieftain of the Redfang tribe tapped his sword meaningfully. Tremborag bared his teeth.

“True. He brought only a handful of his Goblins. So my scouts say.”

Garen nodded without a word. He ignored the faint howling and turned his attention to the road in front of him. Both he and Tremborag were walking through the forest that surrounded Dwarfhalls Rest, the mountain which Tremborag had made his lair. They had abandoned the safety of the mountain and come out this far with a minimal escort for one reason: to meet the Goblin Lord.

At last the Goblin Lord’s army had arrived at the mountain. His army had appeared in the distance, a winding trail of black armored bodies marching across the landscape. It had taken him far longer than either Garen or Tremborag had expected. The distance had not been that far from Invrisil, but the Goblin Lord must have taken that time to heal his soldiers naturally, without wasting healing potions. He would only have done that if he expected a battle. That was wise.

What wasn’t wise was what he had done the instant he’d drawn close to the mountain. Rather than draw closer and begin the siege at once, he had stopped his army and sent a messenger of all things. Tremborag had nearly killed the Goblin on the spot, but after some debate he had heard the Goblin out.

The Goblin Lord’s message was simple. He had arrived. He was a Goblin Lord. And he expected the other tribes to follow him. Since they had not, he demanded that they meet. Chieftain to Lord, as it were.

Garen’s teeth ground together as he recalled the Goblin boldly delivering the message in the heart of Tremborag’s mountain to the jeering Goblins of the Mountain City tribe. It was a command worthy of a Lord, but coming from him—Tremborag had threatened to crush the little Goblin until he had heard the terms.

“Come alone. Just we two Chieftains and six escorts. He will bring six too. Far too small a number for an ambush. And he would be a fool to try and hide Goblins from Goblins.”

Tremborag mused as he walked through the forest floor, snapping branches that threatened to strike his face. Garen nodded.

“Talk?”

“He must think he can persuade you or I. Fool.”

Tremborag grinned and his red eyes flashed. Garen nodded. His stomach clenched at the thought of meeting the Goblin Lord and his hand fell to the red blade at his side. Redfang, the enchanted artifact that was his greatest possession. His Carn Wolf growled, sensing its master’s mood.

“Take out small Goblins first?”

“You do that. I will rip his head off myself.”

The Great Chieftain flexed his massive claws. Garen nodded and focused on the trail ahead. Of course, the Goblin Lord had come to parley. Of course, it would be treacherous to slay him. But they were going to do it anyways. There was no better opportunity. Two Chieftains versus a single Lord? If it were any other Chieftains, it would have been suicidal. But Garen and Tremborag? They were far too powerful. The Goblin Lord had made a fatal error.

Garen wondered if his tribe would have considered the trap a betrayal. His teeth ground together as he thought of them, somewhere else. He wondered if they would have dared to protest this. And then he thought of Rags. What would she have done? Refused to join the ambush? Or laid a more cunning trap?

Such thoughts were a distraction. Garen shook himself. As he did, his Carn Wolf raised its head and sniffed the air. Tremborag halted.

“Here.”

The two Chieftains slowly entered a cleared space in the woods. The six Redfang Warriors spread out behind them, their Carn Wolves sniffing and growling as they sensed what was ahead. The Goblin Lord and his entourage.

He sat upon a Shield Spider, a massive example of the species. It was dead. Something had ripped its belly apart, and yet the Shield Spider still stood. The magic had reanimated it, given it second life and so it still served as the Goblin Lord’s mount. Next to him rode a Hobgoblin with metallic teeth and too large a head on a horse. Snapjaw, his fierce lieutenant.

On his other side, a Hob nearly as tall as Tremborag stood with folded arms. Eater of Spears was all muscle compared to Tremborag’s bulk and the Hob fearlessly met Tremborag’s eyes as both Goblin parties halted and stared at each other. Four more Hobs stood behind the Goblin Lord. But it was he that Garen looked at. He saw two black eyes with white pupils turn and felt the shock of hatred the instant their gazes met.

“You.”

The Goblins stared at each other in silence. Garen tensed as he leaned over his Carn Wolf. The Goblin Lord’s eyes flicked from him to Tremborag. Weighing. Judging. Assessing. This close, Garen felt the urge to kneel, to follow the Goblin in front of him. But he resisted with every fiber of his being.

There were no flowery speeches, no opening niceties. That was not the Goblin way. The Goblin Lord spoke abruptly, his voice educated, direct. Authority rang through it, commanding with every syllable.

“I am a Goblin Lord. I am Reiss. Your tribes will join my army.”

The two Chieftains looked at each other. They turned back to Reiss and laughed. They spoke as one.

No.

The word was as powerful as the Goblin Lord’s request. One of the Hobs behind Reiss actually took a step back before catching himself. Reiss did not move. He looked at Tremborag, and then at Garen. The question was meant more for Garen.

“Why?”

Garen held his tongue. His chest was burning. With betrayal. With hurt. With rage. He stared at the undead spider and it was Tremborag who answered with a booming laugh of contempt.

“You are arrogant, little brat of the south. Who do you think you are, coming to my home and challenging me? I am Tremborag! Great Chieftain of the Mountain! If you are wise you will turn and run. You will never take my tribe, little Goblin.”

His words made Reiss’ entourage shake with fury. Snapjaw glared up at Tremborag and shouted at him.

“Show respect! You speak to great Goblin Lord! Not Chieftain.

She interjected as much contempt into her tone as she could. Neither Garen nor Tremborag seemed affected by the comparison, though. He glanced at Snapjaw dismissively.

“How the female barks for her master! I am no small Chieftain. I am old! I lived decades ago, when the Goblin King was an unborn seed! I heard his call and I refused him to his face. I am no small Chieftain with the lifespan of a fly! I was here when Velan the Kind gathered his armies. I was here when he fell. I remember the Goblin King’s face!

“So do I.”

Silence. Reiss looked around the clearing. When he spoke, the past weighed on his words.

“I have seen Velan’s fall. I know his rage but not why. I know our history. And I will make sure it does not happen again. Look at my army. I defeated the Tidebreaker, hero of Drakes. I destroyed Drake and Human armies. Join me and I will make a kingdom for Goblins. I will bring us peace and make other species afraid to strike us! Do you not wish that?”

The Goblins behind him raised a cheer. Garen’s heart felt a twinge and his hand gripped his sword’s hilt. He stared at Reiss. The same words. Good words. But his eyes—

Again, Tremborag snorted. He looked down on Reiss with contempt in his red eyes.

“You speak of kingdoms and peace without knowing the truth, little slave. Grow as mighty as you want. The Humans and Drakes will never let you know peace. You will be hunted. And you will never be a King. A slave cannot lead others.”

And there it was. The hiss from the Redfang Warriors behind Garen said it all. Reiss’ Goblins shifted and Tremborag pointed down at the Goblin Lord.

“You are not Goblin. You are a pet. A thing. You cannot bring peace. You do not even deserve to be Chieftain. Let alone Lord.”

“Yet I am a Lord.”

Reiss met his gaze, unflinching. Tremborag laughed.

“A poor one. Your army is small. You bow to a master. You copy Humans! Humans! We are Goblins. We steal and take. We do not copy formations and armor and—this.”

His wave took in all that was Reiss. From the way he spoke to his eyes to everything else. Tremborag shook his head.

“Turn around little Lord. This is the last time I offer. The Goblin King himself could not unseat me from my home. What makes you think you can?”

The Goblin Lord sat calmly atop his Shield Spider and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his white pupils were unflinching as he met Tremborag’s gaze.

“The Goblin King was kind. He let those afraid to die run. He left your home and your tribe alone, Great Chieftain. But I am not kind. Your tribe is mine.”

Without waiting for Tremborag to respond, Reiss turned his head.

“The ‘Great Chieftain’ declines. But what of you, Redfang? You swore to follow me if I had the right idea. If I had a vision. Do you forget your promise of long ago?”

All eyes darted towards Garen. Tremborag’s expression changed to one of alarm and sudden paranoia. He took a slow step backwards as Garen rode forwards. He stared up at Reiss. The Goblin met his gaze with foreign eyes. Who was he now? Garen spat on the dead Shield Spider.

“Becoming a slave is not good idea.”

“Sometimes it is the only choice.”

Reiss whispered down to Garen. The Hob grinned mirthlessly.

“Better to die than be slave.”

“I disagree.”

The two stared at each other in silence. Garen’s Carn Wolf growled and he tensed, his hand on his sword. The Shield Spider’s dead face was right in front of him. Reiss sat far above.

There was no signal. Garen ripped his blade from his sheath and hacked at the Shield Spider’s head. He shouted as he did.

“[Deeper Cut]!”

It was a basic Skill. But it was all he needed. The enchanted blade sheared the front of the Shield Spider’s face off and it collapsed. The other Goblins around Reiss shouted in fury and alarm. Garen heard Carn Wolves howling as his warriors leapt to attack, Tremborag’s roar. His Carn Wolf leapt towards where Reiss had fallen. He swept his sword up.

Traitor! Cowardly coward!”

Snapjaw lunged, biting, and Garen twisted to avoid her jaws as they bit for his neck. He twisted and his Carn Wolf snapped at her horse. They circled each other, trading blows.

Behind them, Tremborag had charged forwards and met Eater of Spears. The younger Hob was smaller, but he stopped Tremborag’s charge with ease. Tremborag cursed him and clawed at Eater of Spears’ arms but the Hob pushed Tremborag back. He was trying to pull the Chieftain’s arm off and Tremborag’s howl of pain echoed through the clearing. Eater of Spears felt Tremborag straining against him but knew he was stronger. Then he felt muscle and fat ripple under his claws. He stared at the Hob in shock as Tremborag’s form grew.

Something else grabbed Eater of Spears’ arm. It lifted the gigantic Hob up and something threw him as if he were a toy. It was not a Hob. Tremborag’s voice deepened into a roar as his body changed, grew larger. In a blink the fat became muscle and he turned and tore a head off of a Hob. He howled.

“Weak, brat! Decades too weak to face me!”

Then he charged at the Goblin Lord. Eater of Spears tried to stop him, but a single blow sent him reeling backwards. Tremborag raced forwards on all fours at where the Goblin Lord had fallen behind the Shield Spider. The Hob didn’t waste time circling the fallen undead spider—he picked it up and hurled the thing away, breaking it to pieces as it struck a tree. Tremborag turned, grinning, and saw Reiss pointing up at him.

“[Deathbolt].”

The black magic struck Tremborag in the face. He cried out and stumbled back. For a moment his face went grey, and then he roared and swiped at the Goblin Lord. But the Goblin had already dived for safety. And something burst through the ground as Eater of Spears once again charged Tremborag from the side. A huge hand shot out of the soil and a massive, hulking Human burst upwards. It grabbed Tremborag by the leg as a dozen undead burst out of the ground, surprising the Redfang Warriors.

Draug!

Garen snarled the instant he saw the huge hulking undead. He lunged to one side as the first Draug swung at him. They were deceptively quick! He parried a blow from Snapjaw and countered.

The edge of his sword slammed into her open mouth, sending her reeling backwards. It didn’t sear off the top of her head—the blade had struck her teeth! Garen saw several break, but the enchanted blade cut no further. Snapjaw spat blood and jumped at him.

He stabbed her horse. It went down, squealing, and his Carn Wolf lunged forwards and bit once. Snapjaw cursed but Garen leapt past her. He would have rushed at Reiss once more, but three Draug blocked his way. Garen snapped an order and his Carn Wolf bounded back. He cursed and saw another black bolt of light. He instantly leaned sideways and the death magic missed him by inches.

Reiss was standing in a circle of undead and his three remaining Hob warriors, aiming at him! Garen snarled as he cut at the Draugr around him. This was not what he had envisioned! Worse, he saw Tremborag besieged by the undead. The giant Goblin smashed them effortlessly, destroying the powerful undead with single blows, but between Eater of Spears and the Draug he couldn’t charge Reiss. And he was too large a target.

Another [Deathbolt] blasted from Reiss’ fingertip. Not at Garen, but at Tremborag who was unable to dodge. Twice more the spell struck Tremborag, blackness absorbing itself into his skin. The gigantic Goblin roared as if to defy the death magic. But he did retreat, shielding his body, running backwards as he ignored the Draugr battering his legs and stomach.

“Fall back! Back!”

Garen waved his blade and saw his Redfang Warriors retreat. Six—no, five of them fled, one on foot. One Goblin and two Carn Wolves lay dead and another Goblin fell as Reiss picked them off with another [Deathbolt] spell. Garen shouted his fury but fled as well. There were too many Draug! He raced through the forest, hearing Reiss shout an order. Now his entire army would be pursuing them in moments! Still, Garen didn’t fear being caught. Rather, he raced towards the huge shape lumbering through the forest, knocking over trees.

“Tremborag! Alright?”

He called up at the massive Goblin. Tremborag was still in his combat form, but he looked…tired. Three [Deathbolts] had struck him and the Goblin Chieftain was laboring for breath. He snarled as Garen rode next to him and swung at the Carn Wolf and its rider.

I strong. Go!

Garen hesitated, but Tremborag’s color was returning quickly and he was picking up the pace. He nodded and rode faster, grabbing at the Redfang Warrior on foot. He pulled the Goblin up and they raced back towards the mountain ahead of them. Behind, he could hear horns blaring. The Goblin Lord’s army was coming now. They would besiege the mountain.

Not what he had hoped for. But he was alive. And if he was alive, he’d get another shot at Reiss. That was his name now? He’d always wanted a name. Garen closed his eyes. His heart beat with betrayal and fury. He was bleeding. Had Snapjaw cut him? Or the Draug?

The air rushed around Garen as he rode. He turned his head up and heard a faint noise again. He could still hear it on the wind. A distant, far off sound. Garen could pick it out in his mind, in his heart. Not here. Somewhere farther away. Miles, tens or hundreds perhaps. It didn’t matter. He could still hear the howl, the howl of his warriors, his tribe.

He heard his warriors screaming, in rage and fury and grief. He longed to be with them. For a moment Garen listened, then he kicked his Carn Wolf in the side and it bounded towards the mountain as the Goblin Lord’s forces rushed through the forest after him. But the howling remained.

War was in the air.

 

—-

 

The Goblins rode across the countryside, screaming their fury. They rode terrifying wolves thrice as large as the normal, their fur rust-red, their teeth bared for blood. These were no ordinary Goblins. They were Redfang Warriors and they burned as they never had before with hatred.

Vengeance. Revenge for the fallen, those who had died to poison and steel in the night! They howled as they rode in small groups, in pairs, alone, to villages and farms. They carried torches and crossbows and set every building they came to alight. They burned fields where they could and where it was wet they did as much damage as they could, hounding the Humans, some laying traps before fleeing.

Because they were being pursued. Human [Riders] followed and [Trackers] and [Soldiers] laid deadly ambushes that took down each Goblin that passed. The Humans knew where the Redfang Warriors were, where they were going. So the Redfangs died. But they died hard.

 

—-

 

Look—

A Redfang Warrior named Fleetfur breaks off from the group. His friends call out to him, but he raises a hand holding his spear upright. His Carn Wolf is injured—struck by an arrow. He turns back and lifts his spear. Fifteen Humans pursue him, shouting. Fleetfur pats his wolf on the head and hears it whine once. He points and it bounds forward, ignoring the pain. He rides against fifteen, alone, laughing. He takes a horse and rider down and spears another Human before he falls to their blades.

Far east and north of him, a group of Goblins comes across the town of Muerfurt. The night air is cold and the Humans laugh at rumors of Goblins. They hear the howl and fear—but their walls are ten feet high! And they have a row of spikes set across the walls, and their militia is manning each spot with torches. No Goblin will climb up on their watch!

They hear a howl nearby and then a snarl. A Carn Wolf leaps and a sentry screams. The Goblin jumps from its back and lands on the wall. He has a shortsword and buckler in hand. The Humans laugh, shakily as they realize it’s only him. Until another jumps onto the wall. A third climbs up in a different spot. Four, five, eight—the Redfang Goblins are outnumbered ten to one even so. The militia surges forwards, shouting just that. The Redfang Goblins slaughter twice their number and then disappear over the walls, leaving two of their dead behind.

Elites. What pride they have. What daring. A Redfang Goblin stands in the middle of a city street. He has won the walls, killed the three [Guardsmen] with less than ten levels between them, but now he is cornered. A group of Silver-rank adventurers, five warriors and a mage has cornered him. He steps forwards and fights all the warriors at once.

Cut, parry, duck, slash—he is quick. But the half-Elf with the axe is good and he has armor. The Redfang Warrior never stands a chance. He sinks, bleeding, as the adventurers laugh and the crowd of Humans cheers. His nickname is Beetlestare, but it is not at the ground or insects he stares at. He looks up as he bleeds and hears a whistling sound and then the thunk.

The Silver-rank [Mage] looks at the arrow sprouting from his chest. He drops and the second arrow strikes another adventurer in the eyes. Beetlestare looks up and grins. He sees the Goblin in the trees swing away as the Humans notice the attacker. The Goblin flees and Beetlestare laughs and laughs until the half-Elf finishes him.

Dying, fighting, riding on—a group of Redfang Warriors race down a road and see the riders in the dark too late. They turn and find themselves ambushed! Humans race out of cover and more ride out of the darkness. The six Redfangs turn and see their pursuers have caught up. They bare their blades for a final stand and hear a howl. One of the Humans on horseback turns and sees a fiery bird or insect flying at him. It strikes his armor and he bursts into flame. Another [Archer] on the ground turns and she drops as a crossbow bolt buries itself in her chest.

Redfang Warriors race out of the darkness. At their head rides a Goblin with a glowing longsword. Redscar swings once and cuts down a Human. He cuts backwards and catches a second. He shouts his fury and hears a voice.

Break!

He turns and points. His Redfang Warriors cut into the Humans a second more and then flee. They shower the Humans with crossbow bolts as they race onwards. They too are being pursued. But they have eluded capture so far. They join the small Goblin holding the black crossbow and she turns. They shout triumph as the Humans attempt to pursue them and more race towards their backs. Rags turns her head and looks back just once.

War.

 

—-

 

The word burned in her mind, single, pulsating thought. It did away with notions of mercy, told her to abandon pride and memory and everything else and give in to the bloodlust. It was not darkness. It should have been, but Rags only felt alive as she raced with the Redfang Warriors through the night. She pointed and the group of six Goblins she had saved fell in with the others, cheering.

The Humans had not expected their ambush group to be ambushed in turn, but they had forgotten how many Goblins were racing through the night. And the Goblins might not have had magic spells to communicate, but they could do almost as well by listening to the howling of their brethren.

“To cave! Move!”

The Redfangs followed Rags to a cave she had located nearby and immediately dismounted. Their exhausted Carn Wolves instantly lay down and the Goblins reached for their packs, offering the hungry wolves food and water. Rags pointed.

“Sentry. Watch. Has time. Thirty minutes. Less.”

The other Goblins nodded and went to secure the cave. Rags allowed herself a moment to stretch her legs and then found some dried jerky to feed her Carn Wolf. She swayed on her feet but did not allow herself to sit. If she sat she would be too tired to stand. She had been riding and fighting nonstop for two days now.

Two days, with only time to rest the Carn Wolves. Two days of raiding and destruction. It felt like forever. But while the Humans had sent groups of riders after her, tried to hunt down the hundreds of raiding parties marauding across the landscape, they had failed to mitigate the damage.

Worse for them, Rags had assumed command of a group of forty or so Redfang warriors and had destroyed each group sent after her. The Humans had numbers, especially since Rags had sent only her elite Redfang Warriors out to do damage. But she had something they did not.

Tactics. Ambushes set up in seconds or minutes, like the one she had just pulled off. Rags felt the cerebral rush with each small victory. Yes, she now had an image of her foe. Whoever was leading the Humans on horseback—whether it was the Human in armor or the one with the pointed hat Rags wasn’t certain yet—they were not the one in charge. She knew that for two reasons.

Firstly, they lacked the all-knowing gaze that had been on Rags the entire time she had been in these lands. The feeling of being watched never slackened on her skin. And yet, both Humans had fallen for her feints. If she gave them time to think they would invariably pinpoint her location and sense her ambushes. Somehow. But if they were simply reacting they were as blind as any other Human.

Secondly and crucially, both were poor leaders. Poor strategists without a grasp of true warfare. They could lead armies, but they couldn’t react to Rags’ ever-changing plans. She was not afraid of them. What she was afraid of was losing all the Redfang Warriors who had ridden out with her.

The mounted Redfangs were a limited force. The tip of her sword, her shock cavalry. They were less than four hundred in number and while that was a mighty unit she had split them apart, sent many on suicidal assaults to distract the enemy. She would burn these lands but the Redfangs would pay the price.

“Fine.”

That was all Redscar said as they rested the Carn Wolves in the dark cave interior. The Humans were milling about the entrance, aware that the cave had two openings. They were sending reinforcements around back so they could trap Rags and the Goblins inside. She knew they had five more minutes so she sat calmly, letting her Carn Wolf lap from a helmet she’d filled with water. She looked at Redscar seriously.

“Redfangs will die.”

“Goblins have died.”

He bared his teeth at her. Rags shook her head.

“More Goblins should not die.”

The nuance between them was grief. Redscar expressed his in unrelenting fury towards the Humans. Rags was more measured. What good was victory if she sacrificed her tribe for it? She shook her head, ignoring Redscar’s unspoken rebuttal—that sacrifice was the only way to slaughter the Humans.

“Too many. Pull back. Gather.”

She was cutting short the raids early. Redscar didn’t protest. He rose as one of the Redfang [Scouts] called a quiet warning. The Humans had surrounded their rear.

“How escape now, Chieftain?”

“Easy.”

There were three times as many Humans waiting for the Goblins as they burst out of the front of the caves. This was the largest group of Goblin riders and Rags had made herself a target. They were already preparing to loose arrows and encircle the Goblins when she casually raised the [Fear] gem and Redscar led his riders past the rearing horses into the forest. Of course, they were still pursued. The [Fear] spell worked a bit less each time and the Humans had fresh mounts. They would catch the Redfang Goblins.

Already a group of [Riders] was hot on their heels as they entered the trees. They charged after the fleeing wolves and then the first rank of horses went down, screaming, as they tripped over the line of rope Rags had ordered her warriors to set in advance. The Redfang Goblins rapidly tied more trip lines as the Human pursuers lamed horses and riders died from being thrown and trampled.

Simple tactic. All you needed was rope. Rags shook her head. Some of the rope had been tied in advance—the Carn Wolves could easily bound over the ropes but the Humans couldn’t spot it until it was too late. She led her group away. Another lesson learned—whoever was leading the Humans missed details. They were not all-knowing. Rags clung to that knowledge as Redscar urged his mount to howl a warning to every Redfang within earshot. Their howls soon answered and Rags knew that word would spread.

Retreat. Gather! Return to the meeting spot she had designated. She hoped she would see enough of them return. The raiding was only one step of the battle. It was easy to hurt someone. Far harder to defeat them. She still had no idea how the Humans could tell where she and her tribe were. And it was her tribe she thought of. They were still occupying the Human city, surrounded by Human forces. And more were on the way. A lot more.

 

—-

 

Questions. Pyrite sat on the battlements of the city they had captured and thought of them. His wounds ached horribly and the cool air wasn’t doing them much good. But he refused to take a healing potion, trusting to his body to do what it did naturally.

Even with the plundered stores of the city, they had used too many healing potions tending to the wounded. If the others could endure the pain of the poison gas they had inhaled, if the Redfang Warriors could sacrifice their lives to distract the Humans, he could sit here and think without a healing potion.

Distract the enemy. That was how Pyrite chose to think of it. The Redfang Warriors were drawing the attention of the Humans, of this Unseen Emperor away from the city. In order to buy time for the tribe to heal, to be able to breathe. Yes, they were raiding and slaughtering Humans who had nothing to do with the conflict. But in a strategic sense…

Pyrite imagined the carnage. He didn’t have to imagine it, really. He had seen enough Goblin raids before. Humans killed. Girls and women abducted, the rest, children and adults, killed and left to rot. Only, Rags wouldn’t order kidnappings. She would just kill them all and torch the fields. He wasn’t sure if that made it better.

What Pyrite was sure of was that it was necessary. Rags was Chieftain and she had seen what he could not. Their enemy, this [Emperor] could not respond to so many attacks. Rags alone had saved their tribe when he had only been able to run and lose more and more Goblins day by day. That was why she was Chieftain.

But was a Chieftain enough to fight an [Emperor]? Pyrite’s skin prickled and grew cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. An [Emperor]. He had gathered the information from Lady Bethal, from the Frostfeeder tribe and Sir Kerrig. That was a danger far beyond any normal Human. They had strayed into his empire. The smart thing to do was run. But somehow, Pyrite doubted the Humans camped across from the city would let them go in peace.

He could see their camp, see the smoke rising in the distance, the picketed horses and the Humans watching him. They were far out of range of bowshot or magic spell. They had been closer at first, perhaps hoping some of their longbows could strike the Goblins from the walls. But Noears’ lightning bolts had convinced them to fall back. Now they waited, staring at the Goblins while the Goblins stared back.

It was a stalemate. Pyrite understood that. Both their mobile cavalry forces were engaged across the region. Meanwhile, Pyrite’s tribe was still recovering from the poison while the Humans couldn’t assault the walls. They’d tried in one bloody skirmish. The crossbows the Flooded Water tribe carried had been enough by themselves to send the Humans running. So the Goblins were safe and the Humans were waiting.

It wouldn’t last. Pyrite knew that with total certainty. Soon the Humans would attack or do something and Rags would counter it. The question he was wrestling with was how he could ensure they would survive.

Rags was a genius. But she was one Goblin and their enemy knew exactly where they were at all times. That was how it seemed. Pyrite understood how dangerous it was to have an all-seeing opponent as your enemy. If he could help Rags pinpoint this [Emperor] or stop them from being seen all the time…

How? It was a question Pyrite had thought in desperation many times while fleeing with his tribe but only now could he devote all of his attention to the problem. He was clear-headed, his stomach was full, and he had time to think. So he engaged the mystery of the all-seeing Humans with all of his mind. It was all he could do to help Rags.

This is how Pyrite thought of it. The Humans could tell where the Goblins were. They could detect ambushes, feints, hidden Goblins, even find gaps in formations to exploit. However, their gaze did not seem to be perfect. They could make mistakes. They needed time to ‘see’ and if they had a lot of targets they couldn’t identify them all.

That spoke to Pyrite of one or two Humans with this ability, whatever it was. Which made sense. If he had to classify this omniscience, he would have explained it as either proper scouting, magic, or a Skill. He knew it wasn’t scouting. No [Scout] could be that perfect and be everywhere at once. And he suspected it wasn’t magic. If it was a scrying spell, why could Noears sense nothing? Also, if there was an enemy [Mage] with that level of magical ability, why weren’t they casting other spells?

That only left a Skill by process of elimination. The trouble was, Pyrite couldn’t imagine a Skill that powerful. Even an [Emperor]’s Skills surely couldn’t be that powerful. Could they? It was all he could think of though, so Pyrite put that as his working theory. Then he turned his mind to figuring out how to stop it.

It was tricky. Pyrite instantly assumed that the all-seeing vision of this [Emperor] probably extended to his lands. If you could see the entire world…no. So they could evade him by running away. Or by killing him. The trick was that this [Emperor] was nowhere to be seen. He could be among the Humans fighting, but Pyrite doubted any ruler would risk himself like that. Thus, the Hobgoblin found himself pondering over the maps of the surrounding landscape, frowning at the names and scratching his head over where the Humans might be.

“What are you looking for?”

Noears stared at the maps with Pyrite. The Hob grunted.

“Big city. Biggest. Fancy name. For [Emperor].”

Noears nodded. He and Pyrite scrutinized the map. The trouble was…there was no city bigger than any other. As Humans reckoned things, the surrounding cities and towns were pretty paltry. None of them was close to a major city like Invrisil, certainly nothing an [Emperor] would stay in. Pyrite did notice an odd symbol next to one of the villages. He squinted.

“River…farm. Riverfarm.”

It looked like someone had marked it as having expanded recently. That was suspicious, but it was still only a small village. Pyrite tapped it and Noears nodded.

Well, the maps were inconclusive. So Pyrite tried his other source—Sir Kerrig. Only, the Human was understandably reticent about giving away information about the mysterious Unseen Emperor.

“I don’t know much. My lady apparently visited him, but if he is your enemy I cannot in good conscience aid you.”

The [Knight] was tending to the wounded Goblins. He had seen poisonous gases before and had instructed the Goblins to gargle salt water. Apparently the salt would draw out the bad humors and toxins. Pyrite hadn’t seen the harm so he’d let the [Knight] do his work. Sir Kerrig seemed caught between pity and regret as he looked at the wounded Goblins. Pyrite only saw innocent children, Goblins who didn’t fight. And he felt…angry. But he kept his face neutral as he nodded.

“No tell where. But who is [Emperor]?”

“I only know a name. Laken Godart. The Unseen Emperor. I’ve no notion why he’s called that or where he comes from.”

“Liar.”

Poisonbite growled. She was sharpening a dagger, glaring at Sir Kerrig. He blew out his mustaches exasperatedly.

“Not all Humans know each other, Miss Poisonbite. His subjects would know, but I doubt capturing one of them would do you any good. As I said, if your Chieftain would consider suing for peace—”

Pyrite turned away. It was that or thump the man. Peace? They didn’t attack first! He knew that didn’t matter to Humans. But it mattered to him. Disconsolate, he wandered through the city, waving at Goblins and listening as they came up to him with problems. Where to poo? Humans had a poo building. Use that. Not enough food? Bring hungry Goblins to him and he would decide. Need healing potion for bad-bad cough? Use tiny bit. Get Noears to use.

The city was a good place. It had food, places to sleep, and walls. The Goblins could rest here. Pyrite listened to a Goblin cough as he passed and noticed the rattling, wheezing sound was better. A bit. If Rags could buy them another few days they could fight.

But fight what? Fight where? The city was a fortress but it was also a trap. The Humans knew where they were and they would send armies. Pyrite stomped through the street, worrying about escaping. Maybe they could find the edge of this Unseen Empire? If he could plot the quickest route away—

The Hob’s ears perked up as he heard a howl and a commotion at the gates. He turned and ran, grabbing the battleaxe he’d strapped to his back. The thing was too big to carry easily. But he was grateful of it now. He saw a group of four Redfang Warriors race into the city and the Goblins at the gates shouting and pushing them closed. The Humans outside were blaring horns and shouting but they hadn’t tried to stop the group once they’d gotten close enough.

Chieftain!

One of the Redscar Warriors called out. She was slumped in her saddle and both she and her Carn Wolf looked half-dead. She turned and saw Pyrite.

Where Chieftain?

“Out. Not see?”

Pyrite’s heart beat faster in worry. The Redfang Goblin shook her head.

Hid! Not join—strange thing—hear retreat!

She was shaking, barely able to stand. Pyrite instantly called for water and food. As the Redfang Warriors dismounted he pointed.

“Sit. Talk. Eat!”

The Goblins sat on the ground and Pyrite watched them devour some cheese and bread as more Goblins ran to get food. He listened intently.

Bad run. Many Humans. Follow. Burn-kill-run. But too many follow.

The Goblins described their ordeal since splitting from the others. They had gone raiding like the rest, but their pursuers had forced them to keep on the move. They had lost their friends, burnt down a farmstead, and then been cornered in a valley.

No good run! So burn—burn too much! Burn tree, grass, big wood not-tree.

Desperate to strike a last blow, the Goblins had set fire to part of the forest. In doing so they had accidentally destroyed a man-made structure. A strange wooden pole, carved with eyes. That was how they described it. Pyrite frowned. Something about that seemed familiar.

“So? Run? Fight?”

No! Hide!

The Goblins nodded as Pyrite blinked, astonished. They had hid from their pursuers? How? It shouldn’t have been possible! But that was what had happened. The Redfang Warrior grimaced as she described it.

Big not-tree gone, Humans no seek. Confuse-scared. Wait for found-death…not come! Humans go! Big not-tree eyes! Eyes on wood!

“Not-tree. Big pole? Big wooden pole carved with eyes?”

Pyrite tried to translate the Goblin’s words. The trouble was that they had no word for what they’d seen. They imitated it, standing on each other’s shoulders, drawing symbols in the dust. Pyrite stared at the long, wooden pole carved with eyes and then he remembered where he’d seen it before.

The back-scratching pole! Pyrite’s own eyes widened. That was it! And it was what had given the Humans their sight! It had to be. The Redfang Warriors had lain in the bushes as the Humans passed right by them and heard them worry about the missing marker. They had hid for hours, believing the Humans were just laying some kind of devious trap. But only after they had fled a few miles were they pursued once more.

Was it magic? When Pyrite summoned Noears the other Goblin declared it couldn’t be. He would have noticed an enchantment! But there was no other explanation for it. These Redfang Warriors weren’t the only to survive by finding the secret of the totems either. As more trickled into the city, they revealed that a good number had survived by accidentally chopping down or burning the man-made markers, upon which the Humans lost track of them.

“Totems are eyes. Eyes for Humans.”

Pyrite felt a rush of satisfaction as he confirmed his theory. He no longer felt helpless as he directed the exhausted Redfangs to sleep and rest. An enemy with a mysterious ability was one thing. But this?

This was different. If they could blind their enemy, Pyrite was certain the Goblins could evade the Humans. He selected eighty Goblins and sent them out in bands of two, armed with axes and torches. Their instructions were simple. They’d hide in areas cleared of the magical markers and search for the others, retreating if Humans tried to find them. With a few days’ time the Goblins could completely blind the Humans in a huge radius around the city.

And then Pyrite heard the horn call. By this point he was back on the walls so he was in prime position to see the last of the Redfangs return in a huge mass. Over a hundred battered warriors raced over a hilltop, followed by the Humans on horseback. It was a desperate flight; the army of camped Humans raced to intercept. Pyrite saw one of the riders hold up a red gem and stop the Humans in their tracks for a second. But the Humans riding behind were determined to cut down as many Goblins as possible.

Crossbows on walls! Noears! Lightning!

Pyrite roared orders and the Flooded Waters tribe surged to the walls. Lightning began blasting riders back and they quickly broke off their pursuit. The Goblins cheered as Rags rode into the city with Redscar. Pyrite did not cheer. He counted. There were far too many missing Redscar Warriors. Of the four hundred they had sent, less than two hundred and forty remained.

Rags’ face reflected the casualties as she rode up to Pyrite. She nearly tumbled from the saddle but he caught her.

“Chieftain. Good work.”

“Is good?”

She spoke tiredly, without a trace of triumph in her voice. Pyrite smiled. He had good news to give her.

“Is good. Time bought. And know secret of Humans.”

She looked up. A glimmer of hope, that spark of intelligence and passion returned to her eyes.

“Tell!”

She sat on the battlements as Pyrite spoke. The Hob conveyed his findings, his suspicions, and watched Rags sort through his thinking and come up with her own conclusions. That reassured him. More than a full belly, more than walls. This was his Chieftain. She would save them. In the distance, Pyrite saw the Humans pulling back. By the end of the day they would double their numbers in size. By morning they would double their number again.

 

Day 104

 

“It’s all burning. They’ve burnt every field they could find. Every village, towns, cities. They’re everywhere.”

I sit in Wiskeria’s cottage, my head in my hands. Nesor hovers around me. I can tell his face is pale, but he doesn’t dare speak. Lady Rie paces by the table.

“But they have retreated, your Majesty?”

“For now. To rest and heal in that damn city. I think they’re all there. I can’t tell.”

I run my hands through my hair, gripping tightly. The place where the city should be is a gaping hole in my mind. I have no sight there. The city is not mine, so it and the surrounding areas are just a blank spot. I can see right up to a certain spot and then the detailed image of grass and stone and trees and so on vanishes. And that’s not the only hole now.

“I’ve lost another totem. Southwest now. Nesor, tell Wiskeria to post guards on the totems if she has to! The Goblins are aiming for them now and another group is—”

I grimace as I see a group of Goblins running towards a totem. One begins chopping at the base of the pole and my image of the area begins growing hazy. It vanishes and I curse and sit back.

“Tell her I want guards on the markers.”

“Yes, sire.”

Nesor puts his hand to his brow and concentrates. Lady Rie sighs and her dress swishes.

“General Wiskeria cannot post guards on every marker, surely.”

“She needs to keep up a field of vision around the city or I can’t help her. Tell Jelov I want more markers carved to replace the ones lost. Today.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Lady Rie’s voice is too calm. As if she hasn’t been here, listening to me frantically try and chase hundreds of Goblins for the last two days. It was all going so well. And then—what happened?

“Wiskeria says they must have changed leaders. She was unable to hunt the main group of Goblins. She tells me they lured her into ambushes, outsmarted her—I saw some of that myself. She’s identified a Goblin with an enchanted longsword with the frost spell. For all the good that does us.”

“Perhaps she will be able to slay the Goblin leader in battle. I assume that is what she intends to do? Take the fight to the city?”

I nod.

“The main army has arrived. Durene’s group. They took longer than I thought—we had to drag the trebuchets on wheels. Slow. But we have two there now and Tessia and the siege team is in place. Wiskeria tells me she is ready to begin the bombardment but she’s asked me to hold off.”

“Why, pray?”

“She’s concerned about the Goblin leader. She’s afraid of a trap.”

“How strange. That is rather cautious of General Wiskeria, especially given her stunning success earlier.”

I grunt sourly.

“I trust her opinion. Beniar’s ready to attack, but Wiskeria’s asking me to hold off, perhaps call for more reinforcements.”

“I doubt you will receive them. The settlements are terrified. Rather, I believe you will be receiving refugees en masse, your Majesty. All of the displaced are converging on Riverfarm.”

What? I have to blink and rub my ears for a second.

“They’re coming here? To me? Why? I’m the one who’s failed to handle all these damn Goblins so far!”

Lady Rie’s voice is patient and I sense her sit delicately as Nesor edges out of the room, still muttering and sending his [Message] spell.

“That is your opinion, Emperor Laken. But I will remind you that your army is the only force attempting to battle the Goblins. The [Lords] and [Ladies] stranded in Riverfarm are inactive, and the cities and towns have closed their gates.”

“Because none of them have an army. Because I levied their soldiers.”

“True. But the people hardly see it that way. To them, your empire is said to be the one safe place to be in the entire region. I have received two dozen [Messages] begging for your aid or further protection and just as many messengers await you.”

“Wonderful.”

I shake my head. That’s just the lopsided, backhanded victory I need. I squeeze my shut eyelids, willing myself to see—but no, I can only see part of my army camped outside of the city limits. I look for a familiar face among the Humans, but I cannot sense Durene. I know she’s there.

“Sire? General Wiskeria has responded.”

A nervous voice interrupts my thoughts. I sense Nesor edge back into the room and Lady Rie makes a gesture. He gulps.

“S-she sends her acknowledgement of your commands, your Majesty. But she begs you to hold off another day.”

“For what, exactly?”

“She d-did not say, Lady Rie. Only that she wished to consult her options.”

Lady Rie makes a tsking sound.

“This is hardly the moment for prudence. The campaign against the Goblins is under scrutiny by the nobles in Riverfarm as well as powers outside. His Majesty must have a victory here. Is General Wiskeria not aware of that?”

“Forgive me my Lady, I did not—”

“Lady Rie.”

She falls silent. I sit in my chair. No choice. I feel like a fool after all my earlier bravado. People are dying. Dead. All because I didn’t strike the Goblins hard enough. I speak bitterly as I sense them nestled in the city. I can’t see them. But I know they’re there, infesting the spot. Like insects. Murderous monsters. Unthinking. I swore never to let my people suffer them again. And I will keep my promise.

“They’re taking away my sight, Lady Rie. They’re burning my lands. Killing my people. What would Wiskeria have me do? If this Goblin leader is a better strategist than she is—don’t let them run. We need to crush them here. Tell her to surround the city. She has the numerical advantage. Don’t let them escape. Use the two trebuchets and have Tessia construct more on the site if she can. Bombard the city until it is rubble. Let’s see the Goblins escape that.

“Yes, your Majesty. Nesor? Send the [Message]. Don’t flinch. I will dictate it to you if need be. Emperor Laken, by your leave.”

Rie rises to give me space. I sit, my head bowed, heart pounding. I hate this. The necessity of it? No. I knew that was going to happen. But I hate sitting here while Durene will fight, while my people will fight and die for me as I sit and hide here, miles away. I interrupt Lady Rie before she can take Nesor to the next room.

“Rie? Tell Wiskeria to keep Durene safe, Lady Rie. She has to fight. But tell her—keep Durene safe.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The door closes. I sit, hearing Rie’s low voice. And wait. In my head the blank spots where the Goblins should be gnaws at my consciousness. They’re there. Out of sight. I can’t see. I can’t…see.

But then I see the two trebuchets being pulled forwards by oxen. I sense the [Engineers] and [Builders] rush forwards and detach the wheels, anchoring it on the ground. In my mind I see them dragging a huge block of stone forwards and then my breath catches.

“Durene.”

She helps load the first trebuchet. I watch her as she steps back, as Tessia adjusts the aim. I see the arm go up and the boulder flies into the air. Out of sight.

For me, at least.

 

—-

 

Rags sat on the battlements of the city wall. It was her turn to sit. Pyrite was sleeping. He’d been working ceaselessly while she had been out raiding. Thinking. Figuring things out. It was thanks to him that she now knew the secret of the Human’s strange sight. He had also kept the tribe running, tended to the injured Redfang Warriors. She was grateful for everything.

Now she knew. Rags recalled the brief conversation they’d had after she’d ravenously eaten. The news about the totems had made her hopping mad that she hadn’t figured it out before. But a larger issue had loomed in her mind.

“Can blind [Emperor]. But where is?”

Pyrite had had no answer to that. He’d shown her the map and shrugged helplessly.

“Sir Kerrig not know.”

“Sir Kerrig is smelly wolf poo.”

Rags sighed. She was faced with a stark choice. She could try to retreat and escape this Unseen Empire’s boundaries, stay until the Humans starved or besieged the city, or launch an assault. None of the prospects sounded appealing. But she had to make a move before the option was taken away from her.

At least she had time. The Humans would be stupid to attack her walls. They didn’t seem to have high-level [Mages] and their superior numbers meant very little to her fortified tribe. If Rags could only find their [Emperor] somehow, then she would have a plan. Maybe—

The Humans were doing something in their camp far away. Rags saw them swarming around a big, wooden thing and dragging a huge stone over to it. She didn’t think much about it until she heard a shout. Then she saw something flying towards her. She looked up. She saw a big block of stone hurtling through the air, falling towards the city. For a moment Rags just stared.

That couldn’t be possible. But it was. And it was falling.

Rags stared as the first boulder fell and shattered a portion of the walls. She looked out and saw a strange thing of metal and wood move. She saw an arm of wood go up, and saw a boulder fly high, high into the sky. It was impossible for something that heavy to move like that. It fell deceptively slowly, and landed with a thump that she felt in her bones.

She saw the chunk of stone gouge a hole in the streets and a piece of shrapnel strike a Goblin. She heard a scream and saw them scatter. The trebuchets launched another boulder. And another. Rags stared and turned her head. No matter where she looked she saw only Humans. Waiting.

And to the north, the Goblin Lord’s army marched on Tremborag’s mountain. The Great Chieftain heard them battering on the doors of his fortress home and roared in fury. His tribe rushed to the traps and defenses, shouting war cries as they clashed with the Goblin Lord’s forces. Tremborag bellowed one word to the Goblin Lord, a challenge.

Come!

Rags sat on her wall and felt the dizzying rush of thoughts coming together. She saw another boulder fly up and watched it land harmlessly outside the walls. She eyed the Humans, saw them scurry to reload, and nodded. She spoke softly.

“I have a plan.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.31 G

They flooded into the mountain wearing black armor. Black, like bugs. Garen had heard of the Antinium, a race of insects. He imagined they must be like the Goblin Lord’s army—a vast, ravenous host without fear or thought.

But the Goblins that besieged Tremborag’s fortress weren’t insects. They were people. For all they were monsters in the eyes of all. They thought. They bled. And they could be broken, Goblin Lord or not.

The first wave struck two hours after the ambush in the woods. Goblins raced up the rocky slopes of Dwarfhalls Rest. As mountains went it wasn’t the largest by far. Compared to the High Passes it was a foothill among giants. But it was large enough. No citadel was taller, and even the climbing was treacherous. But the Goblins were warriors and spurred on by their leader, they swarmed up the mountainside. The battle began when they located one of the entrances to the mountain.

A dark tunnel mined out of stone, partly invisible against the rock face. The first Goblins in black armor entered the passage, shouting back at their companions. They made it in about twenty feet before they were swarmed from the shadows. Other Goblins, not wearing the signature black armor of Reiss’ troops, dropped on the Goblins from above, shot arrows, and charged out of the shadows with blades in hand. They did not wear metal armor by and large, but their blades were no less deadly.

The battle began as the Goblin Lord’s troops poured into the tunnel, shouting furiously. They bunched up, fighting with Tremborag’s Goblins as both sides fought in the narrow bottleneck. However, the battle had been of the Mountain City tribe’s choosing and so the Goblin Lord’s soldiers found themselves at a disadvantage.

Goblins with bows crouched on hidden ledges in the tunnel and more used higher ground to loose arrows or throw stones at their enemies. The rest, Hobs and normal Goblins alike, fought in an unending torrent of reinforcements. They would fall back if injured, fight on if not. The Goblin Lord’s forces found themselves unable to advance another step.

They could hold this spot forever. With that knowledge in mind, the Goblin Lord’s army quickly set about finding more entries into the mountain. They knew there had to be countless routes in. Goblins would have built themselves bolt holes and secret passages over the years. Sure enough, another entrance was located within minutes and more Goblins poured into the gap.

Again, they ran into a choke point filled with Tremborag’s Goblins. Undeterred, the Goblin Lord’s army fought in the tunnel while more scouted for other entrances. They found another. And another.

By this time the Goblin Lord’s army covered the mountainside like the insects they had reminded Garen of. They were already starting to establish a camp at the base of the mountain and the Goblin Lord’s officers were making their way up the slopes to take command of the fighting. More Goblins were circling around, running to find more secret entrances. That was when Garen struck.

Down he came, out of a hidden spot high above with his Redfang Warriors. They howled as they raced down the rocky slopes. The Carn Wolves easily bounded from rock to rock, remembering their home habitat of the High Passes. The band of the Goblin Lord’s soldiers looked up in time to see Garen Redfang charging down at him and hear the rattling of stones as more Goblins armed with bows raced out of the mountain. They raised their weapons and Garen charged into them atop his Carn Wolf.

Weak!

He roared as he slashed down at the first Goblin. His sword slashed through the sturdy wooden haft of the Goblin’s halberd and into the Goblin’s face. Garen wrenched his sword up, turned, and cut again. He needed no Skills—his enchanted sword cut through the crude black armor with ease. Before him the Goblin Lord’s warriors scattered as the rest of Garen’s warband cut them down.

Garen finished off the sixth Goblin when he heard the warning shout from above. A shower of arrows flew down and glanced off raised shields. The Goblin Lord’s army had seen the fighting and thousands of Goblins were pouring up the mountain. Garen pointed back up.

“Retreat!”

He and the Carn Wolves raced back up the slope, howling in triumph. They retreated into the mountain passage as the rest of Tremborag’s Goblins harried the approaching Goblins and then fell back. Soon, there was fighting in this passage as well, but again the Goblin Lord’s army found themselves stalemated. Garen raced through the mountain’s interior to another one of the secret passages carved out of stone.

Twice more he fell on the Goblin Lord’s army, inflicting many casualties before retreating. After the second time he was forced to abandon his raids—by this point the Goblin Lord’s army had entrenched themselves thoroughly on the mountainside. That was when the siege began in earnest.

 

—-

 

“Snapjaw, take control of west. Eater of Spears, watch top of mountain. No leader enters the mountain. Send only our warriors. Now. Bring me my [Shamans] and [Mages].”

Standing at the base of the mountain, the Goblin Lord named Reiss stared up at the lines of his soldiers moving slowly up the rocky terrain. What appeared to be chaos at first was in fact an organized system. Goblins would divide themselves up into groups, moving towards camps that had been set about each entrance to the mountain. The army was fighting on sixteen different fronts and each one had to receive a constant flow of supplies, reinforcements, and have a spot for the wounded to be brought out.

Not that there were many wounded. Goblins died before they could retreat in the narrow passageways. Reiss stared up at the mountain, listening to a report from one of his Goblins.

“Bad-bad box with Goblin archers! Much raining death and chop death from Goblins! Many Hobs! Many strong-cut death swords!”

“How many [Shamans]? Any special Goblins?”

The smaller Goblin had to think.

“One glow [Shaman]. Other smaller glow. Special Goblins—no. Many Hobs.”

“I see. Go get food. Eat.”

The Goblin nodded and ran towards a spot where food was being passed out to hungry soldiers and Goblins alike. The Goblin Lord’s force wasn’t all soldiers—many of the Goblins around Reiss weren’t armed at all. He had elected to camp on the base of the mountain, rather than ascend any further. Now Reiss stared up at the mountain. His army had covered one face, but the summit and the rest of the mountain had yet to be explored.

“Many holes in mountain. Many ambushes. They have prepared a long time. Do you think it is a bad battle?”

He glanced to one side and saw a stranger among his camp. Osthia Blackwing, the sole prisoner of the Goblin Lord’s forces, glared at him. But she didn’t waste time replying. Her gaze was bitter but calculating as she stared up at the mountain.

“It sounds like this other tribe has fortified the mountain well. Those choke points will be the death of your army—you won’t ever take them by force.”

That had been Reiss’ thought. He nodded slowly, weighing Osthia’s words against the way she moved, her body posture. She was telling the truth.

“But there are many entrances to the mountain.”

“How many?”

Reiss gave Osthia the aimless shrug of a true Goblin.

“Many.”

She eyed him sourly. Her tail lashed a bit.

“That’s a foolish mistake. No Drake fortress would ever have so many entryways.”

“No. But it is a good thing for Goblins. They will ambush from behind. And many ways in means many ways out if they are losing.”

“That’s exactly what I would expect from a Goblin army. Well then, I’m sure there are some places that haven’t been fortified as well. If you attack from ten different spots and gain a foothold, you could push in.”

Reiss nodded.

“Good plan.”

Osthia snorted and turned away. The Drake had lost her armor and her clothes were worn from days on the march. Her wings twitched in their metal manacles as she paced a bit. She glared up at the mountainside.

“You know they’ll ambush you if you don’t surround every passageway, don’t you? And doing that will spread your forces too thin.”

“I know. My lieutenants will begin building defenses soon. We will surround two thirds of the mountain. Leave the back way open with watchers. If they come out, we will kill them there.”

The Drake grunted. It was as much approval as he would get from her. Reiss watched her calmly for another moment.

She wasn’t helping him. She wasn’t—and yet she was willing to talk strategy with him. He could have come up with all the conclusions she’d led him to on his own, but it was good to have another mind to think on these subjects. Reiss knew that Osthia would deny it if he asked her, but she had become more willing to speak to him these last few days.

There was nothing magical about it. He had not coerced her or threatened her or done anything else. It was just that she had been in his camp for so long that she had to talk to someone or go mad. The other Goblins fed her and left her alone by and large. It was the isolation that had turned her into a reluctant advisor. Reiss could understand that. No one wanted to be alone.

A roar from the top of the mountain drew his attention. A Goblin had emerged from a hidden spot and was pointing down at his forces. Reiss narrowed his eyes as he saw the aura of magic around the Goblin. He—no, she was a [Shaman]!

High above, Ulvama, Chief [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe cackled and waved a staff. The paint on her bare breasts and mostly uncovered body gleamed as she pointed down at the Goblin Lord’s army. From her staff she shot fire, great masses of it that drifted down and blanketed the grouped-up Goblins. They screamed and fled as the fire baked them in their armor. Behind Ulvama more Goblins streamed out of the mountain. Young Goblins—Hobs and regular warriors. They burned with passion. Ulvama pointed at them. She screamed as she gathered magic to her.

“Go! Kill the weak Goblins! Kill the slave-Goblins! Be wild! Be monsters!

The Goblins roared as she cast a spell on them. The red lights in their eyes brightened and their bodies grew slightly as they raced down the slopes. Propelled into a battle madness by her [Bloodfury] spell, they hurled themselves against the Goblin Lord’s forces until they were all dead. Ulvama retreated back into the mountain, laughing. It was too easy!

“You’re in trouble. That was a high-level [Shaman], wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Reiss watched as the last of the enchanted Goblins were subdued by his forces. Already he had a sense of how the battle was stacked up. On his side he had more numbers than Tremobrag’s forces. He had an army of over a hundred thousand—although a good third of that number was filled with Goblins who wouldn’t fight unless backed into a corner. Children, heavily pregnant Goblins, those who didn’t want to fight, and so on.

On Tremborag’s side were probably forty thousand goblins at most. But they could hold the mountain so long as they held their tunnels. They knew the mountains. They had left traps—collapsing ceilings, spikes that swung out of the darkness—and they could keep withdrawing into their home if defeated on any one front.

It wasn’t a battle Reiss would have taken normally. But two things made him believe he could win. Firstly, if Tremborag and Garen Redfang fell or were captured, the tribe would instantly join his. He didn’t need to slaughter all of the Mountain City tribe—in fact, he wanted them largely intact. They would make his army half again as large. Assuming he could defeat the enemy Chieftains, of course. And to that end—

Reiss felt the magical auras as a group of Goblins approached him. Many were wearing armor like regular soldiers, although some had found robes both magical and mundane. All held some sort of catalyst, although again, the quality varied from a magical stave or wand seized from a Human to a pointy stick with leaves still growing from it. Reiss turned and his [Mages] and [Shamans] bowed to him.

“It is time. Send in the undead.”

 

—-

 

In the mountain, Tremborag was already celebrating. He ate on his dirty throne, laughing, as his warriors not fighting on the front ate and shouted triumphantly. It was an act that boosted the morale of his tribe. Not only could Tremborag feast himself during a siege, he was confident enough not to fight. The Great Chieftain drank deeply from a vessel of wine and turned to Garen Redfang. The Hobgoblin was staring at the indulgent display with contempt. Tremborag waved at him.

“Eat, Redfang! Or are you afraid the Goblin Lord will pop out of the food and slay you?”

He laughed raucously and the Goblins around him laughed too. Garen turned his head and stared silently at Tremborag. He and his faction of Goblins ate lightly, readying themselves for the next battle. Undeterred, Tremborag grinned, exposing all of his teeth.

“The Goblin Lord has not passed through a single tunnel so far. We slaughter his soldiers at each spot! And he will not find an opening into the mountain that is not trapped or watched. What say you? Is this not the battle you wanted?”

“His army is big.”

Garen’s comment made Tremborag laugh all the harder. He slapped one knee, making the fat and flesh jiggle.

“Big? Oh, for a tribe. For a Chieftain! But for a Goblin Lord? His army is weak! Small! Raw. My tribe is greater than his! I have been Chieftain for decades. How long has he been Lord? Half a year? He should never have come to my mountain.”

There was more truth to that boast than not. As armies went, the Goblin Lord’s force was fairly well-equipped and trained. But they didn’t stand out like other forces, or like Garen’s elite warriors who were far superior in individual fights or in equal matches.  On the other hand, Tremborag’s tribe was vast as befitted his title and he had many Hobs and experienced warriors of his own. The Goblin Lord’s forces were made up of many smaller tribes of varying, often mediocre quality—Tremborag’s forces could be said to stand a notch above them in quality.

All of this was true. And yet Garen did not relax. Tremborag lost interest in taunting him and turned back to his food. He was about to call a Goblin female over—why not?—when he heard a distant commotion. He stopped eating and the Goblins around him looked up uncertainty.

The doors flew open and one of Tremborag’s lesser lieutenants rushed into the room. Tremborag rose, annoyed. This Hob should have been overseeing one of the besieged tunnels.

“Great Chieftain! Bad trouble!”

“What is it?”

“Undead! Many-many undead coming! Overwhelming, sneaky death!”

The Hobgoblin looked frantic. Tremborag stared at him and then roared.

“Undead? So what? Kill them! Shoot them with arrows! Chop off their heads!”

“Great Chieftain! Can’t!”

Enraged, Tremborag strode forwards off his dais and snatched the smaller Goblin up. He glared at the Hob as every Goblin around him held their breath and backed away.

“Why not?

The Hob gasped as Tremborag’s massive clawed hand squeezed him. He looked into Tremborag’s furious face and spoke weakly.

“Undead go boom.”

 

—-

 

They walked into the tunnels. Shambling forms. Pallid bodies. All were rotting. The unholy, damned light of undeath shone in their eyes. They moved forwards. Zombies, mainly. A few skeletons. Ghouls in small packs and a handful of the deadly Draug. The Goblin Lord’s living forces moved aside to let them pass. The undead moved into the kill spots and grappled with the Goblins there. They threw themselves relentlessly towards the defenders, ignoring all but the most debilitating of injuries.

If that were all they would have been held back. At cost, but with no more difficulty than the regular soldiers. But mixed among the undead Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, and regular Goblins were…children. Undead Goblins who moved a bit faster than the rest. They snuck closer amid the fighting, directed by far-off [Necromancers] and [Shamans].

And when they were amid the struggling lines of the Goblin defenders or worse, among a group of Tremborag’s Goblins, they would bite at an ankle or strike weakly with their small bodies. Of course, they would be instantly crushed by or speared or hacked apart. And that was when they would explode.

The first few detonations killed dozens of defenders each. Shock and confusion allowed the undead to push forwards. The Mountain City tribe fell back in disarray, not understanding what the sudden explosions had been caused by. They suspected [Mages] and looked for invisible Goblins or ones armed with scrolls or magical items. By the time they realized the small Goblins were the source of the detonations, they had taken heavy losses.

Tremborag stared in disbelief at the steam of wounded Goblins fleeing from the forward tunnels. He saw many were wounded and far more were terrified. Tremborag roared and the Goblins rushing towards him froze. He swung a claw and sent the closest Goblins to him flying with broken bones.

“Cowards! Get back to fighting!

The Goblins looked at their Great Chieftain and wavered. They weighed the odds of dying with incurring their Chieftain’s wrath and slowly turned. Tremborag growled furiously as he heard more detonations echo distantly back into the mountain.

“Exploding undead? This Goblin Lord has a second army. An army of tricks! Cowardly little tricks!”

“Good tricks.”

Tremborag turned, his eyes narrowed. Garen stood behind him. The Hob stared past Tremborag with a frown.

“The entrances are lost. Too small. Too narrow.”

Tremborag knew he was right. The Great Chieftain roared in anger and stomped about, but he had figured out the same thing Garen had. In the narrow tunnels the exploding undead would utterly destroy the defenders as they bunched up. Tremborag snarled but growled an order to one of his Hobs.

“Pull back! We will slaughter them in the open!”

The Hob raced off shouting to do Tremborag’s bidding. Garen looked up at the huge Hobgoblin.

“More fighting. On bridges, in open. Means fighting in tunnels. Harder to hold. More deaths.”

Tremborag was close to lashing out. He held himself back from striking Garen with effort. His voice deepened with fury.

“We will slaughter them in great numbers, then! You will fight, Redfang. You and your Goblins. And I will hunt down the Goblin Lord’s officers. Tomorrow we will go hunting.”

Garen nodded. Tremborag strode back into his throne room and resumed eating with such fury that no Goblin dared to disturb him. In the mountain, the Goblins pulled back. They abandoned the narrow entrances to the mountain and ran into larger tunnels. They were the last stopgap before the center of the mountain which was crisscrossed with bridges and wood scaffolding. The invading Goblins and undead followed them and clashed against the solid barricades that had been set up, screaming as oil and boiling water was poured on them from above.

 

—-

 

Osthia listened to the garbled reports coming into the Goblin Lord’s tent, trying to make sense of it all. The crude language of the Goblins and their partial mastery of the common tongue as well as multiple reports being delivered at once made understanding anything hellishly difficult, but she had learned that part of Goblin communication was body language. Too, she thought she almost understood some of the Goblin’s speech. A few words that were repeated, a phrase here and there—useless, of course, but it helped knowing what was going on.

“They’re fighting in wider spaces. Looks like they’re trapped. Your exploding undead will do less good there.”

“Yes. But they can go through other tunnels. Now the Great Chieftain must defend from me.”

Reiss turned and grinned. Osthia looked at him and tried to find the disgust and hatred in her heart. All she felt was a bit of anger. She’d been his captive too long. She had hated him, tried to kill him after Zel Shivertail had fallen. But she had known it was the Necromancer who had killed him. And Reiss had left his body for the Humans, wept. She wanted to hate him. That would make things simple. Easy. But she couldn’t. So Osthia glanced up at the mountain, aglow with torches.

“What now? Any Drake commander would dig in and find the most advantageous spots to keep slaughtering your troops. How will Goblins fight?”

“Not dig in. Mountain too much stone.”

The Goblin Lord grinned and Osthia realized he’d made a joke. She stared at him stonily. He gave her another shrug.

“Goblin Chieftain cannot ward all tunnels from undead and my soldiers. Now there are spots. I will send in Hobs, strong warriors. Try to find ways towards him.”

“Kill teams.”

“Yes. And he will hunt my officers. Now it is a battle to kill each other’s best warriors. Mages. Special Goblins.”

Osthia nodded. That was another way of fighting. Take out the head of an army, the [Strategists], high-level warriors and so on, and all you had left were fodder. She looked at Reiss and wondered again if she wanted him to win or lose this battle. If he won he would be even stronger. But a Goblin nation—if he conquered a city in Human lands, would that really be the worst? He had promised to set her free if he made his kingdom a reality.

On the other hand, if this Great Chieftain won, what then? The Goblin Lord’s forces would retreat, be forced to raid and build up. And he was the Necromancer’s enemy, or so he claimed. The sooner Osthia could escape and warn her people…

“Will your master join the battle? Or will he reserve his help for when you’re cornered?”

Reiss’ smile twisted into a scowl. He looked at Osthia with his black eyes and then shook his head.

“The further we are from him, the harder it is for him to cast magic. He will not help. And if I go further still—”

Reiss’ eyes travelled back towards the mountain. Osthia stared at it and shivered. An old Dwarven home. It was a powerful refuge. If Reiss occupied it, would this be his Goblin kingdom? Or an outpost? Or would he abandon it? She didn’t know. And as Reiss turned back to issue more orders, Osthia wondered what the Humans were doing. They had to know the battle was going on. Would they wait until both sides were exhausted before moving in? She was afraid that would be a mistake. The Goblins might hate each other, but a common enemy could unite them. Or would they fight each other to the end despite the new threat, like her people?

Overhead the moon rose. As the first day of fighting drew to an end, the siege continued with the undead besieging the mountain while the Goblin Lord’s forces rested. Parts of the army would awaken to night raids and quiet assassinations in the dark. The siege would heat up the next day. Both sides would throw everything into the conflict and it would take only a few lucky strokes for one group to gain a decisive edge over the other.

Ironically, less than a hundred miles away a different siege would be playing out quite differently on the exact same day.

 

—-

 

The stones fell from the sky. Like birds falling from the sky. Only, they weren’t birds. Massive chunks of stone fell on the city filled with Goblins, smashing through the rooftops of buildings, sending the cobblestone street fountaining up in explosions of dirt and shrapnel. The two trebuchets fired a stone every ten minutes at most—the Humans swarming over the trebuchet had to pull back the arm, drag over a boulder and adjust the aim each time. Nevertheless, the stones falling on the city were a terrifying thing for any besieged army to contemplate. The Goblins stood on the battlements and stared.

In wonder. It was less fear and more awe that had children and adult Goblins alike sitting on the battlements, watching the trebuchets reload. Of course, when the stones flew the Goblins scattered out of the likely flight path, calling warnings. But until that brief moment they were more impressed than anything else. Where any other species might have felt fear, Goblins were surprisingly resilient.

The sky had begun throwing stones at them. Okay. It wasn’t pleasant, but to the Goblins it was just another way to die. They were more concerned with whether they’d have to stay in the city while the rocks kept falling. It was easy to dodge the boulders if you had sentries on the walls, but what about if you were asleep? And soon the city walls would be full of holes.

Rags had grasped all of that the instant she’d seen the trebuchets. Her vision of a secure city melted in the face of the Human’s strange devices. But her anguish over her ruined plans had been replaced by an idea. A plan.

Noears!

The small Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe screamed a word as Goblins ran about the city. Pyrite was making his way up the steps of the walls, looking worried. Rags could see Sir Kerrig below as well. The [Knight] was making the smallest Goblins hide in the shadow of the walls. She understood. Of course—taking shelter in the lee of the walls would be the safest spot since the boulders would either hit the wall or go past it. She called out an order and pointed. Goblins began running to reposition themselves.

“Chieftain?”

Pyrite panted a bit as he crested the stairs. He took one look at the trebuchets and said a bad Human word. Rags nodded absently.

“Human thing. Far-crushing death.”

The big Hob said the bad word again. He stared at the trebuchet as it was slowly reloaded. The arm bent back.

“What now, Chieftain? Leave city? Walls will have many holes soon.”

“Mm. Not too soon. Humans have bad aim.”

They had two massive trebuchets. They must have taken ages to drag across the landscape. And for all that they could hurl huge stones, their aim was fairly bad. Rags’ keen eyes picked out the operators on both trebuchets. It looked like a Human female was aiming one of them. That trebuchet seemed more on target. Two of the three stones it had hurled had hit the walls. The other trebuchet had hit a different spot each time. Yes, give them time and the city would slowly be demolished. However—

“Chieftain, you called me?”

A voice made Rags turn. She saw Noears panting harder than Pyrite. He looked warily at the trebuchets. Rags pointed.

“Big falling stone.”

“I saw.”

Noears grimaced, his face expressing a whole host of emotions. Rags nodded. She could see her lieutenants making their way towards her, keeping an eye on the sky. Yes, the trebuchets could do a lot of damage by accident, but it would be hard to hit a specific target. She could work with that.

“Noears, how much mana? How many potions?”

He blinked at her and scrubbed a hand across his bald head.

“Can cast lots of spells, Chieftain. Got four potions.”

He patted his belt where one of them hung. Noears warily eyed the trebuchets in the distance. He shook his head.

“Too far. Get close is dangerous. Use fire and arrows instead?”

He looked hopefully at Rags, assuming she wanted him to get close and zap the trebuchets. Rags shook her head. She pointed up.

“Good aim? Can hit stones?”

Noears blinked. He looked up, and then grinned.

“Can try.

The next boulder flew as Rags was calling for more Goblins. It had a good arc and would have plummeted into the city center. Only, as it neared the walls of the city, Noears pointed up and shouted.

“[Lighting Bolt]!”

A flash of lightining and a boom made every Goblin look up. Stone shards rained down from above, making the Goblins on the walls shield their eyes. The boulder tumbled and fell—not on the city center but hitting one of the walls. Rags shook her head as she heard a scream and saw Goblins fleeing the impact site.

“Shoot better!”

She shouted at Noears. The Goblin [Mage] grunted.

“Hard!”

He took a position on the walls. His lightning bolt spell was powerful, but it could only crack or change the boulder’s trajectory. Rags thought he could protect the city for an hour at best. She nodded to herself.

“Chieftain?”

More Goblins approached. Quietstab, Redscar, a few Hobs, and Poisonbite. The female raid leader coughed a bit, but her breathing sounded much better. Rags looked at her.

“Good breathe?”

“Can fight, Chieftain! Want to destroy big wood thing?”

Poisonbite grabbed one of her daggers and pointed at the trebuchet. Rags shook her head. the Human army was camped all around it and they outnumbered her tribe a good bit.

“No.”

“What then, Chieftain? Sit here not good. Slow crush death.”

Quietstab looked apprehensive, but Rags just sneered at him. She struck an arrogant pose, aware that below, Sir Kerrig was watching her.

“Sit here very good! Sit here all we need! Flooded Waters tribe not afraid of rocks, right?”

“Right.”

The other Goblins chorused uncertainly. Rags pointed at Redscar.

“You get nails.”

She pointed at Quietstab.

“Get wood. Break houses!”

She pointed at Poisonbite.

“Got stones! Big stones. Like boulder.”

Finally, she pointed at Pyrite.

“You get lots of Goblins. Wait for signal.”

They nodded hesitantly. Rags turned to the second group of Goblins she’d called. They weren’t Hobs, save for one. Over two thirds of the Goblins didn’t even carry weapons! But they all had a specific class.

[Tinkerer]. [Builder]. [Hammerer], [Armorer], [Scavenger]. They were a group unique to her tribe. Every Goblin tribe had someone good at repairing armor or making crude spears, but Rags’ tribe had learned to create crossbows. They had built their crude armor thanks to her [Scavenger Armor] Skill. And she had aquired a level or three in the [Tinkerer] class too. Rags pointed at the trebuchet.

“Human thing. Throw big rocks. Want.”

The Goblins stared at the distant trebuchet. They scratched their heads. Not a single one told Rags it was impossible. They just stared. After a second, one frowned.

“Big turn thing.”

The Goblin had identified the fulcrum, or axle the trebuchet was rotating on. She pointed it out to Rags and the others. Another Goblin observed the way the Humans were reloading the catapult and triggering it with ropes. A third stared at the counterweight, watching it swing down. Another watched Noears blow the stone out of the sky because that was fun to see.

It wasn’t as if the trebuchet was that hard to understand. Arm went down, arm went up. Stone goes in sling, stone goes flying. The Goblins may not have ever studied calculus or observed more than basic physics, but they had eyes. And the Humans had helpfully given them two trebuchets as an example. The real problem wasn’t even resources—Rags had already sent her tribe demolishing parts of the city for whatever they needed. The real problem was in copying the trebuchet perfectly.

“How big is arm? How long is rope?”

Rags frowned at the distant trebuchet. That was the thing. She was fairly certain that if the rope was too long or the trebuchet was poorly made it would break. In making the crossbows she’d seen how poor wood or faulty recreations snapped in the user’s faces. So she and her engineering team stared hard at the trebuchet, trying to figure out a way to copy it. They hit upon their idea after three minutes of staring.

Human there. Got helmet.

One of the Goblins pointed at a Human [Soldier] who looked bored as he stood to attention besides the trebuchet. He was watching it move and was standing close. He was perfect. The other Goblins focused on him and one ran to get a Human-sized helmet. Yes, Human heads varied in size, but not greatly. They began piling up helmets and arguing over how tall the Human was. As they did, they stared at the Human and began comparing his head to the length of the trebuchet arm.

Rags saw several Goblins measuring with their claws and then bringing out little bits of string which they marked with their new measuring unit. How many Human heads across was the trebuchet’s arm? How wide was it? She did her own calculations, poking Goblins and arguing with them. For once they argued back.

The engineering team bickered, threw one of their own off the walls in fury, ducked as another stone flew past them, and then swarmed off the battlements. They descended on the ready supplies, poking other Goblins and conveying through hand gestures and short sentences what was needed. The other Goblins listened, scratched their heads, and got to work.

It was incredible. To Sir Kerrig, the trebuchets employed by Laken Godart’s army were nothing short of miraculous in themselves. The Drakes knew how to build siege weapons, but they had classes! An [Engineer] was as valuable as a [Knight] equipped in full plate armor—more, in fact! If he had gone to any group of Humans and told them to copy a trebuchet they would have laughed at him or given up after a few attempts. But Goblins didn’t say ‘that’s impossible’ or ‘I can’t do it’. They just did it or got a whack from their Chieftain.

Of course, not everything was straightforward. Finding the right timber to use for their first trebuchet was hard since they only had beams from houses to work with. The first arm of the trebuchet they cobbled together broke due to the weight they placed on it. Too, the measurements of the arm were off and so the first trebuchet simply collapsed before it could be built.

To fix these problems, Rags sent a group of Hobs out covertly from the city. It was a risky thing, but they managed to get to the forest and down a tree before the Humans sent a patrol at them. Redscar’s Carn Wolves and a host of Goblins with crossbows on the walls convinced the Human army to let the Goblins do…whatever it was they were doing. Who cared so long as most didn’t escape? They moved along the forest’s edge, encircling the city at a distance from the other side.

Indeed, for the most part the Human army’s morale was soaring. They sat at a distance, jeering, as their trebuchets launched more boulders at the walls of the city. There were already holes in the western wall and Noears had run out of mana and been forced to rest. The army was content to lounge about. Why, within a day or two the city would be so full of holes the Goblins would either run or be dead! They were confident. Right up until the saw they first boulder flying towards them.

 

—-

 

To be fair, the first stone wasn’t half as large as the ones that had been flying at the city. And it landed well short of the Humans’ camp. But the fear and shock it caused sent a physical ripple through the besieging force’s lines. It wasn’t just the danger. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing their specially designed, unique trebuchets copied so quickly. It was a basic, simple feeling.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair. Goblins couldn’t create devices! They weren’t smart enough to copy things like that! They couldn’t just replicate something that had taken a team of [Engineers] to build! But as the second and third boulders flew from the city walls, the Humans had to face facts. The Goblins had built a trebuchet of their own.

One. Sir Kerrig could see it being loaded and the arm pulled into place by the team of Goblins as more argued over a second one. It was incredible, but the Goblins worked in perfect synchronization. They had the materials, the manpower, and the motivation. But all of that might have been for naught save for their Chieftain.

There she was, striding past the first trebuchet, snapping at other Goblins and moving the rest. Sir Kerrig stared at Rags. Such a small Goblin! But she was terrifyingly smart. She had organized this tribe, defeated every attack sent against her. She was dangerous. But she could also be reasoned with. That was his hope. There was some goodness, some innate quality that could be redeemed in her. If not her, then certainly in Pyrite. If only he could end this fighting!

Such was Kerrig’s wish. But he had been flatly rejected by Rags once before. That was why he was astounded and not a little bit suspicious when Rags herself strode up to him. And the first thing she said made him warier still.

“Time for peace. You go.”

She pointed at the gates, which had been partially collapsed by a shot from the Humans. Now both sides were flinging stones at each other as fast as they could. Sir Kerrig saw a boulder smash into a wall and send up a spray of stones and stared at Rags in disbelief.

“Now? You must be joking.”

“No. Now is best time for peace.”

She grinned toothily at him. Sir Kerrig frowned at her. He looked over Rags’ shoulder at Pyrite. The Hob was keeping one eye towards the sky as he watched Rags talk.

“Your tribe is willing to offer some assurance of peace?”

“Yes. Those.”

Rags pointed at the second trebuchet being built. Sir Kerrig stared at her. His head began to hurt.

“That is the opposite of what I spoke of. I told you that there must be proof of your goodwill! Proof that you can be trusted!”

The small Goblin stared at Sir Kerrig, tilting her head back and forth. She nodded.

“Trust. We not trust Humans. They attacked us. First.”

She emphasized the word. Behind her, Pyrite nodded. Rags pointed to the trebuchet.

“Humans come here to kill. Bring rock throwing thing. But we have rock throwing thing now too.”

“Trebuchets.”

“Good name. They cannot get rid of us. We cannot leave with them. So trust. They go, we run away. Otherwise we stay and both starve.”

There was a twisted logic to it. But Sir Kerrig felt a fire in his chest as he stared past Rags at Redscar. The Goblin was sitting on a Carn Wolf, clearly enjoying watching the trebuchets firing. He was gesturing at one, asking for a turn aiming it.

“That may be far too late. Your people raided the countryside. You slaughtered innocents! If you had asked me four days ago, my response would have been different. What proof have I now that you won’t immediately strike once you have retreated?”

Rags looked thoughtful. She glanced at Pyrite and he reached for something at his side. He was holding his sack and Sir Kerrig blinked as he pulled out one of his pieces of gold. Rags pointed at it.

“This help?”

“Gold? Are you trying to buy a peace treaty?”

Sir Kerrig didn’t know if he should be outraged or impressed. Rags nodded a few times.

“Good. Buy. Don’t need shiny things. We give for dead. Humans let us go away.”

The [Knight] gritted his teeth hard.

“That does not excuse all the death.”

“No. But enough dead on Human side now. Makes up for Goblins.”

The small Goblin peered at Sir Kerrig. She wasn’t exactly smiling. But her eyes—Sir Kerrig shuddered as he saw the simple calculation in Rags’ gaze. You killed us. We killed you. Now we’re even. Rags pointed at the bag Pyrite was holding again.

“Give to Humans. You take one to big Human leader. General? Emperor? Tell more if go. Humans get shiny things. We keep that.”

She pointed at the Goblin-made trebuchet. Sir Kerrig stared at it.

“You want to keep that?

“No. Keep know how to make. We take and go. Humans let us go.”

“That’s…”

Sir Kerrig tried to find words for how unacceptable the idea of that was. Goblins with the ability to create siege weapons? And this tribe. He looked at Rags and knew what his answer was.

“Chieftain Rags. I am afraid my answer is no. I cannot trust your motives. I cannot trust you. As for the Unseen Emperor—I am certain I would not be able to convince him of anything you have said either.”

He kept his tone level, wondering if Rags would order him killed or stab him herself. The small Goblin’s eyes flashed at his words. She stared at him and then stomped her foot.

“Trust? Trust? Why Humans only ones who need trust? If trust wanted—get mage! Get truth spell! Get [Emperor] to come here and talk! Then I say tribe is leaving, no want fight. And truth is known to all! We did not start fight. We will end it! If trust you want—get way to trust us!”

Her raised voice made the other Goblins look over. Rags glared at Sir Kerrig. He sat back, surprised. A [Mage]? Truth spells? How did she know about those? Then again, nothing about Rags could surprise him anymore. And the thought was…

“You would swear on truth spell that your motives are genuinely peaceful?”

Rags nodded.

“Would swear. Get Humans to stop attack, we go. Tell [Emperor]. We meet. We talk. Safe ground.”

“No [Emperor] would risk himself that way, surely.”

Rags rolled her eyes.

“Then go shout at each other from far away! Any way works! You go. Ask!”

She pointed towards the gates. Sir Kerrig stared at her. Was she serious? He looked at Pyrite. The Hobgoblin was waiting patiently.

“Sir Pyrite. What do you say? Is your tribe’s goal truly peaceful?”

The Hob considered the question and Sir Kerrig watched closely. Pyrite chewed on something, frowned, chewed again, and then nodded. He spoke slowly, deliberately.

“Goblins want to live. Emperor? Humans? Other tribes? All danger. Want peace. Big battle not good idea. You go best way to let all live. So you go. Or is peace not better than war?”

He looked pointedly at Sir Kerrig. The [Knight] slowly nodded. He stood and looked at Rags. The small Goblin watched him carefully. Warily. He nodded to her.

“Chieftain Rags, if your words are sincere, I will attempt to broker peace with Emperor Laken. I cannot guarantee that he will agree. But give me your message to him and I will carry it. I may need a horse.”

Rags nodded. She whistled and shouted a word. A Goblin raced off. Rags looked back at Sir Kerrig.

“Can try for peace. May work, may not. But now is a good time.”

She pointed at the trebuchets again. One fired and the Goblins cheered as the boulder went flying towards the Humans. Rags grinned.

“Peace is best when both sides have big sword.”

Sir Kerrig looked at her and shook his head. He tried to tell her she was wrong, but she was right and wrong at the same time. So young. He wished he could explain it to her, but he doubted she would listen and now was not the time. He prayed he would have the opportunity to tell her what peace really meant. For now he looked towards the Goblin pulling a horse towards him and braced himself. When he rode out of the city it was carrying a white flag and a golden nugget in a pouch by his side.

 

—-

 

Durene’s ears twitched as she heard another thump as a stone thudded into the ground close to where she was walking. She looked back and saw the stone. It had landed and smashed out a small crater a few feet away from the tents that had been set up in the center of the camp. She saw a Human bowman staring at the boulder. It had landed only a few feet away from him. His hands shook as he held the piece of bread he’d been gnawing on.

“Miss Durene! Over here!”

Beniar waved her forwards, urging her closer to the back of the camp. Durene followed him as the former Silver-rank adventurer strode into the large war tent that had been set up. Wiskeria, that was to say, General Wiskeria, was talking with a few low-level [Lieutenants] and [Sergeants]. The allied forces that Laken had levied had sent several officers, but no one was close to Wiskeria’s rank, or even Beniar’s. The Humans straightened and stared at Durene as she ducked to enter the tent. She pretended not to see one of the men gulp nervously, or how he checked his sword belt. She was used to scaring people. And to be fair, she was scarier than normal at the moment.

Durene wore a huge leather jerkin, stitched together to cover her body. She had a gigantic tower shield made from a converted door and a club just as long at her side. Both weapons were crude—Durene had been offered a greatsword and other forms of armor, but the club was actually the best weapon at the moment. She’d broken a greatsword in training and until proper armor could be made for her, this was better. Besides, she’d beaten over a dozen Hobs with the club alone.

“Durene, thank you for coming. Please give me one moment.”

The half-Troll girl nodded and waited, watching Wiskeria discuss the new situation with her officers. Salvia, Gamel’s girlfriend, was here as well. The [Engineer] looked beside herself as Wiskeria spoke to her.

“I don’t know how they did it! Yes, you can make a trebuchet, but that was far, far too quick. They must have copied our design! We have range and power—not to mention accuracy—on them, but I can’t stop them from making more.”

“Can we make more?”

Salvia hesitated.

“We’ve been trying, but few of the [Soldiers] have [Carpenter] classes or so on. And we have to train them to use the trebuchet or else the engineering team will be stuck operating that.”

“That’s a no, then.”

“If we brought everyone from Riverfarm or had more help we could rely on…”

Salvia trailed off helplessly. Wiskeria nodded and tugged the pointed hat lower on her head. She often did that when she was thinking. At last, she looked up.

“Try and aim for those trebuchets. I know they’re hidden. Just…guess. And keep breaking the walls. Everyone else—we have to stay put. If we pull back any further, the Goblins could make a break for it. We’ll set up the sleeping tents and bedrolls out of range, but I want the army to stay put.”

She dismissed Salvia and the others and turned to Durene at last. Beniar growled as he folded his arms.

“Goblins building trebuchets! Those little thieving bastards will steal anything, won’t they?”

“This is the most dangerous tribe I’ve ever encountered. That Chieftain and those wolf riders—I’m almost certain this is the Redfang Tribe we’ve heard about. Only, they belong in the High Passes.”

Wiskeria rubbed at her eyes tiredly. Around Durene and Beniar she slumped a bit. Durene shifted awkwardly.

“How’re you doing, Wiskeria? Do you think the Goblins are going to attack?”

“Not likely. They’re safe in their city. We could attack them, but they’d be fools to attack us. The trebuchets make things more complicated. We could have hoped to bombard them until they had to leave. Instead, they’ll eventually hit our siege weapons or do enough damage to us at the same time. We can either trade shots or—”

“Charge the monsters!”

Beniar made a fist and punched it into his gauntleted hand. He looked excited at the prospect. Wiskeria did not.

“It’s an option. One I’ve informed Laken of. But even if we put another dozen holes in the walls  I wouldn’t be happy with it.”

“Why not? We outnumber the Goblins!”

“And they have the city walls. And they have Hobs, their wolf riders, and at least one [Mage] capable of throwing lightning. They’re dangerous, Beniar.”

“So are we.”

The [Captain] glanced at Durene, nodding confidently. Durene looked back at Wiskeria. The [Witch] was shaking her head. Durene understood the issue, although she didn’t know what the best solution was. She had one real question, though.

“Why am I here, Wiskeria? I’m just a warrior. A [Paladin], yeah, but I’m no good with strategy.”

She was a fighter. It was an odd thought to have, but Durene felt right when she was in the thick of battle. Having people look up to her, being depended on, was a giddy feeling. She trusted Wiskeria to do her job. But it seemed the [General] had summoned her for other reasons. Wiskeria strode over to the tent flaps and closed them firmly.

“I’ve been in touch with Emperor Laken. Via [Message] spell. He’s told me to continue hitting the Goblins. Given the situation he wants to assault the city as soon as possible, rather than risk them making more trebuchets or worse, escaping.”

“Sounds good. When do we go in?”

Wiskeria ignored Beniar. She focused on Durene, meeting her eyes.

“I’ve asked him to wait. And I’d like you to do the same, Durene. I think he’d listen if you asked him to delay for a day or two.”

For a moment Durene was so astonished she couldn’t speak. Wiskeria wanted her to speak to Laken. She stared at Wiskeria and then her brows shot together.

“You want me to talk to Laken?”

“That’s right.”

Durene stirred. She glared at Wiskeria and stood a bit straighter.

“And say what? Not to fight? They’re Goblins, Wiskeria! Look at them! They destroyed the city! Didn’t you see all the homeless people we passed by?”

She pointed furiously, forgetting that Wiskeria had just closed the tent flaps. The memory of the homeless refugees the army had passed was clear in Durene’s mind, though. Wiskeria didn’t reply right away. She tugged on her hat’s brim again.

“I understand your feelings, Durene. But strategically—”

“Laken wants to attack, doesn’t he? He saw how many Goblins there were!”

“Yes he did. But he hasn’t seen this city. His…vision…has been compromised with each lost marker.”

“But he’s still our [Emperor]. Your [Emperor]. Why not trust him?”

Durene glared down at Wiskeria. Her voice was fierce. Durene wanted to grab her club and attack the Goblins. She felt—she had never felt so angry before! Righteous fury gave her strength. But Wiskeria just tugged at her pointed hat and sighed.

“He’s not always right.”

The half-Troll girl hesitated. That was true. But he’d been pretty right so far! She was just about to tell Wiskeria that and ask what else they could do when someone knocked urgently at the tent flap. Durene turned as a [Soldier] pulled the tent flap back.

“General! General Wiskeria!”

“What is it?”

Wiskeria snapped at the [Soldier], clearly displeased about being interrupted without warning. But the young woman who entered was breathless. She pointed back into the center of camp where Durene could see people pointing and gathering.

“General, you have to see this.”

Durene hurried out of the tent with Wiskeria and Beniar following. The half-Troll girl saw clearly over the heads of the people and horses. She saw a lone figure riding out of the city with a flag waving over his head. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and stared again.

“A Human?”

Wiskeria stared as well. She looked around and found the [Mage] that Lady Bevia had loaned to Laken. She waved at him and raised her voice.

“Send a [Message] to Emperor Laken. He’ll want to know about this.”

 

—-

 

Day 105

 

“You’re serious. A peace offer? That’s seriously what Wiskeria heard?”

“Yes sir.”

Nesor stands in front of me. Again, I sit at Wiskeria’s table. It might as well be our war cottage at the moment. It’s private and we’ve set up all the maps we need. I focus on my mental image of the camp. I can sense a good space around a wooden marker set up right next to Wiskeria’s tent. Heck, I can sense her offering the [Knight]—Sir Kerrig—a cup of tea in her tent. In every direction I see soldiers. A good distance to the left, Tessia is overseeing another boulder being loaded into the trebuchet. But beyond that? Nothing.

In every direction, there’s only blankness. Not blackness, not static. Just emptiness. Every marker in the area has been destroyed and so I only have this one, solitary image of the war camp and the space in front of the city. Of course, I have many more markers set up in the nearby area, but the network is slowly collapsing. The Goblins have sent small teams out and are attempting to destroy each marker, and Wiskeria can’t spare enough men to cover every totem.

I curse as I feel another marker vanish and another part of my empire fade out of my mind. So many holes! If the Goblins wanted to escape, they would only have to run out of the city and take refuge in one of the blank spots. Assuming Wiskeria lost sight of them they could make a break for it.

Would that be so bad? Yes, surely. They’d come back and raid my lands or do damage somewhere else. Or they could circle around, begin harrying Wiskeria’s army.  The Goblins have already done so much damage. Which makes this latest revelation all the harder to accept.

“Peace. Really. This [Knight], Sir Kerrig, has been in the Goblin’s tribe the entire time. And only now does their Chieftain send him to sue for peace?”

“T-that’s what General Wiskeria reports, sir.”

I whistle softly. I can’t believe it. This has got to be a trick.

“Tell me again, Nesor. What exactly did this Sir Kerrig say?”

I hear the [Mage] gulp. Behind him, Lady Rie speaks up.

“Allow me, Emperor Laken.”

I nod and Nesor gratefully steps back. Lady Rie speaks slowly. She’s been here practically every moment she’s not reassuring the nobility. Prost is keeping the village running and Lady Rie—well, she’s helpful.

“This Sir Kerrig rode out of the besieged city carrying a white flag. He was intercepted by General Wiskeria’s soldiers and immediately met with her. He bears a message—this offer of peace—from the leader of this Goblin tribe. The Flooded Waters tribe, apparently. Not one I’ve ever heard of. Not the Redfang tribe that we had assumed they were. At any rate he claims the Goblins can be reasoned with. This tribe is allegedly different. It isn’t part of the Goblin Lord’s forces or the raiding parties sent by this Great Chieftain. It may be that they’re willing to peacefully…negotiate.”

Lady Rie pauses. The silence in the cottage is incredible. Peacefully negotiate. No way. I hear her swallow and go on.

“Your majesty, I don’t know what to believe. This man is a member of the Order of the Petal and General Wiskeria claims he isn’t enchanted, but still.”

“Order of the Petal? Where have I heard that name before?”

“Ah. An order of [Knights] that obeys Lady Bethal.”

“I see. And they’re trustworthy?”

“I have never heard of a member being impugned for lying, Emperor Laken. By Sir Kerrig’s account he was part of a force that attacked this particular tribe and was captured.”

“Lady Bethal never mentioned that to me.”

“I imagine she wouldn’t have wanted to admit that fact. And Sir Kerrig was apparently given up for dead. The idea of a Goblin keeping a hostage alive—or rather, honoring any convention of war—is incredible.”

“And he’s not delusional? Or—enchanted?”

“General Wiskeria says she believes he is genuine, sire.”

I focus on the image of Sir Kerrig in my mind. Yes, I can ‘see’ him, standing in Wiskeria’s tent. He doesn’t look injured and he seems animated enough. He’s…well, he’s in good shape. But everything about what he’s said has turned my mind upside down.

“And Wiskeria wants to hold off the attack because of this.”

“Yes. She’s reiterated her points about the dangers of sieging the city.”

Rie’s voice is cautious. I mutter under my breath, wishing Frostwing were here. Or Bismarck. Both animals have been getting restless without me. But they’d hardly fit in here. At last, I nod.

“Tell Wiskeria to hold off from attacking. Keep bombarding, though. Aim for the Goblin’s trebuchets if you can. How can they make them?”

“Apparently they copied our designs from a distance.”

Mist! Alright. Alright. Tell Wiskeria that I want her to send this Sir Kerrig to Riverfarm. Give him a small escort. Speed is key. Tell her to be ready to attack, though!”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Rie goes to confer with Nesor and I sit back in my seat. A peace treaty? Or rather, peace talks? With a Goblin? How can I take this seriously?

No, that’s not what’s bothering me. What’s bothering me is what Wiskeria reported first. These Goblins aren’t like the others. They didn’t want to fight. They’re…peaceful? No. How could that be?

Intelligent Goblins? I can believe that. But peace? I think back to the Goblins raiding my village, the slaughter, the way they laughed and cut down my people. No. Goblins in stories have always been dangerous. Untrustworthy.

And yet, this is a world of fantasy. And Durene is half-Troll. By that logic she would be—

That’s Durene. That’s someone who’s never hurt a fly! Okay, she raised pigs for slaughter. But she never killed anyone. And those Goblins—they slaughtered an army from Filk! I saw them attack the army! Unprovoked! They slaughtered the soldiers there.

However…a thought nags at me. Wasn’t that army chasing another group of Goblins? A tribe? I vaguely recall tipping off the city about a tribe of Goblins in their area.

No. No. If that were true, that would mean—

I look up. Well, I don’t ‘look’ at anything, but I raise my head.

“Lady Rie, tell Wiskeria that I want this Sir Kerrig in Riverfarm by the end of today. Gallop the horses and switch out as many as you need. I want to speak with him now.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

I can sense Wiskeria responding to my orders, giving some of her soldiers directions. Sir Kerrig is already moving, riding down the road. He disappears out of my range for a few moments, and then reappears in another region I can still ‘see’ into. Meanwhile, I sit in the cottage, and feel a twisting pain in my stomach. I know it well. If I had to describe it, it would be if I lost my cane and was wandering around a place I didn’t know. That vague, nebulous fear of the unknown.

Uncertainty. And in my mind, the trickle of doubt becomes a nagging worm of fear. I silently urge Sir Kerrig to move faster. He’s at the edge of my vision, racing down the road with a group of six soldiers. And behind him, sneaking into my lands is another group of Goblins. They rush towards the marker with axes in hand and chop at it. Another spot goes dark. I pray I’m not making a mistake. At least I can still see Durene and my army camped around their marker. I will be able to see the battle if it happens.

If it happens. I was about to order Wiskeria to assault the city by the end of the day or tomorrow at the latest. Now I’m not so certain. I pace back and forth in the cottage, waiting. Uncertain.

Afraid.

 

—-

 

There’s nothing I can do for now. Nothing but wait. So I leave Wiskeria’s cottage and go for a walk. It’s hardly restful. The instant I’m out the door I’m besieged by my people.

Ah, my people. They come up to me with greetings, offers to run and get food if I’m hungry, well wishes—all pleasant things, but what they’re really coming to hear is whether or not there’s been a battle. The latest gossip, the facts from my mouth. I understand what they’re feeling but it’s not what I want to deal with, so I let Rie and Prost disperse the crowd.

Of course I understand my people’s anxiety. They’re worried. The confidence of a few days ago, of knowing the Goblins were on the run, is gone. Now they’re biting their nails, same as me. And they look to me for reassurance I can’t give them.

What a mess. Prost hurries up to me and gives me a cursory report.

“More folks are coming in from villages, sire. Families, friends of folk living here—and there’s three messengers screaming to speak to you directly.”

“Let Lady Rie handle it or talk to them yourself, Mister Prost. There’s nothing else I can say right now.”

“Yes, sire.”

I have to be alone. Steady myself. I walk away from Prost, towards the only people I want to be around. Bismarck and Frostwing. My bird has grown to the point where she’s self-sufficient, or at least, able to fly about and poop wherever she wants. And it just so happens that she enjoys perching on Bismarck while the bear lounges about.

“Silly bear.”

I walk up to the Mossbear and pat him affectionately. He snuffles my shirt, and Frostwing shrieks, perhaps sensing my mood. I stroke Frostwing’s head and let some of my tension go with the two animals. Before I know it, a good while has passed. Reluctantly, I pull myself back and check on Sir Kerrig’s progress.

“Damn. He’ll be gone for hours yet! And those Goblins are still taking down my totems!”

A marker behind Sir Kerrig and another a few miles west vanish. The Goblins keep destroying my totems and they take a long time to replace! I should have sent Sir Kerrig back into the city and demanded this Chieftain stop while he came here. Argh. But the city’s still surrounded. I think of that, and then frown.

“Nesor?”

I stride back into Riverfarm’s main street and find Lady Rie overseeing a group of arguing adults. They’re fighting over who gets a house next—a minor dispute fueled by their anxiety. I interrupt them and grab Rie.

“Your [Mage] is with the nobility. Come with me.”

I leave the villagers behind and head to the newest houses that we converted into temporary homes for the nobility when it became clear their stay would be longer than most. The noble’s personal escorts guard the houses, sounding bored as they seem in my mind. They stand straighter as I approach and instantly one of them goes to announce me. I walk into one of the houses and find Lady Bevia Veniford and a small collection of nobles sitting and having tea. That’s not what I mind. What I mind is Nesor, practically sandwiched between two of the younger [Ladies], teacup in hand.

“Why, your Majesty! What a pleasant surprise!”

Lady Bevia rises instantly to greet me. I nod slightly to her as Lady Rie greets Bevia.

“Lady Bevia, it is as always a pleasure to speak with you. I trust you are not too starved of entertainment? I understand your current situation leaves much to be desired.”

She laughs, sounding two decades younger than Lady Rie tells me she is.

“This is far more than I would hope for, given a Goblin army is marauding about the landscape, your Majesty! I am quite content for the moment, as are my peers. We are somewhat starved for information, but we do try to keep up.”

“So I note. I see Nesor has been quite stolen away by the company here.”

The older [Lady] twinkles merrily at me.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid we are simply dying to know what is going on. Do forgive an old lady’s curiosity.”

“Of course. But I’m afraid I’m in need of Nesor’s services once again. Nesor?”

“Yes, your Majesty! P-pardon me, miladies.”

He stands up, sounding relieved, guilty, and regretful at once. I excuse myself quickly from Lady Bevia and get out of the house as fast as I can. Lady Rie is mortified once we have a chance to speak in private.

“I am deeply ashamed, Emperor Laken. I had no notion that Nesor was being sought out like this. This is unacceptable. Please excuse him. Any man—and most women—would be hard-pressed to resist Lady Bevia’s charm.”

“I understand. But that cannot happen again. Nesor knows everything that’s been going on.”

“I will keep an eye on him. Please let me assure you—”

I listen to Rie’s apology, hear Nesor’s stammered plea for forgiveness, and let them go. It’s nothing more than I should have expected, honestly. The nobles have been playing their own game, sending [Message] spells of their own. I sigh and rub at my temples.

“I need a rest.”

“Would you like me to prepare a bed…?”

“No. I’ll nap in Wiskeria’s cottage. Just for an hour or two.”

So saying, I leave Rie and Nesor and lie down in Wiskeria’s bed, which is really my bed since I don’t think she’s used it as much as I have. War cottage indeed. I close my eyes and drift off, hoping that Sir Kerrig will get here by the time I wake. Only, it’s not that which wakes me. At first I think I’m dreaming. But too late, I realize it’s reality and shoot out of bed.

“What the hell is going on now?”

Far, far north of Sir Kerrig who is yet an hour away from Riverfarm at the fastest gallop, I can sense something happening in Wiskeria’s camp. Soldiers are moving. I can sense horses being saddled, see someone blowing a horn. They begin moving as I sense the entire army moving. Horrified, I shout out loud.

What’s happening?

 

—-

 

Wiskeria looked down at the map of the landscape and cursed. She looked up at the [Mage] who’d just interrupted her in her tent and stared at him.

“You’re serious. That’s what he said?”

“I received the [Message] not a minute ago, General.”

The [Mage] rubbed at the shadows around his eyes. Wiskeria wished she could believe he had misinterpreted the [Message], but she had sent two follow-up spells and received the same reply, each time more impatient. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of her table.

“What does he mean, the ‘situation has changed’?”

The mage yawned and then rubbed his eyes again before standing straighter.

“I do not know, General. But the order is immediate. No delays. If you wish I can query a third time—”

“No. He must know something. Okay, now. Now.

Wiskeria’s heart leapt in her chest. She stared at the map of the city and the Goblins. Attack. The last three messages had been explicit. She looked around desperately.

“Shit, shit, shit—sound the horns! Get me Beniar, and prepare to advance on the city! I want to hit it from the east and north and keep the Goblins off my back. Tell Salvia I want her firing throughout the battle! Hit those battlements now—

 

—-

 

They’re attacking. I run out of my cottage and shout for Lady Rie. She approaches as I dash over to her and I sense the people watching. But that doesn’t matter right now.

“Rie! The army is attacking the city!”

“What? But your Majesty, you wished to wait—”

I’m already shaking my head. My mind is spinning.

“I didn’t order that. I sent no [Message].”

Lady Rie paled. I grab her shoulder and shake her roughly.

“Where the hell is Nesor? Get him. Now. And find the [Mage] the nobles have been using and stop them from casting any spells!”

“There may be other [Mages] or even members of the nobility capable of casting the spell, Emperor—”

“I don’t care! Get me Nesor!

I whirl, searching for him. Where the hell is he? Only, he’s gone. I turn in place, but I’m scanning with my mind the entire time and I sense no Nesor anywhere in the village. Anywhere in Riverfarm.

“Nesor? Where the hell has he gone? Where the hell is Nesor?

Lady Rie has no idea. Nesor’s gone. Where she thought he was sitting in her cottage she finds no one. Only signs of a scuffle. And when I finally locate Nesor, unconscious, a lump on one head, dumped behind a stand of trees far outside the village, it’s too late. By the time I grab the other [Mage], order Wiskeria to pull back at once, the army is already advancing on the city. They’re already fighting. And all I can do is watch.

 

—-

 

It was Pyrite who saw the Humans coming. He didn’t expect it. He was rather surprised, to be honest. But when he saw the army coming he didn’t hesitate. He stood and shouted an order. The Goblins looked up, surprised. An attack? But they’d done the peace thing!

It made no sense. But perhaps that was a lesson in itself. Pyrite hefted the battleaxe and stared at the wall of Humans coming at him. He pointed and bellowed orders. Goblins raced to grab pikes and Redscar, Poisonbite, and the other Hobs ran to their units. Pyrite stared at the Humans.

They were shouting as they marched towards the city. Soon they’d be in bow range. Behind them, the trebuchets were still firing. He saw a boulder crash into the wall of the city. He felt the stones shake. He stared at the Humans and felt his blood pumping.

So it would be a battle after all. This is what the Humans thought of Goblin peace? Very well. He lifted the battleaxe and his eyes burned crimson. They had not seen a true battle yet. If they wanted to fight, fine. It was time to show them a Goblin’s war.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.32 G

They appeared as dawn broke on the second day of the fighting. At first no one noticed. Goblins in black armor raced up the slopes, pouring into tunnels abandoned by Tremborag’s forces. They clashed further into the mountain as larger Hobs and Goblins wearing magical gear began entering at key points. The Goblin Lord was sending his officers into battle and the bloodshed was reaching an intensity far surpassing that of yesterday.

However, that fever pitch only applied to one side of the mountain. The Goblin Lord had elected to guard his camps rather than spread his forces across all sides of the mountain where he would surely be attacked. Thus, while the southern side was under direct siege and the eastern and western flanks were the site of ambush and flanking actions, the rear was silent. That was not to say it was unguarded.

The Goblins on duty weren’t Tremborag’s finest warriors, but nor were they his most incompetent. They stayed still, rotating out regularly in their hiding places, keeping guard in case the Goblin Lord’s forces tried sneaking around back. They’d already killed two such parties at different spots and the Goblins on duty weren’t worried. It would take a dedicated push to overwhelm their trapped tunnels and it seemed like the Goblin Lord didn’t care to take more tunnels than he had. So the Goblins weren’t quite as vigilant as they should have been. Then again, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had been.

One of the tunnels located higher up the mountain was trapped with a collapsing tunnel. Unlike the other choke points or ambush sites, this trap was simple. If one of the six Goblin sentries hidden in an alcove at the back saw anything approaching, they would pull a rope and collapse several tons of rock and dirt on the intruders. The fact that six Goblins were still posted here was a sign of Garen’s watchfulness.

Currently, the sentries were taking turns guarding and napping. Four Goblins had to stay up while the other two got to sleep. It was a good system and it allowed the Goblins to remain still without getting annoyed at the wait. Aside from the occasional snore and sound of someone being kicked, they were silent.

The sentry closest to the tunnel could see the light beginning to grow outside. Dawn was coming and he was looking forwards to being relieved soon so he could eat. Of course, he might be called on to fight, but between eating and possibly dying or not eating, he was willing to take the risk. He’d been stationed here for eight hours and he was yawning when he saw something move.

Instantly, the Goblin grabbed his spear. The other Goblins looked up, alert. They peeked out of their alcove, staring for movement. They saw nothing. Only darkness, which to their eyes wasn’t that dark at all. The hungry sentry quickly relaxed as his mind identified the movement. It hadn’t been large enough to have been any kind of person. Rather, a rodent of some kind had entered the tunnel.

Sure enough, he saw something scurry across the ground. A little white mouse! It looked completely oblivious to the danger. The Goblin sentry licked his lips and lowered his spear. It wouldn’t be hard to grab the little thing and it would be a good snack, if he could eat it before his friends noticed. He edged forwards. The mouse scurried a few feet closer. The Goblin waited, tense, focused. One more foot…

The shadows behind the Goblin moved. A hand shot out and a black blade, invisible in the darkness, sliced across the Goblin’s neck. The Goblin choked. Surprised, his friends looked up. They saw a figure appear out of the shadows. They tried to scream, but the black dagger was faster.

The little white mouse scurried forwards until it came to the hiding place of the Goblins. It paused there, whiskers twitching, as it sniffed the air. Six figures lay in the small alcove. Two had died in their sleep. The other four had died almost instantly. The killer who had blended so perfectly with the shadows turned as she wiped her knife blade. She bent and made the first sound, offering her hand to the little mouse.

“Come on, Keri. Shh.”

The little mouse scurried up her sleeve. The Human woman smiled as she tucked Keri into her belt pouch. Then she took two steps and vanished into the shadows. She made no sound as she moved ahead. The [Rogue] listened carefully as she approached a point where her tunnel opened up into a larger one. She froze a few feet from a torch lit ahead of her and reached for Keri’s belt pouch again.

“It’s us, Minerva.”

Someone spoke ahead of her. Minerva froze, and then stepped into the light. She spotted nine other figures, most dressed in black, some in dark green or grey. She nodded at the man who’d spoken. He was holding a shortbow and crouching over a pair of dead Hobs. Each had an arrow through the eye.

“You’re late.”

His voice was low and reproving. Minerva shrugged.

“I cleared my tunnel.”

“With your pet mouse again? Too slow.”

“It gets the job done. Anyone run into difficulties?”

“None. They had a patrol and I think the two Hobs were about to check on things, but we heard them coming.”

The man nodded to the downed Hobs. Minerva nodded. She glanced around. One of the other figures was kneeling and fumbling with what looked like glowing chalk and a glowing blue mana stone. His grumbling was quiet, no more than a gnat’s buzzing. Still, all of the shadowy infiltrators heard him perfectly.

“Fecking rune inscriptions. Why can’t those idiotic [Mages] figure out a better way to draw this? Using a piece of parchment? Do they know how hard it is to draw on broken ground with chalk that breaks with every second—ah. Got it.”

He straightened and nodded at the others. Minerva saw him place the mana stone in the center of the diagram. To her eyes it looked like a circle with far too many wavy lines moving slowly towards the center in a dizzying pattern. But as the mana stone was placed she saw her leader, Jackal, lower his shortbow and pull a scroll out. He had a quill ready and wrote on the parchment. A short message, barely more than a word. Then he rolled the scroll up and tapped it twice on his palm. It glowed brightly, and then vanished.

“Sloppy. Mages have no idea how much that light travels.”

The grumbler had an opinion on the magic scroll too. Minerva agreed, but she kept her mouth shut as she stood in place. She didn’t have to wait long. The circle on the ground began to glow brightly and the mana stone shone with pure blue light. The nine others stood back and shielded their eyes, preserving their night vision. Minerva heard a low pop and then voices.

“Ah. Here we are. Someone send a [Message] spell back to the others and let them know we’ve arrived safely, would you?”

A half-Elf with bright silver eyes and a few grey hairs looked around. He didn’t appear as old as some of his companions—one was a woman with a classic witch’s hat who looked positively ancient—but he gave Minerva the same impression as her grandfather had. He was carrying a wand whose tip was set with a fiery gem carved to match the wood. His robes shimmered with an odd, pulsating pattern. He, like his companions, practically shone in the darkness.

Mages. They looked to Jackal. The [Ranger] grimaced.

“Can you cancel all those light spells? This is a stealth mission for the moment!”

“We’ll stay well behind you. But some of us need light to see.”

“Fine. Then we’ll take the attack group north. We’ve scouted ahead a small ways. We’ll launch the attack in seven minutes as planned. We’re on time.”

Jackal had a map. As the others crowded around he went over it. Minerva had already memorized it, but she looked anyways. The map was old, positively decrepit, but it was a good guide of what Dwarfhalls Rest had looked like in ages past.

“Remember your orders. Keep an eye out for Goblins in black armor and do not engage if possible. Defend yourselves if need be, but our goal is to cause havoc and retreat at the first sign of danger.”

The old [Witch] made a laughing, snorting sound.

“You don’t have to tell us that, boy. We’re not getting paid enough to die here.”

“Then keep an eye out for this Great Chieftain or his lieutenants. As soon we finish securing the area we’ll move in our warriors. So ward spells first. We’ll detrap if you hold here.”

“Easy.”

One of the [Mages] was already looking towards the tunnel and muttering a spell. Jackal looked towards Minerva.

“While we do that, we’re sending another group on a scouting mission.”

The old half-Elf raised his eyebrows.

“No one spoke to me about that.”

“This isn’t part of our job. Five of us are going to look for prisoners. There’s a team that vanished here on reconnaissance a week ago. Keening Hunt.”

One of the [Mages] nodded.

“I’ve heard of them. You think they’re alive?”

Jackal didn’t immediately reply.

“If they are, we’ll find them.”

“If they are alive, they might not want to be.”

The old [Witch] tilted her pointed hat. Jackal looked at her.

“I have a pass that grants me a personal audience with the Healer of Tenbault. If they’re alive, they’ll be made whole.”

“Ah. Well, best of luck. We’ll hold things here.”

The [Witch] grinned, showing a few missing teeth. Jackal stood. Minerva and four others followed Jackal into the shadows as the [Mages] began casting ward spells, arguing quietly. The other four infiltrators slipped backwards, removing the traps they’d found on their way in. The [Mages] waited patiently in their now secure entryway, until they heard fast footsteps and the jingle of metal on metal. The [Witch] grinned and raised a gnarled staff.

“Alright. Enough waiting. We’re on a time limit, aren’t we? Let’s cause some trouble, children.”

She strode down the tunnel as the first of the Gold-rank [Warriors] and less stealthy classes raced into the tunnel. The [Witch] walked down the corridor until she saw a patrol of Goblins heading her way, to check on the defenders here. They stared as she grinned and raised her staff.

“[Grand Fireball]!”

The explosion filled the tunnel with a roar of heat and flame. The Goblins vanished. The [Witch] cackled and the half-Elf with silver eyes sighed. Then he strode past her, wand raised. The adventurers behind him advanced as the alarm spread throughout the mountain.

 

—-

 

“Humans? Why are they here?”

Reiss stared at Snapjaw as he stood over the rough map of Tremborag’s fortress. The Hobgoblin female shook her head.

“Dunno, Lord. But Humans are here! Throwing big spells!”

The Goblin Lord growled. Of all the times! He glanced at Osthia. The Drake was listening intently.

“How many?”

“Small number. Less than…thirty. All here. This here.”

Snapjaw struggled with the common tongue as she pointed to a spot far north of the fighting between Reiss and Tremborag’s forces. Reiss stared grimly at the spot.

“Gold-rank?”

The answering silence was all he needed to hear. Reiss stared at the occupied spot.

“How many dead Goblins?”

“Us? Few. Tremborag? Lots!”

Surprised, Reiss looked up. Snapjaw grinned.

“Adventurers aiming at his Goblins! Not many ours go there. Now big trouble for others!”

That was true. As Reiss studied the map he saw exactly how advantageous the spot was for his forces. They didn’t have to go near the Humans and Tremborag had another front to fight on. Still, the presence of so many Gold-rank adventurers made him uneasy. And the next report that came in from a breathless [Scout] made him warier still.

“Humans marching! Thousands! Thousands of thousands!”

 

—-

 

Tremborag roared, throwing his scout across the banquet hall. Garen saw the little Goblin crash into a table and go still. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain didn’t care. He turned, roaring.

“An army? Now of all times?”

The news that came to both the Goblin Lord and Tremborag’s forces was like a physical blow. An army of Humans had been spotted marching towards the mountain. Fast.

“Many Humans coming this way. On horses! Many on foot behind. Moving fast!

One of Garen’s remaining Redfang Warriors explained the situation, watching Tremborag warily. Garen peered at the map, growling as his warrior traced a huge wave of Humans coming south. Tremborag growled as well.

“Humans! Mounted on horses? And on foot?”

“Rushing. They must be using Skills to move their army here, Great Chieftain. They’ve left their slower forces behind. They’ll be here by nightfall.”

Ulvama’s voice was soft. Sultry. She stood by Tremborag, stroking his arm, trying to soothe him. But Tremborag was enraged. He turned towards Ulvama and she stepped back quickly.

“An army. Coming for the Goblin Lord at last? Or I? They already crawl into my mountain!”

“Gold-rank teams. Good ones.”

Garen had already heard the reports. [Mages], blasting any Goblins who approached down the tunnels, [Warriors] and [Rogues] pushing down other ones. He gritted his teeth, trying to figure out how to take down so many. If his tribe had been here—!

“We are surrounded, Great Chieftain.”

Ulvama tried not to look worried, but she and the other Goblins were clearly uneasy. Tremborag glared at her. Then, surprisingly, he laughed.

“Is my Chief [Shaman] afraid? Do you fear Humans more than the Goblin Lord, Ulvama?”

She didn’t immediately reply. Tremborag bent, staring at her with a giant grin.

“We are surrounded. But it is not just we. The Goblin Lord sees the Humans coming. And they come for him as well as I. But he is in the open. And I have my mountain!”

He turned to Garen. And now Tremborag’s eyes narrowed with calculation.

“We hold the mountain. If the Humans come, the Goblin Lord must fight or run. Is that not so, Redfang?”

Garen nodded. He was trying to imagine what Rags would say in this situation. Lacking her insight, he had to go with his gut, and he knew what Tremborag was thinking.

“Goblin Lord fights now and takes mountain. Or gives up and runs.”

“And the Humans have to choose between trying to besiege this mountain or chasing him. And then we will be fighting Humans in my domain. Easier than Goblins, perhaps.”

Tremborag grinned. Garen nodded too, but he was less certain. He stared at the map. Humans. Coming now. It made sense in one way—they had both Goblin sides occupied. But he felt uneasy, and not just because of the sudden attack. He felt like something else was coming, like a dagger in the night. He turned. Tremborag looked at him.

“Where are you going?”

Garen turned his head back as he drew his sword.

“Getting ready. You should too. Goblin Lord not running yet.”

“No. He will come here first.”

Tremborag smiled once more. He bared all his teeth and raised his voice.

“He will come into the mountain, rather than flee. So come, tribe! We go hunting for the Goblin Lord’s head.”

He roared and his Goblins roared with him. They streamed into the mountain as the waves of black Goblins began pouring in from every tunnel. And among them strode a Goblin with black eyes, surrounded by the undead and Hobs. He pointed and shot death from his fingertips. Tremborag roared as he tore into the Goblin Lord’s soldiers and Garen and his warriors entered the battle. Now they were on a time limit. At the same time, the Human adventurers who’d occupied the northern tunnels stopped advancing and fortified their position. They were waiting.

 

—-

 

Day 105

 

I have never seen lightning. But I have heard thunder. To me it is terrifying. A sound that comes during rain. Only, there is no flash of light to alert me. No hint. Just the boom of sound, sometimes terrifyingly close. I’ve often wondered what lightning must look like. A…fork of electricity hitting the ground? From the sky? I used to wonder.

Now I think I understand. Lightning is a flash of light. Something searing. A bolt of electricity from the heavens, extremely hot, striking out of nowhere. I feel one shoot through my body now, a bolt of pure energy. And the thunder is my racing heartbeat.

It’s too late to stop anything. Too late for anything but regrets. All the pieces are in motion. My army is clashing with the Goblins somewhere out of my range of—vision. I can still sense the two trebuchets, sense Tessia and her team rushing to reload the slings, wind back the arm. But what they are firing at, how the battle is going, I have no idea. All I can focus on is the small band rushing ever closer to my position.

“He warned me of this. I suppose I grew overconfident. Until I came here I didn’t know what seeing was like. So I forgot to watch my back. But I was warned. I wonder how he knew so much.”

“Your Majesty?”

I hear a nervous voice. I am sitting in my throne room, and my advisors are gathered around me. Two out of four, rather. Beniar and Wiskeria are fighting. Prost and Rie stand with me, as does Gamel. It is deathly silent here. They’re all watching me. But I have nothing to tell them about the battle. I’m thinking about treachery.

I was warned. I should have been more vigilant. Odveig, or rather, Sacra was one thing. But I was told by a…friend that spies would be the least of my trials. And they were right.

Someone knocked out Nesor. Someone sent a [Message] from Riverfarm ordering Wiskeria to attack. Or perhaps they didn’t need to be in Riverfarm? Only now do I realize how easy it is to fake a [Message] spell.

I should have established a password. I should have watched the nobles, put a guard on Nesor. But again, it is far too late for regrets. All my focus is turned towards Sir Kerrig, riding towards me.

Too late for peace? Perhaps. But I want to know what he has to say. As I focus on him another part of the landscape vanishes into oblivion. My vision of my lands is breaking, piece by piece. And only now do I see the pattern.

“Clever.”

“What is? Emperor Laken?”

I don’t reply to Lady Rie. She sounds anxious. Prost and Gamel just watch me. Slowly, I stand. Thunder becomes my heartbeat.

“Sir Kerrig will reach the village in minutes. Prost, Gamel, Rie, with me. We have time so we might as well put on a show.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The two men fall in behind me as I stride from the throne. Lady Rie hesitates only a moment before following.

“Ah, your Majesty. How fortunate we could meet.”

A voice greets me the instant I leave the meeting hall. I turn my head, but I already know who stands there. Lady Bevia. I do not smile towards her as I’ve done before. She’s gathered the other nobles with her. And their retainers. She can sense it too. Or perhaps she knows something I don’t?

“Lady Bevia. Join me if you wish.”

I stride past her. Towards the eastern side of the village. I walk past rows of houses, many unfinished. But if I compare it to what Riverfarm looked like a month ago—we’ve done so much. I can tell my people are watching me, some following. They fear. I haven’t been a good leader of late. Making strategic decisions, managing my lands, all that is part of it. But the other part is being an [Emperor]. So I walk with my back held high.

Somewhere overhead, Frostwing is circling. Bismarck snuffles in the forest, hunting for snacks. I call them as I walk towards the gates. And now I hear hoof beats.

Close. I stop and wait, sensing a group of six riding towards me. The horses are lathered with sweat—they’ve changed them twice. One of the horses has lost a shoe. The riders look tired from the frantic ride. But here they are. I sense a man dressed in worn clothing in front.

Sir Kerrig. Perhaps he’s a handsome man. Perhaps he’s everything a [Knight] should be. Wiskeria seemed to think he was genuine. But in my mind he is just a man. Well-built, clearly muscled, but lacking anything else about him. He has no armor. He has a sword, borrowed from one of the soldiers. And as he draws his horse up and dismounts, I can sense him looking at me.

Behind me the villagers watch as Sir Kerrig hesitantly approaches. He glances past me at the waiting nobility, at Lady Rie and Mister Prost, at Gamel hovering warily at my side. What he thinks I can’t fathom. Slowly, Sir Kerrig bows deeply to me.

“Your Majesty. I beg forgiveness for my rude appearance and the unseemly nature of my request. I am Sir Kerrig Louis, a [Knight] sworn to the service of Lady Bethal Walchaís. I humbly beg a private audience—”

“You are too late.”

My voice is loud in my ears. Sir Kerrig breaks off, confused.

“Your Majesty?”

“You are too late, Sir Kerrig. A battle has begun between my army and the Goblins.”

A murmur sweeps through the people behind me. Anxious. Many did not know. I sense Sir Kerrig pale.

“But I was assured by your General—Emperor Laken, I beg you to reconsider! If there is a chance yet—”

“Be silent.”

The man shuts up. I stare towards the east more for the look for the thing than anything else. Now how would you say this? Old English?

“I am wroth with you, Sir Kerrig. Not just you. I have spies and saboteurs in my empire, it seems. Those who plot against me. Though I do not know what I have done to wrong them. They will be found and hunted. As for you—I am furious towards you, Sir Kerrig.”

I hear him gulp. He’s wise enough not to open his mouth, though. I wait a beat. Yes. I’m sure.

“Goblins. Peace. None of that bothers me. I wanted to listen to you. I held back because I wished to know what you had to say. But I should not have listened.”

“Sire?”

Now. I turn my head towards Sir Kerrig and open my eyes. I don’t know what he sees. I’m told my eyes are different than…normal. A blind man’s eyes stare at him until I cannot help but blink. So I close my eyes.

“Tell me you did not conspire with the Goblins, Sir Kerrig. Swear to me here, on your honor as a [Knight].”

“Your Majesty! I would never do such a thing! I came here to broker peace, but treachery would go against everything I believe in!”

Sir Kerrig’s voice is genuine. I nod.

“I believe you. But that does not change the fact—”

I break off and turn my head east again. At first I thought it was just more sabotage. It was hard to spot a pattern. But the closer he got, the closer Sir Kerrig came, the more obvious it was. A marker falling here. A group of Goblins racing to hack another down. Another blank spot in my mind.

It’s like a spider web of oblivion around the Goblins. But the pattern changes towards Riveffarm. I sense a…path. Heading towards me. And another marker falls ten miles north. I know.

“Your Majesty?”

I turn my head back to Sir Kerrig. I smile at him, wearily. Thunder.

“You were followed, Sir Kerrig. The Goblins followed you here.”

I hear a sharp gasp from behind me. A scream. Someone faints. A noble. In the silence, before shock can become anything else, I turn.

“Mister Prost? Lady Rie? Raise the alarm. I want palisades built in every spot we can find. Arm every villager with weapons. The Goblins are coming.”

I turn and walk back into the village. Sir Kerrig stares at my back as people begin running. I ignore it all. In the distance I can sense the battle raging. And I pray, though there are no gods in this world.

“Don’t die, Durene. Be safe.”

 

—-

 

Tyrion saw the [Message] flash into the scroll at his side. The [Lord] didn’t bother to stop riding—he transferred the reins to one hand and rode as his horse surged beneath him. The landscape blurred as he and his escort rode across the ground impossibly fast. Tyrion’s brow creased as he read the message once, and then twice. Then he tossed it over his shoulder.

A hand caught it. The man riding behind Tyrion inspected the scroll and Tyrion Veltras turned his head.

“We are moving too slowly. Advance to a gallop! Anyone unable to keep up will be left behind. Now. [Wildwind Ride]!”

The man behind him raised his fist.

“[Quick Gallop]!”

The lines of riders behind the two sped up as if pushed from behind. The riders sped down the road, hurrying onwards. They had to be on time. Tyrion pushed ahead, demanding more speed from his warhorse. They could not afford to make a mistake. Not now.

 

—-

 

Pyrite stood on the walls as the Humans marched towards him. The flurry of movement, the rush to prepare slowed before his eyes into a steady march. He nodded. That was basic. Running all the way towards the city would tire soldiers needlessly. Even a hundred foot dash mattered when a life-or-death fight stood at the end of it.

The way the army moved, the unsubtle way in which the infantry advanced with archers behind and the cavalry forming two wings on either wide, all of it told Pyrite that the army and leader was new. Raw. Inexperienced. For all that they were deadly. He remembered them attacking again and again. Dangerous. He didn’t underestimate Humans.

Around him, Pyrite could hear war horns bellowing. Goblins rushed to the walls with crossbows while more formed into their units of pikes or infantry. All without him needing to bellow orders. That was a testament to Rags’ skill. Pyrite slowly lifted his battleaxe and walked down the broken steps, taking care not to trip on rubble and break something. That would be…silly.

His nerves were humming, but Pyrite’s chest was surprisingly cold. The Humans roared as they advanced, beating drums, shouting a name.

La-ken! La-ken!

Pyrite could hear them screaming other words.

“The Unseen Emperor!”

“Riverfarm!”

“Death to the Goblin scum!”

That last one was funny. It was hard to get a group to shout that. Pyrite shook his head. A good chant should be simple. Easy to grasp and repeat. Cadence mattered.

Cadence. What a nice word. It sounded to Pyrite like the measured gait of a horse. He stared blankly up at the blue sky for a moment as he paused before the gates. He could tell that hundreds, thousands of Goblins were looking at him. They were expecting his leadership. The problem was…Pyrite wasn’t angry.

Not at the moment. He just felt tired. Tired, upset—but not angry. And he needed to be. Pyrite understood what the Humans would do if they entered the city. So he dragged his gaze away from the sky and focused.

“Pikes.”

The Goblins at the gates straightened. They were ready to fend off waves of Humans. Pyrite looked around. Poisonbite and Quietstab were running towards him. They would do.

“Quietstab. Walls. You shoot Humans. Aim for archers. Poisonbite, sides. Keep Humans from entering city.”

Quietstab nodded. Poisonbite took one look around in disbelief.

“City has big holes in walls! By myself?”

Pyrite nodded absently. Poisonbite opened her mouth to shout and he looked at her. Something must have been on his face, because she waited for him to speak.

“You guard holes. Take some pikes. Your raiders. Guard. We go out.”

“Out?”

The Goblin stared at Pyrite. He nodded. He raised his voice.

“Pikes! Outside city! Hobs! Follow! Redfangs! Here!

The Goblins didn’t hesitate. They were trained and more importantly, they respected him. They rushed out of the city, shouting, as Hobs followed them. Pyrite saw a group of Goblins with red stripes on their cheeks and arms approach.

“Pyrite?”

One of them, a female Redfang, glanced up at him warily. Pyrite nodded.

“Special job. You follow. Rest go fight.”

They listened and then ran past Pyrite as he strode past the gates. The Goblins were all clustered in front of the city. The Human army had slowed its advance, clearly surprised. Pyrite was not. He pointed and shouted.

Big walls are back-shield! Move there!

The Goblins understood. Instantly, they backed up, until their backs were to the walls of the shattered city. Pyrite nodded. Yes, this made sense. Defending a city with big holes in its walls was hard. Especially since a lot of the weapons the Goblins used would be cumbersome on the battlements. The Humans had reach and the numbers to flood the gaps. But fighting with their backs to the walls would prevent the Goblins from being surrounded. And the Goblins with crossbows now had a massive height advantage over the Humans with bows.

The Humans were coming. Pyrite stared at the rows of pikes. The Humans had nothing like them. Long, twenty plus staves of wood, sharpened to a point and capped with metal tips. Oh, the Humans had spears and shorter pikes of their own, but Rags had drilled her Goblins to use these extreme versions in combat.

They hadn’t done much good against the Humans before. The nighttime raids, the way the Humans had picked apart his defenses—all of that had driven Pyrite to despair. But as Rags had pointed out, that wasn’t how the pikes were meant to be used. And back then his tribe had been suffering from the poison gas. Most hadn’t been able to breathe.

They could breathe now. Pyrite strode towards the front of the army. He passed by rows of Goblins. They looked at him. Some waved. Pyrite nodded to them, grunting. He wished he had something to chew. But he’d choke on that.

“Hobs.”

There was a line of a hundred Hobs waiting just behind the front row of pike Goblins. They turned as Pyrite walked past them. They were all veterans of battle. They all came from different tribes. They grinned as Pyrite passed. A Hobgoblin with feathers behind both ears sharpened her iron axe. Another, gaunt and thin, squatted with two spears in hand. He stood as Pyrite passed and spoke a word.

Goldstone.

He was from Pyrite’s tribe. Another Goblin with a crude piercing in her ear grinned at him. She had brighter red eyes than most. Yet another Hob reached out and Pyrite touched fists gently. The Hob grinned, exposing a missing gap in his teeth.

Friends. Pyrite knew some by name. Others had no names but he knew their face, the way they ate. Pyrite strode to the head of the unit of Hobs and stared at the Human army. Closer now. They were slowing and he could hear someone shouting orders, trying to time their charge.

Now would be the time. Pyrite looked up at the sky, and then around. A sea of green faces and red eyes stared at him. There was fear there. Trust too. Pyrite knew this was the moment. But he was still not angry. Not yet. So he looked up and searched the lines of Humans until—

Ah. There. He saw a familiar Human among the rest. One of the riders were covered in steel armor. So was his warhorse. He was gesturing excitedly. Pyrite remembered him riding through the camp, cutting down Goblins, shouting at his soldiers to slaughter them in the dark. The Chieftain felt something jump in his chest.

Then he saw the Human woman in the pointed hat. He remembered her too. He remembered poison, a dark cloud stealing over the camp. He remembered the sound of Goblins choking, the burning in the air. He remembered the dead. He remembered a grieving child.

That was enough. Pyrite lifted his battleaxe. It didn’t feel so heavy now. He let the feeling build in his chest. Helplessness. Fury. Anger. Grief. He had told Sir Kerrig, told Welca Caveis that his tribe didn’t fight Humans. But that wasn’t true. Mostly they’d run. But sometimes you fought. Sometimes it was fight or die. Sometimes it mattered. Pyrite took a deep breath and roared.

There was no word. The sound froze the Humans. It tore through the air, a bellow, a blast of sound louder than the drums, the thump of a trebuchet firing. It was the sound of rage. Pyrite roared again and saw the Humans flinch. He pointed his battleaxe. His voice was raw as he bellowed.

Charge!

The Goblins did. The stunned Humans were over a hundred feet away. It was bad to run so far. But it was worse to stand and watch something coming at you. The nerve of the front row broke. They charged, ignoring their officer’s calls to wait for the signal.

Pyrite was not in the first wave. He heard the Goblins screaming, a high-pitched sound mixed with the roars of the Hobs. He saw the pikes reach the Human lines, saw the Humans trying to slow, raise shields. Too late. The front row of pike Goblins speared the Humans and then the second wave ran past the pikes and attacked the survivors.

“Dead gods!”

The scream came from Human lines. The pike charge was deadly. Across the battlefield the front rank of the Human army collided with the Goblins and disappeared. Then the second wave of Goblins rolled in, fighting with the thrusting pikes.

Hobs!

Pyrite roared as he charged forwards. The Goblins in front of him heard the sound and moved, some dropping their pikes to get out of the way. The Human soldiers rushed into the gap, and then saw Pyrite leading a hundred of the biggest Hobs straight at them.

Most Humans had not seen a Hob before. They laughed at the idea of a Goblin as big as they were. They screamed as Pyrite charged. The Hob lifted his battleaxe and swung it at the first Humans holding a tower shield. He felt the enchanted axe slice through the wooden shield and felt resistance. He bellowed as he swung through and saw the Human go flying in two pieces.

“Forwards!”

The battleaxe wasn’t like his old axe. When Pyrite swung it, he had to put every inch of force he possessed into the swing. No one could stand around him. With each swing, Pyrite cut down Humans, the enchanted axe burning through flesh, setting Humans ablaze. He struck the earth and watched flames burst from the axe head, scaring the Humans.

Forwards. Behind and around Pyrite the Hobs charged the Humans overwhelming them. The Hob with feathers behind her ears grabbed a shield and pulled it aside before cleaving a skull in. The Hob with two spears charged, throwing one before impaling someone else on the second. The lines of Humans wavered as Pyrite led his group forwards.

But that was one spot on the battle. Pyrite stopped after advancing fifteen paces and stared around. Where was—

There. The Human in armor was circling. He hadn’t been part of the clash of infantry. His cavalry were aiming for the Goblin’s weak spot. And he had found it! An unguarded right flank. The pike Goblins were pressing forwards, forgetting to watch their right in their excitement. And in the Humans came. They charged forwards, whooping, holding their shields up as the Goblins on the walls pelted them with arrows, trying to slow them. Too late. They hit the Goblins from the side.

 

—-

 

“We’ve got them! Those damn pikes don’t mean a thing if they aren’t pointed our way! Hit them and cut in!”

Beniar shouted as he charged into the group of Goblins. He looked down at the first Goblin and was rewarded with a green face staring up at him in horror. His blade slashed down—

And the Goblin blocked it. Beniar felt his blade bounce off a buckler. As the momentum carried him forwards, Beniar half-turned his head to stare back. He saw the Goblin stagger with the blow, and then turn. And grin. And then Beniar has to twist in his saddle or be impaled on an enchanted spear aimed for his belly.

“What the—”

The charge of his cavalry had stopped. The Goblins were fighting back! Some had been killed in the first charge, but the rest were dodging and parrying and blocking strikes from above and cutting back with skill. Beniar felt his stomach lurch. These weren’t ordinary Goblins! And then he saw the red stripes painted on the Goblin with the spear that was trying to unhorse him.

Redfang Goblins. They abandoned their pikes and disguises and drew their weapons. Beniar’s cavalry found themselves surrounded by veterans. They shouted in panic, trying to wheel, but the Redfang Warriors darted past them, hamstringing horses and swarming the individual riders.

Fall back! Retreat!”

The [Captain] howled the words and tried to turn. But the Redfangs refused to let his force go, and then Beniar saw another group headed towards them. Not Humans. Goblins mounted on Carn Wolves. Beniar fought desperately to break free, slashing a Redfang Warrior across the head and cutting down another. He and his [Riders] raced away as the Carn Wolves chased them. They had to pull back towards the safety of their army, which meant that the mounted Redfangs were free to attack with no one to chase them.

 

—-

 

Pyrite heard a howl as the Redfangs mounted on Carn Wolves rode past him. They charged into the Humans’ flank from the right. Pyrite pointed and bellowed.

Squish!

Instantly he and his Hobs charged towards the same spot. The Humans were crushed between both forces and broke, screaming. Pyrite pointed and the Redfang [Raid Leader] nodded. She whistled and her warriors broke away. They rode back to another spot on the battlefield where the Goblins were struggling to fight the Humans.

Across the battlefield, Pyrite could sense the Human [General] struggling to keep up. He bared his teeth, feeling the blood on his chest and arms cooling. It wasn’t so easy, was it? Not in a fair fight. An ambush was one thing, but this? This was strategy! This was tactics! And his tribe was better than the Humans. He turned, ready to slash across the Humans now their right flank was gone. That was when he saw her.

Among the Humans there was little variation in height. They were tall and they were short, but compared to the Goblins and Hobs they were uniform. Except for one. A tall, grey-skinned…warrior was fighting on the left flank. And she was the tallest person Pyrite had seen save for Tremborag himself.

Her skin was grey, like stone. It had cracks in it, as if her body were still part earth. But though her shoulders were broad and she wore thick leather armor, she was clearly female. A crude metal helmet guarded her face and she carried a massive wooden club and a shield that looked like it had been a door once. Even Goblins would agree that her equipment looked patchwork. But when she swung her club—

Pyrite saw a Hob try to guard against the swing. He saw the Hob raise a round shield, saw the club smash into the shield, deform the metal, crush the Hob’s head. The next swing battered the dead Hob aside as if he were a leaf. The warrior with the club turned and swung at a series of pikes rushing towards her. The blow shattered the thick wood and tore the pikes from the Goblin’s hands. The second swing scattered Goblins, breaking their line.

Humans rushed past the grey-skinned female as she took a breath. She raised her shield and blocked a flurry of crossbow bolts aimed at her. One passed by her shield and struck her in the shoulder. She staggered, but the bolt fell from her shoulder. It hadn’t managed to puncture her skin.

Pyrite stared. What was that strange warrior? She was no Human. He tried to fit her appearance, but it was only after he heard her bellow and swing again that the image clicked in his head.

Troll. Or rather, half-Troll. She was too small to be a true Troll. But half-Troll or not, she was single-handedly pushing his tribe back! Pyrite saw her swing and kill a group of five Goblins charging her. His eyes narrowed. Pyrite pointed.

“There!”

His Hobs turned. They stormed after Pyrite as he charged across the battlefield towards the half-Troll. She turned as he approached and a warning went up.

“The Chieftain’s coming! Durene, get back!”

She refused to run. Durene, if that was her name, spread her arms and raised her bloody club and shield. Pyrite roared as he charged towards her. They met in a clash as he swung his battleaxe and she swung her club.

His swing was too slow. Pyrite realized it halfway and changed his grip. He lifted his battleaxe instead to catch the club as it came down towards his head. He caught the blow on the steel haft of the battleaxe. He was ready for a crushing blow. He braced and then—

Something struck Pyrite from above. He heard a crack as his arms gave way, and then the force of the blow knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground harder than he could remember in years. Pyrite blinked upwards, dazed. His arm felt—bad. Then he saw the club rising and heard the cheers. Pyrite watched it go up and then fall down. Then he remembered he should dodge.

He rolled and heard another thud. The impact alone made his bones vibrate! Pyrite got up, reached for his battleaxe, and realized it was on the ground. He reached for it and saw a wall of wood coming at him.

Durene charged Pyrite with her shield up. Instinctively Pyrite grabbed it to push her back, but she slammed the shield into his face! Again, Pyrite felt his head go white. He reached up and grabbed the arm as Durene raised her club to strike him. He saw her arm tense—

Hah!

With one twist, Durene flung Pyrite backwards. He crashed into two Hobs who cried out from pain as he landed. Pyrite felt them push at him and got up slowly. He stared at Durene as the Humans around her cheered.

Strong. Far, far too strong. Pyrite had seen Trolls fight. He’d fought a Troll once. Durene wasn’t as strong as a troll. She was stronger. Somehow.

How? Pyrite’s mind raced as he saw Durene adjust her grip and come charging towards him. His mind worked frantically even as his body ran forwards. It had to be a Skill. A strength Skill. Imagine a Troll with [Lesser Strength] or—

Another swing from the club. This one came from the side, right at stomach-level. Pyrite dropped and rolled under it. He heard a grunt of surprise—Durene must not have thought he could move that fast. On the ground, Pyrite stared up. She was turning, arm raised for another killing blow.

Confidence in her eyes. She knew she was strong. She must not have ever met anyone stronger. And she wouldn’t on this battlefield. Pyrite knew he was too weak. He didn’t have his battleaxe. Still. He stared as the club began to fall and stood. As he did he grabbed the half-Troll girl’s inner knee and pulled up.

It wasn’t easy. Durene was as big as Pyrite and heavy. She was braced and poised well. Another Skill? But Pyrite was strong and he had her leg. He just had to pull up and then Durene was standing on one leg. Her club struck his shoulder hard and Pyrite groaned as he felt another crack, but she had bad posture. Durene waved her arms and cursed and Pyrite pulled her leg up a tiny bit more.

Down she went. Durene felt as the Humans and Hobs fell around her. She lost her grip on her shield, dropped her club to break her fall. She surged up as Pyrite stood and checked himself. He nodded as Durene grabbed her club. Then he kicked her in the face.

She didn’t expect that. Pyrite was fat, but his legs were strong and he was good at balancing. Durene staggered back, tried to stand, and tripped as Pyrite stepped on her foot. She shouted something, fell on her back, and then Pyrite stomped on her stomach. He put all of his body into the blow and felt her spasm. Durene curled up into a ball and puked. Pyrite wandered away.

Strong. Very strong. And tough. She nearly killed him. But she wasn’t experienced. Pyrite thought about trying to keep her on the ground but he’d cut his foot open kicking her in the helmet and he was worried she could tear his leg off if she caught it. So he went for his battleaxe. It was lying in the mud, the head burning. A Human tried to stop him and Pyrite casually punched him. When he lifted the battleaxe Durene was on her feet. And she was angry.

She’d grabbed her shield. With her club in hand she roared at Pyrite. There was no words, just rage. Pyrite nodded. He waited. This time he waited until she was swinging. Durene came at him with another vertical smash. Pyrite planted his battleaxe in the ground, aimed the head, and ducked.

The club crashed into the head of the enchanted battleaxe. The blow drove the butt and haft of the battleaxe into the earth, but the weapon didn’t break. It was magical. And the head bit into the club and set the bloody wood aflame. As Durene jerked it back with a shout of surprise and horror, the weakened club broke in her hands. She stared at the handle in horror and saw Pyrite raise his battleaxe. She lifted her shield and he swung.

Durene!

The scream that Pyrite heard came from two places. The half-Troll girl staggered backwards, a hand over her chest. Red blood and smoke dripped from the place where he had cut her. She stared at Pyrite. He raised his axe for another blow and saw the armored rider charging him.

“Face me, Goblin!

Beniar howled as he charged Pyrite. The Hob shifted his stance and swung. Beniar swore as he turned his horse too late. Pyrite cut down the horse and would have killed Beniar if it weren’t for the last-minute change. Beniar fell to the ground but was up in a moment. He faced off against Pyrite with sword and shield in hand as Humans rushed to pull Durene back, screaming for healing potions. Pyrite saw the Human shift. He was wearing good armor. Pyrite saw his hand lower, and then Beniar stabbed towards Pyrite’s chest.

The Hob caught the sword in his hand. Beniar jerked, and stared as the blade pierced Pyrite’s hand but failed to enter his chest. The Hob lifted his battleaxe with his other hand and swung. Beniar raised his shield. The metal crumpled. His armor crumpled. His ribs broke. He collapsed and Pyrite yanked the sword from out of his hand. Pain made his head swim, but he raised his axe again.

“[Fox Fire]!”

Bright flames burnt Pyrite’s face. He roared, trying to smother the magical flames that enveloped his face. But the conflagration didn’t go out. Pyrite’s hands shot towards his belt and he grabbed the little glass bottle there. He smashed it against his head and the soothing healing potion extinguished the magical fire. Howling in pain, Pyrite looked around as he felt his burnt skin healing. He saw a row of Humans in front of him, felt an arrow strike his shoulder and another land in his gut. He saw them pulling Beniar and Durene back and then saw the [Witch].

She was standing, aiming a wand at him not twenty paces away. Rows of Human [Soldiers] separated the two. She opened her mouth for another spell and Pyrite ducked. The bright flames missed his head. Pyrite saw a Human charge him and felt another lancing pain in his side. He growled and a Hob tore the Human’s sword away and slashed across his face with an axe.

“Pyrite!”

Twofeather covered Pyrite as more Hobs rushed forwards. They fought with the Humans as the [Witch] cast more magic. Hobs retreated, burning and howling while the rest fought. Twofeathers urged Pyrite back. He didn’t want to go.

“Pyrite! Danger, danger! You go back!”

She pointed back a few paces, where Goblins were rushing past him. Pyrite growled, but then stepped back. Only when the bloodlust cleared from his head did he realize how close he’d come to death. It felt like the last few moments had taken hours, but in truth bare minutes had passed. He looked around.

The Humans were losing. Across the battlefield the Goblins were pushing them back. It wasn’t a victory everywhere, but the numerical superiority of the Humans had failed before the Goblin’s superior tactics and experience. The Humans couldn’t face the Hobs or the experienced Redfang Warriors. And with both their cavalry leader and Durene out of the picture they were losing hope.

Pyrite saw it all clearly from where he stood. The [Witch] or [General] or whoever she was still held the line, but she had attracted Noears’ attention. From the walls of the city Pyrite saw a flash and then a lightning bolt blasted apart a group of Humans near the [Witch]. She was forced to flee further back as Noears shot more lightning.

It wasn’t victory. Not yet. But Pyrite knew it could be taken. He just had to push further in, cut the Humans in two. Overwhelm them from all sides. He could do it. But for a moment, a brief moment, Pyrite leaned on his battleaxe. He was tired. Hurt. He could smell his blood, burnt skin, and tell he had cracked bones the healing potion had yet to mend. Pyrite stared at the battlefield, at the Humans and Goblins bleeding and dying, and looked up. Absently he thought of a poem.

 

Ah, how red, how red

The living and the dead

Dying here with blue sky

Far overhead.

Painful.

Yet for my people living and dead,

Until my last drop is shed,

I’ll dye my hands this crimson red.

 

Then he came back to himself. Pyrite lifted his battleaxe and roared a word.

Advance!

The Goblins heard him and cheering, rushed forwards. The Humans retreated. Pyrite strode forwards and his gaze turned west. It was a battle here. One he would win. It wasn’t one Rags had expected, but she had prepared him, prepared her tribe for it nonetheless. He hoped she would win her own battle.

“Luck, Chieftain.”

Pyrite murmured. Then he lifted his battleaxe and swung. The Humans fell back, screaming, running before him. It was probably something on his face.

 

—-

 

As the Flooded Waters tribe fought with the Unseen Empire’s army, a separate group of Goblins raced out of the forest. They had been camped around a broken totem, a wooden marker chopped down and then burnt to charcoal. They had been hiding, moving from marker to marker while sending small groups ahead to destroy the ones ahead. But they were close enough to their destination now. They abandoned their cover and raced out of the forest.

Sixty Goblins riding Carn Wolves rode down the dirt road, shouting, urging their mounts to race faster. They abandoned silence and their wolves howled. Fear raced ahead of them. The Goblins were coming. But not to slaughter. Not yet.

Rags had made that clear. She had told Redscar that if he wouldn’t follow her orders he could stay behind. That he was riding with her now at the head of his Redfang warriors meant he was obeying…or pretending to. She glanced at him as she rode up and down in her wolf’s saddle. His face was set, his teeth bared as he raced next to her with his enchanted sword unsheathed.

No. He had been Garen’s second-in-command. He obeyed and because he was a true Goblin, he obeyed even the orders he didn’t like. It would take truly terrible orders for him to rebel as he had once done to Garen. Something that went against both pride and common sense. And this was not a mistake. This was Rags’ plan.

The village was smaller than Rags expected as she rode towards it. Not that she’d expected a village. She’d assumed the [Emperor] would live in a huge palace. Or a castle. At the very least, a city. She hadn’t believed Pyrite when he’d pointed out the village named Riverfarm as the likeliest spot where the Unseen Emperor lived. But Sir Kerrig had gone straight into the village so Rags was certain.

She had also anticipated defenses, but the most the Humans had come up with was a thin line of stakes at the entry points around the village. They must have truly been caught off-guard. Rags saw a group of Humans installing the crude palisades at another entrance to the rows of houses race into the village, calling an alarm. The rest were already gathered at the eastern gate as she slowed. A sea of Human faces stared up at Rags, most white with terror. A few looked calmer, but all were tense. Her eyes flicked from face to face. Now, which one would be the [Emperor]?

“You!”

A voice shouted at Rags in fury. She looked and saw Sir Kerrig. He was breathing hard. He’d raced here on his horse. If Rags hadn’t had her [Fleet Foot] Skill that allowed her to rest her warriors while running to keep up with the Carn Wolves, they might have been just as tired.

The [Knight] was mounted and holding a plain iron sword and shield. He looked angry. Sir Kerrig pointed the tip of his sword towards Rags’ heart as Redscar surveyed the crowd and silently pointed, spacing his warriors out.

“You lied to me.”

Rags stared calmly at Sir Kerrig. She considered his words and then shrugged nonchalantly. It was a Goblin shrug. Sir Kerrig stared at her, face pale with fury.

“Did lie.”

“I trusted you to keep your word. I trusted your honor!”

The small Goblin grinned at Sir Kerrig. She bared her teeth.

“And this is how much I trust Humans.”

With that she turned and ignored Sir Kerrig completely. Which one? She looked for those without as much fear to begin with. She spotted a woman in a [Maid]’s dress staring at her in the crowd. No. She saw an old [Lady] standing at the head of a group of rich nobles. Rags eyed them, but all the male nobles looked ready to pee. No.

Then Rags spotted an odd group. A woman in a rich dress, an older man who looked like a [Farmer]. A young man with a hand protectively over his sword and…Rags felt a jolt. It was him.

It was easy in hindsight. Out of the entire crowd, only the [Emperor] wasn’t looking at her. His head was turned east and his eyes were closed. The Unseen Emperor slowly turned his head and Rags felt a prickling chill run down her skin. He wasn’t looking directly at her. His eyes were closed. But she knew he was looking nonetheless. This was the feeling she’d felt the entire time she was in his lands. The feeling of being watched.

The Humans stared at Rags as Redscar tilted his head and nodded. His Carn Wolves were surrounding the entrance to the village. There were wooden spikes set into the ground and a lot of the villagers were armed, but few had armor. These weren’t soldiers. If Rags ordered the attack it would be a slaughter. The Goblin Chieftain assessed the crowd, eyed Sir Kerrig and nodded to him. Redscar positioned five of his warriors to face off against the [Knight].

Good. All was set. Rags reached for the crossbow at her back. When she drew it, all the Humans tensed. She saw the Human with the sword move in front of the [Emperor]. Rags casually pointed her black crossbow with two hands towards the Unseen Emperor, her elusive foe. She grinned in the silence.

“Time for peace talk?”

 

—-

 

The first time I hear her voice is a shock. At first I can’t believe that this is the Goblin Chieftain. I recognize her of course. Dimly. I have sensed all the Goblins who came onto my land. But while I noticed the fat Goblin with the battleaxe, the one with the enchanted longsword and scar, and so on, I never expected this one to be the Chieftain who has done so much harm.

She’s so small. And when she speaks I know she’s also young. It’s not just her words. All the Goblins apparently sound like non-native speakers. But her voice is so…

A child. A child leading monsters. A child monster. Only—a child and a monster don’t go together. For a moment I’m frozen with shock. But I can’t process the emotions running through me. A crossbow is aimed at my chest and while I’m sure Gamel would throw himself in front of the bolt, it would probably go through him and me. So I stand and brush him aside.

“You are the Chieftain of this Goblin Tribe? The…Flooded Waters tribe?”

The small Goblin looks slightly surprised. She must be wondering how I can see her without eyes. But she nods as if blind men aren’t the strangest thing she’s seen today.

“Am. Am Rags. Chieftain.”

I hear a murmur behind me. I ignore it.

“I am Laken Godart. [Emperor] of these lands.”

“Murderer.”

How casually she says the word. The response it provokes among my people is instantaneous. Half shout in outrage. They might have done more than raise the weapons they hold, but the snarling Carn Wolves made them hold back. I raise a hand for silence.

“Some people would argue that one cannot murder Goblins. Some would say they are not people.”

It’s a calculated risk. I sense the Goblin with the scar on his face recoil, sense the way his hand tightens on the hilt of his sword and the other Goblins tense. But the small Goblin tilts her head thoughtfully.

“Can say that. I say same thing about Humans. There.”

It’s almost funny. For a sick moment I’m tempted to laugh. Then I remember myself and so I laugh anyways. The others stare at me. But they don’t matter. Not right now. In this moment it’s only this small Goblin and I. Rags? We stand alone, talking to each other.

“I thought all Goblins were monsters. You see, a raiding party attacked my empire. They killed my people. They would have killed us all.”

She shrugs.

“Probably.”

“You have nothing to defend their actions?”

A touch of heat enters her voice.

“Why do I need defend? Humans do same to Goblins.”

I nod slowly. Gods. All the pieces are falling together. Listen to her talk! She sounds so—what have I been doing? What have I done? An angry voice shouts out behind me.

“This is absurd! Goblins are not the same as Humans!”

“Lord Tourant, be silent.

I hear the [Lord]’s voice muffle itself and ignore the scuffle behind me. Rags is tilting her head, inspecting me carefully. Without fear. She’s curious.

“Why close eyes? Bad eyes?”

“No. Blind.”

Head tilt. She squints at me. All the while the crossbow never wavers.

“How can see?”

“Skill. Special [Emperor] Skill.”

“Ah.”

She pauses. I wait a beat but she doesn’t ask anything more. I want—if there was a way—but not now. I fear what will come, but I try anyways.

“What you said? About peace treaty? You want talk?”

She scowls. I sense that quite clearly. She points at me with one hand while she keeps the other hand steady, balancing the crossbow on her wolf’s head. It whines softly.

“No talk bad! I can talk like you. You do not talk like I do!”

“Very well. What do you want? Peace? This is hardly peaceful.”

She laughs.

“Is it not? This way is best way! Peace! I point this at you and if you don’t make peace, I shoot you.”

Outrage around me. I smile. There’s something so refreshing about that.

“If you shoot me, my people will kill you. You will not escape these lands alive.”

Rags gives me a long, blank look.

“Right. That why peace works.”

A stalemate. I slowly nod.

“So then. What is your peace, Chieftain Rags?”

She pauses. It hurts to sense how delighted she is to be called Chieftain. My chest burns with pain.

“Peace is simple. You take army away from city. I take my army away from lands. Your army not follow. I go. You let leave.”

Again, Rags’ words provoke an uproar, but not from my people. Rather, it’s the nobles and Lady Rie who react. She whispers urgently into my ears.

“Your majesty, she can’t be serious! If we let a Goblin tribe roam free your reputation—”

“Prost.”

He pulls Lady Rie back, ignoring her outrage. I tap my chin with a finger.

“And your proof that you won’t turn back and continue raiding my lands?”

Another shrug. It seems very Goblin.

“No proof. You send army if I come back. We fight again.”

“That’s not good enough.”

She shifts on her wolf’s back testily.

“Not good enough? Goblins are stinking cowards. We run away! I make peace. Don’t have to. Could kill you now.”

She lifts the crossbow as proof of her bona fides. I sense Gamel tense again. If it comes to it…Bismarck is waiting behind one of the houses. I have close to a thousand of my subjects here. The rest are hiding with those unable to fight. The nobles have their entourage as well. Not enough. Sixty elite Goblins plus their wolves…that’s like a hundred and twenty warriors. It will be a slaughter.

“How would the peace work? I tell my soldiers to go? What will you do?”

Rags bares her teeth. They’re sharp. Small.

“You send message. Tell them to go. Then we go. We stand here one hour. Then I go.”

She wants us to stand here for an hour? It might work. It could work. I want to laugh. I want to tell her to lower the crossbow, to sit, to let me apologize and ask her—but I shake my head.

“It’s a good plan. It might have worked. But I’m sorry, Chieftain Rags. There will be no peace.”

Behind me, Lady Rie inhales sharply. I see Rags waver. For the first time she looks surprised. Uncertain.

“Why not?”

I wait before responding. When I do, my voice is steady. I can say the words now. Pain—pain has already done its work.

“You came too late, Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. Our armies have already fought. Someone ordered my army to assault your tribe. The battle is lost. Your tribe won.”

A moan rises from the crowd. I feel the horror rise around me, see faces turn to me with terror mounting. Rags stares at me. The crossbow wavers.

“My tribe won?”

I nod. In my head I sense Humans fleeing, drawing back, fighting around the totem. Where is Durene?

“Is winning, rather. They’re retreating. Your tribe is chasing them.”

The Goblin with the red scar leans over to talk urgently to his Chieftain. Rags listens, half shaking her head. Is he suggesting to kill us now that they’ve won? Rags looks back at me and now her voice is very uncertain.

“Tribe won. Is good. Humans wrong to attack. Stupid. Can still…make peace.”

“No.”

I smile at her. She stares at me, just like a child.

“Why not?”

“You slaughtered my people. You killed them. And Durene—I think you’ve taken too much from me, Rags. Your race started this war. I escalated it. For that I am sorry. But too many have died.”

I spread my arms. I can sense them. I can remember. Each person her Goblins slew. Each child burnt in a building, or mother killed while fleeing. Each father or son or daughter who died. It hurts. And I cannot sense Durene.

Rags lifts her crossbow.

“You fight and you die. Your people die.”

“There are thousands of my people here and sixty of you. I have soldiers too.”

“Emperor Laken, your majesty, let us not be hasty here. Surely there is something we can do to avoid conflict.”

To my greatest surprise, someone interrupts Rags’ reply. An old voice. Lady Bevia. She speaks up as the [Mage] next to her urgently whispers. She brushes him aside and treats me and Rags to a charming smile. I can feel myself growing calmer.

“Chieftain Rags, was it? Your Majesty, this young Goblin speaks sense. I would hate to see needless bloodshed—”

The [Mage]. He’s whispering to her. What does she know? Why is she trying to defuse the situation? I turn towards Lady Bevia and sense Rags spotting the same things I have. She shifts her crossbow’s aim for a second.

“No talk! Stop using Skill!”

“I am only trying to—”

“Be silent, Lady Bevia. There is no more room for negotiation. I have made up my mind.”

Around me I sense a vibration in the air. The atmosphere is taut. My people have gone deathly still. They are waiting. Rags hesitates. She lifts her weapon uneasily.

“I have crossbow. You surrender. Now!”

I laugh. There’s a bit of madness there. He was right. An [Emperor] can do many things. But some things—no.

“Surrender? Never.

We stare at each other, the small Goblin and I. Without eyes. For a second I waver. So young. If we had met another way, we might even have understood each other. But my empire bleeds. My people are dead. And when I look at her in my mind’s eye, truly look at her, I don’t think she wants peace either. There’s a monster in both of us. Waiting. So I let it out.

“Take the Goblins. Do not let them escape. Do not rest until they are all dead.”

I hear a howl. I sense Rags jerk, see the red scarred Goblin point at me, Sir Kerrig leaping into motion. I can sense her finger pulling the trigger, sense the crossbow aiming at me. I feel Gamel lunge at me, knock me down. The bolt grazes my left cheek, goes into someone behind me. I hit the ground as people rush around me. And I hear the screams.

 

—-

 

Rags saw the first bolt miss the [Emperor]. The second wasn’t aimed at him. It took the [Mage] she’d seen straight through the neck. He dropped, nearly falling on the old [Lady] who’d spoken. Rags saw the woman stumble backwards, face grey as her warriors surged forwards. Rags pointed and threw fire into the crowd as she struggled to reload.

Where was he? There! He was moving backwards, fleeing into the village! Rags heard a terrifying roar and turned her head to see a giant green bear charging out of the village towards her warriors. Three Redfang Warriors turned to ride at it. The rest were fighting the crowd. Five were dueling Sir Kerrig!

Redscar!

She howled the name as she struggled to reload her crossbow. The Humans were shielding the [Emperor]. She’d never get a clear shot! Redscar looked at her, his sword bathed in blood. Rags pointed.

“Him!”

The [Emperor] turned his head as Redscar charged. The current leader of the Redfangs rode a Carn Wolf larger than all but Garen Redfang. He had raised the wolf cub since he had been born. Now he charged into the Humans with cleavers, pitchforks, and other weapons, ignoring their attempts to unseat him. His Carn Wolf snarled and leapt over the crowd, crushing more where it landed. Its fur resisted the blows around it and Redscar slashed left and right, cutting Humans down. But with each passing second the [Emperor] was drawing further away.

Stop! Stop this madness!”

Sir Kerrig was trying to fight his way to Rags. She ignored him. Her eyes were on Redscar and the Emperor. Laken. He had run a dozen feet down the street. He was headed for one of the houses. If he could get inside he’d barricade himself in with all the other Humans. Redscar was racing at him.

A Human stood in the way. A young man with a sword and padded jerkin. He was inexperienced but he swung well. Redscar leaned back and slashed him across the chest as he passed. The young man fell, bleeding but not dead.

Next, the woman in the dress. She fled to one side. Next an old man, the [Farmer]. He had a sword too and swung clumsily at Redscar. The Carn Wolf rammed into him, knocking him flat.

The [Emperor] was last. He had run down the street but Redscar charged him. Ironically, Laken’s order had sent his subjects racing towards Rags’ warriors in a blind rage. There was no one to save him. Rags waited as Redscar raised his frosted blade. The [Emperor] was turning. He knew he wouldn’t escape. He turned and stared at Redscar. Rags heard him speak.

Stop.

For a moment Redscar did. He froze and his Carn Wolf skidded to a stop. Then Redscar cursed. He leapt off his Carn Wolf and ran at the [Emperor]. Laken ran once more. Rags cursed, but Redscar was a trained warrior. He was still closing on the Human. Closer, closer—

Chieftain!

Rags heard the voice. Her head turned. She saw something flash past her Redfang Warriors, heard the galloping hoofs. She turned, raised her crossbow, and shot. Too slow. Her bolt missed the target.

Redscar was sprinting towards Laken. His sword was ready to slash across his back. He raised it as he reached Laken’s back and turned his head as Rags screamed a warning. He saw the blur approaching on horseback and struck anyways. Too slow.

The galloping figure rode down the village street faster than an arrow could fly. Faster than Rags’ fiery magic. Faster than Redfang’s sword. He rode as if the rest of the world were underwater. A lance was in his hand and he aimed it at Redscar. The Goblin saw it coming and tried to dodge. Again he failed.

The lance pierced Redscar’s shoulder. The momentum of the strike spun the Goblin and Rags saw the rider flick his lance casually. Redscar slowed and she saw a hole in his right shoulder. He stared at it and fell, his sword still held in his left hand. The [Emperor], Laken, looked up. The Redfangs stopped fighting and the villagers of Riverfarm stopped too. They turned their heads and saw him standing there. Larger than life. Exactly on time.

Lord Tyrion Veltras. He removed his helmet and offered Laken a slight, stiff bow. Behind Rags, she heard a clarion horn sound and heard more drumming hooves. She turned and saw a hundred riders in full armor charging straight at her. She screamed an order and her Goblins broke away. Tyrion Veltras pointed and the armored [Knights] and [Lords] charged the Goblins. He turned back to Laken Godart.

“Emperor Laken Godart? I believe we have yet to meet. I am Lord Tyrion Veltras. I have heard of you. I believe we could be of mutual benefit to each other.”

“You?”

Laken stared up at the man. Lord Tyrion was tall, and his hair was black. He had a trimmed goatee and clean-shaven upper lip. His armor glowed slightly in the light and he held himself strictly, almost painfully upright on his horse. There was no smile on his face and his dark blue eyes were cold. Nevertheless there was an urgency to the way he moved, a purpose. Tyrion turned his head, looking east.

“I understand your forces are in full retreat following a clash with this tribe. My escort passed by the conflict less than an hour ago. I instructed the rest of my force to ride into battle as soon as they caught up.”

“The rest of your…?”

Tyrion Veltras nodded. His gaze flicked upwards towards the sun, and then travelled across the breadth of Riverfarm. It took in the fleeing Goblins, the hundred or so armored Humans in pursuit, and the lone Goblin racing towards them. Tyrion watched as Rags flung herself from the saddle towards Redscar. He made no move towards them as his lance tip dripped blood onto the ground. Rags dragged Redscar up as the Goblin’s own Carn Wolf approached, whining. She shouted a command and both Carn Wolves began to run, one carrying the fallen Goblin.

“Lord Matthews?”

Lord Tyrion turned his head and called at one of the men dressed in silver armor. A tall [Lord] with red gold hair rode up.

“Lord Veltras! What can I do for you?”

The scion of the Veltras family calmly nodded towards Rags and Redscar, who were both fleeing towards the other Redfang Warriors.

“Mark both targets. The one with the enchanted sword and the small female with the crossbow. Remember your orders.”

“By your leave, Lord Veltras. Formation on me!”

Lord Matthews called out and a wedge of [Knights] and [Lords] raced after him. Laken stared at the fleeing Goblins and the Humans.

“You came all this way for…how did you know about me? About the Goblins? My army—Durene—”

The [Lord] turned his head slightly. He nodded towards Lady Bevia as she stood at a distance. The older lady curtsied slightly.

“I have my informants. Moreover, I received an extraordinary messenger. Your army will be saved, Emperor. I did not come with a hundred soldiers alone.”

 

—-

 

The cavalry that drew reign in front of the battleground spotted the fleeing Humans and advancing Goblins from a distance. Their mounts were sweaty, exhausted, and the riders looked just as tired. But the commander seemed confident, casual, even. He shaded his eyes as he peered at the Goblins chasing the Humans down.

“That’s the tribe you informed Lord Veltras of, Lady Caveis? Do you see your comrade among them?”

Welca Caveis gasped for air and wiped sweat out of her eyes. She stared down at the Goblin army and then shifted her gaze to the city.

“I don’t see Sir Kerrig anywhere, Lord Pellmia.”

The [Lord] nodded.

“A pity. But we may still have hope that he is alive within the city at least. Men! Ladies. On my order we will charge the Goblins! Form a wedge on me. [Second Wind]!”

As he spoke, Welca felt energy flood back into her limbs. It was a nervous, temporary rush, but it made even the horses canter as the cavalry moved into place. She lowered the visor of her helm as Lord Pellmia pointed.

“Remember your orders! Scatter the Goblins first and find me the commander of the Human army! On my mark! Charge!

 

—-

 

Pyrite was marching after the Humans, ordering the tribe to harry them when he heard the horns. He turned his head and saw a wall of silver and steel descending a distant hilltop. His blood ran cold. He screamed an order and the Goblins saw the danger. They turned and ran for the city. They ran and ran as the Humans descended on them.  Pyrite stared at the Humans as he ran. Where had they come from? Why were they here?

Where was Rags?

 

—-

 

“Report.”

Lord Tyrion was speaking to a bevy of soldiers, his people. He had dismounted and was at the center of attention. Laken was sitting. His knees had gone out. He saw Tyrion listen to a report coming straight from the fighting around the city. The Goblins were running! They’d retreated back into the city.

Just like that. Just…in an instant. Now Tyrion was speaking to one of the [Mages] who’d rode with him.

“Convey my gratitude to Lord Pellmia. Tell him I will return to appraise the situation shortly. Now, I require a second [Message] to be sent to my aide Telmia. Send the message with the identifying passphrase: Benivald Veltras. Await her counter signal identifying him as the 52nd second-son of the House Veltras. Inform her to begin the operation on my mark.”

The flurry of activity around Tyrion ceased. He glanced up at the position of the sun and waited a beat. All was still. Laken felt the world pausing. Tyrion nodded.

“Mark.”

 

—-

 

In the mountain, the Goblin Lord and Tremborag met for the second time. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain taunted Reiss from above as his Goblins loosed arrows and threw stones down from above. The crisscrossing network of rope and wood bridges were filled with Goblins as the undead and Reiss’ forces fought below, trying to push upwards.

“You will never take my home, False Lord! Not you, nor your armies! You are too late! The Humans come for you! They will never break my home! I outlived the Goblin King and I will live in my fortress until all is dust!”

He roared down at the Goblin Lord. Reiss stared up, his eyes narrowed and shot black bolts of magic upwards. But Tremborag just laughed and backed away from the edge. Reiss knew he was right.

“Lord, lots of Humans are coming! Lots and lots of Humans!

Snapjaw was tugging at Reiss, trying to get him to pull back. Reiss snarled, feeling blood running down from the side of his face. Garen had nearly gotten him in the last ambush. He saw his Goblin fighting with Tremborag’s forces in a narrow gap. They couldn’t push in! They had to retreat! But the Humans—

Redfang!

A roar from the left interrupted him. Garen Redfang rode out of a large tunnel with his Redfang Warriors, cutting again for Reiss. This time Eater of Spears charged at him and the two Hobs fought in a shower of blood. Reiss snarled.

“Pull Eater of Spears back! Garen is aiming for him!”

The Redfang Chieftain was cutting the larger Hob, bleeding him! He locked eyes as Reiss pointed and the Shield Spider he was riding turned. The two Goblins surged towards each other and then looked up. They felt it at the same time.

Danger. The other Goblins with [Dangersense] looked up as well. They stared up and then saw a flash of crimson light. Heat billowed up and Tremborag turned his head. A network of bridges had burst into flame! As the Goblins watched, they saw a group of distant figures perched high overhead.

Humans. One of the [Mages] aimed a wand down and shot a stream of lava at another network of bridges. The Goblins there screamed in agony as they burned and more fled. Too late. The bridge collapsed, sending hundreds of Goblins falling to their deaths.

Humans! Pathetic adventurers! Kill them!”

Tremborag was furious. He pointed and thousands of Goblins swarmed upwards. Too many even for teams of Gold-rank adventurers to handle! The [Mages] instantly threw up magic barriers as the [Warriors] closed ranks.

Garen stared up at the Gold-rank adventurers coldly. They were fools. They’d be forced to retreat and some would die because of that poor decision. Goblins weren’t like monsters. They knew how to fight adventurers. Tremborag himself was racing higher. He would tear a score of the Gold-ranks apart by himself. But then why was his [Dangersense] still active? He frowned and then saw a flash of magic. Someone had used [Lesser Teleport]. He saw a distant figure appear high overhead. A flash of blonde hair, a pale face. Pointed ears. And suddenly, Garen was afraid.

Not just afraid. Petrified. He stared up and again the Goblins stopped. Something was…off. They knew fear. But the sight of the half-Elf standing above them filled them with a fear they couldn’t shake. All Goblins were afraid. They learned to conquer fear or die. But this?

Tremborag had halted too when he saw the half-Elf. She stood with a group of four other companions, all of whom held bows. Only one was a half-Elf like her, and that archer was far younger. But it was the blonde half-Elf Tremborag stared at. His voice, normally a grand echo in the cavernous mountain, shook as he stared up at her.

“You.”

The half-Elf had a bow. It glowed brightly with a fierce, silvery light as she drew an arrow from the quiver at her back. The adventurers around her stepped back. Tremborag pointed up at her. Now his voice was a shout, but it was filled with horror. And dread.

“You. I know your face!”

The half-Elf glanced at him dismissively and then away. Tremborag backed up. The huge Hobgoblin was afraid. He spoke, his voice filling every ear.

“You were there! You shot the arrow! You have come for me! Destroyer! Bringer of doom! You are she! Arcsinger! The one who slew Velan the Kind!”

Garen felt his heart stop. He stared up as Ellia Arcsinger aimed her bow down, searching the faces of Goblins. Tremborag pointed. He screamed a word, the name no Goblin had ever forgotten.

Kingslayer!

And then he fled. Tremborag leapt from his place, falling, crashing onto the ground of a lower tunnel. He disappeared into it. And behind him Goblins screamed. They wailed and threw down their weapons, turning and running in a panic. Tremborag’s Goblins and the Goblin Lord’s forces. There was no thought behind it. They were gripped by madness. Primal fear. The Kingslayer stood above, the one who had killed Velan the Kind. Even the Redfang Warriors ran, their Carn Wolves howling in panic.

“Stand and fight! Stand!”

Garen roared at his tribe. But his knees shook as he stared up at the half-Elf with the silver bow. He saw her eyes flash towards him and he felt true terror grip his heart. He turned, cursing, and ran.

“Lord! Lord, run!

Snapjaw was screaming in Reiss ear. He had leapt from his Shield Spider’s back and was running with the other Goblins. They sheltered him, even in their panic. They knew. He knew. She was searching for him. Reiss took one look back above as Ellia Arcsinger looked down below. He shuddered. And that fear was not only of her.

Tremborag’s mountain was lost. Both the Mountain City tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army fled in the face of the Human army. Not just because of the army. Not just because of the danger. Because of her. Because of the memory they could not erase. They fled in a panic on first sight of her, forgetting everything.

All according to plan.

 

—-

 

“Excellent. Continue as planned and notify me of any developments. I will return by nightfall.”

Lord Tyrion finished speaking through the spell and turned. He walked over to the young man who was sitting in the dirt street. Laken could still remember where the sword had been. Just a hand’s breath away from his chest. It took him a moment when Tyrion bent to realize the man was offering him his hand.

“Your majesty, there is much I would like to discuss.”

It looked like it pained Tyrion to address Laken by his title, but it would have pained him more not to. Laken looked up into his eyes. He did not immediately take Tyrion’s hand.

“I have heard that you are a dangerous man, Lord Tyrion Veltras. A certain [Maid] came by to tell me not to trust you by any means.”

“[Maids] gossip.”

Tyrion could have been remarking on the weather. He spoke coolly, never taking his eyes off of Laken.

“There are many rumors about me. I would advise you to judge the truth of them for yourself. I have no doubt that many of my detractors have valid points. But I am first and foremost a [Lord] of Izril. I protect my people. This Goblin threat has prompted me to action.”

“Took you a while, didn’t it?”

Lord Tyrion paused.

“Indeed. It is the unfortunate nature of the times. One cannot act without understanding the truth about Goblins. And it is with that understanding that I do execute my plans according to necessity, not compassion.”

“Truth? What truth about Goblins?”

The hand was still outstretched. He should have looked silly, waiting for Laken to take his hand, but Tyrion merely looked expectant. He spoke slowly as Laken stared up at him.

“The truth about Goblins, Emperor Laken Godart, is that they do not matter. Not Chieftains or Lords or Kings. Only one thing matters.”

“And that is?”

“People. Humanity. Responsibility to one’s lands. Safeguarding the continent. Uniting against a common foe, be it monsters or any other threat. We are both men of duty. And I would have your help, Emperor Godart. I offer you my hand. Will you take it?”

Laken stared. He opened his eyes and stared into Tyrion’s own. The [Lord] looked back calmly.  After a moment, Laken slowly reached out. The man hauled him up and Laken stood face-to-face with Lord Tyrion Veltras. He slowly nodded.

“Let’s talk.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.33 B

She sat below. He stood above. The distance between the two was immaterial. They were linked and the rock and stone and water that lay between them were no barrier. If they had stood ten miles apart they might have struggled with this trick. But practice made the task easy as breathing here. When she spoke he spoke. When he listened, she heard.

“I dislike interruptions. I am busy. Nor do I care for questions.”

Klbkch bowed smoothly to the two Drakes.

“My Queen greets you with perceived warmth and welcomes your inquiries, Watch Captain.”

Zevara cleared her throat. She looked nervous, although she had spoken with Klbkch often in her private office in the Watch’s barracks. Only, it wasn’t Senior Guardsman Klbkch she was speaking to. Klbkch stood behind her divested of his armor, with only the twin silver swords hanging at his waist. In this moment he was the Revalantor of the Free Antinium of Liscor and she addressed him as such.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Do I have that right? Let me first congratulate you on your promotion.”

“Thank you.”

Watch Captain Zevara waited, but Klbkch did not elaborate on what his new rank meant. She coughed and went on.

“Ah, I realize this is somewhat irregular, but some concerns have been raised about the proximity of the Antinium Hive to the dungeon.”

The Drake shuffled some papers on her desk. Klbkch nodded.

“My Queen is aware of these concerns. She has tasked me with relaying her words. Ask your questions, Watch Captain.”

“Right. Well, to begin with, how long have the Antinium known about this dungeon?”

Beneath the earth, the Queen shifted in her chambers. She spoke in the dim light, her mandibles slowly clicking together as she looked upwards.

“How could we not?”

Klbkch inclined his head a fraction.

“The discovery of the dungeon was quite a surprise to our Hive. I believe we first became aware of it a few months ago.”

Zevara glanced at something hidden in her right claw. Red light shone brightly at her and she grimaced.

“I see. And the entrances to the dungeon?”

“It seems monsters are able to tunnel through the earth. The fortifications discovered by the Horns of Hammerad and the Silver Swords are a natural precaution.”

“Very sensible of you. This wouldn’t also be a, ah, staging ground for the Antinium to enter the dungeon themselves?”

Below, the Queen sighed. She moved her huge body a few feet, ponderously, a giant confined in a cavern too small.

“Tiresome. Why ask what is known?”

“Of course we would leave the exploration of the dungeon to adventurers in all circumstances. However, the proximity of so many threats to the Hive—and to Liscor—necessitates a combative approach that may result in incursions of a preventative nature.”

“Obviously.”

Zevara scratched at the spines on her head and sighed.

“You are aware that under Liscorian law that all items retrieved from the dungeon are technically Liscor’s property? Naturally the dungeon falls under existing agreements with the Adventurer’s Guild’s right to trespass, but that would not apply to third parties.”

“What the Antinium take will never be returned.”

“My Queen is fully aware of the existing legal structure of Liscor and abides by every law placed to the best of her ability. However, it would be remiss for me not to point out that under the agreement signed by Liscor’s Council and the Free Antinium, our Hive is not subject to the legal restrictions of Liscor, nor would the dungeon be considered Liscorian property as the claim to Liscor only applies to the lands around the city, not, in fact, what lies underground.”

Both the Queen and Zevara paused. The Queen raised one massive feeler.

“Is that so, Klbkch?”

Far above, he shrugged. Zevara cursed softly and rifled through her papers.

“Damn. Really? I uh—sorry, Klbkch. Let me just write that down.”

She scribbled urgently on a piece of parchment as Klbkch waited patiently. After a few seconds, Zevara looked up and sat up formally once more.

“I see. Well, as Watch Captain of Liscor I am concerned about the possibility of Antinium and adventurers meeting by accident. I understand the Hive is…dangerous to intruders.”

“Tell her that creeping spies and saboteurs will die as they always have, Klbkchhezeim.”

“The entryways to the dungeon will be marked, Watch Captain. Quite clearly. We cannot take responsibility for anyone who ignores the warnings.”

“Nor can Liscor prevent any accidents that might occur while adventures explore the dungeon.”

“I fully understand.”

Zevara met Klbkch’s eyes and sighed.

“Please tell your Queen that I hope for our continued success working together. I am sure that whatever reservations the Council may have about the dungeon will be assuaged by our meeting. I would like to speak with you further about the possible dangers of monsters attacking Liscor and the Hive…but I think we can do that in your capacity as Senior Guardsman. Send my sincerest regards to your Queen.”

“I shall do so.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium turned her head.

“Tell your Watch Captain that I do not care for her.”

“She thanks you for your interest and wishes you continued success as Watch Captain. My Queen was especially pleased to note your commendation after the siege of Face-Eater Moths. It is well deserved.”

Zevara blinked. Her tail, hidden behind her desk, swished and gently knocked against the table before she caught herself.

“Oh? Oh. Thank you. I ah, thank her and wish her the same. That’s all, Klbkch.”

The Antinium nodded. He left Zevara’s office, marching downstairs and out of the barracks. A few Gnolls and Drakes waved at him. Klbkch waved back as he stepped out into the pouring rain. He strode down the street. After a moment the Queen spoke.

“What commendation was that, Klbkchhezeim?”

Klbkch spoke softly, although no one was around to hear him as he walked down the street. Water glanced off his carapace as he headed for the Hive.

“She received a medal for heroism and competence in the defense of Liscor, my Queen.”

“Medals. They are…”

“Bits of shaped metal that are hung on a body to emphasize superiority for deeds achieved.”

“Ah. Are they valuable?”

“Not monetarily.”

“I see. Do you have more of your duties above, Klbkchhezeim?”

“No, my Queen. I will return below shortly. However, I have been apprised of an outstanding package waiting for me at the Runner’s Guild and will meet the Courier there before returning.”

“Do so.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium felt Klbkch stride down the street and turn before she broke the connection between the two.

 

—-

 

Klbkch was gone. He vanished from the Queen’s mind and she no longer sensed the rain falling, saw and heard and smelled what he did. Suddenly, she only had one body and it sat, bloated and immobile in her chambers. It felt limiting. But the Queen had lived so for over a decade and she was used to the feeling.

She settled back in her dark cavern, feeling isolation steal over her. But only for a moment. Because the Queen of the Free Antinium was never alone. If she reached out she could feel thousands of Antinium moving in the space around her, each connected to her by a thread thinner than a spider’s strand. She was at the center of the Hive. She gave them purpose.

The Queen thought, and more Antinium obediently moved towards a passage that had sprung a leak, allowing water to pour in from above. She sensed them battling the waters, retreating, one falling behind. Drowning. The connection disappeared as the Antinium drowned. But there were always more.

While the Queen existed, the Hive moved. They demanded her thoughts. Even if it wasn’t conscious, the Queen was still responsible for the way the Antinium moved in perfect synchronization. It was…taxing.

On busy days when the Hive was at war or in crisis, the Queen devoted all of her mind to allowing the Hive to run at peak capacity. Even on ‘slow’ days, a portion of her intellect was consumed by the task of managing so many. Klbkch did his job but he was only one. The Queen had to send hundreds of orders each second. It was a task that would have killed Watch Captain Zevara and her desk full of papers in a single day. Sometimes all the Queen could do was sit and keep everything running.

But of late, the Queen had found herself with more thoughts, more freedom to do as she wished. The new Individuals were responsible for this. Not all of them. Two, rather. The Queen recalled their names vaguely.

“Belgrade. Anand. [Tacticians].”

They were efficient. Together, they had effectively taken away the burden of managing the Hive’s defenses and had begun to regulate a greater portion of the Hive without the Queen needing to take command. They had freed up her mental space and so she deemed them worthy…if still flawed. Of the five Individuals that had first been created, they were the most useful.

The Queen was aware that more Individuals had been identified of course, but she had not inspected them yet. Klbkch told her they were all inferior copies of the original five to begin with. She had no desire to observe them in their failings.

Five Individuals. Around two hundred lesser Individuals capable of receiving names, but lacking the same degree of autonomy. Or so Klbkch claimed. Of that number an inordinate amount were Soldiers—Painted Soldiers as they had been dubbed. That was not part of the original plan, but they were an asset to the Hive.

After ten years, the Free Antinium had succeeded with part of their goals. But their grand success was still incomplete. The Individuals were still flawed. That dissatisfied the Queen when she thought of it. And yet—she felt an urge move through her body and looked up.

“Food.”

Her words provoked instant movement. The Queen’s head barely turned as a small Worker scurried out of the newly-built side tunnel in her chambers. Garry, one of the original five Individual Workers, practically fell over himself as he pushed out a small cart laden with food.

Cooked food. The Queen felt her appetite rising the instant she detected the scent rising from the hot dishes. She saw glazed pieces of meat, succulent dishes of sweet fruit and delicately roasted vegetables, fillet fish freshly bought and then steamed, baked, or fried, and of course, insects.

“What is that?”

The Queen reached with one huge feeler and picked up a fried ball of something chitinous before the cart had reached her side. Garry squeaked and fled as the Queen greedily grabbed more pieces of food with her other feelers. He retreated rapidly and spoke loudly.

“I have prepared a Shield Spider abdomen by cleaning the insides and then stuffing it with a mixture of lentils and fried eggs, my Queen. I then deep fried the entire dish in oil—”

The Queen gestured and Garry fell silent. She crunched the abdomen, savoring the complex flavors. The hot oil, the way the insides squished as she ate—it was heavenly. Taste! After a decade of eating the paste that the Antinium made, such flavors were as addictive as a drug for the Queen. She consumed the abdomen quickly and then lifted a roast of pork up. She knew she liked that.

“Good. Make more. What is that?”

“That is a Lurkersnatch Fish, my Queen. I attempted to prepare it by—”

Again, Garry broke off as the Queen waved a feeler. She chewed and swallowed.

“I don’t like it as much. Make something else.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Garry waited until the Queen had finished the cart of food. It took her less than five minutes. The Queen opened and closed her mandibles and then turned away.

“Go.”

The small Worker grabbed the cart and turned it, trundling backwards into the kitchen he’d been assigned to. This was his job—feeding the Queen delicious food every day. It was something the Free Queen enjoyed. In that way, Garry was useful.

“But flawed.”

The Queen stared at Garry as he hurried away. Her feelers twitched with annoyance. He was Individual. But a failure. He was not true Antinium. Nor was Anand or Belgrade or Pawn or…the last one. They had all failed her test. In that sense, they were incomplete. They were not people. They were only useful tools for Klbkch and her to make use of.

The Queen sighed as she sat back in her chambers. So close. Yet their final goal was still so far. She and Klbkch had labored for a decade to bring about true individuality in the Antinium. They had made that the goal of their Hive, while the other five advanced the Antinium’s goals in their way. The Free Queen had gone against her peers, been exiled to this far-off spot with little resources because of her goals.

And she was lonely. Only Klbkch had been here to keep her company these long years and he was so busy. She had no one to converse with. There were only two real Antinium in the Hive. All else were dross. Expendable shells. She stared at Garry as he left, shoulders hunched, scurrying along.

“Alone.”

She shook her head and pulled herself across her chambers. The Antinium Soldiers standing guard stirred, but they did not follow her. The Queen exited her chambers, moving into a private area that no other Antinium save Klbkch could enter. She opened a pair of doors, airtight, and sensed a miasma of foul and strange odors assail her before she crawled through and closed the doors. It was time to work while she still had enough mental space for it.

 

—-

 

Hawk the Courier was wet. His large, furry ears drooped as he pushed his way into the Runner’s Guild, muttering about wet fur. He didn’t often enter Liscor’s Guild compared to the Street and City Runners—his job took him across Izril and it was more convenient to visit a larger Runner’s Guild. But there was always paperwork to fill out, and as a resident of Liscor, Hawk had to provide his city with occasional updates.

The Runner’s Guild in Liscor was as usual, mostly filled with Street Runners. There wasn’t much call for City Runners in Liscor, given that Drakes rarely traded with Human cities and other Drake cities were too far away. Thus, most of the Runners in the Guild were part-timers. Young Gnolls and Drakes who wouldn’t ever become City Runners, much less Couriers. They stared at Hawk and pointed covertly as he strode past them. Hawk paid them no notice.

However, he did stop and stare when he saw the Drake with dark orange scales and bright white stripes of color across his face. Hawk broke into a grin.

“Baiss!”

The Courier sitting at the table was looking anxious and restless, but he turned with a relieved look the instant he heard Hawk’s voice. He stood up and grabbed Hawk’s arm.

“Hawk! I hoped I’d see you here!”

“What’s Oteslia’s finest Courier doing this far north? How’s the work going? Did you have a quiet run north?”

“Oh, you know. Dodging Wyverns all the way. I had to take a massive detour rather than go near the Blood Fields.”

Baiss shuddered as he sat. He had white slashes of color across his face and tail that stood out from his darker scales. Some of the Street Runners recognized him and pointed excitedly to their comrades. Baiss was a Courier like Hawk and his abilities were a known quantity to anyone who lived and breathed the world of Runners. He wasn’t as distinctive as Hawk, the only Beastkin Runner on the continent, but a Courier was famous, if only in their home city.

“Had any problems with getting across Liscor? It’s not easy to move, is it?”

The Drake grimaced.

“I don’t know how you can do it, Hawk. [Flash Step]’s no good on water and I thought someone would grab me as I was swimming. I had a bottle of Boneset Marrow in one claw the entire time I was in the water.”

Hawk rolled his eyes as he took a seat.

“Don’t use that! Boneset won’t harden nearly quick enough! Just toss something loud in the water. The explosion scares most things away. Besides, I don’t swim. I jump from hill to hill.”

“Horse crap. You’re pulling my tail. There’s no way you can jump that far!”

“Wanna bet? Some hills are just under the water. I can land on them. You just have to know where you are.”

“Huh. Well, I’m not memorizing the landscape. I’m only here to do this delivery and get out. Can’t say I’ll enjoy swimming back, but I can’t wait to be done.”

Baiss grimaced and reached for a mug. Hawk raised his eyes as he noticed how many drinks Baiss had gone through. The Runner’s Guild supplied liquor on demand, but they were hardly a bar.

“Stressed out?”

“I want to be gone yesterday. Damn rain. Damn water and fish trying to take chunks out of my ass. I don’t know how you stand it.”

The Rabbit Beastkin watched Baiss drink deeply. The Drake did look quite stressed, which was unusual. Hawk thought a moment and then nodded with his head.

“You know, there’s this door from Pallass to Liscor. Magical. You can step right through and be in Pallass in a second.”

“You serious? If I’d known that—

Before Baiss could throw his drink, Hawk cut him off.

“The [Innkeeper]’s got a deal with the Runner’s Guild, though. No deliveries or anything that cuts into our work. You could walk through it, though. As a traveler.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. Good thing for us, huh?”

“I don’t see the point. It’s not like Liscor to Pallass is a good route for Couriers, anyways. Too short.”

“Right. And it’d help keep us out of the water. I’ll ask when I get done with this.”

Baiss shifted again. He looked quite worried. Hawk eyed him and hesitated. Couriers, like Runners, had a strict code that prohibited them from leaking secrets of what they delivered and to whom. It mattered a lot more for Couriers given how much they traded on their reputation, but Baiss looked like he was about to burst. So Hawk carefully chose his next words.

“Can you tell me about your delivery?”

“What? Oh.”

The Drake jumped and looked around. He frowned and Hawk expected him to say no. But to his surprise, the Drake grunted.

“Can’t hurt. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know about it already.”

“Really?”

Now both of Hawk’s eyebrows rose. A Courier usually kept every detail of their delivery private. Even for innocuous deliveries. But Baiss was nodding.

“You have no idea how many Drakes know about this. Not my fault either. I had to get this cleared by so many channels that—well, I should never have taken the job. But the pay was really good and they wanted someone to do it. So—here.”

He put something on the table. A bag of holding. This one was delicate, hand-made and clearly superior to most mass-produced bags of holding. Hawk had seen it before so he picked up the black pouch stitched with red and gold and peeked inside. The instant he opened the drawstrings he recoiled and closed the bag up tight. It took all of Hawk’s effort not to shout.

“Ancestors, Baiss!”

“Yup.”

The Drake drained another mug and waved at the [Receptionist]. The Gnoll on duty gulped and hurried over with another drink as fast as he could. Hawk waited until he was back behind the desk before hissing at Baiss. Couriers used anti-listening charms and other tools to detect observation as a matter of trade, so there was no chance of being overheard by the Gnoll’s keen ears.

“And you’ve been carrying that all the way from Oteslia?”

“Not that far. I was on a trip northwest. Scale me alive, do you think I’d get something like this anywhere else?”

“No. But—are you sure this is alright?”

Hawk looked at Baiss with genuine concern. The Drake nodded slowly.

“It’s been cleared. Through the highest channels. I’ll bet my tail and yours that every official in all six Walled Cities know about it.”

“And they agreed to let you deliver it?”

“It’s a request. It pays well. I just want to be rid of it now. I’m waiting on one of them to pick it up. But—”

The door opened. Baiss looked over Hawk’s shoulder and choked on his drink. The Rabbit man thumped him on the back and turned. He saw Klbkch looking around. The Gnoll on duty hurried towards him and pointed to the table.

“Oh, Ancestors!”

Baiss shook in his seat. Hawk stared at him before he realized that Baiss had probably never seen an Antinium before.

“Calm down, Baiss. That’s Klbkch. He’s known around the city. He’s a Senior Guardsman. As Antinium go, he’s the only one I trust.”

Him? I heard the Antinium actually walked about Liscor, but—oh, dead gods.”

“Don’t panic.”

Hawk turned and waved at Klbkch as the Antinium approached. Baiss was stiff in his seat, but he remembered to stand.

“Uh—are you—are you—?”

Klbkch nodded coolly at Baiss. He glanced at Hawk.

“I am Klbkchhezeim, Revalantor of the Free Antinium of Liscor. I believe you have a delivery for me?”

“I do. I do! It’s right here—I’ll need a seal, proof of your identification. Uh—”

“I should go.”

Hawk got up to leave, aware that he shouldn’t be listening. But Baiss shot him a desperate look and Klbkch also shook his head.

“That is not necessary. I am sure your presence would expedite matters, Courier Hawk.”

That was true. Hawk sat back down and helped Baiss go through the somewhat lengthy process of making sure Klbkch was who he said he was and receiving confirmation of delivery. The Drake was so nervous and stumbled so many times that he seemed like a Street Runner doing his first delivery.

At last, Klbkch had the bag of holding in his hands. It was Baiss’, but the Runner had assured Klbkch that he could return it to the Runner’s Guild later that day. Hawk thought privately that Baiss would have given his precious bag of holding away if it meant the Antinium would leave sooner. Klbkch marched back out of the Runner’s Guild and both Couriers sat. Baiss was breathing as if he’d run a hundred miles.

“Ancestors. I don’t know how you live with them in your city, Hawk.”

“You get used to it. Did you notice how Klbkch told me I could stay? He knew the delivery was public knowledge.”

A bit of color flooded back into Baiss’ scales.

“That’s true. Damn. I’d better note that in my report. You know, I’m going to have to file twice as much paperwork for all of this? Not to mention I need to do an interview with a [Mage]—it’ll be such a pain to do! I wonder if I can do it in Pallass? Better get it out of the way, you know?”

Filled with relief, Baiss started babbling. Hawk listened, nodding at the appropriate times, but his mind was still filled with what he’d seen in the bag of holding. He thought of Klbkch. He’d seldom spoken with the Antinium, but he’d gotten to know him over the decade that Klbkch had been working in the city. It was true what he’d said. Klbkch was well-liked. Better than other [Guardsmen], actually. He was polite, efficient, and had won over Liscor by hard work.

But still. Hawk shuddered. Sometimes he forgot what Klbkch really was. He reached for Baiss’ drink and drained it entirely. He’d delivered terrible and wondrous things in his line of work as a Courier. But there were still things that made him very, very nervous.

 

—-

 

Klbkch walked with the small bag of holding in his hands. His movements were quick. Graceful. His new body was unlike that of the hunched Workers or solid Soldiers he passed as he entered the Hive and strode down the tunnels. Klbkch stood tall with only two arms and a far slimmer body than any of the other Antinium. It felt good. Not that he could recall what his old body had been like very well. But he remembered the awkwardness.

This body was smoother. It had been designed for him. The designer had broken the rules set upon her to make it, but she had done so for him. Now Klbkch strode into her private chambers and looked for her. She wasn’t there. He turned his head and stared at the two stone doors that had been custom-built. He strode towards them and hauled one open. A strange, alchemical scent assailed him and he walked inside, closing the door swiftly before anything could enter. Or escape.

“My Queen. I have received the delivery. It is of great importance. I think you will want to view it at once.”

The inside of this sealed chamber resembled a place of horrors, even to Klbkch. He stared past the sacks of fluid, the heaps of strange minerals and powdered or crushed objects, the vats of fluids, and saw a gigantic, black form turn as it slowly mixed something at the far end of the chambers. The Queen of the Free Antinium turned, her face nearly invisible in the darkness. No lanterns hung here and the only glow came from glowing lichen on the walls.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“How goes it, my Queen?”

The Queen moved, pulling her bloated body towards Klbkch. Halfway there she paused and stared at one of the sacks clinging to the wall. The membrane was slightly translucent and something was suspended within. But what hung there even Klbkch dared not stare at. In the fluid, something cried out without tongue or voice. The Queen of the Free Antinium looked away.

“Poorly.”

“I see. Shall we enter the main chamber?”

That was all Klbkch said. The Queen nodded and they left the room quickly. She knew he did not like to be there. It brought up too many memories. Nor was entering that place particularly encouraging for either of them. It reminded them of failure. Of what had been lost.

“What have you brought me, Klbkchhezeim? A delivery? Did you buy something for the Hive?”

“No. This was sent from the Hives. The other Hives.”

The Free Queen froze. She stared at the bag of holding that Klbkch held.

“I see. It comes from the Grand Queen?”

“Without a doubt. Would you like to inspect it first?”

“No. Place it before me.”

The Free Queen waited as Klbkch reached into the bag of holding. He had to kneel so whatever would come out would spill onto the ground. That alone told the Queen that whatever was inside was ungainly or heavy. She waited as Klbkch slowly pulled.

The Courier, Baiss, had been terrified and uneasy about what he’d carried. He knew what was inside, of course. Generally Couriers respected the desire for anonymity, but the Runner’s Guild demanded to know the contents of anything sent or received by the Antinium. So did the Drakes. The instant a request had been made—through the most unusual of channels—the contents of the delivery had been known to anyone with power in southern Izril.

It nearly hadn’t been sent. The Walled Cities had been highly, highly suspicious of the package. They would have blocked it, but they had a peace treaty and they did not want to reveal to the Antinium what they knew. Better to have them use a public service than do whatever they wanted in secret. They hadn’t dared tamper with what Baiss carried, but they had studied it as extensively as they could with magic.

There was some genius to the delivery. That Klbkch understood. It was hard to travel from Liscor to the other five Hives, all of which were located far to the west in southern Izril. Such a journey was difficult, especially covertly. That Xrn and the others had made the trip at all was a testament to how important it had been. Or perhaps how important Xrn had made it. But beside that one occurrence, Klbkch had not seen another Antinium from the other Hives for ten years. They had communicated of course, but rarely. But this?

For all their uses, bags of holding had several flaws. It was dangerous to carry multiple bags of holding around on the same person. They had limits on what they could store. They could break, malfunction, and you couldn’t put something living inside. Bags of holding could not contain living things. So what was inside was not living.

A dead Antinium exited the bag of holding. It fell wetly to the ground. It was encased in a thick mucus. Its limbs were wrapped around itself. It was very dead. But the body was preserved. That was not what surprised the Free Queen. Her mandibles clicked together in a sharp gasp. She stared down at the dead Antinium.

Female?

For a second she was stunned. And then the Queen picked up the Antinium and ran her feelers over it, swiping away the gel impatiently. After a second she shook her head.

It was not female. This drone had been created in the shape of a Queen, scaled down to a Worker’s size, but the change in appearance was cosmetic. Her internal organs and biological processes were the same as any Worker. She had not the capacity for thought, or the ability to give birth that any true female Antinium would.

By the same token, it would have been wrong to call her ‘male’. The Drone was Antinium, neither male nor female or any sex unless the biological need arose. Still, the Queen thought of the small replica as female, if only because that was her function.

“It is not female, Klbkchhezeim.”

“I thought as much. It is a replica made to imitate a Queen, though.”

“Yes. And I think it only requires revival.”

“The Rite?”

The Free Queen waved a feeler. She placed the drone back on the ground.

“Hardly. It is perfectly preserved. Reactivating the brain will only take a moment. But cleaning out the air passages so it does not choke would be helpful.”

“I will do so.”

Klbkch knelt as the Queen placed her feeler on the Antinium’s head. The miniature replica of the Queen twitched once and then went limp. It was now alive, for a given value of alive.

“It is conscious?”

“No. It has no mind. It is a shell. We must wait for the Queen in charge to realize it is awake.”

The two stood in silence for a while. Klbkch studied the inert Drone.

“I understand part of why it was sent. But surely it cannot relay anything? Not unless they have discovered how to form a Unitasis Network?”

The Free Queen paused, her feelers rubbing together.

“I am unsure. Perhaps—”

Both broke off as the drone sat upright. The Free Queen blinked as it slowly raised something. It had been holding an object in one of its feelers. She saw it raise something that shone. A piece of glass? No. A hand mirror. It stared into it and the Queen saw a flicker of light. Somewhere, far away, the cousin of the mirror activated and magic shared both image and sound between the two.

“Ah. Clever.”

A Queen from the Hives far to the south would not be able to control one of her drones from this far away with any subtlety. Without a Unitasis Network, her range would only extend a hundred miles. At most. But the little scrying glass would neatly bypass the issue. The Drone stared into the mirror and the Queen used the magical link to augment the mental one. Now the Drone stood taller and her posture changed. The mandibles opened and closed and her feelers moved with delicate subtlety as she looked around the Hive.

When she spoke, it was quietly.

“The transport was successful. The Grand Queen of the Antinium sits here. And here.”

She gestured with one feeler, then she saw the Free Queen. She looked up.

“Free Queen of the Antinium.”

“Grand Queen. It has been eleven years.”

“Yes.”

Neither Klbkch nor the Free Queen bowed. The Queen paused, her feelers moving uncertainly. She searched for words. The sudden contact unsettled her. Eleven years. After a moment she spoke.

“I assume this drone was sent after Prognugator Xrn returned to the Hive? I trust that she relayed her findings—”

The Grand Queen spoke over the Free Queen. She turned her head, looking around the cavern as she spoke in what was for the Antinium, clipped, quiet tones.

“This vessel was delivered for the purpose of communication should the need arise. The Free Antinium have been judged to have adequately made progress towards their objectives. They will now rejoin the larger Hive through this relay.”

Her words were abrupt. Almost insulting. The Free Queen bristled until she remembered that this was how the Grand Queen had been. She spoke, concealing her anger.

“Prognugator Xrn has returned to the Hive, then?”

“Yes.”

Silence. The Free Queen paused.

“This network—”

“A series of proxies using magic to facilitate control at range. My design.”

The Grand Queen’s satisfaction radiated through her voice and posture. The Free Queen clicked her mandibles together shortly.

“Is the process one w—”

“Other Queens have their own proxies. This one was sent first. Others will arrive in time.”

“What if I wish to instigate communications with other Hives?”

A pause.

“That is not necessary at this point. Other Queens may contact your Hive as appropriate.”

“I see.”

The Free Queen contemplated the miniature Grand Queen. Perhaps the only thing that kept her from picking up the drone and breaking it was how satisfying it felt to look down at the Grand Queen. The Grand Queen didn’t feel the same way. She stepped backwards until she was able to stare at the Free Queen without tilting her head up.

“Drakes have made inquiries as to the Hive in Liscor. In regards to the dungeon unearthed recently.”

“As I informed you in my latest report. The dungeon is currently the subject of interest in Liscor. A group of adventurers inadvertently discovered a route into the Hive from the dungeon. However, the Hive is well-fortified and—”

“This information has already been considered. Continue probing the dungeon. Commit whatever resources are necessary to acquire artifacts.”

The Grand Queen turned from the Free Queen and looked at Klbkch.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“Grand Queen.”

He bowed smoothly. The Grand Queen studied him. Her feelers waved. When she spoke next she sounded irritated.

“Your form has been altered. Without permission.”

“It was a necessary side effect of the Rite of Anastases, Grand Queen. This form allows me to fulfill my duties far more efficiently than my old one.”

“…Understood. Do you have anything to report at this moment?”

Klbkch looked at the Grand Queen’s proxy. He glanced up at the Free Queen who was vibrating dangerously.

“Did Prognugator Xrn return to the Hive safely?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have nothing to report.”

“Understood. Maintain this vessel. Other proxies will be delivered in time. Await orders until then. That is all.”

The Grand Queen departed as quickly as she’d come. The drone crumpled and Klbkch and the Free Queen looked at it. Neither spoke for a second. Klbkch clicked his mandibles together shortly.

“That was unexpected.”

“Was it?”

The Free Queen was simmering with slow-burning fury. Klbkch paused.

“I suppose not. She is still angry at you, my Queen.”

“Yes. Because I am here. Because I succeeded where she believed I would not.”

The two looked at each other. Klbkch nodded.

“The other Queens will send their own proxies? It would be good to communicate with the Hives.”

“And receive orders I do not wish to obey. But yes. The connection will be reestablished. Perhaps a transportation network will be built.”

“That would be an undertaking. But yes, it would be welcome. What concerns me is that the Hives may soon move.”

“Too soon.”

“We must say as much.”

The Free Queen turned away from Klbkch.

You must say as much. She will listen to you. I am renegade. She saw your new form. She was displeased.”

“As well you did not show her your experiments. But if she is willing to speak, perhaps she would lend you the components you require.”

“Perhaps. I am in need of them, Klbkch.”

Klbkch’s gaze went to the sealed stone doors.

“The alchemy ingredients I purchased did not work?”

The Free Queen shook her head.

“Alchemical goods are too complex. Without rendering they are impossible to work with. Magic and body parts—”

The Queen clicked her mandibles irritably. The notion of alchemy, of the so-called masters of potions and craft offended her to her core. To a Queen of the Antinium, [Alchemists] were nothing more than infants playing around with cheap toys. They banged rocks together when they should be rendering miracles out of sand.

Of course, these were metaphors based in the terminology of other species. The Free Queen didn’t think of rocks and sand, or even infants. Her image of the [Alchemists] was of a wriggling larvae with half-formed eyes, squirming about and playing with complex cellulose instead of the most basic of enzymes. The Free Queen clicked her mandibles together, scratching them irritably.

“The Grand Queen boasted of her invention. Magic scrying and remote control. A poor solution.”

“Effective.”

“I saw her Prognugators. She has not altered them in any way. What have the other Queens done in this time? Have they learned nothing?”

Klbkch paused, his antennae moving restlessly.

“I observed the Flying Queen and the Silent Queen’s new combat forms. The Silent Queen has improved on her designs.”

“True. As for the Flying Queen, she has delved further into folly. I saw the Flying Antinium’s forms. Many flaws. Imperfections. Even in her Revalantor! That they move and ‘fly’ is a product of so many faults. So many that they cover for each other.”

“If they function well in battle, her methods have merit, my Queen.”

“She should have spent time perfecting what she had. As I did. I spent four years reconfiguring the formulation of muscle fiber. Two more years after that I spent on balance. Your current form is the pinnacle of that achievement. Not enough. But it is better, is it not?”

The Free Queen looked down at Klbkch. He flexed one arm and nodded.

“I am stronger. Though I have still yet to regain the rest of my lost levels…this form is stronger than my old one.”

“Good.”

“Do you have plans on mass-producing this form?”

“No. It requires too much work. Too many resources. I may update the Workers and Soldiers with the changes in muscle fiber. If I am able. There is much to do, Klbkch. Much, and the Hive still consumes my attention.”

“Belgrade and Anand have helped in that regard of late, haven’t they?”

The Free Queen nodded. She picked up the lifeless Drone and set it in a corner of the room, propping it up. Garry would have to feed it now and then. Tiresome.

“Progress has been made. But there is still far too much to be done, Klbkchhezeim. These Individuals are incomplete and the methods of creating them are far too uncertain. Look at that one.”

She pointed. Garry froze as he scurried out of his kitchen, perhaps to do some shopping. He turned and bowed to the Free Queen and Klbkch.

“Flaw.”

Garry trembled. Klbkch stared at him and then at his Queen. He hesitated, and then stepped backwards, as if shielding Garry from the Free Queen’s displeasure.

“They are not true Antinium, my Queen. But I believe you do them a disservice. Each of the original five Workers has contributed to the Hive’s wellbeing in their own way. Garry is an exemplary [Cook] and I believe his continued leveling is a testament to his hard work.”

Garry’s mandibles opened wide in surprise. Klbkch turned his head and stared at him and then looked up at the Queen.

“You might consider giving him a day off? That is customary for those employed in other races.”

“Is it necessary?”

Klbkch paused. He glanced at Garry again. The Worker looked hopeful.

“…It may assist with his leveling.”

“Hm.”

The Free Queen was already in a bad mood. The idea of not having anything to snack on displeased her, but she put Klbkch’s advice over her desires.

“Very well. A day. Go.”

“Thank you, my Queen!”

Garry bowed. The Free Queen stared at him and he fled. Klbkch sighed. He looked up at his Queen. In some ways she understood very little about the world. She was holed up in the Hive while he had gone above and seen the world. He understood more than she did, he knew. But he had little but admiration for her. She had seen the flaw of the Antinium and attempted to solve it, though she understood little of the solution. He wondered if he could tell her what he had seen, explain to her what Pawn had done.

“I believe these Individuals show promise. Especially Pawn’s new unit.”

“The Painted Soldiers. You have given me the reports and I have observed their efficiency. Yes. I agree. But they are still not…”

“I know. But it seems that we will be able to create more of them. That will strengthen the Hive.”

“True.”

The Free Queen was moody. Unhappy. The Hive would become stronger, but her goal, the goal that she and Klbkch were working for was no closer.

“You say these Individuals show promise. I agree. But we have but five. Five who you claim are…original.”

“Perhaps seven, now, my Queen. Two of the Soldiers show great promise. Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile.”

“What ridiculous names.”

Klbkch had no answer to that. The Free Queen paused.

“Will these Individuals ever be true Antinium, Klbkch?”

“I do not know, my Queen. But they are helpful. If I could turn a thousand Antinium into such Individuals of Belgrade or Anand’s character, I would in an instant. Those of Garry’s quality, likewise. Even Pawn shows promise, for all the trouble he causes.”

“Hmm. What about the fifth one?”

Klbkch paused.

“Oh. Bird.”

“Does he show promise, Klbkchhezeim?”

“…Yes?”

The Free Queen stared down at Klbkch. He looked away from her. She had worked with him, shared her mind and goals with him, for over a decade. She knew he had his secrets. She knew he was, in a way, far superior to anything she could be. A Centenium while she was but a Queen. She trusted him, and took his words to heart, even if she disagreed with his assessment of the Individuals. But she was very sure he was lying to her right now. And because she was frustrated, annoyed with the Grand Queen and her failed experiments and not having anything to eat, she called him on his lies.

“Prove it.”

 

—-

 

Bird sang in his little watch tower above Erin’s inn. He watched the rain come down as he sang. It was not a song he knew. He made it up as he went along. Sometimes the song surprised him.

Rain, rain, go away. Rain on me another day.

This one was based off a song Erin had taught him. Bird rocked back and forth on the little stool she’d given him, his homemade bow in hand. He missed his other bow. It had broken. Bird had tried to put it back together, but he’d failed. But he still had a bow. And arrows. And what else did you really need? Bird didn’t know, but Erin had told him there was something else.

He didn’t care. The rain kept falling down, pattering on the roof on top of his tower. Bird hadn’t wanted it—how could he look overhead with it there?—but Pawn told him he could take it down when the rain was gone. The rain made a nice pattering sound overhead.

“So rainy. Lots of rain.”

It was the second week of rain. Or was it the third? The fourth? Bird couldn’t remember. But the rain kept falling and the waters were still high. He could see little fish swimming around and bigger ones hiding in the murky water. If he looked really hard he could sometimes see Rock Crabs scuttling in the waters, feasting. They were dangerous. Bird had already heard of people nearly getting eaten by them while fishing.

If one tried to climb up to the inn, Bird would shoot it. He didn’t know if his bow would do any good, but he’d learned [Piercing Shot] and he had lots of arrows. Bird didn’t think of the possible dangers an encounter like that might entail, however. He was watching the water, and the skies too. He was waiting. Waiting for water birds.

They had to exist. Bird had no proof, but water birds had to exist. If they didn’t…what was the point of anything? So he waited, bow at the ready for when the elusive water birds appeared.

They did not. After a period of time that might have been long or short, Bird felt his stomach rumble. He realized he was hungry.

“Food?”

Bird looked towards the trap door leading down to the inn. He decided to go down for food. He had no idea if it was night or day—the sky was always grey and dark. But that didn’t matter. If no one was awake, Bird would just go back to his tower and wait. He remembered sitting up there, listening to his stomach growl for hours.

That didn’t matter. Bird was good at waiting. He could wait for a bird to come closer for hours. That was why he was a [Hunter]. Because he shot birds.

I am Bird. I shoot birds. La, la, la…

Bird pulled up the trapdoor and then remembered to be quiet in case he woke anyone up. He closed the trapdoor, wiped the steps with a towel on a little rack that Erin had put there for that very purpose. Then he trundled downstairs.

“Oh! Erin is awake. And so is Lyonette. And you.”

Erin, Lyonette, and Ceria looked up. They were all gathered around a table. Bird stared at the table. Then he stared at what was on it. They were eating from a plate. And on that plate was…

“Pretzels! I’d offer you one, Bird. But it’s all bread so you can’t have it.”

Miss Erin looked apologetic. Bird nodded.

“That is okay. I would like to eat. If that is good.”

“Oh! Sure! What do you want? B—”

“Birds.”

“Why am I surprised?”

Erin laughed. She bit the chewy bread pretzel she was eating and then dipped the uneaten side into a bowl. It was filled with a cheesy mixture. Erin ate the rest of her pretzel.

“Mm. Cheesy.”

“I like the sauces more. The cheese has too much oil in it for me.”

Lyonette had another little bowl of red sauce. She and Ceria were cautiously dipping their pretzels into it. Bird stared at the bowls as Erin went into the kitchen.

“You good with any kind of bird, Bird?”

“Yes.”

Bird sat at a table and listened to his stomach grumble. He wondered how bad it would be to eat a pretzel. Probably bad. He remembered his stomach hurting last time he ate bread by mistake. But maybe the pretzels could be good? Could he use them as bait for birds? Maybe water birds would eat a crumbled pretzel? He was about to ask Lyonette about that when he saw a little bit of white.

“Oh. Bird bait.”

Mrsha poked her head up from the table’s edge and regarded Bird severely. She snatched a pretzel and dipped it in another, dark brown sauce. She savored the flavor and disappeared behind the table.

“Here we are! Hot chicken! Seared wings and some veggies. What do you want to drink, Bird?”

“Milk?”

A big tankard of milk was placed in front of Bird. He happily put down his bow and picked up a fork.

“Birds. Mm. Tasty.”

The food was hot and filling. Miss Erin watched him eat and then frowned.

“Hey Bird, how long have you been up on the roof? I can’t remember the last time I saw you eating down here.”

Bird paused and shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe I was here a week ago?”

“A week!?

“Maybe I was here an hour ago?”

Erin exchanged odd looks with Ceria and Lyonette. She went to confer with them as Bird ate. Good food made him happy. He saw Mrsha sneaking up to his plate and blocked her when she tried to snatch a piece of his chicken.

“My birds.”

“Bird, you need to come down at least twice a day for food, okay? Promise me.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Bird finished his food and felt better. His head felt clearer and his stomach stopped bothering him. He sat as Erin took his plate and when she asked him how it tasted he told her it was good. All things were going well, until Bird remembered something.

“Oh. I forgot.”

“About your promise?”

“No. Today is an important day.”

A special day. Bird had nearly forgotten, but he was sure he’d remembered just in time. He stood up.

“I must go to the Hive today. I have to meet Pawn and Belgrade and Anand and Garry. Maybe not Garry. But the others will be there.”

Erin slapped her forehead.

“That’s right! Pawn did say to remind you! Hold on—I even made a few snacks for you to take with you! Hold on—”

She want into the kitchen. When she came back she had a rucksack filled with nice smelling things. Bird opened the pack and discovered it was more food! His stomach rumbled again.

“Now Bird, remember, this is for everyone. It’s not bird bait. And you can’t get it wet, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Erin. I will go now.”

Bird strode towards the door. He opened it and was halfway down the hill when Erin came chasing after him.

“Bird! Not that way!”

Bird was headed towards the underwater bridge. He looked back at Erin, confused, as she waved at him in the rain.

“Are you crazy? Go through the magic door!”

“But there is a bridge now.”

“You can’t swim!

That was true. If he fell in the water, Bird was sure he’d drown. But the bridge looked like fun as it swayed just under the water’s surface. Erin dragged Bird back into the inn, though. She made him promise not to use the bridge and fiddled with the door.

“Let’s see—oops! That’s Pallass.”

Bright sunlight shone on Bird’s face. He looked at the blue skies.

“Do you think there are birds in Pallass?”

Erin hesitated, looking at Bird. She bit her lip and looked at Lyonette, who waved her hands and shook her head for some reason.

“…No. I think Pallass has no birds. At all.”

“That is a shame.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Okay, here’s Liscor.”

It was wet and raining. Bird stepped through into the street and heard Erin turn back to Lyonette. He quite clearly heard her voice before the door closed.

“Lyonette, I think you should take Bird when you go with Mrsha to Celum. He’ll be a good bodyguard.”

“If we can get him through the city without causing trouble. I’ll try it next time. Now, these pretzels are good, but they won’t stop trouble at tonight’s play, Erin.”

“That’s why I’ve been practicing with my aura. The pretzels are just for fun. Did you like the cheese sauce or is it—”

The door closed. Bird stared at it for a second and then began walking down the street. Liscor was rainy. Drakes and Gnolls passed Bird on the street, some staring at him, but without much alarm. Bird hummed under his breath, looking around in case there were birds, but not really expecting any.

Soon he came to the Hive. The entrance was dark and rain was pouring in. Bird paused there.

“Dark.”

He didn’t like the Hive. There were no birds in the Hive. He always had to work in the Hive. But he had promised Pawn, so he went down inside. He passed through the entrance into dry dirt. Then he saw the Soldiers.

“Hello. I am Bird.”

They stared at him from their alcoves. Big Soldiers. They would kill him if he wasn’t a Worker, Bird knew. He walked past them, humming. Then his hum vanished. He felt himself enter the Hive.

There was a difference there. A rhythm. A flow. Bird didn’t like it. He had lived in the Hive for almost all his life, but when he entered the lines of Soldiers and Workers moving in perfect synch, it was still a struggle to move with them.

Walk. Stop. Walk. Turn. Step left to let Soldiers go past. Walk. Stop. Turn. Turn.

Each Worker moved in unison with the others. Each one stopped and stepped precisely. The crisscrossing lines of Antinium were efficient. Bird didn’t like it. He shifted, awkwardly holding the rucksack Erin had given him. He wished he’d brought his bow, but he’d forgotten it on the table. He hoped Erin didn’t throw it away.

Walk. Stop. Step left. Turn. Walk. Walk. Turn.

At least he could do this without having to think as hard. So long as he became one with the others, Bird wouldn’t fall out of place. Reassured by this, he began to hum to himself.

Birds and pretzels, birds and pretzels. I like birds. I cannot eat pretzels.

He stopped when he realized no one was moving. Bird looked around. All the Antinium in the tunnel were staring at him. All of them. Hundreds. Bird hunched his shoulders. Suddenly he felt bad and his insides hurt.

“I am Bird. I did not mean to sing.”

After a moment, the flow resumed. Hunched, afraid, Bird moved as one. He did not sing again. Soon he reached his destination.

“Bird. You remembered!”

Pawn stood in the barracks. Bird stared at him and waved one of his four hands.

“Hello Pawn.”

He stared around the big barracks. It was bigger than before. And there were more Workers and Soldiers in it. That was Bird’s only observation. He noticed three other Workers waiting for him.

“Belgrade and Anand. Oh. And Garry.”

“Hello Bird. We have not spoken in a long time.”

“We haven’t?”

Bird stared blankly at Garry. Then he shifted his attention to what the Worker had brought.

“Oh. Food!”

The [Cook] nodded.

“I have brought a few treats to share. What is that you are holding, Bird?”

Bird remembered the rucksack. Carefully he placed it on the mound of dirt the Workers were using as a table.

“This is food from Miss Erin. She says it is for me to share with everyone. It did not get wet.”

“How wonderful.”

Anand and Belgrade immediately clustered around the rucksack. Garry and Pawn held back. Bird looked around. Yes, there were more colorful Soldiers around. That was good. Bird stared at Yellow Splatters reading a book, Purple Smile doing something like dancing and showing the other Workers and Soldiers how to do it too, and then he found the special thing. It was always what he looked at. On the barracks, on the far wall, was a white bird. A symbol of one of the Soldiers. Bird always liked staring at it.

“This is delicious. What are these things? Bird? Bird?”

Someone interrupted Bird. He looked around.

“Oh. Those are fish flakes.”

“Fish flakes?”

The other Workers were intrigued. Bird nodded. He explained them as best he could.

“Miss Erin made them. They are fish with bread. Or bread on fish. She says she made some for Antinium with less bread because bread is no good for Antinium. But it still has bread. There is a sauce you dip the fish flakes into. Miss Erin says the fish flakes are good hot and a nice snack.”

“How wonderful. I must copy this design.”

Garry reverentially picked up a fish flake, breaking off a bit and then inspecting the insides to see what was underneath the crust. He nibbled at the food as Anand and Belgrade offered the fish flakes to some of the other Antinium who had passed by. It was Pawn who gave two thirds of the pack’s contents to Yellow Splatters to distribute. The rest went on the dirt table.

“I envy you, Bird. It is a privilege to work at Miss Erin’s inn and experience her cooking each day.”

“It is? Yes, it is good.”

Bird nodded at Garry. The other Worker paused and looked at Pawn. The Worker opened his mandibles and looked around.

“I suppose it is time. Let us speak.”

The other Workers nodded. They sat around the table, eating from what Garry and Bird had brought. Belgrade and Anand had brought real chess sets and so the Workers took turns playing while they spoke. Bird sat, letting Anand play Pawn first while Garry played Belgrade. He listened, staring at the white bird on the walls sometimes. Just in case it moved.

“—An incident while I was on duty. Two adventuring teams entered the Hive from the dungeon. It was the subject of much agitation from Revalantor Klbkch. However, he told me this may be an opportunity for the Hive. He did not elaborate.”

Pawn delicately moved a chess piece, nodding.

“The issue is that of the Drake cities. Or so Lyonette tells me. The Drakes may be upset that we have a route into the dungeon and thus may obtain treasure. By we, I refer to the Hive in general.”

“Surely they knew? It would be obvious that a Hive would have some vectors by which to enter the dungeon given our proximity.”

Anand paused as he pushed Garry across the board with ease. Pawn shook his head.

“I cannot speculate. I only know what Lyonette told me and she is not an expert on Drake politics.”

“But she is a Human. She knows many things. And you danced with her. I did not know this.”

Garry’s tone was wistful. The other Workers had not seen him for over a month. Garry’s duties involved serving the Queen and apparently that meant he did not get much time off. Bird watched as Garry lost the game against Anand.

“Revalantor Klbkch was very upset with you, Pawn. But he has expressed contentment with you as well. I do not know how he regards you.”

Belgrade’s mandibles clicked as he cornered Pawn’s bishop. He was a better player than Pawn. Both Belgrade and Anand were very good. Bird obediently sat as Anand reset the board so he and Anand could play. He enjoyed chess. But not as much as hunting birds.

“I do not know what Klbkch thinks of me either, Belgrade. I hope to work well with him, but I cannot help but feel that I disappoint him sometimes. Other times I feel that I do not disappoint him because he has no expectations of me. By contrast he speaks highly of you and Anand. Your fortifications and traps perform wonderfully.”

“Revalantor Klbkch says that?”

Belgrade’s antennae twitched wildly. Bird watched with interest as he played Anand. Pawn nodded.

“In terms of developments I would hope for your and Anand’s continued growth most. You have already saved many lives with your strategies and I am told your management helps the Queen herself.”

The two [Tacticians] sat straighter. Anand nodded.

“That is most gratifying to hear. I hope that our continued efforts will mean we can visit Miss Erin someday. I would like to play her and see how much I have improved. And play games of Go with her.”

“I also.”

Pawn listened to the two and nodded.

“I will attempt to bring this matter up with Klbkch.”

“Thank you, Pawn.”

“Yes. Thank you. Garry, what of you?”

“I serve the Queen. It is…difficult. But I do level.”

Garry took over for Pawn in playing Belgrade. His four hands moved slower than the other Worker’s. Pawn stared at Garry with concern.

“I have spoken to the Queen only once. How is she to work under directly?”

“She is the Queen. I am a Worker. It is…good to cook. I must not complain.”

The [Cook] looked down at the board. The other three Workers looked at each other. Bird looked at the white bird on the walls. In silence, they played. It seemed Belgrade was suddenly worse because he lost to Garry, and Pawn told Garry to learn to dance and read some of the picture books on his day off. He got up with Belgrade while Bird played Anand. When they came back, Bird was still playing.

“What of you, Bird? Have you done anything of note?”

Startled, Bird looked up.

“I shot a fish.”

The Workers waited. Garry was staring at a picture book and glancing up every now and then. Pawn clicked his mandibles together.

“And?”

“And my bow is still broken.”

“I see.”

Bird looked down at his board. He knew that he should say something else. But it was hard! He tried to think.

“I got paid.”

“Paid?”

Suddenly all of the Workers stared at Bird. He hunched his shoulders.

“Is that news?”

“Yes. Miss Erin is paying you, Bird?”

“She is. She says I can save it for a new bow. She gave me many silver coins and bronze ones. She tells me not to use them as bait for crows. I have put it away in my room. Next to my fortress of fluff.”

“Your what?”

“It is what Miss Erin calls my bedding. She made me a place to sit and sleep. It is made of pillows and blankets and soft things.”

The other Workers stared at Bird. Belgrade opened and closed his mandibles.

“I would like to express my incredible jealousy towards you, Bird.”

“Alright, Belgrade.”

The other Workers kept pestering Bird about his fortress of fluff and what it was like having money and what he was going to do with it. And about Miss Erin and the adventurers, Goblins, and everything else. It was very hard for Bird to concentrate on his game and the questions. Eventually he lost.

Anand frowned down at the board. He stared up at Bird who was chewing on a piece of fish.

“Bird. That was a most curious game we played.”

“Yes?”

Bird tilted his head. Anand looked at the board. Belgrade, Pawn, and Garry crowded around. They looked up at Bird.

“I had the same impression as Anand. Your playing style was incredibly odd, Bird. What was your objective? It seems as though you threw away your Queen and a quarter of your pieces. But your play on the left side was incredible.”

“I played to make the game good. It did not go entirely like I wanted. But it is good. See?”

Bird turned the board. Anand, Belgrade, Garry, and Pawn stared at his side of the board blankly. Bird waited. They looked at him.

“What is good about this, Bird?”

“I made a crow. See?”

Bird pointed. It was lopsided, but a black crow was looking at the other Workers. A white king was the one eye. The Workers stared at it. Belgrade turned his head left and right.

“I do not see a crow.”

“Bird. Was that your objective in playing the game the entire time?”

Anand asked sharply. Bird hunched his shoulders.

“Maybe?”

The other Workers looked at each other. At last, Pawn closed his mandibles.

“That is a good game, Bird.”

“Yes. Yes. I did not expect any of it. What does Miss Erin say when she plays chess with you, Bird?”

“I do not play chess with Miss Erin often.”

“Oh. She is busy?”

“Yes. And I say no when she asks me.”

The other Workers stared. Belgrade grabbed Bird with his four arms.

“Say that again?”

Bird shifted uncomfortably.

“I say no. Miss Erin says I am always ‘weird to play’. But she likes playing me. Especially when I win.”

You wh—

All four Workers stopped and turned. Bird looked around and saw what they were staring at. The other Antinium in the barracks had gone still. Because Revalantor Klbkch was striding towards them.

“Bird.”

He spoke and Bird looked up. The other Workers stared warily at Klbkch and Garry shuffled behind Pawn.

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“I require your presence. You will come with me.”

“Okay. Where am I going?”

“To meet the Queen. She wishes to inspect you.”

The other Workers froze. Bird nodded.

“Okay.”

He wanted to follow Klbkch, but Pawn blocked their way.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Is Bird in trouble?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Klbkch was taller than Bird and Pawn. Slimmer too. Bird stared at the shiny blades at his side. Pawn glanced at Bird and then at Klbkch.

“May I ask why the Queen wishes to see Bird?”

“She wishes to evaluate Bird’s contributions to the Hive. He will be brought before her and questioned. I will not be present.”

Both Worker and Revalantor paused. They looked at Bird. He looked at them blankly. Klbkch lowered his voice.

“I will feed him answers. It should not be a difficult questioning.”

“But Bird is—”

“I am aware. But the Queen wishes to see him. Now.

Pawn looked helplessly at Bird. He turned to the other Workers and then hurried to Bird. He pulled the Worker aside, and lowered his head.

“Bird, you must listen to whatever Revalantor Klbkch says. Understand? Whatever he says, you must do.”

“Yes, Pawn.”

“You will be alright. The Queen just wishes to speak with you. Do whatever Klbkch says and do not do anything…abnormal. You will be fine.”

“I will be fine.”

Pawn’s mandibles opened and closed. He seemed anxious. Then he lowered his head and two of his hands clasped together. The other two held Bird’s shoulders gently.

“You will be well. I will pray for you. You will be well, Bird. Be well.

Bird nodded.

“Thank you, Pawn.”

He walked back towards Klbkch. The Revalantor nodded and Bird walked with him as the others watched him go. Bird stared one last time at the white bird on the wall before Klbkch took him out of the barracks. They walked through the Hive. This time Bird did not walk as one. The Workers and Soldiers made way for Klbkch as he strode forwards.

“You will be alone with the Queen. Answer her honestly.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

“If she asks about your contributions to the Hive, mention your income as well as your role defending the inn. Do not speak overly long or in tangents.”

“What is a tangent?”

“Answer her in short sentences, Bird. Speak only of the good you have done.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

The other Antinium turned to look at him as they neared the Queen’s chambers. Bird had only been there once. He remembered that day. Klbkch had been worried and so had the others. The Queen had asked them questions in turn. She had made Pawn afraid and the others had shook as they stood before her. Now it was Klbkch who seemed on the verge of shaking.

“I am sorry. I did not expect her to ask for you. If you are lucky, she will notice nothing as before. Answer her quickly, Bird. Do not speak about birds.”

“Why? I like birds.”

Bird tilted his head. Klbkch shook his head.

“Simply do not. Now. She is waiting.”

He pointed. Bird stared at the dark hallway where Soldiers stood on guard. He walked forwards. He did not know what the Queen wanted or why Klbkch and the others were afraid. He did not know many things he thought he should know. He had always been like that. Even before he met Erin. He wondered when he could go back and sit in his watch tower again.

 

—-

 

The Free Queen watched the Worker and Klbkchhezeim enter her chambers. She saw Klbkch bow precisely, and saw the Worker copy him awkwardly. His gracelessness hurt to see. By contrast, Klbkch had no wasted motion. He had been created a warrior. The thing that stood next to him had been formed as a simple Worker. It had become something more, but the Queen did not see it in him.

“The Individual known as Bird is here, my Queen. If you wish, I will stay to answer any questions you may have. The nature of his task is complex and—”

“Your presence is not required, Klbkchhezeim. Leave us.”

Klbkch hesitated. The Free Queen saw him glance twice at the Worker before he bowed and left. Bird, he had called him. Another strange name. An odd name. Not like an Antinium’s name at all. It rankled the Queen so she spoke harshly.

“Approach.”

The Worker shuffled forwards, staring up at her. He did not quiver, as other Antinium did when they stood before their Queen. She was unlike any other Antinium in the Hive. Where all the Antinium were uniform, she was unique. A colossus sitting in her chambers. Her arms were not based off of a humanoid appearance. She had feelers rather than hands. Her body was bloated, changed by food and the stresses of birth. And she was the Queen. The Worker stared.

“Hello. I am Bird.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium jerked in surprise. He had spoken! Without permission! She stared at the Worker and her mandibles closed slowly.

“Worker, you were not given permission to speak.”

“Oh. I am sorry.”

“Be silent.”

He was. The Free Queen regarded the Worker for a moment. Her feelers twitched. So this was the fifth. She had received regular reports of the exploits of the other four from Klbkch. Anand and Belgrade she had observed herself. Garry was almost always in her chambers. Pawn was…different, but his efforts had been recognized and an assessment could be made off the performance of his unit of Painted Soldiers. But she had never heard of this Worker’s deeds.

“You are one of the remaining Individual Workers formed after the battle against the undead.”

The Worker did not reply. The Free Queen inspected him. He was not different from the others. Not that she had expected him to be. She had heard that one of her Soldiers had grown after receiving his [Sergeant] class. An anomaly like that was troubling.

“Your class is [Hunter]. You provided the Hive with sustenance until you were reassigned to act as a guard for the Human known as Erin Solstice. You now reside in her inn, do you not?”

The Worker didn’t respond. The Free Queen stared at him.

“Is this so?”

He said nothing. The Queen, already irritable, felt dangerously close to true anger. She leaned down, shifting her enormous weight closer.

Speak.

“Yes. I am working at Miss Erin’s inn. I shoot birds. But I am not supposed to talk about birds.”

The Worker’s voice was loud and cheerful. The Queen sat back.

“Birds? But your name is Bird.”

“Yes. I am Bird! And I shoot birds.”

“You are a [Hunter].”

“I am. I have a bow. I shoot birds.”

For the first time in years, the Queen had to pause to digest this information. She studied the Worker. Well, he had answered her. He hunted animals.

“And you believe this contributes to the Hive? Do you believe protecting this inn is a task that will further the Hive’s goals?”

The Worker tilted his head back and forth.

“Um. I do not know.”

Uncertainty. The Queen nodded slowly. At least he was aware of this. She peered at Bird again.

“Erin Solstice is a unique individual to the Hive. She has worth of a kind. But will she employ it for the Hive’s use or does she withhold her aid? Klbkchhezeim assures me she is an ally. What is your opinion?”

The little Antinium paused.

“Miss Erin is very nice. She made me a fortress of fluff.”

At first she was shocked by the reply. And then she was suspicious. Darkly so. This time, the silence that came from the Queen was ominous. The Worker seemed to take that as a cue to go on, so he did.

“She feeds me food when I ask for it. And she has many interesting things. She has a play in the inn. And Goblins. And adventurers. And she gave me a bow. Which broke. I like Miss Erin. She plays chess and says I play weird games. But good! When I hunt birds she takes them and cooks them. And she pays me money.”

“Money?”

The Queen latched onto that last word, ceasing the flow of chatter. The Worker nodded.

“I am paid money each week. She gives me silver coins and bronze ones and tells me not to use them to lure crows.”

“And do you give this money to Klbkch—to your Revalantor? Do you return it to the Hive?”

The Worker looked blank.

“Why should I? It is mine.”

Now the Queen was certain. She leaned forwards.

“But you are part of the Hive. You are Individual, but you are still loyal to the Hive. Or are you Aberration? Do you reject the Hive?”

“No. I am Bird. I hunt birds. No one told me to give money to the Hive so I did not. I hunt birds because Miss Erin and Revalantor Klbkch told me I could. I have a bow, but I left it on the table. But I brought the rucksack!”

And there it was. The Queen drew herself backwards. She spoke one word.

Flaw.

The word echoed in the chamber. At the entrance, the Soldiers shuddered, the first move they had made since arriving for their shift of guard duty. The Worker looked around.

“Where?”

The Queen ignored him. She sat back, feeling tired. Betrayed? No. Not even hurt, in truth. But she understood now why Klbkch had been so anxious not to let her see this Worker. She had not realized it when he stood with the others. Then, she had been too disappointed, listening to their wrong answers that marked them as not being true Antinium. But now it was clear. She looked down at the Worker.

“You are a flawed creation.”

The Worker stared up at her, neither surprised nor afraid. It did not understand.

“I am?”

The Queen nodded. He—it was a failure. It shouldn’t have surprised her. In a pool size as small as that of the Individuals, there was certain to be at least one. She sighed. Of course, Klbkch would have wanted to conceal an error, especially one that hinted at more faults in the creation of individuals. It was only fortunate that he had concealed the same failings from Xrn and the others when they inspected the Hive. Wearily, she beckoned with a feeler.

“Come closer, Worker.”

“Okay.”

He walked closer. The Queen bent. Her massive face stared down at him and her mandibles opened slowly.

“Your mind is broken, little Worker. Your development was flawed. You never should have been created.”

“I should not?”

“No. The Workers and Soldiers are made to an exacting standard. Something—an imperfection in the growing stage—led to this flaw. It is not your fault.”

The Worker considered this.

“Oh. That is good.”

The queen nodded. She didn’t know why she had told the Worker that. Perhaps it was an admission of her guilt. She did not oversee the process by which new Soldiers and Workers were brought to life. Many were created each week. But she should have paid more attention. Perhaps the flaw was rampant among the others. She would inspect the process herself, order Klbkch to manually check each one of the birthing pods. It would be too late for those already formed however, just as though it was too late for this one.

“Come closer, Worker.”

“I will.”

Bird walked forwards. The Queen stared at him. A pity. But the other Individuals were sound and more could be made. A mistake was a mistake.

“So Klbkchhezeim gave you a position guarding this Human. Sensible. But he should not have hidden the truth from me. You are flawed. And that is unforgivable.”

“It is?”

The Queen nodded. She moved slowly, raising her massive feelers. Just one was large enough to grab the Worker. He stood in front of her, tilting his head back and forth.

“So it is my fault after all? Am I in trouble? I get in trouble with Revalantor Klbkch almost as much as Pawn.”

“I am sure you do. But this is not your fault. And it will be corrected soon.”

“That is good! I want to go back to Miss Erin’s inn soon. I left my bow there and I am waiting for water birds. I have not seen any before, but they will appear someday. Erin says it might happen. Oh, but Revalantor Klbkch says I must not speak about birds. I cannot speak about them. But I like birds. I sit in my tower all day and look for them. And sometimes I shoot fish.”

He babbled nonsense as the Queen slowly drew her feelers around him. She lifted the little Worker up, tightening her feelers slowly. He did not seem to notice. He spoke brightly and cheerfully.

“You are a big Queen. Not at all like a bird. I am Bird. Is it hard to breathe? I am very high. Like a bird! I always wanted to be a bird.”

“I am sure.”

The carapace cracked. Bird made a sound. The Queen found his head. She heard his voice, muffled. Still speaking.

“I always wanted to fly. Belgrade says a Worker cannot fly but I am very high. I am very high. I am very high, all up in the sky. I am Bird. I like to fly. So very high. When my Queen holds me, I am in the sky. Will I die? Fly, fly. Fly.

And he sang. The Queen froze. Her feeler encircled the Worker’s head. He sang, his voice muffled, the words nonsense. His tune meandered, but his voice was pure. He sang.

She had not heard a song in the Hive. Not since coming to Izril. Not since—the Queen’s grip loosened. She slowly lowered Bird. The Antinium looked up at her. He had stopped singing.

“What was that song?”

The Free Queen stared at him. Bird tilted his head.

“What song? Oh. That song? I made it up. It is a song about flying. Because I flew.”

The Queen stared at him.

“You sing? Workers do not sing.”

“They do not?”

Bird suddenly looked worried, for the first time since he had been here. He looked around and then hunched his shoulders.

“I did not know that. I will stop singing.”

“No—”

The Queen couldn’t help it. She bent down and Bird looked up.

“Do not stop. Workers do not sing. But I desire you to.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I am your Queen. Sing for me. Sing—Bird.”

He looked up at her. The Queen looked down. Bird shrugged. And began to sing.

 

—-

 

It was a nonsense song. The first one was. The rest as well. Each one was silly, made up. A child’s song where Bird repeated his own name. There was no melody, no accompaniment. But it was a song.

While Pawn and the other Workers paced anxiously and Klbkch waited, afraid of what he might have to explain to Erin, the Queen of the Free Antinium sat in her chambers and listened to Bird sing. He perched on her feeler, sat, and sang about birds and water and what he saw every day. And she listened. Entranced.

Workers did not sing. They had not been designed to. They had not been given the tools, mental or physical that would allow them to make music of any kind. Yet Bird sang. Somewhere in his flawed mind, he had discovered music. And that was a wonder.

“You are special, little Worker.”

“I am special.”

Bird looked up at the Queen. He was so confident. She envied him that. In his way he had obtained something she could not. She thought of her experiments. The pain and death there bothered her. The failure. For each step she took forwards, she took a thousand back. What she made—the pinnacle of her creation in Klbkch was copying, redefining what was already there.

But in the past the Antinium had created beauty. They had created, and what they had created was unique. Klbkch’s first form had been grace and death and elegance at once. Xrn was a reminder of that. And she had fallen once before as well. They all had.

She was so lonely. The Free Queen sat with Bird on her lap. She touched his head gently as he stopped singing.

“I find you worthy, Bird.”

“That is good. Pawn and Revalantor Klbkch will be happy to hear that.”

“Yes they will. I am pleased with you. And because I am pleased, I will allow you to reside in these chambers. You will sing for me each day.”

Bird looked up. The Queen opened her mandibles and raised them in a smile. The Worker tilted his head, and then he spoke.

“No.”

“What?”

The Queen stared at him. Bird stood up.

“I do not want to stay here. You are nice, my Queen. But I will go back up to Miss Erin’s inn, please. I want to hunt birds.”

“Birds?”

“Yes. There are no birds underground. And I want to hunt them. So I will go back above. And bring Miss Erin her rucksack.”

The Queen stared at Bird. She closed her feelers. He made a small sound, like a squeak.

“I do not wish to let you leave. I would keep you here.”

“But I do not want to be here.”

Bird stared up at the Queen. She stared back.

“I am your Queen.”

“Yes.”

“You should obey me.”

“Do I have to?”

Frustrated, the Queen lowered Bird.

“That is your purpose! You must stay to sing for me. I demand it!”

“But there is nothing to sing about here. And I must go back above. Erin will miss me. She does not mind if I have flaws. She likes me.”

Bird’s plaintive voice struck a chord in the Queen. She lowered her head.

I like you, Bird. And I will make you whole. Stay here and sing. And I will fix your mind.”

“But I do not want you to.”

This time the Queen paused. She stared down at the Worker as he stood before her.

“What do you mean? You are flawed. Your mind does not work properly. You should be fixed.”

“Should I?”

He tilted his head. Bird patted his chest and waved all four arms about.

“I am Bird. You say I am broken. This is probably so. Pawn tells me I do wrong things. So does Erin and Revalantor Klbkch and everyone else. My mind is faulty. This is so. But if you fixed me, what would I be? Not Bird. Not me. So I will be me, and be faulty. Please?”

The Queen looked at him. Bird looked up. He scuffed at the ground and looked around. The Soldiers stared at him. The Queen of the Free Antinium stared at him.

“If I bring you a bird, can I go?”

For a while, the Queen looked. Then she smiled. She tried to remember an Antinium like Bird. She couldn’t remember a one. She thought of Galuc the Builder. Yes, perhaps Bird was close to him. Ironically, he had something of Galuc in him. Or perhaps he was unique. She lifted him and Bird looked around, excited to be in the air.

“So this is what Klbkchhezeim meant. You are not true Antinium, little Worker.”

Bird nodded.

“I am not. You told me.”

“Yes. But you are Individual. You are worthy.”

“Does this mean I can go?”

The Queen sighed.

“Yes. But you must return.”

“Oh. With birds?”

“Yes. With a bird. And to sing for me. Will you do that?”

Bird thought about this. He tilted his head from side to side and then nodded.

“Yes. I promise. And I do not forget my promises. Mostly.”

“Good. Then sing for me. One last song, little Bird. Sing for me.”

And Bird did. The Queen listened as Bird rocked back and forth, singing a song about the day he broke his bow and there are many birds in the sky. Oh, flying so high. And then they came down and broke his tower too. And there was rain and Bird could not put back together his bow. Even with glue.

He liked to rhyme. At last, Bird stopped singing and the Queen let him go. She gave brief orders to Klbkch when he rushed back in and then sat back as both Antinium hurried out of her chambers. Bird left. He went out of the Hive. But his song remained. And when Garry eventually crept back into the room, the Queen turned and looked at him. And bent low until her head was close to Garry’s trembling form.

“Do you too sing, little Worker? Do you sing…Garry?”

He did not. But that was fine too.

 

—-

 

One unusual detail happened in Liscor. Aside from the Drakes that flooded into Erin’s inn to heckle her performance that night. And Watch Captain Zevara delivering her report to Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Walled Cities. And Baiss nearly getting eaten by a fish. But one more thing happened and Krshia was part of it.

It was the curious incident of a Bird in the marketplace. She was called by one of the Gnolls who ran a bowyer’s shop. He was in some distress. Krshia arrived to find Bird inspecting each bow with great curiosity.

“He—it—just arrived ten minutes ago and started looking at bows, Krshia. I cannot make it tell me what it wants! It just says it wants a bird-bow. Can you speak to it?”

Krshia eyed Bird and then approached him with a smile on her face. Bird looked up.

“Hello Miss Krshia. I am Bird. We have met.”

She nodded carefully. Erin had told her about Bird. So had Pawn. He was the strange one, even by Antinium standards.

“We have, yes. Are you here to shop, Bird?”

“Yes! Miss Erin gave me money today. I earned it.”

The Gnoll looked at the other [Shopkeeper] and grimaced.

“Yes, well, that is very good. But bows cost much money, no? It may be you do not have enough.”

“Oh.”

“And it is not good to enter a shop and try merchandise without enough coin, you understand? Maybe you should come back another time. Miss Erin will tell you when you have enough money, surely.”

“I see. I thought I had enough.”

Bird drooped. Krshia felt so bad for him that she threw him a metaphorical bone. Or rather, gave him one since no Gnoll would bother throwing away a good bone without sucking the marrow out first.

“Maybe you have enough. Who knows? Miss Erin may be generous, yes? I can at least tell you how much you must save.”

“That is good! This is what I have. Miss Erin gave me this.”

Bird proudly showed Krshia a handful of silver and bronze coins. The Gnoll sighed. And then Bird pulled something else out of his belt.

“And my Queen gave me this to buy a bow!”

He upended a bag on the table. Gold coins spilled from it, in an unending flow. Both Gnolls’ eyes bulged as Bird emptied the bag of holding on the floor. He pointed at the glittering pile.

“How many more do I need?”

 

—-

 

Later that night, Bird edged into The Wandering Inn holding a reflexed composite bow that had turned every Gnoll head on the street. Erin, who’d been shouting at a crowd of booing Drakes while the [Actors] struggled to perform on stage hurried towards him.

“Bird! I was worried when you were gone so long! How was the Hive and—where did you get that?

She stared at the bow. Bird lifted it proudly.

“I bought it.”

“With what? Oh no—did you take it and leave the money? Bird—”

“No! Miss Krshia said it was alright. She said it was a very good deal, yes?”

“She did? Hold on—”

Erin winced as a Drake threw something at the stage. She turned and Bird felt something ripple in the air. The crowd went quiet and the impending riot stopped, but they began to boo under their breaths. He peered at the Drakes with interest.

“Are they pretending to be birds? They are saying ‘boo’. You told me owls go ‘hoo’. Or ‘whoo’. Did you lie to me?”

Bird gave Erin a betrayed look. She stared at him.

“No, Bird. They’re unhappy about the play.”

“Oh. That is okay then.”

“That bow—”

Erin winced as something else broke. A Human [Actor] stormed off stage and she turned.

Damnit. I’ve got to sort this out. Bird—get some food if you’re hungry.”

“I am not hungry.”

“Okay, then—stay out of trouble! The Goblins have this. I don’t want you getting hurt, so just uh—”

“Can I go to my tower and look for birds?”

“Yes! Do that!”

Bird walked upstairs happily as Erin went to shout at people. Erin was always having fun. He walked up to his tower and opened his trap door. Rain was still falling. Bird climbed up and sat on his stool. It was wet. He covered his new bow so the rain would not make it bad and wondered where his old one had gone. He would ask Erin about it later. It was good to have a new bow, but two bows was better than one.

It was wet up in his tower. The wind occasionally blew water into Bird. It was cold. There were no birds. But Bird was happy. He had had a special day alright. He sat in his tower. Time passed. After a while, he sang a song.

When will the rain stop? Maybe never. Maybe we’ll all be washed away. Erin tells me someday, but forever is like tomorrow. Today is today. When will the rain stop? I miss birds and water birds never come out to play.

And when he was tired, Bird went down to his fortress of fluff and slept in it. He curled up with his new bow lying in front of him. And he heard a voice.

 

[Singer Level 7!]

[Skill – Soothing Melody obtained!]

 

That was nice. Bird drifted off to sleep. And in his dreams the water birds came out to play. Bird watched them fly through the water and sky and happily raised his bow. It was about time.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – Blackmage

It was the silliest of notions. A fanciful request. After all, by his calculations it was probably late March in this world, early April at the very latest. If the months even lined up the same way as they did back at home. It was far too many months away from October, and there weren’t even any children around to begin with.

But to Blackmage’s greatest surprise, it turned out that the Mages of Wistram loved the idea. Within the hour, illusion spells were being cast across Wistram and the banquet hall turned into something right out of his dreams. Sugary treats were heaped up along with the daily banquet of food. No one objected. That was because [Mages] loved dressing up and having fun. If there was anything Blackmage had learned so far, it was probably that. Oh, and how to shoot lightning from his fingers. He was particularly pleased about that, too.

 

—-

 

His name was Blackmage. Actually, it was Aaron Vanwell, but he hadn’t been called by his real name since entering this world. Within the Academy’s walls he was referred to as Blackmage and went by that as his name. But since most of the [Mages] found the name incredibly amusing, they often just said ‘new student’, ‘Human’, ‘otherworlder’, or ‘you’.

However, Aaron would admit that every time Archmage Feor, one of the few most powerful spellcasters in the world called him Blackmage, he grew slightly giddy inside. Now he watched as the aged half-Elf sat only a few feet away from him, his silvery-white beard practically glowing as he inspected the hat in front of him.

It was a wizard’s hat. That was to say, it looked like what most people would imagine a wizard’s hat to be, rather than, say, any hat that happened to fall on a wizard’s head. Blackmage had expected glowing stars or maybe a few glowing mystic words, but the [Illusionist] had sneered at such basic spells and enchanted the hat with a nimbus of light that shimmered like the aurora around the hat. To top it off, little flying dragons made out of magefire flew through the colored lights, roaring soundlessly.

The half-Elf who’d presented the Archmage with the hat clearly thought it was an abomination of design that should be burned, but the Archmage laughed instead.

“Dressing up as [Witches]. How amusing.”

Archmage Feor chuckled at the quaintness of the idea. He inspected the pointed hat, smiling at the illusion magics. Then he placed it upon his head.

“As for [Wizards]…well, I suppose the look suits the occasion. Tell me young Blackmage, is this custom of dressing up solely reserved for this holiday in your world? Halloween?”

Two pale blue and silver eyes peered at Blackmage. The pupils were bright in a way that had nothing to do with the ambient light. Blackmage felt a jolt as they met his. That was the real magic. Feor’s hat shone, but the half-Elf himself was timeless. And when he looked at you, you could feel the power in his glance. The young Human man, barely nineteen years old, stammered as he replied to the half-Elf who was easily twenty times older than he was.

“That’s uh, right, Archmage Feor. Well, sometimes people dress up for fun for other events. But the holiday only comes once a year. But I thought it would be appropriate for the new students. Because it’s a celebration. And it’s like Hogwarts.”

“Ah. The fictional magic school of your world.”

Feor’s eyebrows rose slightly. He looked down the banquet table at the other mages. The head table in Wistram’s grand dining hall was reserved for the highest-level [Mages] in the academy. Well, it wasn’t reserved, but any arrogant young [Mage] strolling up to the table probably would be subjected to some kind of hex to put them in their place. It was rare to see more than ten bodies at the long table except for dinner, so Blackmage, Feor, and the third half-Elf had plenty of space to sit.

Not that Blackmage felt quite comfortable up here. He was aware of the staring from the other students and mages in the room, but Feor’s personal invitation meant that he could sit with the other elite mages, none of whom looked younger than forty. He saw half of them were also wearing hats or had spelled their already enchanted robes to look more grandiose for the occasion.

“It is incredible to me that a place of fiction can be known throughout your world. Almost as incredible as the notion that magic does not exist where you come from. I must wonder if our worlds are tied in some way. That both would have a center of magic, an academy where mages gather—if only as an idea in your world—speaks to me of some kind of resonance. And certainly, this idea has quite enlivened the academy. Still, dressing up as wizards and witches…”

Feor laughed again. Blackmage saw his pointed ears raise a bit and stared. He had to. Even after several months of staying in Wistram, seeing Elves or rather, half-Elves in the flesh was incredible. He shifted in his seat and coughed.

“Archmage Feor. May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

The half-Elf peered at Blackmage and again, the young man had to try not to shiver with delight. There was something entirely too Gandalf-ish or perhaps, Dumbledore-esque about Feor. Not that Blackmage thought of himself as having entered the world of Harry Potter. It was only his favorite book series and movie of all time. He was aware the world he was in wasn’t like that. But still.

“Archmage Feor, I understand that a [Witch] is a—uh, weaker spellcaster in this world than most [Mage] classes, but what about [Wizard]? Why does Wistram have [Mages] rather than…[Wizards]?”

The question made Feor smile, and earned Blackmage a silent glare from the female half-Elf [Mage] waiting patiently by the table. It was a stupid question he was sure, but Feor only pondered a moment before replying.

“A [Mage] or [Magus] is commonly understood to be a general practitioner of magic. By contrast, Wistram does have a few [Wizards]. They would be considered more scholarly and wield magics in the form of prepared spells or items. It would be easiest to understand them as ‘[Mages] who rely on wands’, whereas a [Mage] may choose to use an artifact or not as the situation demands. One is a general class, the other is specific, even cumbersome to obtain. Does that make sense?”

“It does. Thank you.”

“Very good. It would make sense for an academy of magic to boast a higher percentage of [Wizards]. As for [Witches], well, we have had a number of them in our halls from time to time, but they generally keep to their covens. Their magic is more specialized—a blend of alchemy and spellcraft. I do not mean to impugn their abilities, but they are considered weaker in purely magical terms to a [Mage] of the same level. Now, I believe this hat will suffice, and a small demonstration would not go amiss. I shall consider the appropriate spell. The first ships should have already arrived in the harbor—why don’t you inspect the new arrivals as they enter the hall? Teura shall escort you.”

Feor nodded to the half-Elf woman and she inclined her head. Blackmage stood up hurriedly. He’d hardly eaten his poached egg, but a flick of Feor’s fingers sent both his plate and the Archmage’s floating over to a cart laden with used dishes. It turned out no house elves or disappearing plates in Wistram, much to Blackmage’s disappointment. Not that he was comparing the two places! Not at all.

“This way, please.”

Teura beckoned and Blackmage stood. He followed her away from the table, out of the dining hall, and into one of the many corridors of Wistram. Dark stone and bright windows replaced the lit dining hall and Blackmage had to hurry to pass before a giant figure carved of stone. The Golem waited as students passed in front of it, its hands gripping one of the laden carts. The Golem’s face was crude and it looked weathered from years, centuries of service. But it moved with a steady, unwavering pace as it followed Blackmage and Teura into the academy.

This was Wistram. Blackmage’s heart beat faster every time he passed by a gossiping group of Lizardgirls holding wands and spellbooks, or saw a ghostly pale Selphid wearing magical robes flicking colored sparks of magic up into the air. Everywhere he walked, every time he turned his head he saw magic.

To say he was enthralled would be an understatement. Sometimes Blackmage wanted to run about screaming. He was here! In a magical world. When he’d been ten, he’d dreamed of magic, and he’d counted the days until his birthday. When he’d been eleven he’d been crushed. Now, eight years later it felt like he was a kid again.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games. Blackmage knew that. In fact, after the jubilation of seeing Archmage Feor wearing a magic hat had faded he stared at the half-Elf he was following with some degree of annoyance and chagrin. She too was a half-Elf and like Feor, she radiated magical power. Unlike Feor, Blackmage would have given anything to not be around her.

His trailing footsteps meant that Teura was moving faster than he was. Blackmage hoped she might turn a corridor and lose him, but she seemed to notice and stopped. She turned her head and he instantly quickened his pace.

Teura was a half-Elf. She had bright red hair, sable eyes, and the kind of effortless grace that made Blackmage flush and stumble every time he focused on her. So he stared past her instead. The half-Elf clicked her tongue softly as he caught up.

“Archmage Feor used to teach one of the highest-level magic courses for students in their eighth year. He still has quite a number of apprentices and fellow mages whom he advises. His private instruction is something you should be honored to receive.”

“I am, uh, Mage Teura.”

“That is most wise. Please try to keep up. And as I have informed you, please do not openly identify any of the new students. Speak to me in private once the banquet has begun.”

“I will.”

She nodded and strode off. Blackmage stared at her back. Identify them? And how was he supposed to do that? Humans looked the same in both worlds! Okay, the ones here sometimes had identifying elements like actual swords at their waists, but it wasn’t as if he could make sure of anything! He stomped after Teura, noting how the students and some of the mages got out of her way.

She was one of the better mages of Wistram, as Blackmage understood it. He didn’t know her level—that was a secret, and the mages of Wistram guarded their secrets as fiercely as a Dragon guarded their treasure. But Teura, like Feor, stood at the higher end of badass. She was senior to many [Mages], having lived in Wistram for over six decades. Too, she was part of Archmage Feor’s personal faction. As was Blackmage himself.

Factions and power and politics. Again, sort of like Hogwarts. But not. Blackmage resolved to stop making the comparison soon. The first month he’d been here he’d annoyed everyone in earshot mentioning Harry Potter references, and they hadn’t even understood what he’d been talking about.

How would he explain it to the others? Blackmage tried to figure it out as he walked. Wistram was…well, it was an academy located on an isle in the middle of the sea. Literally in the middle of the sea. The bubble surrounding Wistram kept it from being besieged by waves, but sail just a bit away from the academy and you could find yourself in the middle of a storm. But Wistram was a safe haven. The citadel sat on an island, large from the outside, but enormous once you passed through the metal doors.

Because Wistram was magical. Within its halls you could run for hours and still not reach from one side of the academy to the other. If there was even a straight line in Wistram. So many mages had built and added onto the academy over the thousands of years that it had stood that it contained more secrets and hidden spaces than anyone could guess at. And it was knowledge of those secrets that defined Wistram. Mages traded in secrets like coin, and they fought with each other to gain more influence, power, and above all, magical knowledge.

There were factions in Wistram. Almost any powerful mage would be in one of the major factions that controlled Wistram’s Council, or allied to one of the big players. Feor was part of a faction in Wistram, the Centrists, but he also had his personal group of half-Elf mages whom he trusted implicitly. Teura was one of his best [Mages] so she watched Blackmage like a hawk.

That would be the downside of it all. Blackmage stared at another Golem he passed in the hallway. This one was sand. Living sand. Its body shifted constantly as it walked, bearing a load of mana crystals which all shone different colors. Blackmage would have loved to follow it and stare, perhaps ask about how it had been made, what it could do. But he had to follow Teura. Because he was a prisoner. Of sorts.

Blackmage wasn’t an idiot. Okay, [batman] had called him an idiot, but she’d sounded really paranoid when they talked. Even if she was right about some things.

It had been months since the day when Blackmage had appeared out of nowhere in the room with the Golems. He remembered walking to the door of his college dorm to get a pizza and opening it—

Before finding himself standing in a room with three Golems. They rose as Aaron stared. One was a being of fire, a creature of burning magma formed into humanoid form. The second was a giant metal knight, armed with a sword that was twice as tall as he was. It couldn’t be real.

Aaron’s gaze turned to the third, a tall, thin creation of metal that looked like it had stepped out of some kind of sci-fi movie. It was too thin, insanely tall! Three giant creations stared at him across the room. The fourth bounded towards him, a creature of stitched flesh and shadows. It rotted as it bared its teeth, its jaws opening wide, wide—

He’d screamed then, and fainted. When he’d woken up he’d found himself staring into a white, porcelain face. She’d called herself Cognita. She had demanded to know how he’d come here. After many explanations she’d summoned four people who called themselves ‘Archmages’. They had debated, cast magic on Blackmage, and then accepted his words as truth. Thus, he had entered Wistram. He had not left since.

A Human from another world. Blackmage understood the significance, especially after he had managed to actually tinker with his phone and get it to actually call the other iPhones in this world. Over eighty [Mages] had linked to perform the spell that he and Feor had worked for two weeks on.

Blackmage could still remember the sweat on his hands as he typed responses and the [Mages] of Wistram debated every line that had appeared in the air. He remembered the shock as they read the King of Destruction’s declaration, realized that someone was spying on the chat. Funny, he’d laughed as he read [twinTrouble_53]’s messages. Now he realized the significance.

He had not left Wistram. For his protection. Teura was there every time Blackmage turned his head, or another one of the half-Elves that Feor trusted. Again, for his protection. The mages of Wistram let him take classes, learn magic, and they’d given him his own personal rooms, spellbooks, and a wand! But they were determined not to let go of him.

One example of the danger he was in—might be in—was Blackmage’s name. He hadn’t asked to call himself Blackmage. But as soon as it was discovered that someone was scrying others by their real names, Feor had informed Aaron never to use his real name in Wistram’s halls. Wistram guarded its own, but an individual could be bought, and a true name could be used for more spells than just scrying.

Sometimes Blackmage stayed up at night thinking about that. But mainly he tried to live in the positive side of things. Magic was incredible. He was learning spells—he’d already reached Level 18 in [Mage], which was incredibly fast! He would have been content to stay in Wistram his entire life, especially if he could find more people from Earth. Just without Teura glaring at him, thanks.

They were nearly at the entrance hall when Blackmage carefully spoke.

“Do you really think there will be any people from…my place will be with the new students?”

“Perhaps. That is what Archmage Feor wishes to know. The first group of students has already disembarked. You will inspect them as they pass. These…decorations and the dressing up is meant to aid in that inspection, is it not?”

Teura had a witch’s hat on her head and she looked good in it. Also peeved. Blackmage nodded quickly.

“Oh, totally. But uh, aren’t the odds really low of anyone coming to Wistram? I mean, I know we’re looking for people from Earth—”

He broke off as he remembered not to mention Earth in public. Teura frowned at him. Blackmage blushed.

“I mean, people I know. But Wistram is hard to get to, right? People have to pay lots of money to get in. Couldn’t you waive the fee or something?”

The half-Elf sniffed.

“And let a horde into Wistram’s halls? That is a Revivalist notion. I will admit, the Council deliberated on that idea to attract those like you. But the change in policy would have been too drastic. We are simply relying on those you contacted to make their way here.”

“Yeah. Okay. I guess that might work.”

“Indeed. As for the others scattered across the world, the Council is preparing to send teams of [Mages] to each continent.”

“I wish they’d hurry up.”

“The Council does not move without due deliberation. Now, we are nearly at the hall. Stay behind me and keep si—”

Teura walked forwards and froze. She looked up and nodded slowly.

“Cognita.”

“Mage Teura. And student Blackmage. Greetings.”

Someone stood in the entrance hall. Not a person. A Golem. A towering woman carved out of stone turned, her dress rippling. She was eight feet tall, a giant. She inclined her head as Teura walked carefully past her.

“Hello, Cognita.”

Blackmage grinned up at her. Cognita was a Golem, the leader of the Golems of Wistram, the mage’s silent, tireless workforce. She alone could think. She was a Truestone Construct, an adjudicator of Wistram’s laws and beholden to no one. Not even the Archmages. He enjoyed seeing Teura get nervous around Cognita. Then he remembered why she was nervous and got a bit nervous himself.

Cognita guarded the upper floors. To pass into the higher levels of Wistram, one would have to defeat her and the other four Golem guardians that Archmage Zelkyr had placed there as a test. To Blackmage’s knowledge, no [Mage] had ever attempted the test and survived. Still, Cognita was unfailingly polite and helpful in all other capacities, so Blackmage edged over to her as Teura stood several paces away and watched the doors.

“Hey Cognita, everyone in the banquet hall is dressed up. Even Archmage Feor. I was wondering if you would—”

“No.”

The Golem woman turned her head and stared at Blackmage with a neutral expression. She had been carved so perfectly that she looked like she really was a living person, albeit eight foot tall and made of stone. Her mouth moved and her eyes blinked, the stone moving like flesh. Blackmage hesitated.

“Please?”

“I will not. My role as steward, protector, and guide of Wistram will not be compromised by your desires.”

“Oh.”

It was fairly hard to argue with that, so Blackmage stood and waited. He did not have to wait long. Within minutes of arriving in the entrance hall, he saw the double doors slowly open. He heard a loud voice.

“New students, welcome to Wistram!”

A Lizardman strode through the doors. Blackmage recognized him instantly. Cessic, his rainbow scales polished and the red frill at his neck bright, stepped into Wistram. He had a hat on his head and a wand in one of his clawed hands. He grinned at Blackmage and turned. Behind him streamed in students.

They had come by ship, through the stormy waters, from every continent. From Rhir, Baleros, Izril, Chandrar, and Terandria, they had paid or been given scholarships for outstanding magical ability and been sent here to learn magic. Blackmage saw young Human faces, a pale Drake with blue scales staring around wildly, a pair of Selphids wearing the bodies of twins—fresh students.

Wistram admitted new students at regular times each year and this spring crowd was the first Blackmage had ever seen. He grinned in delight as they filed in, exclaiming at the mage lights hung in the air, the staircases high above where [Mages] walked, the Golem made of rusted iron who passed by—

“Pay attention.”

Teura’s voice made Blackmage stiffen. He realized he had been caught up and guiltily started inspecting all of the Humans by face. They weren’t a majority in the crowd, but they were the largest minority. Humans were one of the most prolific races on this world, although it looked like this crowd had come mainly from Baleros. Unfortunately, Blackmage couldn’t tell if they were from Earth. They were all staring around wide-eyed.

Everyone jumped when Cognita moved. She had been standing so still she had literally been a statue. Now she strode forwards. Cessic gulped and moved out of the way as Cognita stood before the first crowd of arrivals.

“Oh yeah. Um, everyone, this is Cognita—she’s—uh—”

He was cut off as the Truestone Construct spoke. Cognita’s voice echoed as she spoke loud enough for even the students still climbing Wistram’s steps to hear. The new students stared up at her, some afraid, many simply wondering.

“I am Cognita. I am a Carved Golem, or rather, a Truestone Construct designed to oversee Wistram and its mages. I and my kindred maintain and preserve this building and will assist you for the duration of your stay. In a few moments you will be led to your rooms, but before that I must tell you of the rules of Wistram.”

She stared down at each person in turn, her emerald eyes serious.

“Firstly. You must never venture into the high parts of the castle or the lower reaches unaccompanied and even then, only with great cause. Dangers lurk within Wistram, ancient magics and spells and creatures called here and never destroyed. Too, the very enchantments keeping this citadel intact sometimes fray. Only a mage with true power is allowed into such places. Second. Some of the Golems here were made as I am, but most lack any form of intelligence and simply obey orders. Do not attack or obstruct them in any way or they may react unpredictably. Third. Anyone attempting to cast area-wide magics must first consult with I or an experienced mage. Unpredictable results may occur if a spell affects a wide area of the academy at once. Is that understood?”

No one spoke. Blackmage saw Cognita pause. She stared down at the students and then nodded.

“That is all. Follow me, and I will lead you to your rooms and give you your keys.”

It was the same speech she gave every year. She’d given Blackmage the identical speech, word for word. Cognita strode off and Cessic jumped. Remembering his job he called out.

“First years, this way!”

He winked at Blackmage and the young man grinned in delight. He’d said the thing. He heard Teura sigh as the students hurried after both Golem and Lizardman.

“Did you sense anything from the Humans present?”

The slight hope in her voice was dashed by Blackmage’s denial. Teura shook her head.

“Very well. You will have ample opportunities to study the other students in time. You will be placed into the first-year classes when they begin.”

“What? But I’ve been studying from Feor for months!”

Teura looked reproving.

Archmage Feor’s instruction has indeed given you far more levels than any typical first-year student should hope for. But the fundamentals of magic theory require years of study. And Archmage Feor does not have the time to personally tutor you.”

“But—”

Too late. Teura was already striding back to the banquet hall. Blackmage stared darkly at her back. So, he was losing his usefulness if they were going to make him a regular student. That was fine. The less attention on him the better. He had a plan of his own tonight. After a moment he followed Teura into the hallway.

 

—-

 

The first banquet was wondrous. Archmage Feor was as good as his word and conjured a giant, spectral Dragon to fly across the banquet hall and awe the first-year students. The other mages were dressed up more than usual, and the stunned arrivals found themselves eating and gaping at the magicked banquet at the same time.

“This was a good idea. Dazzling the new students takes little effort and it befits Wistram’s reputation. I cannot believe we were so casual in years prior to this. A little custom and ceremony should be part of our traditions.”

“Indeed. Appearances must be kept up. To that end, I’ve put a motion forwards to tinker with these ah, movies that the academy’s producing.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I quite insist on adding a mandatory opening to each one. Something that mentions Wistram. ‘This production a courtesy brought to you by Wistram Academy’ or some such. What do you think?”

“I like the notion. Not the wording.”

“Well, what would you write? This is only a motion.”

“Of course, of course. Pass the buttered bread, will you?”

Blackmage saw a basket of bread float past his head. He watched it go to the mages as they talked at the high table. He was sitting a ways down from them, near Archmage Feor and a group of very senior [Mages]. He felt out of place. But Feor had insisted he be present and with good reason. The talk between Wistram’s elite mages—those who sat on the Council or were otherwise in the know enough to know who Blackmage was—turned instantly from the first years to the various subjects of debate that they always had when Blackmage was present.

“These movies. Agh. What a word. I quite like the idea, though. We’ve always had moving images, but mass-producing them and selling the recollections? A splendid notion! If only it were as simple as enchanting a bunch of crystals.”

A Drake sitting across from Blackmage spoke, waving a fork filled with some kind of meatball. The Human next to him nodded and floated over a tureen of soup. Blackmage wished he could do that.

“Production will be extremely limited. However, displaying the siege of Liscor was well worth the effort. We’ve already seen interest from countless [Merchants]—even some of the nobility who might invest in this venture. I agree with the idea of creating ah, movie theatres to view such entertainments in, though. They are apparently quite popular where you come from, young Blackmage?”

She smiled at Blackmage as a grandmother would to a child. He nodded nervously as every eye turned to him.

“That’s right. Movies are uh, a household staple. Where I come from. People who make movies—producers, we call them—are very rich. Very rich. They make billions of d—gold coins each year.”

“Ah.”

The sigh that rippled around the table was long and satisfied. Blackmage bit his tongue. It was hard to speak in code with the other mages. They seemed perfectly at ease. Feor smiled at Blackmage and he remembered the injunction not to talk about certain things. Even among Wistram’s Council, there were things Blackmage had only told the Archmages.

“A profitable enterprise indeed. As was the idea of creating an interconnected communication network across the world. Of course we have Mage’s Guilds, but they are not affiliated with Wistram by and large. A central network produced by the academy would benefit Wistram’s interests greatly.”

A Dullahan nodded, adjusting her head as she fed herself some corn.

“As would a number of other innovations. I am still seeking a number of [Alchemists] to procure a supply of ingredients for our workshops. As for electricity, we have any number of mages, but the [Engineers] and [Alchemists] I’ve spoken to have no idea how to produce what I seek based on vague descriptions. I wonder, Blackmage, if you might have time to do some sketching? Or perhaps some unobtrusive mental divination so we might have a clearer idea of how to produce a few of the more…interesting concepts you have presented the Council.”

She peered over her plate at Blackmage and he felt a jolt. Feor’s smile cut off any response he might have made.

“All in good time, Mage Gelia. Mind magic is by its nature somewhat intrusive. Let us first focus our attention on what is easily producible.”

“As you like, Archmage Feor. But I have detected a number of inquiries in the same vein. Those asking about black powder. A suspicious run on high-quality steel. And I believe my inquiries were also traced back to Wistram.”

All the [Mages] glanced at each other. Blackmage held still. There were more Humans out there. And someone else might have had the same idea. He had no idea how gunpowder was made—or electricity. He had an [Engineer] class, but it was only because he’d painstakingly taken apart his watch and iPhone, relying on Feor’s [Repair] spell to put it back together. Actually generating an electrical current—he wished he’d read a textbook.

Technology was a prized possession in this world, even for the powerful mages of Wistram. True, they could do almost everything he could. Record sounds? They could use a spell. Take a picture? Spell. But the fact that Blackmage could do with ease what a [Mage] had to study for years to achieve was telling. Blackmage wished he could duplicate his iPhone somehow, but no [Blacksmith] could replicate the fine metalwork.

And Feor had told him that the [Repair] spell could mend, but not recreate. Creating new material, new, permanent material like duplicating components of Blackmage’s phone or watch? That was high magic even he didn’t have access too.

“Well, we shall just have to take advantage of what we do know. Movies for instance. I would quite like to see one showcasing Wistram’s splendors. Perhaps with commentary from a few select [Mages]?”

“Like yourself, Foulton? Hah!”

“If you have a complaint…”

“Forget movies for a moment. I’m more intrigued with all of these little cultural advancements. You know, I’ve had a craftsman working on a deck of cards. It should arrive with the next shipment from Izril. I would like to invite you all to a small session. Perhaps with wagering?”

Blackmage saw a few mages look up at that. He hadn’t just told the mages about technology. Things like card games and even chess had been of great interest to them. Especially since chess already existed in this world. Feor had asked many questions about that.

“Gambling already, Welaiat? I should have known a Libertarian would throw his money around carelessly. Just so long as your lot doesn’t want to waste Wistram’s resources, you can enjoy such trivial pursuits.”

One of the Drakes leaned forwards and smirked at the Human [Mage] who’d been offering the card game. The mood at the high table soured. Blackmage groaned as he anticipated what was going to come.

“Of course a Preservationist would lecture me about coin. Still saving copper coins, Failess? Or are your coffers not deep enough to afford enough spellbooks for your newest members?”

The Drake flushed and made a fist. Sparks spat out of his mouth as the mages sitting between the two leaned back.

“The very notion of spending recklessly is the exact reason why you Libertarians keep trying to drag us into continental affairs! You have to keep running back to those with deeper pockets to finance your spending! Whereas a proper, budgeted system—”

“Hah! You’d have us cut everything that attracts prospective students to Wistram! Food, supplies—this is what makes the academy thrive!”

Failess growled.

“And I should blindly vote to take loans to finance projects like these fanciful movies? Ridiculous! Spend what we have, don’t overspend!”

“A loan pays for itself. Moreover, debt is not something that need concern the academy. Any lender knows that what they give will be repaid with interest. It is not a debt, in fact. It is an investment—

“Hah! Don’t mince words. How can any nation, any institution survive permanent debt? The very idea of being beholden to a band of [Merchants] is surely ridiculous.”

“Not according to our young guest. Blackmage, pray tell us what you spoke about when we talked about ah, the economy of debt.”

Blackmage gulped. Welaiat of the Libertarian faction gestured at him and again the [Mages] stared. He hated this. The Drake known as Failess looked at him.

“Nations from your homeland truly endure crippling debt, Human?”

“Well…yes. It’s sort of how we operate. I mean, we try to balance the budgets, but we always spend more than we have.”

“How could that be viable? The instant someone called in their debts—”

“They don’t. They get interest each year. I think. And my nation keeps repaying debt and getting more, I think. They spend more money than they have to thrive.”

“Spend to thrive. You see Failess?”

The Human Libertarian grinned at the Drake Preservationist. Failess scowled and replied sharply, but some of the other [Mages] were looking thoughtful. Blackmage sat back, sweating, afraid to even touch his food.

He didn’t think he’d explained the way America managed its debt well. The problem was that the [Mages] wanted to know everything about his world and that Blackmage, in a very real sense, knew very little about the underlying economic, cultural, and other structures of Earth. He told them what they could and they used it in their debates. Archmage Feor smiled at Blackmage as the conversation turned into a hot argument about Wistram’s spending budget.

“Teura tells me you did not spot any familiar faces in today’s arrivals, Blackmage. Perhaps tomorrow will be different? It would be reassuring to see more companions, I am sure.”

“Yes, Archmage Feor. I ah, well, I’ll do my best to mingle. Actually, I’m a bit full, so I might go and talk with the other students.”

“Of course. I imagine it’s hardly entertaining to listen to politics. Please, enjoy yourself.”

Archmage Feor watched as Blackmage excused himself. He looked to one side and Teura rose silently. The other [Mages] watched Blackmage go. When he was making his way down the dining hall, they spoke amongst themselves.

“I wonder how aware he is of his position.”

“The Human’s young. Young, even for his age. Naïve, I think. Feor has him on a tight leash.”

“Let him. The Human’s of no interest to us. Whatever Feor learns we’ll learn in turn. The real trick will be if the search teams find anyone else. But filling the roster with our side will be next to impossible.”

“It’ll have to be a balanced team. Maybe even one [Mage] from each faction. Dead gods, imagine how we’ll have to explain it to the mages not in the know. The point is to get them here. And then…”

 

—-

 

Blackmage wandered down the banquet hall, disconsolate. [batman] was right. Batman was always right, come to think of it. He was a pawn. There was danger in Wistram. There was danger everywhere, which is why Blackmage was still trying to find as many people from Earth as possible and bring them to the academy, but within these walls he had very little power. Feor’s faction had him and Blackmage’s only bargaining chips, his knowledge of Earth, were mostly exhausted. If he wanted influence, if he wanted freedom—

Secrets ran Wistram. Secrets were a currency here. If you had a big secret, you could trade it. Cash it in with secret brokers, or use it. Blackmage knew that some secrets were worth thousands of gold coins. His secret, the secret of why he was at the head table was probably worth that much. He knew the students and mages were burning with curiosity about him, so he fanned the flames as he walked down the banquet hall.

“Mage Rievan, I’ll be one of the students in your class next week. I’ll be studying with the first-years. I hear great things about your uh, teaching methods.”

Blackmage introduced himself to a group of Humans sitting at one of the tables. The [Mage] he’d addressed, a gaunt fellow who was always looking down his nose at people, looked startled.

“You are? That is to say, I look forwards to it. May I ask where you come from?”

“Oh, I uh—”

Blackmage hesitated just long enough for Teura to step in. The half-Elf quickly nudged Blackmage backwards and not-so-subtly nodded her head. Blackmage moved back, mouthing an apology and Teura turned. The smile she gave Rievan was entirely fake.

Blackmage’s identity is a somewhat touchy issue, Mage Rievan. Please understand that he is to be treated as any other student.”

“Black—is that his name? Mage Teura, I’ve seen that young man sitting with Archmage Feor. I understand the need for privacy, but I think that if I am to teach him properly, I should—”

Rievan stood up somewhat pompously. He and the other Libertarians did not agree with Archmage Feor’s faction…or non-Humans if it came to that. But he paused as Teura stared at him.

“He is a student. His name is Blackmage. That is all you need to know, Mage Rievan. I would suggest that a mage of your caliber not ask any more questions. Or he might land himself in undue trouble.”

The Human man froze. Teura looked at him, and then at his companions, all of whom suddenly found themselves ravenously hungry. He turned and he sat. The other Libertarians stared at Teura’s back in frustration, but they dared not ask their leaders at the high table for help. They were out of the know. Teura turned, searching for Blackmage. By that time of course, it was already too late.

 

—-

 

The instant Teura had been occupied with Rievan, Blackmage had turned and swiftly walked for another table near the back of the great hall. Unlike the tables with formal seating, there were groups of more casual spots for those students whose body types did not easily squeeze into chairs. A ring of couches and plush stools sat around one table he walked towards.

Some centaurs were sitting at a table to the left, but the one he was moving towards was occupied by a pair of students. A Human woman talking with a Dullahan.  The Dullahan had dark metal armor and her head was sitting on the table, alternately talking and munching on food. Both [Mages] looked up as Blackmage approached, a smile on his face.

“Hi there. Mind if I sit?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice looked up flatly and Montressa du Valeros, also known as Mons to her friends, looked up as the young man approached. Neither one was happy to see him. Interested males of any species were not whom Montressa wanted to share her table with. She saw the young man, younger than she was by a few years, hesitate.

“Uh—”

“This table is occupied. By us. Get lost.”

Beatrice was a Dullahan. Her dark, polished metal arms turned her head so she could glare at the young [Mage]. She was not hospitable to begin with and especially not at dinner. Montressa saw the young man gulp.

“It’s just that I was actually hoping to do business.

Oh dead gods. Montressa tried not to roll her eyes. He had to be a first-year, fresh off the boats. Only a first year would be so blatant about wanting to sell or buy secrets. She was about to advise him to get lost and try Beatrice at another time or get blacklisted when she took a second look at his face.

“Wait a second. Beatrice. That’s him.”

Beatrice paused. She looked like she’d been about to draw a Rune of Pain on her napkin and throw it at the young man’s face. But as she frowned at the young man she recognized him as well. The strange young man who’d appeared in Wistram. The one called—Montressa tried not to laugh—Blackmage.

“Ah.”

The Dullahan glanced around. So did Montressa. Then they moved over.

“Alright, sit. And keep your head down.”

Blackmage sank into one of the padded benches next to Montressa. He seemed nervous as Beatrice put her head on her shoulders and secured it in place. He didn’t look like he was used to seeing Dullahans. Montressa filed that information away. She inspected him from head to toe. So this was the strange newcomer who was attracting so much attention. Rumor had it that he was taking lessons from Archmage Feor. Personally. She didn’t see what made him so attractive. Her sense of him as a [Mage] put him at Level 20. At best.

“So what do you want…Blackmage?”

Beatrice stared at the young man. He jumped.

“You know who I am?”

The Dullahan woman rolled her eyes impatiently.

“I’m a secret broker. Of course I know. Little rats know who you are. Speak.”

Blackmage hesitated.

“Alright. I know you buy and sell secrets. And uh, get things for people. You also do services, is that right?”

“I make connections.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. Montressa winced. Her friend’s patience was getting dangerously thin. Beatrice had never managed to acquire even a shred of Calvaron’s easygoing air, for all she had inherited his network of connections after he had…passed. That people still came to her was because she had a lot of influence, not because she was easy to work with.

Perhaps Blackmage realized he was stretching her patience, because he went on quickly. He kept looking around. Montressa rolled her eyes again as she cast several ward spells to hide their conversation.

“The thing is, I have a secret to sell. And I need something done. There’s this half-Elf who follows me around all the time.”

“Mage Teura. Part of the Centrist faction. Feor’s group. Say things outright or you can go.”

“Uh.”

Montressa couldn’t take it any longer. She leaned forwards and saw the young man lean back. He stared at her. Montressa had grown since the first days she’d stepped onto Wistram’s shores. She was no longer an apprentice looking around with wide eyes but a full student of Wistram, on the verge of being recognized as a [Mage]. Beatrice had long since passed her final test and was now an official mage of Wistram, a [Runeshaper] and one of the secret brokers of the academy.

“What do you want, kid? You want her to stop following you? An accident? If that’s your goal you might as well give up. No secret broker will cross Archmage Feor’s faction whatever you’re offering.”

“What if I said I wanted her distracted for…twenty minutes?”

“Hmm. That would cost you.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. She looked around. Now Montressa saw the half-Elf in question. She swore.

“We’ve got less than a minute before she spots which ward spell we’re behind. Make it fast, Beatrice.”

She began muttering more ward spells, although she didn’t have high hopes of hiding from a mage as experienced as Teura. Still, Montressa had been helping Beatrice out for years now and she knew her way around disguise and ward spells. Blackmage leaned forwards, whispering fast.

“Say that’s what I want. Can you do it? Tonight? Give me a window to slip away and prevent anyone else from following?”

The Dullahan traced a rune on the desk.

“I can do that. The question is how much you have to offer.”

“How about a secret?”

“It would have to be a truly massive secret. Doubt you have that. But give it to me and I’ll tell you what you’ve got.”

Montressa saw Blackmage hesitate. He reached into a pocket and pulled something out. A piece of paper? She nearly laughed. Any [Mage] could read what was on there! If they wanted to look. But she went still as she saw Beatrice unfold the paper. The Dullahan stared at what was written and then blinked. Twice.

“Huh. That would do it.”

“Are you serious, Beatrice?”

The Dullahan looked up. She immediately set fire to the paper and nodded at Montressa.

“He’s good for it.”

“Dead gods.”

Montressa blinked at Blackmage who was looking slightly smug. What kind of secret had Beatrice read? The Dullahan glanced around.

“Teura’s on to us. Human, you want this done now?”

“As fast as you can. Is it possible?”

“Give me five minutes. When Montressa finds you, go.”

Beatrice stood up. Montressa got up casually, dispelling the magics around her. She could see Teura heading towards them. She left Blackmage behind, hoping he wouldn’t be obvious about what he’d been doing. Then again, it didn’t matter. They had a contract.

“He really gave you a secret worthy of that, Beatrice?”

“And then some. I’ll get a distraction ready. Can you help?”

“Point to whomever you want. What if he’s lying?”

“Then he’s blacklisted. But the secret—I don’t think so. How could he know?”

Both older Wistram students looked back at Blackmage. He was wandering around the banquet hall, doing his very best not to look their way. Montressa grimaced. Teura was following Blackmage closely, but she kept glancing suspiciously back at the two of them.

“She knows he talked to us. Bet she knows we’re secret brokers too. Let’s move fast.”

“Agreed.”

The two split up. Montressa and Beatrice walked around the great hall. The new students were gossiping at their tables, talking loudly while some of the older students went over to talk or introduce themselves. Montressa slid past a table of wide-eyed Selphids and found a group of older students, all in their seventh years. They looked up as she approached.

“Hey. Beatrice wants a favor.”

“Really? What’s she offering?”

“Anything you want. The mission is Teura. Distraction. Twenty minutes.”

One of the students, a Dullahan, whistled.

“That’s above our grade.”

“You’ll get help. She doesn’t leave the hall. Think you can do it?”

The students looked at each other. Then they nodded.

“We’re in. Signal?”

“You’ll see it.”

Montressa left them. She circulated the room, tapping other mages on the shoulders. In the hubbub of thousands of [Mages] and prospective mages eating, it was hard to keep track of her. By the time she strolled over to Blackmage, it was ready. She tapped him on the shoulder as Teura got slowed by a gaggle of loudly gossiping Lizardfolk.

“Go. Leave the hall through any entrance and then run for it.”

Blackmage nodded. He steeled himself, and then began to walk speedily for one of the exits. Teura followed like a hound on the scent. She passed by a group of two tables of students and saw one of them raise their wand.

“[Force Beam].”

“[Sticky Webs]!”

“[Stone Barrier].”

A dozen students and [Mages] called out. Teura spun. She raised her wand and was hit by disabling spells from all sides. A shimmering barrier formed around her, blocking the attacks, but more wards and barriers were rising between her and Blackmage. He ran as she cursed and spun.

At the high table Feor looked up. He saw nearly twenty [Mages] casting spells, some dueling Teura as she tore down the barriers. He frowned and pointed.

“It looks like an altercation has broken out.”

His words were pointed. Three more half-Elves rose. They instantly made a beeline for the fighting. Mages attacking other mages wasn’t exactly a criminal offense. The offenders would probably be hexed with something nasty or fined so long as they hadn’t attacked to truly harm. But there were a lot of mages casting spells and even Feor’s experienced disciples struggled to overwhelm the quantity of magic coming at them. And meanwhile Blackmage had vanished.

Feor hesitated. He half-rose, saw the other [Mages] watching him, calculating, and slowly sat. He waited impatiently as Teura and the others tried to battle through the ambush and find Blackmage.

Politics. And the two instigators, Beatrice and Montressa, were nowhere near the action. Beatrice had relocated to a far end of the room and was casually watching the mage duels while counting down in her head. And Montressa had vanished from the dining hall entirely.

 

—-

 

Blackmage ran. He wasn’t an athlete, but the excitement gave him wings. At last he was alone! Only, he wouldn’t be when Teura caught up. And she would be mad. So he ran faster, down a corridor and then down a long, winding passageway full of steps.

“I should’ve asked for…thirty minutes!”

He gasped as he tumbled down a flight of steps, dashed down a side corridor, ran through a room, slammed out the doorway, and found another staircase waiting. Wistram was a labyrinth even to [Mages] used to it. The further you went, the more convoluted it got. Even now there were places that kept getting discovered. So many secret places—but the spot he was headed to wasn’t secret.

If the upper levels of Wistram were blocked off, the lower ones were less frequently used simply because of expediency. The dining hall was far away from the basement areas and the proximity to areas like the crypts or dangerous zones where magical experiments might eat an unwary mage didn’t exactly make for good company. Blackmage wasn’t headed down that far, though. He was running to a section of tunnels without any rooms nearby. He’d memorized the route from the dining hall and had gone here twice as practice. When he finally reached the blank section of wall he was looking for, he was out of breath, but he was still on time.

Fantstalidephoron! Dammit! Fantstalifepheron! Wait. Fanstali-delif-pheron.”

Blackmage recited the word from memory. On the third try it worked. The empty corridor glowed, and suddenly part of the wall rippled and vanished. Blackmage cried out in amazement and then rushed into the opening.

“Oh my god! It’s here!”

Blackmage stared around the room. His first impression was that of dust. And cobwebs. Spiders and dust mites had infested this room, created huge drooping webs. But even the spiders had died from lack of food. The layers of dust covered the chairs and tables and bookshelves. But even they couldn’t disguise the grandeur of the room. Or rather, rooms.

Expensive couches sat in the first one around tables that were free of mold or rot. Brushing at one, Blackmage saw the faint runes carved into the wood that had protected it. He sneezed, wished someone were here to clean all the dust up, and spotted the bookshelves. They sat at the end of the room, next to a fireplace that still burned with light. Magical fire danced there, providing warmth while the rows of spellbooks and tomes stood in shelf after shelf. Waiting.

“Holy crap. And over here is—”

Blackmage ran into the second room and gasped as he saw a mage’s laboratory. Summoning circles drawn in melted gemstones on the ground, mana crystals lined up on shelves, glowing potions—he saw a bottle had cracked in one spot. A very large and very mutated rat was lying in front of it. Dead. Blackmage backed away.

“Holy crap. Holy—it’s real! It’s real!

He shouted and threw up his arms, racing back into the library room. Library, mage’s workshop—and there were more rooms yet! Then his eyes travelled to something above the fireplace.

The massive magical fireplace roared with life even after the room itself had been forgotten. But it was magic that had made this place and the magic remained. And above the fireplace someone had written…something. Glowing runes had been etched in the brickwork. They shone as Blackmage stared up at them.

It was nothing in any language. Not in the common tongue. It was the words of magic and Blackmage’s brief study wasn’t enough to help him read them. He frowned.

“It says…it says…”

“The Evermote Study. That’s what it says.”

Blackmage spun. Montressa stood in the entryway, staring. The young man looked at her in horror. Montressa looked at him, and then the rows of books, pale with shock.

“You found it. The Evermote Study. It’s legendary. It has to be one of the most sought-after places in Wistram and you found—how?”

She took a step forwards and Blackmage stepped back.

“Oh no. No, no, no! You can’t have followed me! This isn’t right! It’s all ruined!”

“Calm down.”

“Calm down? The secret’s out! You promised me—I thought no one would follow.”

“Beatrice was curious. Sorry kid, but that’s the way it works.”

Montressa shrugged. She’d used an [Invisibility] spell to slip out after Blackmage. He hadn’t even run that fast—not to someone who’d learned [Flash Step]. Her stomach clenched as she remembered who’d taught her the beginnings of both spells. She suppressed the feeling. She’d put it to rest for good soon enough.

“Look, I didn’t hear the passphrase for the room. I wish I had, believe me. It was a passphrase, right?”

Blackmage stared at Montressa, lips sealed. He glared at her. She sighed.

“Don’t be stupid. And don’t reach for that wand—I’ll hit you with a [Flame Arrow] straight between the legs if you so much as try it. I’ve studied magic for years here and I’ve won more duels than you can count. Be reasonable. You’ll never be able to use a tenth of what’s in here, so you might as well make a deal now.”

“With you?”

“Hardly. You think Beatrice and I could shift all this? We’d get so many questions—no. With a haul like this, you’d have to talk to a big player. Someone like Archmage Feor. But why do I think you don’t want to let him know about this place?”

Montressa cocked her head, smiling slightly. Blackmage hesitated.

“You want to make another deal?”

“I’d like a finder’s fee, yeah. Teura’s going to be here any second. She probably can locate you even with the anti-scrying spells we cast on you. You’ll need someone to make contact and I bet you she won’t let you out of her sight. So why don’t we walk out of here, close this place up—”

“It closes itself. I don’t need to say the password out loud.”

“I’ll bet it does. Thanks for telling me there is a password.”

Blackmage shut his mouth. Montressa laughed. She looked around wonderingly.

“Dead gods. One of the legends of Wistram. How did you know? No, first tell me who you want me to contact. Unless your entire plan was finding this place? No, not even a first year’s that stupid.”

The young man eyed her balefully. But he had no choice, so he nodded.

“I want to talk to someone. Actually, I was going to talk to Beatrice again. She’s a Revivalist, right?”

“That’s right. Wait—do you want to talk to Naili?”

“Naili—that’s right.”

“Huh. That is good luck. For you.”

Montressa narrowed her eyes. She nodded after a second.

“Works for me. I’m a Revivalist too, by the way. We’ve never been introduced. Montressa du Valeros.”

“Oh. I’m—Blackmage.”

“Yes, I heard. Afraid of someone learning your true name? It’s not that dangerous. Come on, we’d better get moving if you want to speak to Naili tonight. Not even Feor’s people will follow you that deep into Revivalist territory.”

“Okay. I shouldn’t trust you but—”

“You’ve got no choice. Don’t worry. Secret brokers are as honest as they come. If we’re not we get into more trouble than it’s worth. Let’s run.”

Montressa left the room and saw the door close as soon as Blackmage stepped out. She whistled.

“Incredible. How did you know about this room anyways? It’s a legend in Wistram. You have to pay for the secret about the secret of the Evermote Study.”

Blackmage glanced at Montressa. For the first time since he’d met her, he smiled. This time in what she thought was genuine relief. He was sweaty, nervous. Just a kid. But not just another first-year.

“That’s a secret too. Wanna pay for it?”

The [Mage] glanced at the younger man’s smile and shook her head.

“I doubt I could afford it. Come on.”

She led the way at a run. Blackmage ran behind her. Montressa had to shake her head as she went. Secrets, new students appearing out of nowhere, and politics. It reminded her of her first years in Wistram. She bit her lip as she remembered. But that had been a long time ago. Everything was different now.

 

—-

 

There was trouble retrieving Blackmage. He was gone for over an hour, which was far too long. Feor retired to his rooms before he received a [Message] indicating that Blackmage had been returned to his chambers. Feor wondered where the young man had gone.

It didn’t matter. He had made up his mind already. It was too dangerous to have Teura follow the young man around at all hours. A lock spell preventing him from speaking about confidential matters would do the job far more effectively. It would be complex, but Feor had set aside all of tomorrow to cast it with a circle of his trusted allies. They would do the same for the other Humans from Earth, before anyone realized what had been done.

That was Feor’s plan. He meditated in his rooms on the spell before he slept and rose early to do the same. At breakfast he patiently waited, dining on a light meal in preparation for the exertions to come.

Blackmage was not sitting with him. He had been escorted to the great hall, but allowed to sit wherever he pleased. He was sitting with a Dullahan and young Human woman. The same two he had visited last night. Secret brokers. Feor’s brow furrowed. If Blackmage was giving out secrets—he wouldn’t be that foolish. But then again, he was Human. And young.

It was past time to cast the spell. Feor rose and nodded. He had brought six of the experienced [Mages] from his faction, the Centrists, with him. They were all on Wistram’s council. They stepped away from the high table and walked across the floor. Feor kept his eyes on Blackmage. He saw the young man turn and then someone stepped in front of him.

“Oh my, Feor. I hope I’m not in your way.”

The half-Elf looked up. He saw a smiling half-snake, half-humanoid creature slither into his path. She looked like a Naga, but while they were more powerfully built she was slim. Her scales were light white and rose, and across her arms and back ran a pattern of glowing scales which shifted with bright blues and purples and yellows. The lamia’s face resembled that of the Lizardfolk from which she had evolved from. But the brilliant power in her gaze was her own.

“Archmage Nailihuaile. I thought you were secluded in your private chambers, meditating on the theory of using rhinestones to bypass the material components of jewel spellcrafting.”

The lamia beamed at Feor and he cursed her timing.

“I was! But you know how it is with me and spellcraft. I sometimes want to move about and then I thought that I hadn’t eaten in days! So here I am.”

“Fascinating. I would love to speak with you, but later. I have business to attend to.”

Stopping to chat with the most talkative of Archmages was not an option. Feor stepped politely around Naili, but she slithered in front of him. This time he stopped and sensed the trap. Naili bared sharp teeth at him in a grin.

“I know you’re busy, Archmage Feor. That’s why I’m here, actually. I was rather hoping to spoil your day. That little Human you want to take? He’s mine now.”

Feor paused. Behind him, Teura and the other half-Elves and Centrist mages froze. Some of them reached for their wands, others murmured warding spells. Archmage Naili didn’t move. Feor felt the magic in his blood hum as he frowned.

“That would be an unwise decision, Archmage Nailihuaile.”

“Would it? You know how I am with bad decisions. I keep making them.”

She had a staff in her hands. Her staff, the Serkonian Lance. A treasure of the Lizardfolk. Archmage Feor hadn’t prepared for a duel. He eyed her, reciting a list of spells in his head.

“It would be most unwise to engage in conflict now, Archmage Naili. We agreed that the otherworlders were a matter for Wistram as a whole.”

“Yes, we did. Only it seems your little faction has been monopolizing him. Hmm?”

She couldn’t know their plans. There couldn’t be a mole in his faction. Not among his trusted people. Surely this was coincidence. Feor’s brows snapped together. The white-haired half-Elf reached for his wand.

“Step aside, Archmage.”

“Or what?”

She moved, her tail undulating as Feor stepped left. He glanced at the other Centrist mages. Teura gave him a nod.

“If it comes to it, we will use force.”

Again she grinned.

“Oh good. I was hoping you’d say that. Because we’d be only too happy to oblige.”

She turned her head and hissed. Across the room, over four hundred [Mages] stood up at once.

Feor froze. His eyes flicked past Naili to the mages who’d gotten to their feet. He hadn’t checked their faces when he’d come in for breakfast. If he had, he would have recognized them. Each mage, over two thirds of the mages here for breakfast, was part of the Revivalist faction.

Every member of the Revivalist faction present had stood up in the banquet hall. Old mages and young, Lizardfolk, Humans, Dullahans, even rarer species like Garuda and Selphids, walked forwards. Hundreds of [Mages]. They gathered behind the smiling Archmage Naili, forming a wall between Archmage Feor’s few followers and Blackmage.

The banquet hall of Wistram was still as they watched the standoff. Still, but not silent. Mages from other factions and independents whispered to each other, some speculating, some taking bets on what would happen next. Feor stared at Naili.

“This is a mistake, Archmage Naili. Committing to one Human is foolish. If you intend to monopolize him, the other factions will—”

“Come at ours? We welcome it.”

The lamia’s eyes narrowed. She grinned at Feor and he was reminded of the Lizardfolk’s ancestry, that of hunters in Baleros’ swamps. She flicked her tongue.

“You’re outnumbered, Feor. Turn around and go.”

He hesitated, but she was right. Four hundred [Mages] watched as Archmage Feor and his Centrists stepped back. They moved unhurriedly, as if the staring wall of [Mages] were nothing more than an inconvenience. But they did leave. And Wistram’s [Mages] saw it.

When Feor left the grand hall he stopped. The other [Mages] were afraid to look at him. He spoke without turning around.

“The Revivalists have never played their hand so strongly before. They mean to take the Human into their faction and throw their support behind him, not divide his knowledge as agreed upon. Why? What prompted their change?”

No one answered. Feor stared out a window at the clear skies surrounding Wistram. He turned to Teura. She flinched.

“Find out what they know. And call a meeting. This must be discussed at once.”

He strode off, not waiting for a response. Something had changed in Wistram. But what? Feor’s mind blazed as he connected Blackmage to the encounter with Beatrice and Montressa. That missing hour…but Blackmage had been watched every time he left his room. What had he found? What had he done? What did Naili know? Secrets ruled Wistram. Archmage Feor was not afraid of the Revivalists. He was afraid that they knew something he didn’t.

 

—-

 

After Feor had left, Blackmage saw the Revivalists disperse. They went back to their tables, laughing, calling for drinks, in a jubilant mood. Their leader, one of the famed Archmages, was no less ecstatic. Archmage Naili lead the way down the hall as Blackmage walked with her. Alone. He tried not to stare at her body, until he remembered Montressa telling him that Lizardfolk liked to be admired. They were also very chatty.

“That was so much fun! I haven’t tweaked the Centrist’s noses like that in over a decade! The look on Feor’s face was magnificent. He and the other factions will be scrambling all night to figure out what we know, which is excellent because most of our lot don’t know what we know!”

For an Archmage, Naili had a down-to-earth side of her that none of the other Archmages had. Blackmage saw her glancing back at him and grinning, swishing her long tail back and forth. Unlike the Drakes who used their tails as support as they walked, Naili’s tail was her entire lower torso and it undulated as she slithered across the ground. She was actually shorter than he was, although the long staff she carried made her seem taller.

“So we get to talk at last, young Human! I mean, we talked yesterday, but that was all negotiations and me saying ‘what, you can’t be serious!’ a lot. It’s nice to meet you! I see you looking at my scales. Aren’t they pretty? I’m a Star Lamia in case you were wondering. See my scales? The glowing ones store magic. It’s very good for spellcasting, although it makes sneaking around very difficult unless I use illusion spells.”

“I uh, that’s very cool.”

She nodded happily.

“Isn’t it? I was so proud when I became a Lamia, and then when I became a Star Lamia! It’s such an honor. Most Lizardfolk don’t evolve at all which is sad! But the majority of the ones who do evolve become Nagas, Gorgons, or Lamia. From there they can change into other forms. It’s very complex and some people think we’re all different species but we’re not. It all depends on what we’re good at! Gorgons are huge fighters. Nagas are smaller, but very strong—it’s the kind of form Lizardfolk turn into most of the time if they don’t have a set path. Whereas Lamia are small, but we have larger brains! Does that make sense? Are you following me?”

“Uh—I think so. Can Lizardfolk become other species? Like…say, a Medusa?”

“Oh! You know about our kind! Or is that something from your world? Wait, was I supposed to keep that secret? Yes I was. No one was listening, were they? Good.”

Naili looked around rapidly. No one was there to listen. Blackmage wondered if all Lizardfolk were as chatty as she was. He’d met Cessic—and so far they were two for two in terms of hyper energy.

“Thanks for agreeing to help me. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

“Of course I would have said yes! I can’t let old Feor get away with everything. Us Archmages have to counter each other. And I’m a good match for Feor, magically or otherwise. He hates when I chatter. Thinks it’s ‘unbecoming’. That’s half-Elves for you. Snobs.”

Talking to Naili was like watching a stream of thoughts go past. You had to grab for the one you wanted or get lost. Blackmage chose one at random.

“You’re a good match for Archmage Feor? How?”

“Archmage Feor is a generalist. Quite boring, don’t you think? He wants to be like a proper [Archmage] of old, but he doesn’t have the class. Not yet. And I say generalist, but he prefers to use big spells in battle and everywhere else. Big spells. They take too much time. I like spells to be quick! I learned that in Baleros. You can’t cast [Blackflame Fireball]—silly spell, by the way, why is that considered an upgrade of [Grand Fireball]?—when people are trying to hack your tail off with enchanted swords! Anyways, I specialize in enchantments. I can do artifacts, but I’m best at making scales harder than mithril or casting mass-[Invisibility] spells. Actually, I’m probably the best in the world at it. Aside from this guy in Pallass who’s crazy about physical enchantments…”

“Wow.”

“Yes, wow. You Humans say the silliest things. I’m an Archmage! One of five in the world! Well, six if you count Amerys. I wonder if she’s lost her rank? Oh well, five or six. And all you say is ‘wow’. But I don’t want to judge! Except that I do.”

Blackmage blinked at her. Naili grinned at him, showing entirely too many pointed teeth for him to be comfortable.

“Don’t worry, we’re on the same side now. We have an agreement, and I can’t break my word so easily. Well, I could, but that would be a lot of trouble.”

So Blackmage understood. But he was still nervous.

“Do you—do you think you can really protect the others from Earth?”

“Absolutely. That’s the deal. We get access to the Evermote Study, and in return we’ll protect your friends. Archmage Feor and the Centrists can try, but the Revivalists have the numbers to resist any faction…especially with that many magic tomes to offer our people. I don’t suppose you’d care to sell me the secret of how you knew where to find it?”

“I uh, no. That’s a bigger secret.”

Naili laughed.

“A bigger secret than the Evermote Room? I suppose even I might not afford it. But just remember that every secret comes with a price. And we all pay that price sooner or later.”

She stopped and looked seriously at Blackmage. He paused and his stomach jumped. Then Naili laughed again.

“Hah! Your face is priceless. I’m funny. Okay, let’s see this study. And we’ll find you some new rooms, Aaron. Oh, don’t worry about the name. You’re with us now. You’ve got protectors. Allies.”

“That was the plan.”

“Whose?”

Aaron closed his mouth. Naili stared at him and then grinned.

“This is why I love Wistram. Alright then. Let’s go.”

 

—-

 

That evening, the second boat load of new students entered Wistram. They trudged up the steps, staring up at the magical citadel. Wistram was taller than any castle. It soared up in the bubble of calm, its windows shining with light. One tower was entirely aflame, another engulfed by plants. Yet one more was leaking bright blue smoke, the product of a failed experiment. But what lay on the inside only hinted at what was within. The students stumbled up the steps, still on their sea legs.

A small group of weary Humans perked up when they saw the academy. When they stepped into the entrance hall and saw the waiting [Mages], complete with pointy hats, they couldn’t help it. One of them, a young woman, grabbed her friends and shouted.

It’s Hogwarts! I told you! We’re in Hogwarts!”

That was a big hint, all things told. Blackmage strode through the crowd, staring. He saw a dark face turn, saw eyes widen as they fixed on him. He didn’t know what his face showed, but he raised a hand and pointed.

“Earth? Are you guys—”

He got no further. One of the humans leapt at him and nearly knocked him to the ground. She hugged him, sobbing, as the other bewildered students turned and saw the Humans from Earth gathering around each other, shouting in surprise and hugging each other.

It was a pleasant sight. Or it would have been a day ago. Archmage Feor stood on a balcony high above the entrance hall. He was displeased. The Revivalists had come out full-force and they had made their goals clear. They were going to shelter the Humans from Earth, give them autonomy, support. They were willing to fight with every other faction in Wistram to do it. He had no idea what was giving them the confidence.

He would find out. Wistram always gave up its secrets in time. Feor turned, letting Aaron celebrate his victory for now. Someone had helped him. Not just Naili. That someone would turn up. Or Aaron would make a mistake. And in truth, he mattered less right now. He wasn’t the one otherworlder in Wistram now, he was one of many. And there were more out there, waiting to be found.

Feor flicked his hand and a scroll popped into his hands. He looked at the list of names, nodding perfunctorily as he travelled down the list. The groups were sorted by location, by the routes they would take and the difficulty of their task. He paused as he came down to an entry on the list and turned.

“Teura.”

The half-Elf looked up. Feor pointed to the list of four names on the parchment.

“Have we any more information about Liscor and its environs? Our graduate is located there, is she not?”

Teura nodded.

“Falene Skystrall has indeed been confirmed in Liscor, but obtaining information has been problematic. She has made several requests for information on two of our expelled students. I believe you are familiar?”

“Ah yes. Ceria Springwalker and…the [Necromancer]. A pity. Springwalker might have been one of ours. Falene does not wish to aid the academy?”

“Not in giving confidential information away, Archmage. She claims it would be a conflict that goes against her team’s interests.”

“A pity. Our former graduates do not owe the academy as much as one might hope. It is ironic that we obtain more information from independents. Have you confirmed the Gold-rank [Mage] Typhenous’ report?”

“Yes, Archmage. We have assigned the team to the two additional objectives as you requested.”

“Good.”

Feor glanced back at the parchment. A name stood out to him on the parchment. Montressa du Valeros. He glanced at their objectives.

“Investigate the presence of [batman] and ‘L’. Investigate possible Earth connection to Erin Solstice. Retrieve magical door—‘The Wandering Inn’. Investigate expelled student Pisces location and whereabouts—The Horns of Hammerad. Very good.”

He rolled up the scroll. Feor made it vanish with another gesture and turned.

“Have the teams begin leaving as soon as the first years begin attending class. We are in a race, Teura. These otherworlders are a resource. And Wistram will collect them.”

He turned his head. First-year students were still celebrating. Cognita strode towards them, and behind her the double doors slowly closed. They slammed shut, keeping the mages, the students, and the secrets within the walls.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.34

A boycott. Of all the trials that The Wandering Inn had faced, Erin would have assumed that would be the least challenging. And she would be right, except that unlike every crisis she’d weathered so far, the boycott hadn’t ended after the first day. Unlike undead invasions, Goblin attacks, angry Rock Crabs or diarrhea, the boycott had dragged into the fifth day without signs of slowing.

And again, if anyone had asked Erin if she was afraid of boycotts she would have laughed in their face while getting them another order of risotto pasta. After all, her inn had weathered far worse scandals, hadn’t it? She was employing Goblins for goodness sake! She’d endured scandal and outright hostility before.

But Erin had underestimated the difference in cultures. When Drakes boycotted a business or location, they didn’t just avoid it like the plague. No, they turned up each day to complain.

“Actually, I think Humans do that too. Why call it a boycott if you still show up?”

Erin slumped at a table, groaning and holding her head. It was late evening in her inn and she had actors on stage, some Humans and Gnolls dining, adventurers sitting at their tables. And a large number of Drakes, sitting at tables and booing each time an actor spoke on stage.

“I’m afraid I do not understand your dilemma, Miss Solstice.”

Klbkch sat at a table across from Erin with Krshia on the other side. Both Antinium and Gnoll glanced up as a Drake hissed and booed Wesle as he tried to woo Jasi in her role of Juliet on stage. Klbkch nodded towards the Drake.

“If the Drake protest is undesirable, why not simply eject them from your inn?”

“Because if I do that, they stand outside my inn and throw rocks and dead fish at my windows. Or wait in Liscor and harass anyone who comes out of the magic door.”

“I see. That is a dilemma.”

“Right. I was sort of hoping you’d be able to help. You know, since you’re a [Guardsman] and all?”

Erin glanced sidelong at Klbkch. He hesitated, keeping one hand on his mug as he watched the stage. If you ignored the quiet booing, the play really wasn’t that bad. But that was if you could ignore the booing. The Antinium shook his head a fraction after a few seconds of thought.

“I am afraid that civil protest is a time-honored Drake tradition. True, I could caution and then arrest the Drakes here if they continued to interfere with your business in tangible ways, but Drakes have always honored the right to insult others in public forums.”

“What? That’s so—well, okay, we do that at home, but that’s not right!”

Krshia sniffed the air and grunted. She was enjoying a plate of fish flakes, dipping each in a fishy sauce filled with spices before chewing the food.

“It is a Drake thing, Miss Solstice, yes? Human too, from what you say. We Gnolls, we simply leave if something is undesirable. But Drakes must tell you over and over why it is not what they enjoy. Hrm.”

“What if I kicked them out? Could you arrest them for throwing stuff at my inn?”

Erin looked pleadingly at Klbkch. The Antinium opened his mandibles and made a clicking, sighing sound.

“It is again troublesome that you live outside of Liscor and do not, in fact, pay taxes, Miss Solstice.”

“Ah.”

“Quite. Watch Captain Zevara could order such a guard detail for a short period of time, but I believe she would be uninclined to support such a decision even if I endorsed it to her.”

“Because she hates me.”

Krshia covered a smile with one paw as Erin slumped in her seat.

“I do not think she hates you, Erin. But you do bring her much trouble. And the city is more concerned with dungeons and fish at the moment.”

“Fish?”

“Sometimes fish attack the walls. Big ones. Like Lurkersnatches.”

“The black octopus things?”

“Yes. They are quite difficult to deter. I would advise you to take caution, but your personal defenses are probably more than adequate to deter most monsters. I trust Bird had fulfilled his duties well up till now?”

“Bird? He’s great. Really great. I was worried when he came back with the bow, but he actually paid for it? With money he got from the…Queen?”

Erin stared at Klbkch. Again, the Antinium nodded. He shifted his gaze. Bird was eating at a table across from them with Mrsha. He was happily enjoying a plate full of eggs and batting a ball across the table with Mrsha with one of his arms. Erin shook her head as she watched the Antinium Worker and Gnoll play.

“I can’t believe it. She likes him? Your Queen?”

Erin remembered meeting her. The Queen of the Free Antinium was many things. Huge. Scary. Heartless. In none of these adjectives did Erin see any possibility of her liking anyone. Klbkch seemed just as confused.

“It is an unusual development. But my Queen expressed great pleasure after her interview of Bird and she did allocate him a large budget to purchase a bow.”

“Which he bought in my cousin’s shop. The highest-quality bow we had. It was quite surprising, yes?”

Krshia popped another fish flake into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Erin shook her head in disbelief.

“The Queen likes Bird. That’s just so…at least he’s happy. He was talking all of today about the bow. And water birds. I uh, haven’t told him they don’t exist yet.”

“Ah. That may be best.”

“Hrm.”

The Gnoll and Antinium sat with Erin in silence and she sighed. The common room of her inn was warm, and the smell of good cooking filled the inn. Ishkr, Lyonette, and two new Gnolls she’d hired – Raelia and Fersh – were serving tables. Again, without the booing the inn would have been a wonderful place to enjoy. However…

“At least they pay to watch the play and eat food. The Drakes, I mean. I’m earning some money each day off of them, but compared to a full house, this isn’t good at all.”

She had probably less than fifty people in the inn, where she was certain her maximum capacity was probably six or seven times that. Krshia nodded as she eyed one of the Drakes sitting at a table close to them. He was booing, but not that loudly. He looked annoyed if his tail was anything to go by—it swept the ground in long, agitated motions.

“I am surprised to be honest, Erin. I would have expected them to throw things. Or fight. Perhaps they are not as angry as you think?”

“Naw. They’re mad. But I’ve got a handle on my aura now. As long as I concentrate, they won’t start fighting or throwing things. Booing is all they can do.”

Erin sighed and rubbed at her head. The effort of suppressing the irritated Drakes was a low-level strain at the back of her head. Krshia looked impressed.

“That is a powerful Skill, yes?”

“It’d be better if I could get them to stop booing entirely. It’s…well, I’m not saying I’m gonna give in to racist jerks and peer pressure, but this is really bad for my inn. I might ask the Players of Celum to stop performing Juliet and Romeo here and switch to a different play if I can’t find a way to make it more…acceptable for Liscor.”

“I am surprised you kept the show on after the first night.”

Erin glared at her hands.

“I didn’t want to take it off! There’s nothing wrong with Jasi playing Juliet and Wesle playing Romeo! If a Drake can’t marry a Human—that’s the entire point of the play! But business is bad. I don’t have a lot of customers and I need to think about the [Actors].”

That was the thing. Erin had grown used to hard times and less income, but she’d never had to worry about a staff. Much less the Players of Celum themselves. But now she was employing ten regular staff and she had a business contract with the Players of Celum. They had families to feed and without a steady flow of coin, they were getting upset. It also wasn’t fun to be booed on stage each night. She sighed and drummed her fingers on the table, counting the Humans in the room.

“The thing is, I was really counting on getting Liscor on board with the plays. Everyone in Celum has seen all of the shows the Players put on six or more times. Interest is dying out. Either they work here or they move to another Human city. So…the jerks win. Again, unless I can fix this.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Do you have any ideas as to how to solve this dilemma, Miss Erin?”

“I’m thinking a trial audience. Maybe change some lines? We’ll do a run through after this play ends. Shouldn’t be long; they’re rushing the lines.”

“Boo! This play is terrible! We don’t need Humans coming to our city, marrying our daughters!”

The angry Drake stood up, fighting off Erin’s Skill enough to raise his voice. Erin swiveled in her chair and frowned at him. He glared at her. Klbkch turned and raised his voice.

“You are making a scene, sir. I caution you to seat yourself and let the entertainment continue in peace or remove yourself from the inn.”

The Drake clenched a fist as he glared at Klbkch. He was clearly drunk and not happy.

“You can’t order me about, you damn Ant! You’re just as bad as those Humans! You…bugs and your secret Hive with entrances into the dungeon—”

“Aw, shut up! That’s Senior Guardsman Klbkch, you idiot. I came to shout at Humans, not get into politics!”

To Erin’s surprise, another Drake called out, waving his mug for a refill. The drunk Drake glared at him. He must have been newer to Liscor because he looked at Klbkch and Bird with clear dislike.

“Antinium. Can’t trust ‘em. I heard Liscor was full of bug lovers, but this? You can’t hide your secrets now! Everyone knows…you’ve got a Hive. Underground. Right next to the dungeon.”

“That is where the Hive has always been, yes.”

Klbkch calmly looked up at the Drake. The drunk waved a claw menacingly. Maybe he was so drunk that Erin’s Skill wasn’t working on him. Erin looked around and saw a Hobgoblin looking over. Rabbiteater made a questioning fist and she shook her head. Her Hobgoblin bouncers were effective, but whenever they started fights with Drakes, everyone tended to pile in. They’d tried to stop the Drakes throwing rocks outside once, but it had very nearly turned bloody when the Drakes drew daggers and clubs.

“The Antinium don’t belong in this city! Who’s with me?”

The Drake looked around for support, but didn’t get it. He glared at Klbkch.

“Senior Guardsman. Hah. What’re you going to do? Arrest me?”

The Antinium shook his head.

“Technically I am off-duty. Therefore I would respond to further provocation or physical assault in the time-honored tradition of bodily harm. However, I would caution you not to start an altercation.”

“Oh yeah?”

There was something universal about belligerent drunks. Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. A brawl would be unfortunate for you. Especially if my partner were to join in. As he often does.”

“Partner?”

The drunk Drake looked around blankly and then spun as a claw landed on his shoulder. He looked up into Relc’s grinning face. Senior Guardsman Relc loomed over the smaller Drake. One large forearm flexed.

“Are we having a bar fight? Awesome! Go on, throw the first punch. I’ll let you have one. No—two! That way Captain Z can’t say I started it. Too bad there’s only like forty people here. Come on, what are you waiting for?”

He grinned toothily down at the smaller Drake. The drunk, who had sobered remarkably quickly, looked at Relc and then at Klbkch. He sat back down silently. Relc drooped.

“Aw.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Dad.”

Relc turned as Erin saw another Drake approach. Wing Commander Embria glared at her father as her red tail twitched irritably. Relc looked guilty as he edged back. He’d been sitting at a far table with his daughter throughout the play. Erin had left them alone—Embria didn’t seem fond of either Klbkch or her. Now Embria frowned and poked Relc in the chest as he looked around as if seeking an exit.

“You’re a Senior Guardsman. You have a responsibility to keep the peace, not cause trouble. Is this really what you do on your days off? Pick fights in bars?”

“I don’t do it all the time—”

“If you were back in the army you’d be put on latrine duty for a month! Your job is to protect citizens, not waste time and money!”

“Yeah, well, I dug a lot of holes back in the army. Let me have my fun! Don’t you like the play?”

Embria glanced over her shoulder at the stage, where the actors were trying not to glare in their direction.

“It’s fine, I suppose. I can see why it’s unpopular, but I don’t mind.”

“Right, right. It’s fun! We’re having fun. Father and daughter. Let’s sit back down and have food. Calmly.”

“We were doing that until you tried to start a fight.”

“I was just protecting my buddy!”

Embria looked towards Klbkch. Her expression turned icy.

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch can take care of himself. Come on.”

She practically dragged Relc away as he gave Erin and Klbkch an imploring look to save him. Erin just waved. She turned back to Krshia. The Gnoll was licking her plate. She looked up unapologetically as Erin stared.

“I do not believe I have ever seen Relc so inconvenienced, yes? It is quite amusing.”

“His daughter is not fond of me. I am fairly confident of that.”

“Hey, you can hang out with me, Klbkch. I’m glad to see you. We don’t talk enough these days. And Krshia, you should come over more. Mrsha likes you.”

The Gnoll smiled as Klbkch inclined his head.

“It is nice, yes? She is getting bigger. She could stand to run more—she eats well here. But she is healthy. And it seems that Bird is a good companion for her.”

The Antinium had finished his plate and was now throwing the ball for Mrsha to catch. Again, it probably wasn’t appropriate in the middle of a play, but they had space and the [Actors] looked resigned. Erin nodded.

“Bird and Mrsha. I’ve got a lot of kids running about.”

She paused as her mouth caught up with her brain. Kids. She glanced at Bird. He was sort of like that, wasn’t he? She knew he wasn’t like Pawn or the others. He wasn’t slow, but he was…well, she understood why Klbkch had been worried about him when Bird had met the Queen. Not for the first time, Erin wondered if Bird being assigned to guard her inn had been so he could protect her, or if she could take care of him in some way. She glanced sideways at Klbkch.

“Are Pawn and the others doing okay?”

“They are performing to and occasionally above expectations.”

“That doesn’t tell me much. Let them visit the inn more often. They’re people, Klbkch. Isn’t that the entire point.”

“I…have received a request to allocate them weekly breaks. I will consider it.”

“Good. Now, I need to get up and be an [Innkeeper]. Check up on people. Give me a few minutes and we’ll brainstorm this play thing. You two want anything?”

“I could eat some red meat. These flakes are good, but unfilling, yes?”

“I would appreciate a refill of my mug.”

“On it! Ishkr, refill and uh, something red meaty for Krshia!”

Erin smiled as she flagged Ishkr. That was the nice thing about having employees. She didn’t have to do all the work.

 

—-

 

Ceria Springwalker heard Erin call Ishkr’s name and waved, but too late. The Gnoll was already turning. She sighed, raised her empty mug, and tilted it up. A drop of ale fell into her mouth. She looked around, but the other servers weren’t close to her table. With a sigh she resigned herself to another few minutes of crushing sobriety and leaned into the conversation at her table. She and the other adventurers were sitting together.

The Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers, and three members of Gemhammer including their leader, Earlia, were sharing two tables as the play went on in the background. Ceria had given up trying to watch the stage—she’d seen the play already and the booing got on her nerves.

“Okay, so we’re agreed. We’ll team with the Horns while Griffon Hunt works with the Silver Swords on the next expedition. Nothing long-term; just a day or two so we can figure out how good you are at dungeon diving. Sound like a plan?”

Jelaqua was speaking to the group as she leaned over a plate of fried sardines freshly caught out of the water. Behind her, Moore was chewing on a selection of much larger fish that had been put on skewers and stacked up on a platter for him. Seborn sat, quietly picking at his plate of risotto pasta. Across from them, the Horns exchanged glances. Ceria nodded to Jelaqua.

“Works for me. I appreciate it, Jelaqua, really. I know it’s asking a lot—”

“Eh, your team seems competent. And it’s always nice to have backup. We’ll probably do a lot of untrapping anyways unless we get lucky going in from the main entrance. Plus—you really need it. I can’t believe the Silver Swords are that bad at dungeon diving.”

“Neither can we.”

Yvlon sighed. Pisces looked up as he slurped a noodle up. He patted at his mouth with a napkin.

I can fully believe it.”

“So can I. I was there.”

Ksmvr nodded firmly. Jelaqua laughed as Ceria rolled her eyes and kicked Pisces gently under the table.

“Right. Well, it’ll be good to change things up, anyways. So long as Halrac and his team can beat some caution into Ylawes’ thick head, you’ll be okay going forwards. They are Gold-rank.”

“How’d they hit that rank without ever doing a dungeon? I can’t imagine it. They must have done purely monster contracts.”

Earlia shook her head as she drained her mug. She rubbed idly at her shoulder where her newly-healed shoulder was still tender. Ceria eyed the woman. Healing potions worked instantly, but the body still needed to recover a bit after injuries. Earlia and her team had been resting since their battle in the dungeon. They’d gravitated towards this table instantly, although they had hardly spoken with either the Halfseekers or the Horns before that. Jelaqua smiled through bloodless lips at Earlia. She didn’t seem to mind the company—she and Earlia were both social types, at odds with grumpy loners like Halrac.

“I’d offer your team the same, but I think that’d push it, Earlia. We can’t babysit other teams all the time—not that I think the Horns will weigh us down. But we are working with Griffon Hunt, and they’re damn good. No offense.”

“None taken! We’re a dungeon team ourselves—we don’t need to be carried. Plus, we’re chummy with The Pride of Kelia. Nice to work with a dedicated archery team. Once we’re back to full-strength we’ll challenge the dungeon again.”

“You’re going straight back down there? After you got ambushed?”

Ceria raised both her eyebrows in disbelief. Earlia snorted out some of her ale, laughed, and wiped her face. Pisces looked disgusted. Ksmvr was fascinated.

“Of course! Now we know the layout we’ll bring the right equipment. Those Rashg—Raskghar bastards got the drop on us, but they don’t have Skills. We can prepare. I’d love to take that asshole with the armor on. Or grab that invisible bow. Bet it’s enchanted with some powerful stuff. I’ll have to fight Nailren for it, though. Eh, he can get the bow if we get the armor.”

She grinned around fearlessly. Ceria felt a twinge of admiration in her chest, even as part of her thought that Earlia was beyond reckless. The leader of Gemhammer belched.

“Plus, we have an edge! That masked woman who ran in—dead gods, I can’t imagine how she’s survived down there. Some kind of crazy adventurer, probably. You hear about nutjobs like that. I’d love to meet her again, though. Hey, maybe she’s hungry. Let’s bring extra supplies if we see her.”

“Just watch out. You can never tell with some strangers.”

Jelaqua cautioned Earlia as she glanced around the inn. Ceria saw a few Humans get up and walk for the door to Celum, shaking their heads as the Drakes booing continued. Most of the Gnolls who’d come for the show had gone—it really was a shame. Erin looked stressed as she circulated the room. Earlia grimaced as she tilted her mug up and found it empty.

“I’ve gotta say, this inn was more fun a few days ago. Those Drakes do not like the play, huh? Big thing about a Drake marrying a Human?”

Jelaqua shrugged.

“Species stuff. It’s all about who can bump squishies with who.”

“I hear that! Hey! Anyone got a refill!”

Earlia raised her voice and shouted at one of the passing waiters. On stage Wesle winced and fumbled with his line. It was Erin herself who came over with a flagon and refilled Earlia’s mug. Ceria desperately raised hers and saw liquid relief pouring into it.

“Thanks, Erin.”

“No prob. Hey, how’s everyone doing? Enjoying your early dinner? Can I get you started on a second course?”

“Uh, not us, Erin. We’re going into the city in just a bit.”

Jelaqua looked guilty and coughed, although Ceria was sure that no Selphid had ever had to worry about sore throats. Erin looked shocked.

“What? But we’ve got food here! And we’re doing a uh, rethink of the plays in a bit. I’d love your opinion!”

“Yeah…about that. We’re meeting Halrac and the others for a real sit-down planning sort of thing. Figure out how to deal with more of those monster silos if we come across them. We fixed the Shield Spider nest, but we want to be ready. We’ve got the Watch Captain and that Olesm guy joining us. The city’s taking it seriously.”

“Olesm? But why don’t you have your meeting here?”

“Uh—the thing is—”

Jelaqua glanced at her teammates. It was Seborn who pushed back his mostly empty plate and spoke in his echoing voice.

The ambiance here is terrible, Erin. No one wants to eat here right now.

The adventurers winced as Erin’s face fell.

“I’m trying to fix it.”

We know. But we can’t think in here. We’ll be back tomorrow.

“Yeah, we’ll, uh, probably be at it all night. Ahem. I think that’s our cue. Moore, you’ve gotten enough fish in you?”

The half-Giant nodded as he wiped his fingers delicately on a handkerchief.

“It was quite delicious, Miss Erin. Our apologies. We’ll be back.”

“Yeah…okay.”

Erin looked despondent as the Halfseekers made their way out of the inn. She looked around and sighed.

“Okay, let’s do this. Hey Ceria, you going to go too?”

“We’re not busy.”

Ceria smiled at Erin and saw the [Innkeeper] brighten a little. She and the others turned as Erin strode towards the stage at the back of the room. Erin waved her hands and Wesle broke off with a vial of poison in his hands on stage. The young Human woman turned and raised her voice.

“Alright! You jerks win! Anyone who’s mad about the play come closer and pull up a seat! We’ll try to make it better if you all agree to stop coming here and causing trouble!”

She glared as the Drakes in the back cheered. Ceria glanced at Pisces, who had moved over to scavenge the food the Halfseekers had left.

“Looks like Erin’s giving in. You want to watch?”

“At the demise of art to satisfy the demands of the plebian masses? I should be so lucky.”

Pisces sneered. Ceria rolled her eyes and got up with Yvlon and Ksmvr. She walked forwards as Erin called the Players of Celum on stage. It wasn’t exactly what Ceria would have called an enjoyable activity, but she was participating for one important reason. Erin had told her drinks and food would be on the house for anyone who helped her brainstorm the play. From the way Earlia was drinking, she’d been told the same thing.

 

—-

 

“Alright, so why do you hate the play?”

“No Drakes marrying Human fleshbags!”

A cheer went up from the Drakes sitting in the front row. Erin glared and turned to the Players of Celum. Emme, the stage director and only half-Dwarf in the group didn’t rise to the bait.

“We know you don’t like the pairing. But besides that. Is there anything we can do? Can we change the dialogue, maybe?”

“Why doesn’t she marry a Drake instead? Give us a Drake Romeo and a Drake Juliet! We don’t want to see some Human kissing one of ours! Look at him! He’s not even that attractive as a Human!”

“Hey!”

Wesle looked hurt. The Drakes in front laughed. Emme sighed and raised her ink-covered quill.

“Please, please! We’re trying to make an effort to make this play better for everyone to enjoy, but attacking our [Actors] isn’t helping. Romeo and Juliet is about two species coming together. That’s the point of the play.”

“Well, maybe the play stinks. Did you think about that?”

Erin watched Emme’s bushy eyebrows twitch slightly. The half-Dwarf stared at the Drake heckler. Erin prayed she wouldn’t start a fight.

The brainstorming session or rather, negotiations to alter the play weren’t going well. Erin stared around at the [Actors]. The Humans from Celum were not happy after so many days of bad performances. They stood or sat behind Emme, arms folded, glaring daggers at the Drakes who were drunk on cheerful belligerence…or just drunk and belligerent.

“They don’t even seem as angry as they did a while ago. They’re just being annoying right now.”

Erin whispered to Jasi. The Drake grimaced as she cleaned some of the makeup off her scales.

“That’s because we’re humoring them, Erin. But I’ve heard about Drakes and stubbornness. They won’t budge unless we really do change the cast. I could step aside and have a Human play my role, but—”

“That’s not the point!”

“I know. But we do have to work this out. You might want to get some of your Goblins to be ready, though.”

“In case the Drakes start a fight? I’ve got that covered.”

“No, in case Emme tries to kill them.”

Jasi nodded towards the beet-red Emme. Erin eyed the short woman and nodded.

“I’ll let them know.”

She slid past Jasi and hurried down the common room. As she went, Erin saw something whiz at her head and ducked. She heard clicking claws and saw Mrsha scamper past. The Gnoll leapt and caught the ball with her mouth. Bird waved at Erin as she stared at him.

“Hello Miss Erin. We are playing catch.”

Erin looked back and ducked again as Mrsha threw the ball at Bird. The mostly empty common room was long and large thanks to her [Grand Theatre] Skill. It seemed that Mrsha had decided it was the prime place to play a game of catch in. Worse, Krshia, Iskhr, and the other Gnolls looked interested in playing too. Erin opened her mouth, remembered what Krshia had said about exercise, and closed it.

“Just don’t hit anyone, Bird. And clear off the tables! I don’t want Mrsha getting hurt!”

“I’ll do it.”

Lyonette breezed past Erin and grabbed a few empty tankards. Mrsha leapt onto a table. Erin eyed her, but Lyonette just touched Mrsha on the nose and complimented her on her catching Skills. It seemed like she wasn’t worried about Mrsha getting hurt. After all, the worst she could do was crash into something. In a world with monsters, Erin supposed that a few bumps and scrapes weren’t that bad. She had to admit, leaping onto tables and running about the common room looked fun. Maybe she’d join in.

After they fixed the play. Reminded of her task, Erin looked around and found her quarry. Headscratcher was sitting at a table with an empty plate, staring at the front of the room. He was alone—Erin had spotted Badarrow lounging next to one of the windows with Shorthilt and she assumed Rabbiteater was still in the outhouse. He’d eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him. And Numbtongue was probably in the basement, playing on the guitar in secret. She wandered over to Headscratcher.

“Hi Headscratcher, are you doing okay?”

She saw the Goblin’s head turn. Headscratcher’s green skin reflected the fireplace’s light dully. His pointed ears and slightly angular head made him clearly non-Human. But his body was close to Human. And his eyes. Erin paused as she stared into the glowing red eyes. They turned to her. They were full of tears.

 

—-

 

On a day like any other, Headscratcher wondered if his heart would break again. He wondered if he would die. It was a common thought for a Goblin to have. But it hurt more with each passing day, or so it seemed.

He had lost Grunter. Lost Bugear and Orangepoo and Leftstep and all the others. Sometimes it hurt too much to bear. Sometimes the hurt became fury. In moments like those, Headscratcher raged and it was all the other four Hobgoblins could do to keep him from going insane. In battle, Headscratcher was the first to charge in. He’d lost the discipline that Garen Redfang had beaten into him. His heart became fire and he raged. He was a [Warrior], but he felt like a monster at moments like those. That was fine. Better a monster than a weakling. He had lost enough friends.

It was harder being here. In this inn. Some days the quiet moments, the minutes where he sat with full belly at a table with nothing in the world to bother him—some days those were the worst. Because Headscratcher knew such days couldn’t last. Or if they could, it would be at the expense of others. He felt it. Somewhere his tribe, his friends, his people bled. While he was happy.

So he wept. Rage and grief were two sides of the same coin. Especially on today. It was like any other day. But he might lose two of his remaining companions. Or both. Or he might die himself.

But it was what had to be. What made it hard, what made everything worse was her. Erin Solstice.

“Headscratcher? What’s wrong?”

He’d thought he could slip away. But she had come over to him at the worst moment. It was his fault really. He’d been staring at the stage. All the Humans were arguing with the others over there now. But Headscratcher had been watching the play, watching the Human known as Wesle stride about, dressed in bright colors, shouting his lines as the lights focused on him. He had been jealous. Jealous of the Humans who could shine like that. In a way Headscratcher never could.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Erin peered at Headscratcher, worried. He realized he was leaking tears and brushed them away. Tears. Such a silly thing. Such a weak thing! Only Goblin children cried, and only the young ones. He was getting soft. Headscratcher rose and raised his hands. He concentrated, struggled with a word.

“Good. Is…good. I good.”

“Good? You were crying! What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you? Was it a fight? Did Badarrow hurt your feelings? Or is it something…bad?”

Erin advanced. Headscratcher backed away, shaking his head.

“No. No. I good. Good.”

He wished he could speak like Numbtongue. But his words were guttural and he struggled to make them come out. Erin hesitated. Headscratcher turned his head. She was here at a bad time. But it was too late. He heard footsteps and saw Rabbiteater come down the stairs with something in his arms. The Hobgoblin paused as he saw Headscratcher and Erin below. The Human’s head turned.

“Rabbiteater? Weren’t you outside?”

Oops. The secret was out. Headscratcher groaned and saw Badarrow and Shorthilt moving away from the window. At the same time, the trap door to the basement opened and Numbtongue poked his head out. He tsked when he saw Erin. Bewildered, the [Innkeeper] stared at the Goblins as they clustered around Rabbiteater.

“What the—hey, what’s that?”

She pointed at what Rabbiteater was carrying. The Goblin jumped and turned away. The five Hobs shuffled towards the door. She followed them.

“Headscratcher? What are you doing? Rabbiteater? What’s that? I need your help.”

“Later. We go. You wait. We come back soon.”

Numbtongue turned his head. He glared at Erin. She raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I don’t think so. Turn around and show me—”

Too late. Headscratcher reached the door. He opened it. The Hobs rushed outside. It was Badarrow and Rabbiteater who took the lead. They carried death, were perhaps minutes from it. But they didn’t hesitate. Headscratcher ran after them. Death on a day like any other day. It was the Human that made it harder. She made them want to live. And she chased them, that strange Human who made his heart hurt so.

“Wait!”

 

—-

 

Erin ran out of the inn after them. She was ready to be drenched, but found only wet, muddy grass and damp air outside. She looked up. The rain had stopped! Only for a moment, though. Erin spied the clouds already gathering over the brief open spot in the sky.

“Wow. It’s nearly a full moon. Full moons, rather. Pretty.”

Two moons hung in the sky, one pale blue, the other yellowish-green. Erin had hardly looked up at the sky of late. The moons glowed, almost completely full. Then a shadow passed over them. Rain fell, striking Erin in the eye and she remembered why she didn’t look up. Cursing, she looked around as the downpour resumed. Where—

There. The Goblins were standing in a circle. Erin stumbled towards, them, cursing, as the rain began to soak her. If this was some kind of prank, she’d—

But it wasn’t. She saw Rabbiteater fumbling with what he held in his arms. He handed something to Badarrow and then shifted the bundle. She saw him grab Headscratcher’s shoulder and the other Hob do the same. Shorthilt slapped Rabbiteater on the back. Badarrow struck his other shoulder. Erin blinked as Numbtongue extended a fist and Rabbiteater bumped it hard.

The Hobs were grinning. They pounded Rabbiteater’s shoulders, speaking words in Goblin that she couldn’t understand. But the meaning was clear. Rabbiteater smiled at them, showing his teeth. He looked at Erin as she approached. All the Goblins did. For a moment Rabbiteater faltered. His smile slipped and Erin saw fear in his eyes.

Fear? She looked at him.

“What’s going on?”

Then she saw what he held. A bundle of white cloth wrapped with golden rope. Only, that hadn’t been safe enough, so it had been wrapped in a blanket so that none of the cloth could touch Rabbiteater’s skin. The adventurers had been very clear about that. She recognized it at once.

“Is that the artifact from the dungeon?”

The Redfang Warriors looked at her. Erin stared. Yes, it was. The bundle of white cloth, one of the three artifacts that had been taken from the dungeon, lay in Rabbiteater’s arms. And as she looked at Badarrow she saw the bell in his. A terrible premonition stole over Erin. She pointed at the bundle.

“Wait. You don’t know what those do. Falene and Pisces said they couldn’t figure it out. It’s dangerous to use that. Or even touch it!”

Rabbiteater nodded. He backed away from Erin as she advanced. The other Hobgoblins stepped back. They looked at him. Shorthilt gave Rabbiteater a thumbs up. Headscratcher said something in his language. Rabbiteater grinned at them.

“Hold on—hold on—don’t! Don’t—”

Erin ran forwards, realizing what Rabbiteater was going to do. Green hands caught her. Headscratcher and Shorthilt dragged Erin back.

Rabbiteater! Don’t!

Too late. Rabbiteater walked down the hill, to the water’s edge. Rain fell as he slowly lifted the white cloth up. His hands shook as he pulled at the golden rope. It fell as Rabbiteater slowly lifted the bundle. He touched it and Erin gasped.

The white cloth unfolded in a single flap, turning into a cloak of pure white fabric. Erin and all the Goblins stared. Rabbiteater looked at the pure fabric and turned it in his hands. He turned and grinned, waving the cloak. Then he turned it. He undid the neck clasp and Erin shouted.

“Don’t put it on! I’ll pay for an [Enchanter]! Wait! Wait!

But it was too late. The Goblins couldn’t wait. They didn’t want to wait. Rabbiteater looked around, at the rain, the city of Liscor, and then back at Erin’s inn and Erin herself. He waved at her and gave her a big smile. Then he lifted the cloak. Rabbiteater looked around and took a deep breath. He unfurled the white cloth and in one movement, wrapped it around his shoulders.

The white fabric billowed as it swept around Rabbiteater. He froze as it touched his skin. The clasp snapped together around his neck and Erin froze. She saw Rabbiteater turn. The Redfang Warriors tensed. And then Rabbiteater cried out. He screamed and fell to the ground, writhing, clawing at his eyes.

Rabbiteater!

Erin felt Headscratcher’s hands leave her. The Hob ran forwards, crying out. He and the others were at Rabbiteater’s side as the Hob rolled about, shrieking in agony. Erin caught up to them as Headscratcher turned Rabbiteater over. He had a healing potion in his hands. He wrenched the cork out, lifted the bottle. Rabbiteater jerked and then sat up. He grabbed the bottle before it could be poured over his head and grinned.

“Got! Got! Scared! Ha!”

He sprang to his feet. Erin stopped, jaw agape. The other Redfang Warriors stared at Rabbiteater. He swirled the cloak and laughed. He touched his chest, his eyes, patted his skin, and grinned.

Just kidding! He waved his hands at the others, grinning. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Shorthilt stared at him. They laughed shakily. Then they began kicking the snot out of him.

Erin winced as the other four Redfang Warriors began kicking and punching Rabbiteater for his bad taste in jokes. They weren’t light blows either; Rabbiteater shouted as his fellows beat him. If the cloak was magical, it didn’t protect against bruises. In fact, it didn’t seem useful at all! The other incensed Goblins kicked Numbtongue until he rolled over.

Right into the water. Instantly, Erin saw the cloak change. The other Hobs leapt back, cursing, as the white fabric turned transparent. Rabbiteater didn’t’ notice at first. He got up, shielding his face and groin, uttering what sounded like pleas to stop. Then he noticed what had happened. He jumped and turned.

The cloak swirled around him. The pure white fabric had turned into—into water. Erin gaped as it swished gently. It looked as though part of a river was swirling around Rabbiteater! He turned and the water rippled as though it were fabric around him. Slowly, the Hob touched the cloak and his hands entered the water. He yanked them out and water droplets dripped from his claws. He looked up. The other Hobs stared.

“Safe?”

Numbtongue demanded instantly. Rabbiteater felt the cloak, took it off his neck, put it back on, felt his body, and nodded. Instantly, the other Hobs clustered around it. They exclaimed as they felt the cloak.

“What on earth is it? Is it water? It’s—oh wow!

Erin gasped as her hand sank into the cloak of water. She pushed her hand in, and it went in several inches, until it was nearly up to her elbow! Only then did her hand appear out of the other side and poke Rabbiteater’s side. He jumped.

“It’s all water! It’s a water cloak! A liquid cloak? That’s so cool! And maybe useless! Is it heavy? Can you move with it on?”

Rabbiteater shrugged. He leapt up—surprisingly high!—and then ran about. The cloak billowed behind him, not impeding his movement in any way. The Hobs murmured. Then Shorthilt reached for his side. He pulled out a sword. Instantly, Erin and Rabbiteater backed up.

“Hold on. What are you going to—”

Rabbiteater yelped as Shorthilt thrust the sword at his stomach. Reflexively, he blocked with the cloak. Shorthilt’s blade went through the cloak, slowing as the water rushed through it. The Hob grunted and slashed—the blade sprayed through the water. Slowly. It was hard for Shorthilt to move his sword, just as if it were underwater! He jabbed and Rabbiteater backed up, shouting what sounded like Goblin obscenities.

The water cloak didn’t block Shorthilt’s sword. It was literally just water, so the blade could go through. However, the thick liquid impeded the sword and when Shorthilt kicked, his foot splashed into the cloak, spraying water everywhere. Not that it mattered in the rain. Erin whistled.

“That’s so amazing! I mean, it didn’t’ stop the blade—Shorthilt, don’t stab Rabbiteater! There’s blood! Bl—”

The cloak changed color as Shorthilt’s blade produced a red rivulet from a cut on Rabbiteater’s arm. The Hob stopped cursing his friend and stared in alarm. Suddenly, the cloak was blood red and dark. Erin gulped as a curtain of blood swirled around Rabbiteater.

“Oh man. Wait a second. Is that…?”

Rabbiteater blinked. He dipped a finger into the red liquid swirling around him and pulled it out. Red dripped down his finger. He licked it, smacked his lips, and nodded.

“Blood.”

The other Goblins stared. They patted the cloak, exclaiming as they pulled out bloody hands. Erin backed away. The blood cloak swirled around Rabbiteater as he inspected it. The rain glanced off the blood. But when Rabbiteater cupped just a bit of water in his hand and poured it on the cloak, the blood-red color changed to translucent. Erin clapped her hands together.

“It’s a liquid cloak! I mean, the cloak is liquid! It changes depending on what you pour on it!”

The other Hobs had already come to the same conclusion. They grabbed Rabbiteater and, ignoring his protests, opened one of his cuts. It took more than a few drops, but once the blood had pooled, the cloak changed color again! Headscratcher poured water on the cloak, grunted as nothing happened, and then dipped the blood-red hem of the cloak in the water. Instantly, it changed back. The Hobs shouted in excitement and laughed as Rabbiteater lifted the watery cloak over his head. Erin smiled wildly until she realized one of the Hobs wasn’t laughing.

Badarrow whistled sharply, making every head turn towards him. He was standing twenty paces away from the others, at the edge of the water. He held the bell made of bronze and blue metal in his hands. He looked at the others and Erin saw the mirth drain from them. They looked at Badarrow and she realized what he was going to do.

“Hold on—hold on. You got lucky one time. But this is way too risky! Don’t ring the bell! Headscratcher, stop him!”

The other Hobs looked at Erin and shook their heads. She looked helplessly at Headscratcher. He stared at Badarrow. The Hob grimaced as he held the bell up. He looked at the others and nodded once. Then he rang the bell.

A hollow tone rang out from the bell. It was not the sound the bell should have made. It was a deep, vast sound and it hurt Erin to hear. Her eyes filled with tears and her head rang. She fell to her knees, crying out. She felt the world spin and threw up. The pain lasted as long as the bell’s chime did. When it finished Erin felt the world return to normal. She stood up. The other Redfang Warriors were on their knees. Rabbiteater had thrown up onto his cloak and it had changed into a horrible color. Erin stared around and then saw a motionless form.

Badarrow!

This time there was no act. Badarrow lay on the ground, one hand gripping the clapper of the bell. He was bleeding. His nose and ears both bled red as he writhed on the ground. His crimson eyes, when he opened them, were bleeding too.

“Healing potion! Now!”

Erin snapped at Headscratcher. The Hob yanked the cork out and poured liquid into Badarrow’s mouth before applying it to his bloody extremities. Badarrow jerked, and then sat up. The Hobs clustered around him, pressing him down as he tried to get up. Shorthilt reached for the bell, but Badarrow wouldn’t let go.

“Bad. Bad. Not ring!”

Numbtongue exhorted the others. He pointed at Badarrow’s hand and Erin saw how the Hob was holding it. He’d carefully rung the bell once, rather than hold it upright and let it ring multiple times. She shuddered, imagining what might have happened if he had.

At last, Badarrow was able to move. He sat up, shaking blood from his face. When he looked at Erin, it was grimly. He lifted the bell and the others immediately helped him clog the bell’s mouth with dirt and grass. Erin looked at the Redfang Warriors as they patted Badarrow, ignoring him slapping their hands away.

“You guys are insane. You know that?”

They looked at her and grinned sheepishly. Even Badarrow smiled. Rabbiteater swirled his vomit cloak around him, shaking it until Shorthilt kicked him and pointed to the water’s edge. The Redfang Goblins stood together after that, slapping each other’s shoulders. Smiling.

Insane. Completely crazy. Erin had to go up to the inn first to reassure Lyonette and the others who’d come out that nothing bad had happened. She turned back and saw the Goblins standing together in the rain. Now Headscratcher’s tears made sense. He’d known what they were going to do. And it made sense in a twisted way to Erin. You could totally test a cursed object.

“But still. Like that?”

She stared at the Redfang Warriors. They’d risked their lives just to check. Even though Falene and Pisces had been fairly certain two of the objects weren’t cursed, they hadn’t been sure. No adventurer would have dared to try on the cloak or ring the bell. But the Goblins had. It spoke to her about their priorities. She might have said that the Goblins valued their lives less.

But that wasn’t it. Headscratcher was gripping Badarrow’s shoulder so hard that Erin knew he was bruising the other Goblin. Badarrow was letting him do it. Headscratcher’s face shone with relief. He cared. They cared. It was just that they’d risked their lives. For each other. She remembered them fighting the Eater Goats, returning from the dungeon.

“You idiots. Come inside!”

Erin raised her voice. The Goblins turned. Obediently, they trudged up the hill, still gripping each other’s shoulders. Laughing. Like the best of friends. Like brothers. Perhaps they were. Erin didn’t know. She stared at Headscratcher as he stopped at the door. He looked at her, and then down.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t risk your life. Idiot!”

“Sorry.”

The Redscar Warrior’s smiles faded. Erin wiped at her own eyes. Then she flung her arms around Headscratcher and hugged him.

He froze. Headscratcher looked down. He felt Erin’s warm arms on his skin. Wet rain falling from above. He felt her touch. A Human hugged a Goblin in the rain. And the Goblin wept again. Erin laughed when she saw Headscratcher wiping tears from his eyes.

“You big softie.”

The other Redfang warriors laughed. They punched Headscratcher’s shoulders, and then froze as Erin hugged them. Each one went as stiff as a board in surprise. It wasn’t just the intimacy of the hug. Erin wondered if a Human had ever touched them before. If anyone had in a way that wasn’t meant to harm. Probably not. So she did and then pointed.

“Come on. We’ll get dry inside.”

The Goblins followed Erin into the inn. They would have followed her anywhere. It wasn’t that she’d done anything in that moment. She hadn’t helped them identify the objects. She hadn’t changed destiny for them. They’d risked their lives, gambled, and gotten away lucky. All by themselves. Erin hadn’t helped with any of that.

But she had hugged them afterwards. She had cared. That was what mattered.

Erin led the way into the inn and stopped when she saw the commotion at the back of the room. Emme was on stage, being physically restrained by several of the stronger [Actors] from leaping on the jeering Drakes. The mood was ugly and Relc was excitedly looking around and making fists.

Erin stared at the set, as the Players of Celum shouted at the angry Drakes from Liscor and the Drakes hurled things at the Humans and one Drake on stage. She stared at Emme, the lone half-Dwarf. Her eyes widened.

“I’m such an idiot.

She strode forwards, waving her arms.

“Hey! I figured it out! Hey!”

The Redfang Goblins watched Erin turn, felt the room go quiet. It revolved around her as she smiled and made the arguing Humans and Drakes go still. Then she turned and beckoned.

“Come on! Take a seat and get a towel, you lot!”

The Goblins looked at each other. Then they sat and watched. It was warm and soon Erin had a mug in front of them. It was peaceful again. The Goblins watched, the cloak swirling around Rabbiteater’s shoulders and the bell held firmly in Badarrow’s hands as Erin strode up and down. It was a day like any other. And they weren’t dead. A good day, in short. They sat and watched.

A wonderful day.

 

—-

 

By the time Erin had everything in order, it was dark outside. The moons hung overhead, their glow hidden by the rainclouds. She stared up at the stage.

“Okay, how does it look? Audience?”

The Drakes and Humans stared up at the stage and muttered amongst themselves. Over half the Players of Celum were sitting rather than standing on stage. And there were a lot less Drakes on the floor. That was because a large number of them were on stage. As [Actors].

“The Capulets are now an all-Drake family. Which makes sense! Whereas the Montagues are Human. How does that look? Is everyone happy?”

Erin turned and smiled at the others. Seeing the Redfang Goblins together had made it obvious. It should have been obvious before. Of course the Drakes wouldn’t be happy to see only one Drake on stage! It was token representation at best. She folded her arms triumphantly as the Drakes in the crowd deliberated. Then one of them looked up.

“We still don’t like it.”

What?

The Drake who’d spoken shrugged. He was a burly Drake with orange scales, although he wasn’t quite as muscly as Relc.

“We still don’t like it. Why does a Human have to marry a Drake?”

“But that’s the point! It’s about love! Forbidden love! Romance! Are you telling me a Drake can’t marry a Human?”

The Drakes grumbled.

“Well…”

“It’s just that—”

“Look at her! She’s the same age as my daughter. I’d never let a stinking Human put his claws on my kin.”

“Damn Humans. Coming into our city, marrying our women.”

Erin stared at the Drakes who’d spoken. Her eyes passed over the complaining Drakes. Who were mainly male. She thought about Ilvriss. Who was again, male, unless she was very much mistaken. She thought about Embria and Zevara, both of whom hadn’t objected nearly as much. Slowly, Erin turned her head.

Change!

The actors on stage stared at her, confused. Erin pointed.

“The Montagues are now Drake! The Capulets are Human! Jasi, sorry. You’re not Juliet. Neither is Wesle.”

“I’m not?”

“No! Get me a male lead for Romeo. You don’t have to act. Anyone?”

“Ooh, me, me!

Relc scrambled on stage and practically shoved aside everyone. He stood and waved down at Embria, grinning like a kid. Erin sighed.

“Now, a female Juliet. Human. Anyone? Lyonette! Can you stand up there?”

Me? I’m not an [Actor]!”

“No one’s acting! Just stand up there, please? Across from Relc?”

Lyonette hesitantly climbed onto the stage. The audience of Drakes and Humans stared up. Krshia scarfed down a fried sausage at the back with Mrsha.

“Okay, now how about it? We have Romeo—”

Relc waved, grinning.

“—And Juliet.”

Lyonette hesitantly raised a hand. Erin stared at the Drakes. The male Drakes. They looked around.

“Well…if it’s like that, it doesn’t look so bad, does it?”

“He wants to marry a Human, why not? She’s pretty enough. In a fleshy way.”

“I like it. When is the play going to start?”

“Relc’s far too ugly to be up there. Let me play this Romeo fellow! And give him a proper Drake name! Romeoss, perhaps!”

“No, I’ll play him!”

The Drakes began arguing and Relc started kicking the ones trying to climb onto the stage off. Erin stared at them. She saw Embria cover her eyes and heard Jasi groan. The pieces fell into place. Erin grabbed a mug and hurled it at one of the Drakes.

“That’s sexist!

Across the inn, Klbkch turned to Krshia. The two had finished six plates of snacks together. The Antinium tilted his head.

“It appears the entire objection was not so much of species inclusion, but of sexual dynamics. Is that your understanding, Miss Krshia?”

The Gnoll shrugged and sniffed the air.

“Mm. It is tied together, yes? One cannot have Humans marching into Liscor and marrying young Drakes. However, it is far more acceptable for an older Drake to marry a Human. Silly thing. It reminds me much of how some Gnoll tribes squabble. Is that a fish pie I smell?”

“Is it? I would enjoy a piece.”

“I too. Ishkr!”

Krshia waved. Ishkr sighed and came over. Krshia and Klbkch watched Erin punch several Drakes as the furor slowly died down. Krshia’s paw stroked Mrsha’s head as the Gnoll curled up on her lap.

“I am relieved that Erin has reached a solution of sorts, regardless of the issue.”

“Hrr. Yes. I was wondering how long it would take her to realize the problem. Now perhaps it is time to bring up the second issue.”

“Second issue?”

“Yes! When will Gnolls have a place on stage? I have many pestering me to introduce them to Erin. Her little theatre must expand, yes?”

Krshia grinned at Klbkch. He nodded thoughtfully.

“I see your point. Indeed, that would probably solve the issue nicely. You should bring the issue up with Miss Erin.”

He and Krshia turned to look back at the stage. Erin was chasing Drakes off with a chair while the Players of Celum sat at their tables and stuffed themselves in irritation. Mrsha’s ears perked up at the crash of Erin hurling pottery at the Drakes running for the door.

“Perhaps tomorrow, hrm?”

“That would be wise.”

 

—-

 

Four hours later, The Wandering Inn was empty. The staff had gone home, the adventurers were asleep upstairs save for the Halfseekers who hadn’t yet returned, and the Players of Celum had left. They would return tomorrow to begin a round of auditions for anyone who wanted to act in Liscor. Erin had high hopes for that, although she was so annoyed at how everything had turned out that it had taken her the last forty minutes of tossing and turning before she could fall asleep.

But at last, she was slumbering. The inn was quiet. Bird sat up in his watchtower, humming a song. In the basement, Numbtongue played on the guitar. The rain fell on the rooftop, a dull roar. Background noise.

Liscor was asleep as well. Rain turned the stone battlements dark and made the footing slippery. The City Watch patrolled the walls, the unlucky Gnolls and Drakes on duty yawning, occasionally stopping to relight a lantern that had gone out. One of the Gnolls on duty paused by the corner of the eastern wall and sniffed the air. He glanced around, confused. Then he sniffed again and peered over the edge of the wall.

A pair of clawed hands dragged the Gnoll over the edge. His cries were lost in the rain. After a moment, a dark shape swung itself over the edge of the walls. It was wearing the Gnoll’s armor, but the pieces were too small. The shape continued along, imitating the guardsman’s walk until it met a tired Drake patrolling his section of the wall.

“That you, Mersh?”

The Drake frowned sleepily at the figure in front of him. His tired brain processed the wet, furry shape and concluded something was wrong. The [Guardsman] frowned and tried to figure out what was wrong. Something about the size. Was Mersh always that small? Then he saw the figure straighten. It had been hunched. Now it rose and two glowing eyes stared at him. The Drake saw a mouth open and large canine teeth bared at him.

Ala—

The Raskghar stepped forward and brought Mersh’s axe down on the Drake’s head. The guardsman crumpled without a sound. The Raskghar sniffed, glanced around, and growled quietly. More Raskghar swung over the walls. These ancient, primitive offshoots of the Gnoll species were huge, and they were armed with stone weapons and crude hide armor. They quickly discarded their weapons in favor of the guardsman’s steel.

Slowly, keeping to the shadows, they pretended to patrol across the walls. They moved fast. The Gnolls who caught their scent on the air were grabbed and subdued in an instant, their limp bodies being carefully lowered off the walls. The Drakes died even quicker to tooth and claw and blade.

The Raskghar did not linger overlong on the walls, however. They swarmed down the eastern ramparts and into the city. The streets were practically empty at night. The Raskghar stole along, loping through the shadows, their eyes gleaming. They paused to inspect the signs, the closed doors, and sniffed the air. They growled at each other, making complex gestures before splitting up into teams.

The first group of Raskghar headed down the main street, garbed in the armor of the City Watch. The Drakes and Gnolls out on the streets vanished one by one as the Raskghar advanced. More disappeared into apartments and came out with limp bodies or with blood on their muzzles. They might have cleared block after block in this fashion but for the patrol that came marching down the street.

Wing Commander Embria frowned as she saw the odd patrol of Gnolls marching towards her. She glanced at the other [Soldiers] following her.

“Captain Vash. Is this the source of your [Dangersense]?”

“And the smell, Wing Commander.”

The Gnoll [Captain] tugged at the brim of his metal helmet. He stared hard at the patrol coming their way. The Gnolls were very large. Embria raised her voice.

“You there! Guardsmen! Halt!”

The patrol stopped. Embria stared at them for one second and then turned her head.

“They’re not giving a countersignal. Raise the alarm!”

Instantly, one of the [Soldiers] raised a horn and blew it. The Raskghar snarled as they straightened. Embria swore.

“What are those?

Raskghar!

Vash howled in fury as the Raskghar loped towards them. Embria charged past him, her spear blurring as she stabbed repeatedly at the first Raskghar. The beast blocked the lightning-fast strikes with a buckler, snarling, as the other Raskghar spread out. Vash raised his head and howled, adding his voice to the horns already blowing through the air.

The Gnoll’s panicked call spread throughout the city. It woke Gnolls from their sleep with the urgency instilled in them from childhood. In her bed, Krshia’s dreams were shattered and she leapt out of it, grabbing for the shortbow she kept under her bed. In seconds she had the bow and her hunting knife and was listening to the howls. Her teeth bared as she listened. She raced out of her apartment naked, and howled into the rain. More howls answered her. Krshia turned her head and ran towards the howls.

She was halfway down the street when she heard the signal howl again. Only this time, something was off. Krshia sniffed the air and spun. She heard the howl, a perfect replica of a Gnoll’s voice, but it came from a hulking shape striding towards her. Krshia didn’t need to smell to know what it was.

A Raskghar. Krshia’s hackles went up and she drew her bow and loosed an arrow in one moment.

“[Rapid Shot]!”

She watched the arrow flash across the street towards the Raskghar. It raised a shield and caught the arrow. Krshia’s eyes widened. So quick! The Raskghar snarled and advanced. Krshia backpedaled, drawing another arrow and loosing it with long-honed reflexes. Again, the Raskghar predicted where the arrow was heading and stopped it before it could strike his left leg. It stared at her. Not it—Krshia smelled the Raskghar’s gender. She. A young she, in the prime of her life.

The Raskghar waited until Krshia grabbed for another arrow and then charged. It was quick! Krshia dropped the arrow and grabbed her knife. She slashed—the Raskghar leapt and caught her arm, bearing her to the ground.

On the street it was muscle and reflexive action. No time to think. Krshia tried to stab, but the Raskghar was too strong. So she tried to bite—only to find a hand at her throat. The Raskghar effortlessly overpowered her, choking Krshia. It was laughing as Krshia tried to kick it—until the whistle. Krshia, choking, felt the pressure on her ease and felt the Raskghar bound away. She lay there, gasping, and heard the voices.

“There’s another one! Surround it!”

“Watch the sides! [Attack Formation]!”

Krshia sat up. She saw Watch Captain Zevara and Olesm leading a squad of eight [Guardsmen] rushing to surround the Raskghar. It spun, trying to find an exit, but Olesm’s voice guided the [Guardsmen] into flanking positions. It spun, a metal shield and axe in hand. The weapons were small in the Raskghar’s paws.

“Are you alright?”

Olesm ran over to Krshia. She gasped and nodded. Zevara was leading the attack.

“Take it down!”

She attacked with two other Drakes while a Gnoll with a spear covered her side. The Raskghar moved quick. It batted away Zevara’s sword thrust with its shield and grabbed the Drake charging it on its right. Ignoring the cut it received on the arm, it threw the Drake into her friend, knocking the two to the ground. Then it turned and caught a strike from Zevara on its shield. Krshia watched, dazed, as the Raskghar and Drake exchanged blows.

“Ancestors, it’s good!”

Olesm exclaimed in dismay as the Raskghar took on Zevara and the Gnoll with the spear at once. Its eyes never left Zevara’s face and when she drew breath, it rushed her before the fire breath could emerge. The Raskghar turned and howled as an arrow sprouted from its shoulder. It looked over and saw Krshia and two Drakes aiming for it. It dove and Olesm cut at it. Again, the [Guardsmen] forced the Raskghar back, this time towards an alleyway. The Raskghar retreated to the narrow space and the [Guardsmen] hesitated. They could only attack two abreast now.

“Pull back. Hit it with arrows!”

Olesm snapped, but a claw brushed past him. Zevara rose, growling.

“I’ll bake it myself!”

“Wait.”

Krshia rasped at the Drake. She stared at the Raskghar. It was glancing from Zevara to the archers, eyes darting rapidly. Krshia stared at it. It was nothing like the stories she’d told Olesm! The Raskghar looked every bit like the primordial Gnoll monster it was, but it was far, far too intelligent. She pointed at it.

“Take it alive if you can, Watch Captain. It is one of many in the city!”

Zevara nodded. The Raskghar glanced at her and then bared its teeth in a menacing grin. It opened its mouth and to everyone’s shock, spoke.

“Many. Many.”

The growling voice froze Krshia for a second. She stared at the Raskghar.

“You can speak?”

Olesm gasped.

“It knows the common tongue? How?”

“Learned from you. Just now.”

The Raskghar grinned at Krshia. It—her eyes focused on Krshia. Then on the other Gnoll [Guardsman]. When the Raskghar spoke it was slowly. Thoughtfully.

“We know you. Enemy. Old enemy. Prey. Blood prey. We know. You make stone city. You come here. Prey. In our hunting lands.”

“We are not your prey, thing.”

Krshia raised her bow. The Raskghar looked at her and Krshia felt a fear worm its way into her. Instinctual, primal.

“It is the time of hunting.”

The droplets on Krshia’s body ceased. She glanced up. Overhead, the rain had stopped falling for the second time this day. The clouds parted for a moment. The skies opened. The Raskghar looked up and grinned. Krshia looked up and swore.

Moonlight fell down from above. The two nearly full moons shone down on Liscor. Krshia recalled the old legends. The Raskghar traded their ability to level for strength and savagery. Only when the moon shone did they regain their intelligence.

And what intelligence. The Raskghar grinned, her eyes glowing with too much knowledge. Her pupils dilated as the moonlight and rain fell into them. She turned.

“Don’t let it get away!”

Olesm shouted and the [Guardsmen] loosed at the same time as Zevara breathed fire. Too slow. The Raskghar leapt and bounded up the alleyway, jumping from wall to wall, her claws digging into the brickwork with incredible strength. She howled as two arrows found her, but kept moving. She raced over the rooftops. Zevara instantly turned.

“After her! There are more Raskghar in the city! I want them all found!”

She raced off. Olesm paused.

“Miss Krshia, you should stay inside!”

“No, no. Gnolls are gathering. We heard the alarm. We must go together. There is safety in numbers.”

Krshia rubbed her throat. She could still hear Gnolls calling each other together. Olesm shook his head.

“You’re making yourselves targets this way! The Raskghar are aiming for Gnolls! They’ve carried off dozens already! Come with me—we’ll find the others and call in reinforcements!”

He raised something to his lips and blew. A whistle. The piercing call made Krshia wince, but it was soon answered by more whistles. Olesm pointed.

“Come on!”

He and Krshia ran through the streets, keeping a wary eye out. Olesm panted as they went.

“Those are Raskghar? They’re nothing like the adventurers described! One of them took on an entire squad! It must be the effects of the full moon! The intelligence—”

“Yes. But it is not the right time! It is too soon!”

“What do you mean?”

Krshia glanced up. The moonlight was fading as more rainclouds began to unleash a second downpour. But it wasn’t the moonlight that mattered.

“It is not the full moon yet. Close. But this lunar cycle will see both moons wax and wane over the next six days.”

“Are you serious?”

Olesm paled. He looked around. The howling continued as more warnings and whistles blew, calling for reinforcements or alarm.

“We need to secure the city first. We’ll triple the watch! Ancestors, we’ll seal all the dungeon entrances if we have to! But we need to catch as many Raskghar as we can. The Gnolls—”

“How many have they slaughtered?”

The Drake turned.

“Drakes? Every one they found. But we haven’t found a single Gnoll body.”

“What? Where are they?”

“The Raskghar took them.”

“Why?”

The Drake and Gnoll stared at each other. They looked around. The streets were dark. Krshia bared her teeth. She didn’t know what the Raskghar were doing. But she sensed it, the ancient fear, a warning from the roots of her species. She raised her head and howled a warning to all that could hear.

Raskghar. Danger, kindred! Danger!

 

—-

 

Bird heard the howling first. He looked up from his watch tower and gazed towards Liscor. Howling at night? That was very strange. He had not heard howling at night except when the undead had attacked Liscor. And when Brunkr had died. He paused and stared around.

“The water is wet. Rain is falling. Someone is howling. That is a bad thing. I know this because my [Tactician] self tells me. But I see nothing.”

The Antinium peered into the water. Was it a fish? A bird? A moth-bird? He looked up at the skies. Nothing. But he knew there was something, so he kept staring. It was very hard to see in the darkness, with the rain, and all the water. All he could see was the droplets of water hitting the surface of the water. And a few shadows. Fish swam in the darkness, barely visible even to Bird’s enhanced vision. He paused. A few of the dark shadows in the water were very big. Bird drew an arrow and loosed it. He saw a shape jerk underwater, and then saw the water splash.

“Oh. That is not a fish.”

A furry head rose out of the waters and stared at Bird. He saw glowing eyes stare malevolently at him. Bird raised a hand.

“Are you a Gnoll? I am sorry! I thought you were a bad fish.”

He paused. The furry head looked like a Gnoll, but the creature wasn’t. It was bigger. More bestial. And there were a lot of shapes in the water, heading to Liscor and the inn. He saw another head break through the water.

“That is a Goblin.”

Bird saw more Goblins surface, and more Raskghar emerge from the water. He saw one point at him and growl and slowly drew another arrow.

“I think we are under attack.”

At first he wasn’t sure. Then one of the Raskghar clambered out of the water and Bird was sure. Most guests who came to Erin’s inn didn’t have big axes in hand. Most guests.

Alarm! Alarm! I am calling an alarm!”

Bird began shouting as he drew an arrow and loosed it. The Raskghar dodged the first arrow which made Bird surprised. The second arrow he loosed was a [Homing Shot] and curved as the Raskghar dodged. It fell, but more were coming. Bird shouted.

“Alarm! Alarm!”

He didn’t know if anyone could hear him. It was raining too hard. Bird stood in the watch tower as more Raskghar and Cave Goblins charged towards the inn. There were a lot of them. He was just glad he had his new bow. If he didn’t die, he resolved to tell the Queen that it was a very lovely bow. More Raskghar thrust their way into the inn as Bird shot arrow after arrow. He would have gone below, but more were trying to climb the slippery roof and get him. Bird hummed as he shot.

I am Bird, this is bad. If the monsters get Erin, I will be sad…oh, there are many. This is bad, bad, bad!

 

—-

 

Lyonette was sleeping soundly when she felt someone leap onto her. She gasped and sat up as Mrsha hurled herself onto Lyonette’s chest.

“Mrsha! I told you that hurts! I—”

The [Princess] was angry right up until she saw Mrsha’s face. The Gnoll was in a panic. Lyonette looked at her, alarmed.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t hear anything but the pounding rain. But Mrsha clearly did. The Gnoll looked around wildly, then sat back and howled. The sound echoed through the inn. Lyonette saw Apista buzz up in alarm.

“Mrsha, what—”

Then Lyonette heard the distant howling and horn calls coming from Liscor. At the same time, she heard a voice from above.

Alarm! Alarm!

That was Bird! Lyonette scrambled out of bed. She looked around.

“Mrsha, follow me! Apista!”

She thrust open her door, and then remembered her sword. It was propped next to the window. Lyonette grabbed it and unsheathed it. She stared at the blade as Mrsha howled again. She could hear banging from above and then a crash from below.

“Erin!?”

She ran out of her room just in time to see Ceria thrust her door open. The half-Elf had a breast band on. Another door crashed open and Ksmvr charged out fully armed.

“I heard Bird’s alarm! We are under attack!”

“Where—”

The first Raskghar came up the stairs like a battering ram made of fur. Ceria turned and her eyes went wide.

Raskghar!

“Leave it to m—”

Ksmvr lunged with his enchanted shortsword. The Raskghar’s eyes narrowed and it surged left. Ksmvr’s blade missed and it backhanded the Antinium. He spun backwards and Lyonette saw him crash into a wall. The Raskghar charged Ceria who leapt backwards too late. It pinned her to the wall and Lyonette saw its claws open.

The Raskghar opened its mouth, ready to bite as Ceria gasped, but it suddenly paused and sniffed. It brought its head closer and sniffed Ceria’s face and chest. It seemed confused. It lifted Ceria up and then howled. Lyonette’s sword entered the Raskghar’s side. It turned, eyes murderous, and slashed.

“[Flawless—]”

Lyonette’s sword came up and parried the blow. She felt the force almost tear the sword from her grip, but the claw was deflected. The Raskghar blinked at her, and then slashed again. This time it missed because Lyonette was backing up. The Raskghar bounded towards her on all fours and then turned. Mrsha howled as she rammed into it from the side, her small teeth biting.

“Mrsha, no! Run!”

The [Princess] screamed frantically at Mrsha. The Raskghar turned, teeth bared, but then it stared at Mrsha. At her white fur. It sniffed her like it had Ceria, and then reached for Mrsha. The Gnoll ran in alarm, and the Raskghar followed her, only to stop as an angry Ashfire Bee buzzed around it. It growled as Lyonette jabbed at it from the side, looking more irritated than anything else. It turned, claw extended, and Lyonette saw the razor tips aiming for her face—

“[Ice Wall]!”

A sheet of shimmering ice blocked the claw mid-strike. Lyonette saw the thick ice fracture as the claws struck. She saw Ceria getting to her feet and Ksmvr rising, clutching at the broken chitin and green blood leaking from his face.

Get back!

Ceria shot an [Ice Spike] at the Raskghar. It howled as the projectile pierced its side and raced backwards. Mrsha fled into Lyonette’s arms and the girl retreated back into her room, shouting for Apista. Ceria swore as she grabbed Ksmvr.

“Are you okay?”

“My injuries are superficial—”

“What’s going on?”

A door slammed open. Pisces looked around, annoyed and bleary. He stared uncomprehending at Ksmvr, Ceria, and the ice wall, and then his eyes widened.

“Springwalker—what—”

“We’re under attack! Raskghar!”

She screamed at him. Pisces’ jaw dropped. The door across from him opened. Yvlon strode out, fully armored. The woman didn’t bother with questions. She pointed.

“Downstairs!”

The Horns of Hammerad turned and ran for the stairs. They could hear fighting throughout the inn. They shot downstairs and nearly ran into the next group of Raskghar. The beasts snarled as they spotted the adventurers on the stairs. Pisces reached for his rapier, remembered he didn’t have it, and swore. He and Ceria shot flames and ice magic as Ksmvr and Yvlon surged down the stairs. The Raskghar retreated, and the adventurers leapt down to the ground floor to find a battle in full swing.

The Raskghar were already in the inn! They were battling the Redfang Warriors, who were already awake. Headscratcher and Rabbiteater were all fighting in front of the kitchen, fending off six Raskghar and a dozen Cave Goblins. The Horns could hear Erin shouting from inside the kitchen.

“Pisces, undead! Yvlon, Ksmvr, the flanks!”

Ceria pointed. The Horns split up. Ceria raised two walls of ice, covering her and Pisces’ sides as the [Necromancer] muttered a spell, reaching for the bag of holding he carried. The Raskghar turned as Yvlon and Ksmvr assailed them from the left. A Cave Goblin turned, screeching, and fell backwards with a spike of ice in its chest.

The Raskghar were quicker, though. One turned as Yvlon swung and raised a hide shield. It screamed as the blade sheared through both shield and arm. The enchanted sword severed the arm, but the Raskghar pulled back before Yvlon could run it through. Two more Raskghar flanked her as the Cave Goblins swarmed Ksmvr.

“Ceria!”

Erin’s voice echoed from the kitchen. Ceria heard a crash and saw a Raskghar jerk back, snarling, its pelt aflame as a potion bottle struck it. It turned and rolled, roaring, and Headscratcher and Rabbiteater charged forwards.

“Erin! Are you alright?”

“I am! Badarrow and Shorthilt are on the roof with Bird! Where’s Lyonette?”

“Safe!”

Ceria prayed that were so. The Raskghar and Goblins were occupied with her team and the Redfang Warriors for now. She raised a finger and pointed.

“[Ice Spike]!”

The projectile shot towards a Raskghar. But before it could hit, the huge not-Gnoll turned and leaned, avoiding the spell! Ceria gaped, and then saw Ksmvr go flying for the second time that night.

“Dead gods!”

It was impossible. There were only six Raskghar. Six! But somehow, they were fighting both the Horns of Hammerad and the two Hobs on equal footing. One of Pisces’ summoned undead bears cracked as a Raskghar pummeled it with blows. Another lashed out and caught Rabbiteater with a terrible blow across the face. The Hob stumbled and nearly fell—he was already bleeding from a gash across his stomach.

“I thought Gemhammer killed a dozen of these guys!”

Ceria aimed again, but the Raskghar she pointed at caught her next [Ice Spike] spell on its shield. The ice pierced the hide and its arm, but only a few inches. The thing snarled and charged Ceria.

“Watch out!”

Yvlon pivoted into the blow. She raised her shield and the Raskghar swung a stone club. The blow made the shield ring and Yvlon cursed.

“My arm—”

Her shield arm had bent from the impact. Her weakened arm twisted horribly and Yvlon lifted her sword, dropping her shield. Ceria threw up a wall of ice and the Raskghar smashed into that.

“Back! Back to the stairs!”

The Horns retreated. Ksmvr leapt into the air over one of the ice walls as Pisces’ second bear went down. Now the Raskghar were on the offensive. The little Cave Goblins streamed forwards. Ceria cursed as she raised another ice wall and the Raskghar began to tear it down. She saw the two Hobs fighting a trio of Raskghar by themselves. Rabbiteater was staggering, battered by a club one of the Raskghar was holding. He fell and Headscratcher threw himself in the way. Erin screamed.

“Headscratcher! Watch out!”

 

—-

 

Fury. Desperation. Fear. Headscratcher started to lose himself in the fighting. The Raskghar were strong! Stronger, quicker, smarter than before. He could barely take on the one attacking him with a stone axe. They were—stronger than he was.

Meanwhile, Rabbiteater was fighting two at once. The Hob was wearing his water cloak and was using it to shield himself from the not-Gnolls. The Raskghar howled in frustration as their blows sank into the watery cloak. But then one wrenched aside the protective garment and struck. Rabbiteater’s head reeled back as a club broke open the skin of his temple. Bleeding, dizzy, he looked up. The Raskghar raised the club.

Headscratcher turned. He saw the blow falling. He saw Rabbiteater bare his teeth defiantly.

Bugear. Headscratcher remembered the other Goblin’s death. Never again. He howled and leapt forwards. The club smashed him down in Rabbiteater’s place. Headscratcher felt the darkness take him. The pain smothered his consciousness. He was falling. Failing. His helpless fury writhed in him as Rabbiteater struggled up, fighting three at once. Erin was behind him, throwing pots, pans—she was out of potions. She was shouting for Rabbiteater to get back.

Headscratcher was fading. He tried to find the strength, but he didn’t have—have—

The three Raskghar were advancing on Rabbiteater, trying to attack him from the sides as he held the water cloak up. The Horns were engaged with the other Goblins and the other three Raskghar. The not-Gnolls grinned in delight. They pressed forwards, passed by the trap door leading to the basement—

And Numbtongue thrust the trap door up. He surged upwards in a roar, the wooden guitar in hand. The Raskghar nearest to him turned, surprise written over its face. The guitar went up and smashed into its face. It broke in a musical twang and the Raskghar howled in outrage. Numbtongue cursed and punched the Raskghar. His blow barely made the beast blink. He leapt back as the Raskghar swung at him and howled.

“Headscratcher!”

Headscratcher twitched. He was lying on the ground. His mind was scrambled. He was barely conscious. He flicked in and out of waking. He heard Numbtongue’s voice. The Goblin beat his chest in fury.

Redfang!

He swung at the Raskghar. The beast punched back. Numbtongue gasped as his ribs cracked. He swung the guitar, beat a rhythm onto the Raskghar’s raised arm. He howled at Headscratcher, demanding he rise.

“Redfang! Fight! A Goblin’s pride! A warrior’s right! Redfang! Redfang!

He stomped. His hand slapped the guitar’s broken base.

Goblin!

Rabbiteater swung the shortsword. The two Raskghar battered him. The Goblin shouted the same word.

Goblin!

The word vibrated through Headscratcher’s body. He tried to rise. The fury in his veins grew. Numbtongue received a clubbing blow on his arm and screamed. Never again. Headscratcher heard the word.

Redfang!

His mind flickered. It went out—and Headscratcher heard the voice from above.

 

[Warrior Level 20!]

[Conditions Met: Warrior → Berserker Class!]

[Skill – Fury Strength obtained!]

[Skill – Overpowering Blow obtained!]

 

Numbtongue fell back, the Raskghar grabbing his arms. It bit at his neck. He spat at it, biting back. The Raskghar bit for his throat. Hands dragged its neck back at the last moment.

Again. Never again. Never, never, nevernevernevernever—

A howl emerged. Not from the Raskghar, but from the Goblin who had risen to his feet. Headscratcher grabbed the Raskghar. It grunted in surprise as its feet left the ground. Headscratcher lifted it up.

Never again!

He screamed and the air shook with his fury and grief. Headscratcher seized the not-Gnoll monster and lifted it. It grunted in surprise as he lifted it over his head and threw the huge beast across the room. It crashed into a wall. The other not-Gnolls looked at Headscratcher. He turned, the veins in his neck and arms bulging. A crazed red light shone from his eyes. He raised his sword and charged the Raskghar, screaming. There was no sanity in him, no thought of self-preservation. Only rage. Only fury and grief. So the world had named him. So he was.

A berserker.

Headscratcher’s sword swung down. One of the Raskghar raised a crude shield. Too weak! Headscratcher’s blow cleaved the shield. His sword cut through a crude hide shield and then bone and skin. Headscratcher whirled and grabbed a mace as it swung towards his head. He threw both weapon and attacker onto the ground and then kicked them across the floor.

The Raskghar snarled and caught Headscratcher’s sword arm, clawing at him as he kept the quivering blade from his throat. Headscratcher forced his sword down, ignoring the claws that pierced his side, the flesh the Raskghar bit from his arm. He battered the Raskghar with his other fist, hitting it again, and again, and again—he hacked down and the Raskghar screamed. Headscratcher raised his sword and slashed repeatedly, screaming fury.

The third Raskghar scrambled to his feet. He roared at Headscratcher, but before he could move, Rabbiteater charged. The Hob leapt on the back of the Raskghar and a veil of water descended over the beast’s head. The Raskghar howled and then choked as it inhaled a mouthful of water. It flailed, but the cloak was wrapped around its head and however much the Raskghar moved, it couldn’t unfasten the liquid cloth. The not-Gnoll jerked as its lungs filled with water and then fell back limply.

“We got one!”

The Horns shouted as a fourth Raskghar fell, wounded by Ksmvr’s sword and pierced with countless shards of ice. The remaining two Raskghar looked around, realized they’d lost, and howled. They pointed and the four Cave Goblins screamed desperately and attacked the Horns as the two Raskghar fled for the doors. The Horns cut the Cave Goblins down and pursued the Raskghar, but the not-Gnolls disappeared into the water.

“Everyone okay?”

Ceria leaned on an overturned table, gasping with exertion. She saw Yvlon panting, her shield arm bent. Ksmvr was sitting, bleeding from multiple wounds on his body. Pisces was unharmed, but he was covered in sweat. Erin rushed out of the kitchen at last.

“Numbtongue!”

The Hob croaked and waved a hand weakly as she opened a healing potion. He was clutching at his chest and Rabbiteater had decided to lie down with his hands on his stomach. Erin rushed to both and then saw a shape bending and hacking at a mutilated corpse.

“Headscratcher! Enough! It’s over!”

Headscratcher turned, his eyes wide and wild. He stared at Erin, his bloody sword raised. Then, slowly, the light of fury receded from his eyes. He blinked, stumbled, and only then noticed he was bleeding. Part of his arm was missing. Erin scrambled to pour healing potion on his wounds.

“Erin! Are you okay? Is it safe?”

Lyonette appeared at the head of the stairs, clutching Mrsha. She stared wide-eyed at the bodies. Erin turned.

“It’s okay! But what about Bird? Badarrow? Shorthilt?”

“They’re okay! The Raskghar all ran!”

Lyonette walked downstairs, Mrsha in her arms. She looked around.

“Oh no. Is everyone—?”

“We made it. Somehow. If the Horns and the Redfangs hadn’t run downstairs, I would have been dead.”

Erin helped Headscratcher sit at a table. The Goblin was pale, but he was awake. His head still spun, but now the battle had ended he felt…different. He looked at Rabbiteater and the other Goblin stared at him. Headscratcher stared at his hands.

The fury. The despair. It all made sense now. He stared around the inn, forever changed. Gone was Headscratcher the Redfang [Warrior]. In his place sat a Goblin [Berserker], full of rage and grief. Stronger. Different. The rage burned in Headscratcher. The helpless fury over losing his friends. But now it was strength. Strength. Headscratcher clenched his fist.

It had been that which saved him. That which saved Rabbiteater. His fury. The emotions he had despaired at. But not just that. He remembered the voice, the sound that had brought him to his feet. Headscratcher looked up.

Numbtongue was clutching at his ribs. The Hob looked tired, wounded, but he was still fussing over something on the ground. The broken guitar.

Numbtongue picked up the base of the guitar and inspected it critically.

“Oh. Your guitar.”

Erin stared at the pieces. Numbtongue offered it to her and Erin shook her head sadly.

“I’m sorry, Numbtongue. I think it’s broken. We can get a new one.”

The Hobgoblin paused. He looked at the guitar and held the broken handle in place. Two strings had been torn out and the others were slack, but he adjusted the strings and plucked. The guitar sang. Numbtongue played a riff. Erin stared. Headscratcher stared. The Redfang Goblins and the Horns of Hammerad stared. Numbtongue turned and looked around. He smiled.

“Music.”

And Headscratcher laughed. He sat back in the chair, feeling his healing injuries complain at last. But he didn’t care. The pain was nothing. He was alive. Erin was alive. The other Goblins were alive. It was the best of all days. So he sat and Rabbiteater lay down and Numbtongue played on.

One was a [Warrior] with a magic cloak. He had yet to become, yet to evolve. But he would. The other was a [Berserker]. The third was a [Bard].

A Goblin [Bard].

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.35 H

Ceria sat on the floor of The Wandering Inn. The wood beneath her bottom was slick with melted ice water and blood, but she didn’t care. Her arms and both hands, living and skeletal, shook. She was bleeding from a gash down one arm where a Goblin blade had cut her, but she was alright.

The other Horns of Hammerad sat around her. Ceria felt the adrenaline leaving her body slowly. She could still hear horns blaring in the distance from Liscor’s walls. Now that the roar of blood had faded in her ears, she could also make out the pouring of rain overhead, the sounds of Erin tending to the Goblins, Lyonette telling Mrsha to stay put with Apista while she went to help Erin out—

Normal sounds, for a normal life. It stood in contrast to the moments before, where Ceria had stabbed a Cave Goblin through the chest with a dagger and watched it bleed onto her hands. She stared at a motionless body in front of her. A Raskghar lay with its eyes still wide open. Its face was mutilated by a melting [Ice Spike]—Ksmvr’s shortsword had pierced its stomach in three places and Yvlon’s sword had cut through its right arm. It had still taken far too long to die.

Two Raskghar of the six had escaped. The Cave Goblins were all dead. In contrast, no one in the inn was dead. Not Bird or the Redfang Warriors or the Horns of Hammerad, Erin, Lyonette, Mrsha, or Apista. Ceria wished she could have been proud of that fact, but she wasn’t. She stared at the lone Raskghar her team had felled during the fighting, and then looked at the three that had fallen to Numbtongue, Rabbiteater, and Headscratcher. She shook her head and felt the world grey out a bit around her.

“Rot, I’m getting too old for this.”

One of her teammates looked up. Yvlon’s blonde hair was bloodied and damp with sweat.

“You? Too old? Aren’t you sixty years old, Ceria? That makes you twenty in Human years.”

“Something like that. I guess. Sixty’s still old, you know! I’ve been adventuring for nearly a decade. It’s not like I don’t experience each day. Hell, sixty years…if I was an adventurer for that long I’d probably be retired. Sixty years of anything is way too long. Except if it’s in a half-Elven village.”

The armored Human woman eyed Ceria.

“What makes that different?”

“It’s easier to pass years away there. That’s why you get snotty half-Elf brats who’re forty years old and behave worse than Human teens. I spent forty years of my life in a village. Feels like I only started living once I left.”

“…Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Intelligent conversation was not one of Ceria’s strong suits in the best of times. She rubbed her face, realized she was wiping blood into her skin, and stopped.

“Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?”

“I’m good.”

Yvlon reflexively checked herself and nodded. By her side, Pisces raised his head. The [Necromancer] was unharmed but covered in sweat from casting a dozen spells in the course of minutes.

“I am unharmed. I would like a mana potion, though.”

“Suck it up. Ksmvr?”

“I am bleeding from eight wounds. However, my injuries are mostly superficial. I calculate that I will be able to fight with little impairment to my combat ability for twenty more minutes before blood loss—”

“Healing potion.”

“Yes, Captain Ceria.”

The Antinium rummaged around at his belt and lifted a healing potion. He began to apply it to his wounds, using only a drop of healing potion for each spot. Yvlon sighed.

“Ksmvr, pour it onto your wounds. We can afford more.”

“But rationing it—”

“You are worth more to us than a single healing potion. Pour it.”

“Yes, Yvlon.”

In the silence, the Horns of Hammerad watched Erin at work. She had no compunctions about literally dumping half a healing potion onto Rabbiteater’s wounds before making the Goblin drink the rest. Pisces sat up, pale-faced, and Ceria almost relented and told him to take a mana potion. But those were expensive and if they weren’t fighting, it did make sense for him to hold back. Pisces seemed to think so, because he didn’t keep complaining. Instead he looked at the dead bodies and sniffed.

“So. Those were Raskghar. I quite object to their characterization by Gemhammer and The Pride of Kelia. Those were not moderate threats.”

“No kidding.”

Ceria stared at the Raskghar. She glanced at the three the Redfangs had killed.

“How many did Gemhammer say they got?”

“Two dozen?”

“Tree shit they did. Six of them nearly took out our team and three Hobs. We outnumbered them and they nearly tore us to ribbons!”

“In point of fact, they outnumbered us if you count the little Goblins.”

“They don’t count, Ksmvr.”

“Ah.”

“Didn’t I hear that the Raskghar get stronger at weird times? Like during the full moon?”

All the Horns of Hammerad looked towards the windows. Ceria craned her head, peering through the rain splattering against the glass.

“It’s a cloudy night. Who the heck could tell if one of the moons is full or not?”

Pisces wiped his sweaty forehead on his pristine white robes.

“I would surmise that at least one moon is full. Possibly both, although that is a rare occasion. Perhaps the effect of these full moons would be amplified or doubled on such a day?”

“Don’t even joke about that, Pisces.”

“Who said I was?”

The Horns sat, contemplating that thought. It wasn’t nurturing by any means. They were too tired to move—they watched Erin tend to the Redfang Warriors with Lyonette, then rush upstairs. After a moment, one of the healed Redfang Warriors sat up. Headscratcher looked muzzy. He might have had a concussion, but he still wobbled upright and lurched past the Horns. They stared at him as he and the other two Goblins practically dragged themselves to the door.

“What’re they doing?”

“I think they’re…guarding?”

The Redfang Hobs stationed themselves at the door. Headscratcher pointed, and Rabbiteater and Numbtongue heaved a table in front of it. The Horns stared at them and then looked at each other.

“Damnit.”

“We should do that.”

No one wanted to move, but suddenly the aftermath of battle felt a lot less safe. Ceria cursed inwardly at her own stupidity as she forced herself to her feet. The Raskghar could come back! With reinforcements! Was she a Bronze-rank adventurer or a veteran? The Goblins had clearly remembered. The Horns lurched over.

“We can guard too. We’ll take that side.”

Ceria pointed and the Hobs nodded. The adventurers and Goblins went to the glass windows. Ceria wanted to stand, but in the end she found a chair and sat so she could stare out a window with the others. They heard Erin banging around upstairs before she shouted down.

“Bird’s okay! So are Badarrow and Shorthilt! Lyonette, can you get me more arrows from Bird’s room? Then open the door to Octavia’s shop! Grab more potions and some of those exploding bottles if she has any!”

Got it!

The Horns listened to Lyonette hurry up the stairs. Yvlon, sitting and rubbing her face with her right hand, looked around.

“Where’s Mrsha…?”

“Over there.”

Mrsha was sitting on a table, sniffing the Raskghar with wide eyes. Ceria whistled and the Gnoll’s head turned.

“Come over here, Mrsha. Don’t get near the dead bodies.”

The Gnoll came over and Ceria heard a buzzing sound in her right ear. Reflexively she ducked and Yvlon leaned back as Apista flew past them like a bee straight out of hell. The Ashfire Bee’s stinger was bloody. She circled once, and then flew away from Ksmvr who was looking hungrily at her. Mrsha sat by the Horns and Apista landed on her head. The Gnoll looked at the adventurers. She wasn’t petrified with fear, but she looked nervous. Ceria tried to smile reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, the bad monsters are gone, Mrsha. If they come back, we’ll chase them away.”

The Gnoll nodded dutifully in a way that said that she didn’t believe Ceria one bit. She had something in her paw. Pisces’ wand. She waved it in the air.

“You’re going to protect us? That’s very brave. But maybe leave the fighting to us, okay? That is a nice wand. Better you have it than Pisces.”

“A hurtful sentiment.”

Yvlon sighed.

“You should take it back. You’d be a better [Mage] with it.”

Pisces shrugged.

“I am used to unarmed spellcasting. Besides which, it is harder to aim a wand in combat. Especially when one attempts to fence with the other hand.”

“Really?”

“Oh, indeed. Why do you think Springwalker shoots [Ice Spikes] with her skeletal hand even though she has a wand?”

“Huh. I never knew that.”

I never knew that. My master taught me to cast magic with my hands. I thought she was just being strict about it.”

“Fingers are flexible. Wands are not. One can reliably aim spells from the tips of one’s fingers in much more rapid fashion than you would by maneuvering a wand into position each time.”

“So says the self-proclaimed dueling expert of Wistram.”

“If you have any objections or addendums to my theory, Springwalker…”

Ceria did not. The Horns sat in silence for a while. Mrsha edged up to Ceria and the half-Elf began to scratch her head behind the ears. Apista crawled onto Ceria’s arm and was flung off with a shout of panic. After a while, Pisces spoke.

“That was a magical cloak I saw one of the Hobs using, was it not? A cloak made entirely of water? Only, it now appears to be made of blood. Did anyone else notice that during the battle?”

The Horns looked over. Rabbiteater raised his head and the blood cloak swirled around his shoulders. Ceria stared at it.

“Huh. It is a magic cloak. From the dungeon?”

“How the hell did the Goblins figure out how it worked?”

“They put it on, duh.”

“Would that not be dangerous? Comrade Pisces assured me that would be dangerous.”

“Oh, highly. They might have discovered the nature of the cloak…or unleashed a possibly dangerous curse spell or other effect. We are fortunate that the inn was not swallowed by a void spell and dragged into a dark netherworld hell, in which we would be tortured endlessly until our demise.”

“Is that so? I will consider myself fortunate, then.”

The Hobs nodded. They seemed to be listening in. Ceria eyed them and then looked at Pisces.

“But we’re not dead. And the cloak’s magical. It’s…some kind of liquid cloak? That changes depending on what it touches?”

“Apparently.”

She stared at him. Yvlon and Ksmvr looked at Pisces too. He raised his head, still looking pale from mana exhaustion.

“What?”

Ceria coughed.

“Don’t you have a big theory on what it does? Some kind of annoying lecture for us?”

“No. Would you like me to come up with one?”

Everyone nodded. Mrsha scooted closer to Pisces, staring at the cloak with fascination. The blood was rippling every time Rabbiteater moved, as if it were actual cloth. Pisces stared at it for a moment.

“Very well. It is obvious that the cloak is enchanted to take on the properties of a liquid. I would surmise that not all liquids work. Base liquids—that is to say, non-complex fluids like blood, water, and so on seem to be the target reagents of change. It seems the cloak changes rapidly—it may be possible to affect a change with a small amount of liquid.”

The others considered that. Numbtongue, sitting by a window and fiddling with the broken guitar he was still carrying, turned and pursed his lips. He spat. A glistening glob landed on the blood cloak and turned it into a saliva cloak. Rabbiteater swore and threw it at Numbtongue, who laughed until the spit cloak splashed him. Then he just wiped away the spit in silence. Pisces nodded.

“Fascinating. The cloak is denser than it appears on first glance. It would provide a useful bulwark of sorts against physical blows, although I would hesitate to use it as cover against arrows. No, the cloak’s utility in defense is limited. What is more interesting is how much liquid the cloak holds. Therein lies its value.”

Ceria nodded slowly. She’d seen a few artifacts at Wistram and she could follow Pisces on that.

“You mean, you could probably ‘set’ the cloak so it stopped changing all the time, right? And then use it as a portable water source? Or a portable spit source, I guess. But there has to be a limit. What happens when it runs out?”

The Hobs looked up as they scooped spit out of the cloak and slapped it over the wounds that they hadn’t healed. Yvlon gagged in the back of her throat and looked away. Pisces shook his head.

“The cloak would probably revert back to a dormant state while it recharged for a day or so. That makes it a useful tool. But the cloak would not have been designed to transport water, Ceria.”

“What then, oh great and all-knowing Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] paused.

“The true nature of that cloak—in my opinion at this juncture—is to serve as a well of blood. A portable supply that could be used in blood magic. If I were a [Bloodmage], I would pay tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands—of gold coins for a reusable supply of blood. That is my speculation. But I do not dabble in such dark magic.”

Pisces shook his head, looking vaguely troubled. The Horns stared at him. The Goblins stared at him. Mrsha stared at him. The [Necromancer] glanced around and flushed irritably.

“What?”

Ceria raised both her eyebrows.

“You wouldn’t use blood magic. You. Isn’t that a bit ironic?”

A haughty sniff was her reply. Pisces drew himself up as high as his low moral ground would allow.

“No. I understand your point, but there is a difference between necromancy and blood magic. Yes, necromancy makes use of the dead. It can be a tool of destruction and misery and that is how it is often employed. But it need not be. I can make use of a cadaver or animal’s corpse without harming the living for it. Blood magic on the other hand demands sacrifice by its very nature.”

He looked around, daring anyone to object. No one did. Ceria stared at the cloak, which had now changed back into a water cloak at Rabbiteater’s insistence.

“Okay. So it’s less useful without a [Bloodmage]. It’s still pretty useful. I saw…uh…”

Rabbiteater looked expectant. Ceria wavered.

“Headscratcher?”

Headscratcher looked insulted. Rabbiteater glared. Ceria tried again.

“Rabbiteater?”

The Hob nodded huffily. Ceria sighed.

“I saw Rabbiteater drown a Raskghar with it. On top of the other two they got.”

Whereas the Horns had killed only one Raskghar. The adventurers shifted uncomfortably and the Hobs looked smug. No one spoke after that. Mrsha leaned against Ceria’s leg with a sigh and the half-Elf resumed scratching. After a while, they heard Erin clattering down the stairs and Lyonette rushed out of Octavia’s shop. She had a crate in her arms.

“Okay, potions! Octavia doesn’t have any exploding potions—she doesn’t know the recipe. But I’ve got Tripvine Bags, the Pepper Potion, a Stink Potion—lots of healing, mana, and stamina potions—”

“Put it there. Anyone grab one if they need it. I’m changing the door to Liscor. No—wait. Pallass first.”

Erin rushed past Lyonette as the [Barmaid] placed the crate on the table. Erin yanked the door open to Pallass and Ceria saw a dark street in front of her. Erin took a breath and shouted.

Hey! I know there are Drakes watching this door! Get out here! Liscor’s under attack! Again!”

There was a moment of silence, then someone swore. A Drake appeared. Erin waved her over and conferred. The Horns saw the Drake dash off and then another one ran through the doorway. Erin pointed at the dead Raskghar and talked rapidly while the Horns watched.

“We should help.”

“How?”

“Go through to Liscor? Aid in the fighting if there’s any?”

“There’s the City Watch, those angry Drake [Soldiers], three Gold-rank teams, and a lot of Silver-rank ones in the city. And that Wall Lord.”

“Right.”

The Horns stayed put. After a few minutes, they heard pounding footsteps and shouting on the other side of Pallass. A [Mage] must have charged the door because Venim came through with an escort of eight Drakes all wearing Pallass’ yellow armor. Erin closed the door, conferred with Venim, and then opened it to Liscor. She pointed and Venim charged though. Erin hopped about in place anxiously before rushing over to the three Hobs and the Horns.

“Hey guys, Venim’s checking things out. Can you guard the door? I want to keep it open—”

“We’ll do it.”

The Horns of Hammerad stood up. The Redfangs stayed at the actual door. The weary adventurers trudged over and Mrsha padded over until Lyonette stopped her.

“Not you, Mrsha. Stay back from the door. Go play by the stage, alright?”

The Gnoll looked upset. She whined in the back of her throat. Lyonette pointed.

“Come on. You be a good girl, okay? I’ll come over as soon as I can, but Erin’s got me pulling out food—”

“Food?”

All the adventurers and Goblins looked up. Erin nodded as she hurried out of the kitchen with a platter of pre-made bowls of soup now heated steaming hot.

“Food! If anyone’s hurt in Liscor we’ll bandage them up and feed them. Mrsha, listen to Lyonette.”

The Gnoll whined again.

“Mrsha, it won’t be long. Look, why don’t you sit over there and play with your ball? It’s…where did it go?”

Lyonette looked around. Mrsha’s little leather ball had disappeared after her throwing game with Bird. The Horns looked and then Yvlon called out.

“I see it. Here.”

The little ball was lying on the ground next to the wall. Yvlon trudged over to it, her metal armor clanking dully with each step. She reached down with her left arm and paused. Her hand missed the ball. She frowned down at her arm. And then stared.

Everyone stared at Yvlon’s left arm. Her right one was whole—flexible, functional as any arm should be. It slowly picked up Mrsha’s leather ball as Yvlon turned. But her left one? Yvlon’s shield arm was bent at the forearm. The metal armor was still intact, but the flesh and bone beneath had twisted. Ceria’s stomach lurched as she saw Yvlon staring down at her mangled arm, the hand and wrist sticking out at an angle from where they should be.

The armored woman looked around. Ceria opened and closed her mouth a few times. At last she managed to speak.

“I thought you weren’t hurt, Yvlon.”

Yvlon slowly nodded. She stared down at her arm, the same arm that had bent when blocking the Raskghar’s strike during the fight. She grimaced.

“I forgot. I guess. I…didn’t feel a thing.”

 

—-

 

That was the thing. She really hadn’t. She hadn’t felt a bit of pain when her arm had broken during the fight. She hadn’t felt it afterwards either, not the entire time she’d been sitting with the others. Yvlon had even leaned on her broken arm. It was lucky she’d still been wearing her armor—she might have snapped the bone clean in half if the armor hadn’t prevented the bones from moving any further.

However, no one could quite believe that. They all knew that Yvlon had the [Ignore Pain] Skill, but it was one thing to know that and see Yvlon wave around her floppy arm without so much as flinching.

“Dead gods, Yvlon, stop that! Okay, we believe you! You can’t feel it! But you need to heal that arm now!”

Ceria’s face was pale as she practically forced Yvlon into a seat. The Human woman almost wanted to laugh at how panicked the half-Elf seemed. What was a broken arm compared to Crelers and the other horrors they’d seen and fought over their careers? She waved Ceria away as she fumbled with her gauntlet. It was hard getting it off at the odd angle and she eventually let Ceria pull the metal off her arm. It came loose with a sucking sound and Ceria’s hiss told Yvlon everything she needed to know before she looked down.

Wet, congealed blood bubbled out and splashed onto the floor. Yvlon stared at the red, puffy skin around her broken bone and then at the places where the skin had torn away. But instead of revealing yellowed bone, the broken bone shone dully in places. Bloody metal mixed with bone. The metal of her old armor that had fused to her bones. Yvlon stared at her arm without changing expression.

She could feel nothing. Ceria on the other hand was fumbling for a potion, cursing with panic.

“Ceria. It’s fine. I can’t feel it.”

“That is not fine! You should have told us your arm was—gods, the bone’s nearly snapped in two! Pisces! Get over here!”

The [Necromancer] appeared next to the two. He peered at the arm with more clinical detachment than Ceria, but there was still a wince in his gaze as he looked up at Yvlon.

“A poor break. I can mend the bone. Put away that potion, Ceria. Or do you want Yvlon to have a stump rather than a connected arm?”

He thrust away the healing potion. Ceria jumped and Yvlon nodded. If Ceria had applied it to her broken arm without at least joining the bones together, the flesh might have grown over the broken bone instead, effectively amputating her arm. Or worse—she’d end up with some kind of freakishly malformed new bridge in her arm made entirely of flesh and no bone. Yvlon had heard all the horror stories about healing potions used wrong.

“Here. Take it. Fix Yvlon’s arm. I need to watch the door.”

Ceria thrust the potion into Pisces’ hands and hurried back to the doorway. Ksmvr was waiting there with his shortbow in hand, watching for Raskghar that might appear in Liscor’s rainy streets. He kept glancing back at Yvlon, though. Anxiously. She smiled and waved her good hand at him.

“Keep still, please. I will need to reinforce the bone. Hm…yes, and regrow as much as I can to fuse it together. Your arm will be weaker for a day or two, but ah, the bones should return to normal after that. Such as normal may be.”

Pisces knelt by Yvlon’s arm. She stared at her discolored, swelling flesh. Funny, she recalled how her old team, the Silver Spears, used to tease her about her flawless complexion, as if she were ready to ride to a ball rather than a monster hunt. Yvlon tried to remember their faces and found it was harder than it should be.

Not so funny, actually. She closed her eyes a moment as Pisces bent over her arm, frowning and muttering.

“By ‘normal’, you mean my arm will still be weak as before, don’t you.”

The [Necromancer] paused.

“I cannot remove the metal in your arm. And it is badly fatigued. So…yes. It will break if you subject it to undue force.”

“Like blocking? I couldn’t take more than one hit. I had to fight the rest of the battle with one arm.”

Shame burned Yvlon. She’d had to fall back, let Ksmvr cover her while she held the Raskghar back with her sword arm. She looked at Pisces. He’d forgotten his rapier, but he’d still burnt the Raskghar, used his undead bears to distract them. Now he was fixing her, the wounded one. The useless one.

“The Raskghar were incredibly strong. And perhaps your sword and shield style is unsuited to your current condition. However, your enchanted sword should allow you to fight with great effectiveness. If you don’t block.”

“Great. So I can hit things lightly. Is that it?”

“You were aware of the complications before hand.”

“I know. I just—”

Yvlon broke off and turned her head. She didn’t like Pisces. She didn’t like him, and yet, she didn’t hate him. Not anymore. He was her teammate when all things were said and done, and she—she was the one who had let him down. Her gaze went over to her shield. The little buckler, the enchanted Forceshield Buckler.

“I forgot to activate the magic on my shield. I just blocked the Raskghar like an idiot.”

Pisces glanced at the inert buckler. He shrugged.

“I did notice. However, I forgot my rapier and my wand. We were caught off-guard, with no time to prepare.”

“I know. I know! But why is it that everyone’s okay, whereas my arms—dead gods, Pisces. I’m so useless.”

“You are hardly useless. You cut off the Raskghar’s arm with a single blow. Highly demoralizing, I would imagine. And you slew two of the Cave Goblins. That is hardly the actions of dead weight.”

Yvlon wanted to laugh. Now Pisces was trying to comfort her of all people! She stared at her arm. Pisces was moving the bones, carefully guiding the broken bones into place. A bit of her blood covered his hands as her skin tore a bit more.

“My apologies.”

“I can’t feel it. I told you.”

The [Necromancer] paused.

“That is…convenient. This would not feel pleasant otherwise.”

Yvlon could certainly agree with that. And strangely, though she couldn’t feel the pain, she could feel Pisces shifting her bones around. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling. Unnatural. She held still though, gritting her teeth. After a moment of Pisces working, she spoke.

“Pisces?”

“Yes, Yvlon?”

“My arms are shot. I can’t fight with them. Not like this. If I take a bad hit and lose one arm—or two—I’m a liability in combat.”

“Only until I am able to restore your arms. With a healing potion and my skills, your arms can be easily restored. Frankly, it is somewhat shocking how effective my talents are—”

“Shut up, Pisces. Don’t downplay what I’m saying.”

A pause.

“My apologies, Yvlon. But what option do you have? You yourself wished to continue adventuring.”

“I do. I do. But this—”

Yvlon’s head spun. She didn’t want to quit. She couldn’t quit. Abandon the Horns? They were all she had left. What would she do if she stopped adventuring? Sell her gear? Go live on her family’s estates—try and become a [Merchant] and help out with the business? As a failure? A cripple with weak arms? Never. And yet—she looked at Pisces, despairing.

He was a [Necromancer]. She’d hated and distrusted him for that when they’d first known each other. No—that had been when she first joined the Horns. Before that she hadn’t even thought of Pisces. He’d been…just another contemptible person. Someone to avoid, oppose if necessary.

Now? She had to admit his spells were powerful. Useful. Yvlon had to admit that his skeletons had saved their team’s lives more than once. His ability to shape bone had restored her arms when she’d be crippled for months with each break. His undead bears? She’d told him to use their bones. And they had been helpful.

A…feeling stole over Yvlon. A shiver, only it ran through her insides rather than across her flesh. She stared at Pisces. A [Necromancer]. By his own admission, someone who would desecrate corpses. Raise the undead. Pisces was arrogant, greedy, and rude when he chose to be. But he was not an evil man. She had seen enough of him to know that. And his powers—

“I am nearly done fusing your bones together. Please do not move.”

Yvlon jumped. She hadn’t realized Pisces was nearly finished. He gave her a long-suffering look and adjusted his grip.

“As I said.”

The woman held still as Pisces clutched her bleeding, puffy arm. He frowned down at something only he could see, then nodded.

“Very good. Now, a healing potion for the flesh and your arm is restored.”

He gently poured the liquid over Yvlon’s arm. She felt a bit of cold, and then felt her swollen flesh retract, return to normal. Yvlon stared at her whole, unblemished arm. Pisces smiled.

“And there we are. Another fine shaping of bone. A pity I could not do anything about the metal. For now. Miss Byres—”

He hesitated, looking at Yvlon carefully. She glanced up at him as she flexed her arm.

“What was that?”

Pisces gently bit one lip, thinking as he carefully eyed Yvlon. She knew that look. It meant he was about to suggest something he knew she’d object to. However, this time Yvlon didn’t feel any irritation. Any disgust. She waited, patiently.

“Go on. Tell me.”

“I ah, know you have spoken to [Healers] and [Blacksmiths] about your arm. An odd combination, but the metal is grafted to the bone. As they have said, it cannot be removed without essentially destroying the bone itself. It is a miracle any bone marrow remains, frankly, but you were lucky. However, the weakness of your bones has preyed on my mind. It may be—and I only suggest this, I would never force you into any decision—it may be that in time I will gain the Skills or learn a spell to enhance your bones or remove the metal myself.”

Yvlon stared at Pisces as he sat back, visibly apprehensive.

“You? Fix my arms? But you said it couldn’t be done.”

He grimaced.

“Not at my level. A [Necromancer] has extreme, and I do mean extreme difficulty working with living bodies. Manipulating bone? I can crack an unled skeleton in two at fifty paces, but it requires physical, skin-to-skin contact to manipulate a living person’s bone up close—and even then, only when they do not resist. Actually shaping bone or reinforcing it is far beyond my level. But for a Level 40 [Necromancer]? If I found a spellbook with the necessary spells? I am assured that any [Necromancer] above Level 50 would have no problem restoring your arms.”

“Really? Who told you that?”

Pisces shifted and scratched behind one ear.

“Ah, well, assured may be too overconfident a word. I’ve read a few books about more powerful [Necromancers]. I am certain it can be done. Give me time and I will come up with a more complete solution to your dilemma. Until then, do not despair.”

And there it was. Yvlon looked at Pisces. He gave her a hesitant smile. A nervous one. He was waiting to see if she’d thank him or snap his head off. Yvlon felt guilty because she knew that two weeks ago she would have done just that. That was the thing about Pisces. He was unlikeable, hard to work with. He could drive her insane and then turn around and surprise her with…this.

She thought of his bears. Undead bears. When she’d told him to use their corpses to drag the dead Crelers and the team back to Esthelm through the snow she’d been exhausted, out of sorts, and willing to compromise her beliefs. After all, the undead bears might be undead, but they were dead animals. Pisces hadn’t killed the bears and they would be worthless corpses any other way. So why not use them? It wouldn’t hurt anyone. And it had helped her team.

That was how [Necromancers] thought. The shock that ran through Yvlon was electric. She instantly felt guilty, but then wondered why. Why indeed? It wasn’t like using the undead hurt anyone. It was only when [Necromancers] used people—used the undead, which were tools—as weapons. But if it was just bone, just magic—

She was talking herself into something. Again, Yvlon felt a shiver run through her. She stared at Pisces. She had a thought. She’d had a thought, rather, lurking in the back of her head. Ever since she’d seen one of his Bone Horrors.

“Pisces, about your undead.”

“Yes?”

He looked surprised and alarmed at the sudden conversation change. Yvlon nodded over to a pile of bones. The undead bears had been well and truly smashed by the Raskghar, so badly that their skulls and bones were splintered and broken. Pisces hadn’t cleaned them up so they sat on the floor, a yellowed mess of bones. Mrsha was sniffing at one.

“The Raskghar got your bears, didn’t they? Can you still use the bones? I saw the Bone Horror you made.”

“Which…one?”

Yvlon hadn’t known Pisces had more than one.

“The one with the long whip-arms.”

“Ah. My older prototype.”

“Older?”

He cleared his throat.

“Yes. It ah, was brought to my attention by Miss Shivertail that my first prototype Bone Horror could be improved. It was not as efficient as I had hoped it to be, so I have been designing a new one.”

He shifted a bit. For some reason Yvlon found his discomfort hilarious. She grinned at him.

“You mean, your undead wasn’t as powerful as you’d hoped? Aren’t you a master [Necromancer]?”

Pisces colored and opened his mouth before he realized she was teasing him. He blinked at her.

“Ah. Yes? Well, I only have so many bones to work with! The bones of three bears, to be precise. And I have already had to scavenge their forms to create several Bone Horrors to clear Liscor’s sewers.”

“They’re all smashed up now, though. Are the bone shards unusable?”

Pisces shrugged.

“Not if I mend the bones together. True, the problem with dead bone is that it grows weaker with every fracture, but I will incorporate the bone into a new structure. A reinforced cladding perhaps.”

“Reinforce. Like…put a layer of bone armor over an undead bear?”

The young [Necromancer]’s eyes lit up.

“Well, that is an idea. Of course, the undead bear skeletons are useful on their own—as a hasty creation they are my preferred choice—but I wouldn’t normally attempt to reinforce them as they are. Bears are not the most powerful combatants and they are somewhat unwieldy. Flesh and blood bears trade on their crushing weight, and a skeleton is far lighter. However, if I added armor, it might be an interesting project—”

“You really like the undead, don’t you?”

Pisces broke off. He paused.

“Is it that disagreeable?”

Yvlon shook her head. She looked up and sighed. Her heart was beating too fast for some reason.

“No, Pisces. It’s not. I guess—it’s not. Really. I don’t like undead, but I’ve gotten used to them. So you can reshape bone, huh?”

“Dead bone? Bone not controlled by another [Necromancer] or one that is part of an existing magical being? With ease.”

“And you know about anatomy.”

“One must, to create or alter undead. I am an expert in the skeletal form. I know something of flesh too, but zombies are ah, not my forte. They rot and smell, and are generally too slow. Which is inconvenient.”

“Got it. So…tell me something. If you were going to harden a…bear’s leg. So Dawil couldn’t break it in half with his hammer, say. How would you do that?”

Pisces frowned, his brow furrowing as he considered her challenge.

“There are many ways. Armor, as you mentioned, might work. It is possible to fabricate bone armor—but Dawil is a strong combatant. Rather than trust to an exterior defence, I would harden the bone. Thicken it.”

“What if you couldn’t do that? Is there another way to reinforce the bone without…solidifying it?”

“Well of course. I could create a frame around the arm—add in supports. There is a point at which [Necromancy] becomes architecture, you see. It is entirely possible to create a—a network of bone, almost like a spider web. That kind of support becomes far stronger because it distributes weight. If I must protect a lynchpin in the structure, I can adjust the bones around it to reduce the force that is applied to the bone in question.”

“Good. Do that to my arm.”

Yvlon thrust her bare arm in Pisces face. He recoiled. Then he stared at her. Pisces’ mouth opened in complete and utter surprise.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

The Human woman breathed in heavily, and then out. She was shivering inside, but her voice was steady.

“It’s obvious. I didn’t think of it before because I would have rather died than have you—have anything undead in my body. But it’s just bone, right? I’m sure you can make a bracer—put something around my arm, in my arm—make it so it won’t break in a fight. You can do that, can’t you?”

Pisces sat back. His face was pale. Yvlon was reassured to see that her idea had shocked even him.

“Miss Byres, that is not something I ever considered doing. I understand you’re upset, but I cannot guarantee anything. No—doing something like that would be criminal on my part. If Ceria—”

Yvlon gritted her teeth.

“I’m not asking her. I’m asking you. Can you do it?”

Pisces’ gaze flickered to Yvlon. He hesitated.

“Perhaps. But I will not do it.”

“Why not? I need my arms to work, Pisces. Not later. Not when you’re Level 40 or Level 50. Dead gods, how long would that take? I need my arms to work now and if you can reinforce them with [Necromancy]—why are you hesitating? I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime chance to experiment with my arms, to figure out how to improve a living body! You should be leaping on this chance!”

“But you are my teammate. And I do not—will not experiment with the living.”

Pisces voice was soft. Yvlon stared at him. Principles. A needle’s edge of morality.

“Then don’t experiment. Fix me. If you can do it, do it. You know how good you are, Pisces. Prove it. Can you change my arms?”

He wavered. Pisces eyes flicked past Yvlon to Ceria and Ksmvr. He half-rose, and then, slowly, sat back down. He looked Yvlon in the eyes.

“I can. Is that really what you wish?”

She wavered. For a second every story and folktale she’d ever heard about necromancy, about the undead, the Necromancer, flashed through Yvlon’s mind. Then she met Pisces’ eyes. There was confidence there. Yvlon nodded.

“Use the bear bones. Do it. Before I change my mind.”

Pisces held Yvlon’s gaze for a long time. Then, slowly, he reached out. He took Yvlon’s bare arms, stared at the pale skin, white from hiding in Yvlon’s armor for so long. At last, he inclined his head the barest fraction of an inch.

“I will begin with a lattice…”

 

—-

 

Yvlon held still, completely still, as Pisces bent over her arms. She could feel her skin moving, feel him cut into her arm, insert bone where it should not be. She felt her flesh and muscles moving as he forced bone into her arm, cut and using a healing potion to…well, she didn’t know.

Pisces had explained his idea, but it hadn’t made sense to Yvlon. A structure of bone like a spider web? Cushioning her bone? Adding in a splint? Well, the last part made sense, but she had no idea how it looked. She did not, by and large, stare into people’s bodies. Nor was she about to start.

The [Necromancer] was working over her arm, shielded from view at the table where they sat. No one paid attention to them. As far as the other occupants of the inn were concerned, Pisces was still fixing Yvlon’s arm. An occasional glance over was all that Yvlon received.

“You are not feeling any discomfort?”

“It feels weird and unpleasant. But I can’t feel pain. You don’t need to keep asking.”

“Very well. I am adding in the splint now. It should keep the stability of your arm even if your bone breaks. After all, what moves your arm is muscle. The bone is simply structure.”

“Right. Never thought of it like that.”

“And I will shield your bone as well. Naturally I will check on your arm after each battle, but you should be able to use your arm without fear of crippling yourself. Both arms, in fact. And I stress once again that all of this can be removed quite easily.”

“Of course.”

“I can pull these bones out with eas—with no proble—with minimal—well, it is a matter of delicacy inserting and removing such bones without ah, tearing through all your skin. But it can be done.”

“Got it.”

“If you have any concerns—”

“I trust you, Pisces.”

He fell silent. Yvlon stared at his face so she couldn’t see her blood and flesh and the bones moving about. This was her second arm. The right one. He’d already finished on the left one. It felt…she could feel it was different. Heavier. But sturdy, too. She made a fist with her left hand. He’d told her she could block any number of Raskghar strikes with that arm.

“So. You didn’t learn this at Wistram, did you?”

Pisces glanced up. He smiled briefly. He was trying to be chatty, reassure Yvlon.

“Oh no. You know my story of course. The…mistakes I made with Ceria.”

Yvlon’s mind flashed back to the long cart ride from Celum to Liscor, when Ceria had told the story. Back then Pisces hadn’t said much, only interject a few comments now and then. She remembered his expression.

“Yeah. You never really told us your side of things. Did anything Ceria say…did you disagree with any of it?”

Pisces looked back down at Yvlon’s arm.

“Nothing worth noting. She was largely correct. I kept my necromancy hidden as long as possible during my time at Wistram. And of course, I had no instruction while I was there. What I know now is mostly a product of trial and error. Of course, I did learn more after I left the academy. I had…encounters…with others who shared the same interests I did.”

“Really? You met other people like you? In Izril?”

“Oh yes. In my travels after leaving the academy, I made it a point to seek out other [Necromancers] and covens of like-minded individuals. Izril is not fond of those who raise the undead, but death magic can be found in every continent. Even Terandria, although it is outlawed there. But if one knows where to look…”

Pisces trailed off. Yvlon nodded. She had heard of incidents involving petty [Necromancers] over the years. It was one of the classic adventurer quests, in fact. Go track down the source of the undead and slay whomever was responsible.

“So? Was it good meeting them?”

The young man shook his head, his lips twisting into a sneer of contempt.

“Hardly. I erroneously believed that I would find kindred spirits among such people. Alas, such encounters were ultimately dissatisfactory. Most of those who practice death magic lack the…standards I hold myself to. Low and twisted though they may be.”

He glanced up with a half-smile. Yvlon couldn’t help but smile in reply.

“Self-deprecation isn’t your strong suit, Pisces. So these other [Necromancers] didn’t impress you?”

“Let us simply say that they lacked finesse in any sense of the word. I joined a local group a year before I came to Liscor—The Krythien Sect, I believe. They might still be operating. A pity. They were nothing more than amateurs. No knowledge of anatomy or spellcraft between all of them put together. They only understood how to animate a body, not how it worked. None of them would be able to do what I am doing now. Speaking of which—”

Yvlon raised her arm. Pisces grabbed it.

“Hold on! I haven’t closed the wound!”

She stared at her arm. It looked like someone had taken a sharp knife and sliced her flesh to ribbons. Pisces poured the healing potion over her arm and she felt the flesh close. She flexed her arm. Swung it.

“How does it feel?”

Pisces watched her anxiously. Yvlon banged her forearm on the side of the table, pushed at it with her other hand. Then she smiled.

“It feels solid.

She smiled at Pisces and he leaned back in relief. The two sat there for a second, Pisces wiping away sweat from his eyes. Two healing potions lay on the table, both completely empty. Pisces had downed a mana potion and he looked worn out. But it was done.

“Thank you, Pisces.”

“Thank me after you hit something. This is all a trial. If there are any complications, I will fix them. In fact, this is just the start.”

Yvlon paused as she put her armor back over her arms.

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

Pisces leaned forwards conspiratorially.

“If you would like me to, I could research a way to strengthen the metal in your arms as well. Not with [Necromancy]—a basic [Hardening] spell or some kind of reinforcement magic would allow you to fight quite normally. I am sure one of my spellbooks has the necessary spell listed in it. I hadn’t even thought of it, but the metal in your arms is a foreign object! If we did that, there might be no need for my using bone at all.”

Yvlon thought about that.

“Why the hell didn’t you think of any of this earlier?”

Pisces looked insulted.

“Who thinks of enchanting the metal in one’s arms? Frankly, your idea was so unorthodox that even I, a [Necromancer] trained in Wistram—”

He grinned as Yvlon chuckled.

“—Wouldn’t have considered it! But if you are willing to take a calculated risk, then I will adjust my studying.”

The Human woman thought about this. She felt her arms. Strong. Then she nodded.

“Do it. We’ll keep it between us for now.”

“Indeed. I understand this is, well, it would be a problem if anyone were to learn of it.”

“For them. Yeah. But I think I know how I feel. Pisces.”

Yvlon held out a hand. Pisces looked at it. Slowly, he extended his arm and shook her hand. Yvlon smiled. Pisces smiled too then yelped.

My hand! My hand!

He wrestled his hand free before Yvlon could crush his fingers. She laughed. She’d forgotten how good it felt to have an arm again! She swung her arm up and Ceria looked over.

“Oh! Did Pisces fix your arm, Yvlon? Careful.”

“I’m fine, Ceria. Pisces did an excellent job. How’s it going in Liscor?”

“Good! The fighting’s over. The City Watch is combing the streets, but it looks like they fought off the Raskghar fairly quickly. But there are dead. And missing.”

“Missing?”

Both adventurers came over. Pisces massaged his hand as he stared at Ceria. The half-Elf nodded, her expression serious.

“Gnolls. All the Drakes that the Raskghar attacked were killed, but no one’s found the Gnoll bodies. They think they’ve been carried into the dungeon, but as for why…? That Venim guy from Pallass is talking with the others. Doubt we’ll hear any of it for a while.”

“In that case, I shall devote myself to clearing up my ah, tools. Such as they are.”

Pisces gestured to the pile of bear bones. Ceria glanced over and Yvlon held her breath, but neither she nor Ksmvr saw that the bone pile had been somewhat reduced.

“You do that. Hell, there’s blood to clean up too. Dead bodies—we should probably help with that.”

She stared at the pile of Raskghar and Goblins. Yvlon grimaced.

“Toss them into the water and let the fishes eat them?”

“Works for me. Hey Pisces, can you make an undead to do the lifting?”

“I could, but I have about one bear’s worth of bones left intact.”

Pisces grumbled as he inspected the yellowed pile of bones. Ksmvr sat up, looking concerned.

“Only one? But then our three-fold offensive line of bears is no longer a workable strategy. Captain Ceria, this may affect all our tactics moving forwards! May I request an immediate hunt to slaughter as many bears as possible?”

“Uh—you can request that, Ksmvr. But finding bears is not high on our list of things to do. Pisces will just have to make do for now. If we find other animal bones he can use those. But you know what the Adventurer’s Guild says. No using people.”

Yvlon nodded. She could agree with that restriction entirely. But as she looked at Pisces, she once again had a crazy thought. She coughed.

“Pisces.”

He looked up.

“Yes?”

“Do you remember what Selys told you? There was a list of bones you couldn’t use, remember? All kinds of species?”

Pisces grimaced.

“I well remember. It is a tiresome restriction, but I understand the necessity of the law and I will abide. A shame I cannot use convicted criminals or bandits but I understand the difficulty of identifying ah, remains.”

Yvlon nodded absently as Ceria made a disgusted face.

“Right. But I think there’s a loophole you can exploit.”

“If you are referring to using Lizardfolk, I am afraid—”

“Pisces. Look down.”

The mage glanced down at the floor. He stared at the dried blood, and then followed it to the fallen corpses. Raskghar. And Goblins. He stared at them and then at Yvlon. She raised her eyebrows. Pisces blinked.

“I believe I am growing fonder of you by the minute, Miss Byres.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Yvlon turned, smiling, as Pisces walked over to the bodies and began inspecting them, muttering about tossing them into the lake anyways to ‘clean’ the bones. She looked at Ksmvr and Ceria. Both Antinium and half-elf were staring at Yvlon with gaping mouth—or open mandibles as the case may be. She shrugged.

“What?”

 

—-

 

The Wandering Inn was not quiet in the hours after the Raskghar attack. It was late night turning into day, but no one was asleep. And in fact, the inn received more than a few visitors. The first was Olesm, who rushed into the building with several [Guardsmen] and a group of Gnolls that included Krshia in tow.

Erin! Are you okay? Are you—”

He stopped as he saw the Raskghar and Goblin bodies and looked around frantically for Erin. She turned and waved to him.

“Olesm! I’m so glad you’re al—”

All the wind left Erin’s lungs as Olesm ran across the room and practically tackled her with a hug. She hugged him back as Krshia exhaustedly staggered over to a table with the others.

“I’m okay! I’m okay, Olesm! Are you safe? Where’s everyone else? What happened?

As she and Olesm talked, Lyonette hurried out of the kitchen. She had a plate full of rare, bloody hamburgers steaming hot and she placed it in front of the Gnolls and [Guardsmen].

“Krshia! Are you okay? Here—we’ve got food! Let me get you some drinks!”

The Gnolls’ eyes widened and six furry hands immediately shot for the food. The City Watch grabbed desperately too, and for a few moments everyone was eating ravenously. Lyonette filled mugs rapidly and sent Mrsha running over to shove the drinks on the table. No one minded the mess. They ate, sat back, and became living people again, rather than wet, exhausted warriors.

“Thank you, Lyonette. We have been searching the city for hours. We are well. Those damn Raskghar, they attacked here, yes?”

“They did. The Horns fought them off. So did the Goblins.”

The Redfang Goblins turned. Shorthilt and Badarrow had come down from the rooftop, as had Bird, now that Liscor was secure. They were milling about and Bird was squatting by Ksmvr and Pisces who were trying to figure out how to debone the corpses.

“They are fish bait? But they look like bird bait to me. We should leave them in the water and see if water birds come to eat them.”

“The trick will be retrieving the bones when eaten. I might suggest deboning the corpses or ripping the bones out with [Necromancy] or telekinetic magic, but that would be inefficient. Also, messy.”

Lyonette grimaced and tried not to listen. She served more food until the exhausted Gnolls and [Guardsmen] just sat around in a coma at the tables. By which time more people had come though from Liscor.

“Erin!”

Jelaqua strode into the inn, her armor blazing with fire. She looked around, realized there was no danger, and deactivated the Heartflame Breastplate. Moore and Seborn ran in after Jelaqua. All three Halfseekers looked tired, but unharmed.

“We fought two groups of Raskghar in the city. Both times they fled after we cut them down a bit. Not one of them got past the armor. I was worried you’d been attacked, but we kept seeing the Raskghar and chasing after them. Glad you lot were here.”

The Selphid leaned over the table Ceria and Yvlon were sitting at. Ceria coughed, blushing.

“Well, the Goblins did a lot of the work.”

The Halfseekers glanced at the Redfang Warriors and then away. Jelaqua shook her head.

“Good for them. Hey, Lyonette! Can we get something to eat? I’m starving. There’ll be more people coming too. Ylawes was worried when I spotted him. I saw Halrac on the walls, too. He’ll be along I bet.”

She was right. The Silver Swords and Griffon Hunt both appeared in due time, both groups to check up on Erin. And Yvlon, in Ylawes’ case. Of course, Revi claimed she’d been dragged along by Halrac, but she did check to make sure Mrsha was there before she demanded hot food and a towel.

It was strange, but Erin’s inn only kept getting more crowded as people came by to make sure she was safe, which in turn saved her from having to go out and see if they were safe. Klbkch and Relc stopped by on patrol—Relc grabbed eight hamburgers to ‘share’ and ate three on the way out—Pawn appeared with Yellow Splatters and several Painted Soldiers on the same mission, and even Selys and Drassi appeared with Ishkr in tow.

“Oh Erin! I was so worried about your inn! And Selys said the streets were safe, so we came here and found Ishkr along the way! Do you need help? Are we getting paid for this? No, wait—let me.”

Drassi chattered as she went to help the besieged Lyonette at the counter. They were actually running out of pre-made food and Erin was hurrying to the kitchen to feed the masses when Wall Lord Ilvriss walked in. She stared at him, bemused and touched.

“Ilvriss! Were you worried about us, too?”

The Wall Lord jumped. He was accompanied by a group of his followers. He glared at Erin and adjusted his sword belt unnecessarily.

“Hardly, Human. I just heard that Watch Captain Venim was here and I wanted to speak with a representative of Pallass. And…I was looking for young Swifttail. There he is.”

He pointed at Olesm, who jumped guiltily. Erin smiled.

“Well, can I get you food? Drinks? A towel?”

Ilvriss nodded and then caught himself. He wrinkled his nose at the dead Raskghar and Goblins. They still hadn’t been removed—Pisces was arguing with Jelaqua, who wanted to ‘try’ one of the Raskghar out.

“You may start by clearing those corpses out of the inn. And removing the blood.”

“Ew. Right. Pisces! Get rid of those bodies!”

The [Necromancer] looked up. He sighed and stopped trying to fend Jelaqua off. Ceria pushed herself to her feet.

“Yeah, let’s get rid of them. Pisces, you can figure out what to do when we dump them outside. Ksmvr, Yvlon?”

She turned. The other Horns of Hammerad got up. Pisces grumbled, but helped lift the first Raskghar with Yvlon’s help. He grunted and, red-faced with exertion, staggered to the door. Mrsha opened it and the adventurers disappeared outside.

The Redfang Goblins also got up and began hauling the Raskghar in pairs. That only left the Goblins. Ceria wrinkled her nose as she stared at the motionless form in front of her. She tried not to think of the Goblin as being like Rags, although it was small. This one had tried to gut her with a shiv. She bent.

“Come on, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium dutifully bent and reached for the Goblin’s arms while Ceria grabbed the legs. The Antinium lifted—

And the Goblin’s eyes opened. It sat up with a gasp, clutching at its bleeding chest. Ksmvr leapt back and Ceria shouted in surprise. The Cave Goblin stared around wildly, its little red eyes wide. It focused on the adventurers, the room full of enemies, and froze. Then, quick as a flash, it bolted.

There was no thought to it. The Goblin ran instantly. And because it was moving on instinct, it ran right into the kitchen rather than out the door. Yvlon heard a shout of alarm from within and the Cave Goblin reemerged from the kitchen. Erin dashed out, a cleaver in hand.

“A Goblin! One of them is alive!”

Everyone in the inn shot to their feet as the Goblin fled, screaming. Halrac raised his bow and half the warriors in the room aimed at the Goblin, but they stopped as Erin shouted.

“Don’t kill it! Capture it!”

“What?”

Ilvriss snarled at Erin. He drew his sword and froze as she pointed at him. The air grew heavy and Ilvriss’ tail thrashed. He turned, pointed, and Erin staggered back as if he’d kicked her in the chest.

“Do not do that again!”

Don’t kill it!

Moore obligingly reached down, but the Goblin leapt over his hand and ran for the door. Revi snapped.

“Well someone stop it! It’s getting away!”

The door was open. The Goblin fled through it as Ksmvr leapt and missed. The Cave Goblin sprinted out into the rain and then reappeared through the doorway. Upside down. Headscratcher walked back into the inn, dripping with rain. He was holding the Cave Goblin by the ankle as it screamed and twisted. He stared around.

“Mm?”

The inn waited. Headscratcher paused. The other Redfang Goblins came in behind him, and then Pisces and Yvlon. The [Necromancer] sneezed and then stared at the Goblin.

“Ah. Well, this is interesting.”

Numbtongue, Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater stood around the terrified Cave Goblin as Headscratcher held it up by one leg. The other guests of the inn looked from the Goblin to Erin. Revi was the one to say it.

“Now what?”

“Uh—”

Erin stared at the Cave Goblin. It was fighting to get free, slashing at Headscratcher with a stone shiv. He didn’t seem to mind—he was dangling it out of reach and every time it tried to sit up he shook the Goblin until it hung in the air, gasping for breath. Ilvriss looked disgusted.

“Goblins are bad enough. That…creature was part of the attack on the city. There are citizens—Gnolls—missing as we speak! Kill the wretched creature or throw it outside if you must, Human. But do not sully our presence with it one moment longer.”

There were nods of agreement, not just from the Drakes sitting around Ilvriss. Erin looked at Headscratcher. The Goblin was watching her carefully. She opened her mouth and Olesm cut in. The Drake had gone wide-eyed as he stared at the Cave Goblin and now he raised one hand for everyone’s attention.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, unless I am very much mistaken, I believe that Goblin is worth far, far more to us alive than dead. We are in need of information following the Raskghar attack. We captured no Raskghar alive to my knowledge. That Goblin could have all the intelligence we seek.”

“Intelligence.”

One of the [Guardsmen] chuckled as if Olesm had made a joke. The Redscar Goblins stared at him flatly. Ilvriss sighed. He smiled patiently at Olesm.

“Information? Young Swifttail, I appreciate your line of thought, but interrogating a Goblin is a fruitless task. Coercing Goblins is surprisingly difficult and more to the point, it is impossible to communicate—”

He broke off because Olesm was staring at him. Just staring. Ilvriss hesitated and looked back. Towards the Cave Goblin. And the Goblins. The Redfang Goblins stood around the wriggling Cave Goblin. Numbtongue was picking his ears. The Hob paused as all eyes turned towards him. Ilvriss’s tail twitched.

“Ah.”

He cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Olesm?”

“Yes, Wall Lord?”

“Send a Street Runner to collect Watch Captain Zevara, Wing Commander Embria, ah… Guildmistress Tekshia, and Watch Captain Venim please. Tell them we have a possible source of information of the highest priority.”

“At once, Wall Lord.”

Olesm nodded to a [Guardsman] and the Drake hauled himself to his feet. Ilvriss didn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes as Olesm and the [Guardsman] ran out into the dark and rainy streets of Liscor. He sat at his table and cleared his throat a few times.

“Excellent talent, that young Swifttail. Excellent. A real credit to his species. A [Strategist] worthy of the name. Indeed. Ahem. Did someone mention a drink?”

 

—-

 

It was as full as Erin’s inn had ever gotten in the old days. Of course, since these were the new days and she had the [Grand Theatre] Skill, her inn was still fairly spacious. However, everyone was packed onto the tables at the front of the room, leaving the back wide open. Every eye was on the Cave Goblin who’d been tied to a chair. The little Goblin was practically frothing at the mouth with fear and the bucket sitting below her chair was a testament to the loincloth-wetting fear it was in.

The mood in the rest of the inn was…well, it wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t relaxed either. Gnolls were missing. Liscor had been attacked. Again! It seemed like they couldn’t get a break. Only this time, the threat hadn’t disappeared with the end of the fighting like the moths. The Raskghar had retreated, and so what was taking place in the inn was a war council.

Everyone of note was present. All three Gold-rank teams, Tekshia, Zevara, Venim, Ilvriss, Embria, Olesm, Drassi—alright, some of the people present were there for other reasons, but the Drake population spoke to the gravitas of the moment. They were all appointed officials, and the fact that they were all Drakes was not lost on Pisces.

“Speciesism at its finest. At least they have deigned to include Miss Krshia, Guardsman Klbkch, and the Gold-rank adventurers in the discussion.”

Pisces whispered to Ceria as they sat near the back of the war council. They were, in fact, sitting behind a few plumper, older Drakes who were actually on Liscor’s council. Pisces’ whisper reached their ears and the Drakes turned to frown at Pisces. So did Ceria.

“Shush!”

He sniffed, which was all the commentary he really needed and stood up to get a drink. Erin was catering the council and she’d elected to serve people buffet style. Pisces wandered over to a table and stared at a devilled egg. He saw a little furry paw reach up and snatch it. Pisces peered under the tablecloth and found Mrsha sitting under the table. With Bird.

“Hello Pisces. I am hiding with Mrsha. I am not sure why, but it is fun.”

The [Necromancer] waited for his heart to stop pounding before he lowered the tablecloth and turned without another word. He looked into a pair of yellow, reptilian eyes. Selys paused with a fish flake in one claw.

“Oh, it’s you. You’re alive?”

Pisces paused and straightened his robes.

“Ah, Miss Selys. It is good to see you well. You are unharmed, I trust?”

She nodded and glanced at the tablecloth.

“I survived. Hid in my apartment until I heard the all-clear. Been working at the Adventurer’s Guild sorting things out until Olesm called for grandmother to come here. She pulled me over too.”

She gestured at the hiding Mrsha and Bird as they peeked out and grabbed more food before hiding once more.

“You saw them too? Nearly scared the scales off my tail when I saw Bird down there.”

“There is something about seeing a crouching Antinium hiding in the darkness that wakes one up. I take it you are participating in this meeting as well?”

Selys lifted up the roll of parchment and quill in her other hand and grimaced as she chewed on the fish flake.

“I get to write everything down. My grandmother has me doing it.”

“Ah. Guildmistress Tekshia Shivertail.”

Pisces glanced across the room at the elderly Drake who was giving him the evil eye. Tekshia looked away and Selys sighed.

“She hates your guts.”

“I had noticed. Well, I am quite interested in what we shall learn from this…interrogation.”

Pisces nodded to the Cave Goblin tied up in the center of the room. Olesm was standing next to the Redfang Goblins, nervously calibrating a truth detection stone while the Hobs spoke to the little Goblin. The rest of the room was abuzz with idle conversation as Selys and Pisces made their way forwards. Everyone was waiting to find out what the Goblin knew, but that relied on the Redfang Goblins finding out first. And they seemed to be having trouble. Pisces inferred this detail from the way an impatient Badarrow and Shorthilt lifted the Goblin and chair up and began shaking it violently upside down as it screamed and thrashed and then, threw up.

“Aw, come on guys! Don’t be mean! Just ask it what it knows!”

Erin made the Redfang Goblins stop and put the dizzy Cave Goblin right-side up. Numbtongue, the translator, growled and shook his head.

“It not saying. It is not talking. To us.”

“Well, can you make it talk? I mean, her?”

Pisces blinked at the little Goblin. Was it a she? He could barely tell, but yes, the Goblin did have a modest breast band to go with the filthy loincloth it was wearing. Numbtongue shrugged.

“We can make her talk. With more shaking.”

“Oh come on. What if we tried being nice?”

The Redfang Goblins looked at each other and then laughed. Erin sighed and Pisces smirked. Selys elbowed him.

“Stop laughing. Erin’s too nice for this.”

Pisces rubbed his side.

“That is precisely why I am so amused. It is because of her kindness that we are in this position. No one else would have spared the Goblin. Possibly not even her own kind. And yet, that kindness goes at odds against the Goblin’s own culture.”

“Yeah? Looks like they’re just bullying the little Goblin.”

Selys eyed the Hobs as Headscratcher made a fist and waved it under the Cave Goblin’s nose. It shrieked and Pisces sighed.

“You think so? Goblins normally do not have to threaten each other to get their way. They are a hierarchical species and rarely bully each other. This is an exception—the Cave Goblin is refusing to answer their questions. She is insulting the Hobs by denying that they are, in fact, Goblins.”

Selys looked at Pisces in surprise. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“How do you know that?”

“I listen.”

The [Necromancer] tapped one ear as the Cave Goblin babbled a high-pitched string of gibberish at the Hobs and Headscratcher replied with clear annoyance in his tone. Selys stared at the Goblins and then looked at Pisces in disbelief.

“You taught yourself Goblin? Why?”

“Curiosity. It was more of a hobby than anything else. You will recall that Erin often invited Rags and her small retinue of Goblins to the inn? I occasionally listened to them converse and made a small dictionary of words. It was an amusing puzzle, although I admit, Goblin language is more complex than I had previously understood.”

“And again, why would that help you at all? I mean, really?”

Pisces shrugged.

“The Goblins have secrets, Miss Selys. I wished to know some of them. Secrets are important. Valuable. They are the dark lifeblood of this world. They run thicker than blood and are worth far more than gold.”

Selys rolled her eyes.

“Ancestors, that’s pretentious. And what big secrets do Goblins have?”

The young Human man smiled.

“Well, this one has enough to attract the attention of a Wall Lord, three high-ranking Drake officials, a room full of adventurers, and your good self. Is that enough?”

Selys opened her mouth, swished her tail a few times, and then raised a clawed finger.

“Alright. You get that one. Just what are the Goblins talking about?”

Pisces frowned. His command of the Goblin language was more rudimentary than he’d like to admit. However, he knew a few words and he could infer a lot from body language, which was how Goblins communicated mainly anyways. He hesitated and stroked his chin.

“I think she’s asking whether they’re Goblins.”

The Drake [Receptionist] looked at Pisces in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

Pisces nodded. He spoke slowly as the Goblins argued back and forth.

“She keeps repeating a word. The Goblin word for…well, their people. And whenever…Headscratcher, I believe that one is…says the word for Hobgoblin, she shakes her head. Indeed, she is saying ‘not Goblin’. They are not Goblins. That is a potent insult in Goblin culture, I believe.”

“Huh.”

Selys slowly unrolled the piece of parchment. She balanced the inkpot on her arm and began to write as she stood with Pisces. She saw several heads turning as well as the ambient noise died down. Halrac, all the Gnolls, Ceria, Falene, and those sitting or standing around Pisces, turned their heads and listened as Pisces went on.

“Yes, the initial argument that Erin interrupted…seems to be all about that. I think the Goblin is willing to talk—very willing—but the Redfang Goblins are angry about being called not Goblin.”

“Are you serious? They’ve been arguing for the last ten minutes about this! Can’t they get past it?”

“I very much doubt it. The Hobs are insistent on being called Goblins. And on being treated with respect, since they are higher in the Goblin society than the Cave Goblin.”

And indeed, the Redfang Warriors were explaining this to the Cave Goblin in a gabble of words, and actions that involved chest thumping, Headscratcher striking a pose, and rapid gestures. The little Goblin’s eyes went wide. Pisces’ own eyes narrowed.

“She’s never seen a Hobgoblin before. Fascinating.”

Selys frowned.

“Get out. Almost every Goblin tribe has at least one Hob. Even the smallest ones! She has to at least have heard of a Hob—”

“Apparently not. Look. I think they have resolved the issue.”

The Redfang Goblins were nodding in satisfaction to Erin. She nodded as the Cave Goblin babbled up at Numbtongue and he replied. Ilvriss, who had been talking quietly with Zevara, turned.

“Is the Goblin finally willing to talk? At last. Then I declare this war meeting begun. Keep the monster quiet until we have need of it.”

Pisces rolled his eyes as Ilvriss took the center of the room. The [Necromancer] stepped back and he and Selys found a table. As the Drake scribbled notes, the meeting began, with the Drakes taking charge of the discussion. Selys had to painstakingly write everything in short-hand, her quill skimming across the parchment. Pisces for his part amused himself by condensing the long-winded discussion down into the appropriate key points as he saw them.

The council started by outlining what was obvious. The Raskghar had attacked both the inn and Liscor. Troublingly, they’d also attacked some of the outlying settlements such as the villages on hills. Reports were spotty given the darkness, but it looked like at least one hilltop was in ruins, the inhabitants dead…or missing.

What was known about the Raskghar was that they had attacked and kidnapped Gnolls while killing Drakes for reasons unknown. Krshia related the legend of the Raskghar in brief—they were ancient offshoots of the Gnollish race who had warred with the Gnolls and lost their ability to level in exchange for brute power. More importantly, they regained sapience each full moon. And it appeared that sentience was putting it mildly.

“Those bastards launched a coordinated attack and moved in small groups. They ambushed my [Guardsmen] on patrol—even disguised themselves as Gnolls when moving through the city. One of the Raskghar spoke, and apparently learned our language in moments after hearing it. They’re stronger, faster, and tougher than they were reported being in the past.”

Zevara pounded a fist on her table. She had a cut over her right brow. Embria looked vexed as she sat next to her father. Relc was scarfing down food until she elbowed him in the stomach.

“A creature that grows stronger with each full moon. What kind of strange ability is that?”

“They’re werewolves.”

Everyone looked at Erin. She looked around disbelievingly.

“Oh, come on. You mean you’ve never heard of werewolves? Really? Dudes that change from Human into uh, furry dudes each full moon? They look sort of like Gnolls. Except more wolfy. I think.”

The Gnolls present in the room looked troubled. The Drakes and adventurers conferred and then shook their heads. Embria looked sharply at Erin.

“We’ve never heard of these…werewolves. Elaborate, Miss Human. Please.”

“It’s only a legend where I come from. I’ve never seen one myself. But, well…werewolves change forms each full moon. They grow stronger, tougher, and they heal really fast. Sort of like Raskghar. Oh, and they transmit their uh, werewolf powers by biting people. I think. It’s like a disease.”

Zevara shook her head.

“Similar to the Raskghar legend. But different. I haven’t heard any of the wounded complain, but I’ll keep them under watch. Is that all, Erin?”

“Yes. Well, no, actually. There’s one thing about werewolves. They have a weakness. Silver.”

“Silver?”

Everyone in the room leaned forwards at that. Erin nodded.

“Silver really hurts werewolves. Don’t know if it’d kill Raskghar better. They uh, seem to die with or without silver weapons. But it might be worth looking into.”

“Silver weapons. Why would anyone make a blade out of silver?”

Embria looked blank. It was Ylawes who cleared his throat.

“To hunt vampires, Wing Commander. If it’s silver you want—I have a silver alloyed blade right here.”

He drew his longsword and placed it on the table.

“Oh, so you’ve got vampires but not werewolves? How does that make sense?”

Perhaps only Pisces paid attention to Erin’s muttering. No—not only him. He noticed Typhenous looking at Erin before he, like everyone else, turned back to Ylawes. The [Knight] was explaining to Embria what the blade meant.

“In centuries—perhaps millennia past, vampires were a common threat. My family, House Byres, made specially crafted arms to deal with them and my family were known enemies of their kind. The last vampires were sighted four hundred years ago, I believe, which has reduced the need for silver arms, but Byres steel always incorporates a bit of silver into the metal in this tradition.”

Embria frowned.

“Huh. So does it work?”

“Sadly, I never had a chance to wound one of the Raskghar. My team elected to protect a large group of civilians during the night and Falene killed or chased away any Raskghar before they could close with us.”

Ylawes looked apologetic. Embria grunted.

“That’s a shame. But—fine. We’ll see if silver hurts these things later. What else?”

The conversation swung back to damage on the city, reports of wounded and missing. Liscor had endured another attack and one of the Drakes on the council, the head of the Merchant’s Guild, was particularly upset.

“Why is Liscor under attack? Why must we endure assault after assault? It’s all because of this dungeon! The dungeon that the Antinium never warned us about!”

He pointed to Klbkch accusatorially, his finger shaking with outrage. Klbkch didn’t react and it was Zevara who came to his defense.

“The Antinium are our allies, Council Member Ulseil. I would ask that you refrain from making any allegations…at this point.”

Ulseil hesitated, but sat as Zevara glared at him. She was in charge in a definite way, Pisces noted. That was in keeping with Drake tradition—a Watch Captain was second to only a [General] when it came to the defense of their home city.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Do you have any information to add about the Raskghar threat?”

Ilvriss looked like he was chewing sour toads as he addressed the Antinium. Klbkch stood up and spoke in a calm, carrying voice.

“I regret the attack on Liscor as much as any other citizen. In my capacity as Senior Guardsman Klbkch and as Revalantor of the Free Antinium Hive, I am authorized to share all the information my Hive has on the Raskghar. Unfortunately, that is very little. The Antinium Hive has regularly fought off monster waves, but all the Raskghar encountered inevitably attack in small groups with other monster species. It is an unusual phenomenon that has sometimes seen Raskghar fighting side-by-side with Crypt Lords and other species that would not normally ally under any circumstances—only to tear each other apart at a later date.”

“A function of the dungeon, perhaps?”

The Drakes looked to the Gold-rank adventurers who shrugged noncommittally. Klbkch went on.

“As for a coordinated attack…the Hive was not assaulted in any capacity during the night. The Raskghar seem to avoid the Hive. I believe that this may be due to their understanding of the dangers of the Hive, or the fact that no Gnolls live within the Hive.”

A brief silence fell as Klbkch found his seat. One of the other Council members, a Drake with light pinkish scales, complained softly.

“Why Gnolls? It isn’t as if we have enough problems. Now we have to look for—”

Someone shushed her. In the silence, Ilvriss looked around wearily. He focused on an elderly Drake sitting near the back of the crowd.

“Guildmistress Tekshia? Do you have anything to add?”

The elderly Drake looked up. Her voice crackled as she sat up in her chair. She was eating from a plate of cookies Erin had taken out. Pisces had not seen anyone else eating one. Not even Mrsha.

“I hear a lot of whining. What do you want me to say? The Raskghar are dangerous? Bah. Stop complaining you thin-scaled cowards. You’ve weathered two—three attacks and you’re upset? You lack perspective.”

Her gaze went around the room. She pushed her plate back, noticed the white furry head appear over the side of the table and smacked Mrsha’s paw away and yanked her plate back. Tekshia covered it protectively with one claw as she spoke.

“Someone explain it to them. One of you Gold-ranks. I call on the most senior adventurer in this room besides myself.”

“Ah. Well then—”

Falene rose gracefully to her feet, smiling as everyone looked at her. She opened her mouth and Tekshia threw a cookie at her.

“Not you, half-Elf. I said senior adventurer, not oldest. Which one of you is it?”

Every eye swung to Halrac. He grunted.

“Not me.”

He looked to his left. Typhenous stroked his beard and smiled, but shook his head.

“I haven’t adventured as long as the esteemed Miss Ivirith.”

He nodded and every eye focused on the Selphid. Jelaqua stood up slowly. She grinned, the pale, dead Drake’s face she wore stretching into a toothy grin as her tail twitched a bit in embarrassment.

“Guess that’s true. Hi. Most senior adventurer here.”

“You? But how old is—”

Erin looked between Typhenous and Jelaqua. The Selphid grimaced.

“I’m fifty one years old. I’ve been adventuring for about thirty three years, which beats Typhenous.”

“By six years. I retired and came back to adventuring twice. And while I may claim to be older than Miss Ivirith, I am afraid that she has more experience than I.”

Typhenous stroked his white beard and smiled. Jelaqua sighed. She looked at Tekshia.

“You want me to say it?”

The old Drake nodded. Jelaqua scratched the spines on the back of her head.

“Alright. Fine. Most Gold-rank adventurers have to say stuff like this. What Guildmistress Tekshia wants me to say, I guess, is that…well, this is normal.”

Everyone looked at the Selphid. Jelaqua raised her hands awkwardly.

“You think this is unique to your city? You think other cities don’t have this problem? You have a Gold-rank dungeon sitting right next to your city. Under it. I’ve seen cities in Baleros fall to a Silver-rank dungeon located ten miles away! Dungeons are bad news. Getting hit over and over is—well, it’s what happens. This is like a siege. A siege from the dungeon. Cities often mobilize their armies to defend themselves. A bad dungeon isn’t just as bad as an enemy army. Sometimes it has multiple armies waiting to come out. So yeah. This is normal. Sorry.”

Jelaqua sat back down. The citizens of Liscor stared at her in horror. It was Ilvriss who broke the silence.

“It seems we have underestimated the nature of the threat once more. We assumed that the water would hold most of the monsters at bay and entrusted the effort of subjugating the dungeon to the Gold-rank adventurers. And while it is true that they have made progress, such as identifying and neutralizing the Shield Spider nest, this latest threat goes beyond any one team. To that end, I am requesting formal permission from Liscor’s Council to instate cooperation bounties on Liscor’s dungeon.”

Pisces paused, caught off-guard by the unfamiliar term. Selys looked up sharply and all the Gold-rank adventures looked up. Tekshia nodded, but the other Drakes looked blank. Zevara frowned.

“I’m not familiar with that term. Would someone explain what a cooperation bounty is?”

“I shall explain.”

Olesm cleared his throat nervously.

“A cooperation bounty is a practice put in place by cities in need of continual aid against some form of threat, usually monsters. With it, any team who satisfies the requirements will earn a weekly fee for fighting against monsters and safeguarding the city. They must remain active, but this allows a city to attract adventuring teams en-masse. It’s uh, rather expensive.”

“We don’t have the coin for that!”

One of the Drakes on the Council protested. Wall Lord Ilvriss cleared his throat and spoke.

“Given the strategic nature of Liscor, I believe that the Walled Cities will offer monetary assistance. I speak for Salazsar at the very least, and so I am immediately allocating a discretionary budget of forty thousand gold pieces to hire any adventurers needed to take on Liscor’s dungeon. To begin with.”

Ilvriss stared around the room at the shocked faces. He adjusted one of the jeweled rings on his claws and went on.

“Salazsar is the richest of the Walled Cities. We will provide whatever funds are necessary to hire more adventurers, as will the other Walled Cities and lesser cites. If need be, I will pay the entire cost myself. It will not come to that, however. Drakes support Drakes. Now, to the matter of finding Liscor’s kidnapped citizens.”

He turned coolly to the Gold-rank adventurers as Pisces caught Ceria’s eye and saw her mouthing the word ‘forty thousand’ at him. He nodded, wondering how much the rumors of the Antinium’s designs on the dungeon had played into Ilvriss’ sudden generosity. He watched as the Wall Lord fixed Jelaqua, Halrac, and Ylawes with a cold stare.

“Your teams will enter the dungeon through the underwater rift and pursue the Raskghar. Find their nest. Recover the citizens of Liscor.”

“We don’t take orders.”

Halrac met Ilvriss’ eyes. The Wall Lord glared.

“There are lives at stake.”

The [Veteran Scout] didn’t blink.

“All the more reason to let us do our work. Our way.”

“And is speed a factor in your work?”

Ilvriss didn’t wait for a reply. He looked at Ylawes and Jelaqua.

“I will not sit by while the citizens of a Drake city perish. If duty will not obligate you, gold shall. In addition to the cooperation fees proposed, I am personally putting up a bounty. One thousand gold pieces for each citizen of Liscor you bring back alive.”

It might have been Ilvriss’ Skill to turn the room full of living people into statues. Pisces’ eyebrows were raised so high he felt as though they might disappear. Erin whistled softly, which in the quiet room was the only sound.

“That’s a big number.”

Ilvriss turned his head and stared impassively at Erin.

“To some.”

Then he looked back at the adventurers.

“You are Gold-rank adventurers. Humans or not. Other species or not. Your duty is to protect and I will demand that you enter the dungeon and attempt to save the lives of those missing, or I will petition the Adventurer’s Guild to remove your Gold-rank status.”

They met his gaze silently. The Wall Lord looked from face to face and then focused on Jelaqua.

“You bear the Heartflame Breastplate. Cowardice will not be tolerated.”

Cool as a winter breeze, Ilvriss turned. He looked over at the Goblins, forgotten in a corner of the room until now.

“Now, onto the last issue before us. Bring forward the Goblin.”

The Redfang Warriors dragged forwards the Cave Goblin’s chair, waking the little creature up. She’d actually fallen asleep. When she saw Ilvriss staring at her she nearly wet herself again.

“Have it tell us all the information it has on the dungeon and the Raskghar.”

Ilvriss ordered Numbtongue. The Goblin looked irritable, but relayed the questions to the Cave Goblin. The little Goblin didn’t need any persuasion. She began to gabble and Numbtongue listened.

“Well, what’s it saying?”

Impatiently, Ilvriss looked at the Hob. Numbtongue grumbled. All the other Redfang Warriors looked at him. Headscratcher poked Numbtongue and the Goblin growled irritably. At last, pressured by dozens of stares, he spoke.

“She says the Raskghar control her tribe. She is Cave Goblin. She says the Goblins serve the Raskghar. They were ordered to attack—big stone city in middle of water. Liscor. And the inn.”

Everyone stared. Numbtongue’s words were surprisingly normal. Shockingly normal. He was more fluent than any Goblin that Pisces had ever met. Numbtongue glared around and folded his arms. He continued.

“She says Raskghar are very…very…”

He searched for the word. Erin frowned.

“Hungry?”

Olesm scratched his neck.

“Angry?”

“Afraid?”

Numbtongue smirked at Embria. He shook his head and gave up.

“Very wanting. They want. They come up here for what they want. Other furry not-Raskghar.”

“Gnolls.”

Krshia growled. The other Gnolls rumbled and the Cave Goblin shrank. Ilvriss held up a claw.

“They will not have them. Goblin.”

“Numbtongue.”

Goblin. Where are the Raskghar located? How many of them live within the dungeon? What threats are there to be concerned of?”

Numbtongue looked away and refused to speak. Ilvriss stared at him. Erin coughed.

“Say his name.”

“What?”

Say his name.

Ilvriss looked like he was about ready to stab Numbtongue to death. He ground his teeth as the Drakes muttered but eventually he spoke two grating words.

“Numb. Tongue.”

Instantly, the Hob turned to the Cave Goblin and issued a series of questions. Ilvriss sat, smoldering, as the Cave Goblin gabbled back. This time Numbtongue didn’t look so at ease. He looked around and shook his head.

“Well?”

“Raskghar have a lair deep within dungeon. She knows where, but there are many twists. Turns. And the lair is not always in the same place. The Raskghar are…ever moving. They change rooms.”

“Nomadic?”

Numbtongue nodded in relief.

“Nomadic. They have many spots. And they spread out. To avoid…bad things finding them.”

“Bad things? Like what?”

The adventurers all wanted to know. Numbtongue shook his head, troubled.

“Very bad things. Army of walking metal things. Big red worms that steal flesh. Headsnatcher. Invisible monsters.”

Invisible monsters?

Someone swore. Numbtongue nodded. He turned back to the Cave Goblin and asked one more question.

“There are…many Raskghar. Many.”

“How many is many?”

Numbtongue shrugged. He asked the Cave Goblin another question, but she clearly couldn’t answer. Numbtongue scratched his head and pointed around the giant common room. The Cave Goblin peered around and Numbtongue lifted her chair up with Shorthilt. She craned her neck and then gabbled a reply. Numbtongue’s eyes widened and he repeated the word. She nodded and he put her down. He didn’t want to speak after that.

“Well? How many?”

Ilvriss stared at Numbtongue. The Hob looked around. He looked at the ceiling, the floor, at his fellow Goblins, and then at his audience.

“She says that if this big room is a sleeping hall, then the main Raskghar camp would be six times this large.”

He pointed around the common room, enhanced by Erin’s [Grand Theatre] Skill. Slowly, his audience looked around the huge room, towards the distant stage at the back. This time Ilvriss was the one who swore. And as Lyonette quietly pointed out to Mrsha, it was a very bad word. But it was appropriate for very bad news.

 

—-

 

“Okay, that’s a big room. But it still means that there’s only about a few thousand Raskghar.”

“In their main camp.”

“Well, how many camps do they have? And if there are so many, why don’t they all attack at once?”

“Because that would be suicide. No, they have the numbers to raid us rather than take a fight which they’d lose.”

“They’d only lose if they attacked us when they’re stupid. You show me a thousand of those things on a full moon and see who’s laughing.”

“If they’re in the dungeon they’re fighting other monsters as well. They might not even be the dominant species within the dungeon.”

“Oh, wonderful. Now you’ve got me wondering if there’s something worse than Raskghar and Face-Eater moths!”

Ksmvr sat at a table with Ceria and Yvlon and listened to the people argue. He did not join the argument. He was unqualified. After all, if Captain Ceria didn’t speak and Revalantor Klbkch only spoke a few times, what qualifications did he, a disgraced Prognugator exiled from his Hive, have? No. He listened to every word spoken, watching the anxious people debate and talk in circles.

They were afraid. It was a novel concept to Ksmvr. Not fear. He had been afraid when he had failed his Hive. He had been afraid every day since, of being unworthy, of losing his place with the Horns of Hammerad. But it was strange for Ksmvr to see so many others being afraid. Drakes, Gnolls, Humans—why were they afraid?

Ksmvr wanted to speak. He wanted to stand up and ask them why they feared the Raskghar. Yes, the monster attacks were unrelenting. Yes, Liscor had suffered. People had died and there was crisis yet again. But if he could speak he would ask them: ‘so what?’

So what? In Ksmvr’s head he stood and spoke, silencing the loud Drakes turning to Ilvriss and Zevara in fear. Why are you afraid of monsters? Yes, they are terrible. Yes they come again. And yes, this dungeon is a foe worthy of your city. But so what? You are equal to the challenge.

Did not Liscor defeat Skinner and the undead? Didn’t they vanquish a horde of Face-Eater Moths? Hadn’t they endured the worst the dungeon had to offer? And in those moments of despair, did they flee? No. Drakes and Gnolls fought. Antinium fought. That was Liscor’s strength.

Liscor had survived war. It had survived centuries of battle. It had fought off the Necromancer before Ksmvr had even been created. It had beaten back his people. The Black Tide had assailed Liscor and failed to take the city! Liscor had even survived the…water. How could they be afraid of monsters after all that?

Yes, the mood was dark. Yes, Liscor was in danger. But the monsters would be driven back. The dungeon was not an infinite beast of endless passageways. It had an end. It had a limit. The adventurers would enter the dungeon, claim its treasures, lay waste to the traps and monsters within. And when that day came, Liscor would know peace. They would emerge stronger for their trials. Someday the rain would stop. Someday Liscor would emerge proud and triumphant. So what if the night was dark and the rain fell?

So what?

That was what Ksmvr thought in his head. Of course, he did not say any of this out loud. He was well aware that he lacked the social understanding of his team. Captain Ceria was always telling him that. If he spoke now he would only embarrass his team. So Ksmvr kept silent. Better to let the people speak who knew what they were doing.

It seemed like there was a lot of shouting going on. Ksmvr saw the organized council meeting dissolve into panic. He stared at one of the Liscor’s Council as they dropped to the floor in a panic attack and another who screamed at Klbkch. He waited for someone to say the right words. No one did.

Maybe they didn’t know what they were doing. The thought terrified Ksmvr. But all the panicked people in the room seemed uncertain, even the adventurers. Even his Captain. His resolve not to do anything wavered. Ksmvr looked around as people panicked and said the same words over and over again. Slowly, he pushed back his chair. Someone had to say it. He rose to his feet and opened his mandibles to speak.

“So—”

The door to Pallass opened. Ksmvr instantly sat back down. Thank goodness. He’d been about to humiliate himself. He saw Watch Captain Venim reenter the room. Relieved, Ilvriss turned from trying to shout everyone down. Venim looked around, saw the chaos, and raised his tail. He slapped the floorboards of the inn with a crack that drew everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me. Pallass has been apprised of Liscor’s situation. The Assembly of Crafts has carried a motion to aid Liscor.”

“With money?”

One of the Drakes looked at Venim. He nodded.

“In part. However, in light of the Raskghar threat, it was decided in a joint meeting by the Walled Cities that Liscor lacks the population of adventurers necessary for taking on a dungeon of this size. To that end, Pallass will send through adventurers to Liscor.”

The room stared at him. Venim went on as, behind him, Ksmvr spotted shapes marching through the lightening street towards the doorway.

“Some of the teams were already preparing to enter Liscor on their own terms. The rest have been conscripted under Drake law to aid in the subjugation of this dungeon. With your permission, Watch Captain Zevara, we will send them through.”

Zevara looked bewildered, but stood up and nodded.

“You have it, Watch Captain Venim.”

He nodded back and turned his head. Venim called into the doorway.

“Send them through!”

He stood to one side. Erin stared at Venim.

“Wait, more adventuring teams? But we already got the Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer. Wait—Gemhammer’s from up north.”

Venim gave Erin a long, exasperated look.

“Pallass is far larger than Liscor. Did you think the city held only two Silver-rank teams?”

“Uh…no? How many do you have, then?”

Erin turned as the first Drake strode into the room. He was wearing thick, plate armor burnished bright gold. His helmet was open to reveal his face and his scales were bright green. His breath smoldered and smoke poured from his mouth as he stepped through the doorway. He spat a jet of blue flame as three other Drakes wearing the same armor marched through.

The Drake in armor coughed smoke as his team strode forwards. They moved in perfect step and strode forwards towards Wall Lord Ilvriss. They paused before him. The Wall Lord stared at them and the Drake with blue flame saluted.

“Flamewardens. Gold-rank. Here to challenge Liscor’s dungeon.”

His companions saluted as well. And behind them stepped out another team. A pair of Drakes with large wings looked around imperiously. The female Drake bowed as her wings opened.

“The Wings of Pallass. Gold-rank. To protect the city.”

Behind them came another group. Drakes, wearing robes. The leader lifted a wand and traced a symbol in the air.

“Scaleshard Mages. Silver-rank.”

And behind them came more. Drakes walked through the door, some staring at the Redfang Goblins, others visibly recoiling from the Antinium. Ksmvr stared as they entered and lined up. Row after row of Drakes, Gnolls, and occasionally other species.

“Rhine of Blades. Bronze-rank.”

“Tempest Singers. Silver-rank.”

“The Tail of Xil. Silver-rank”

“Meliem. Silver-rank…”

The people of Liscor stared. The adventurers, Erin, all stared in awe of Pallass’ adventurers as they came through in one unending mass. And at last they felt it. A break in the rainy sky. A glimmer of hope. Over a hundred adventurers entered Erin’s inn, fresh recruits from Pallass, from a Walled City itself. Some had come for glory, others for treasure, others because they had no choice. The reason mattered not. The tide had turned against the dungeon. Ksmvr looked around proudly. Pisces’ plan had worked!

After the last adventurer had come through, they stood, waiting for a signal, a benediction, thanks, anything. Ilvriss looked caught off-guard as anyone else, so the air of expectant patience grew strained. At last it was Jelaqua who broke the silence. She groaned and leaned back in her chair.

“Aw, fuck. I hate competition.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.36

Ordinarily, on any other day, Erin would have been thrilled to have an inn full of guests. However, today just wasn’t that kind of day. She was tired, upset, ashamed of herself, and currently understaffed. Erin rushed from table to table with drinks as Drassi, Ishkr, and Lyonette all did the same. She was relieved none of the adventurers from Pallass were hungry, but everyone wanted a drink. They were sitting about, Drakes mainly, but a good number of Gnolls, chatting while the team leaders gathered around a table with Ilvriss and the other bigwigs, discussing strategy.

“Innkeep! Firebreath Whiskey for us over here!”

“Not for me! Rum if you have it!”

“Do you have any mild ales?”

“What about wine? Or…a fruit juice?”

That last came from a feathered bird-woman. Erin nearly dropped her tray when she saw the Garuda. The adventurers of Pallass hailed from the southern part of Izril, which was, again, mainly inhabited by Drakes and Gnolls. But exceptions always existed.

“We’ve got juice. What would you like?”

The Garuda brightened. She asked for Erin’s menu then chose some grape juice—which was one of the few juices Erin had, really. Fruit juice was expensive! Especially because it had a shorter shelf life than alcohol. Ironically, you could get a keg of alcohol for less than some good old-fashioned apple juice. Apple cider on the other hand…Erin wondered if she could find a nice farm around here willing to sell her fruits for cheap. Didn’t Ryoka say she’d visited a farm once?

She was distracting herself. Erin went over to her bar and filled a mug with juice. Mrsha popped up, surprising her.

“Oh, Mrsha. Do you want a drink?”

The little Gnoll shook her head. She took a mug, and filled it with ale. Then she scampered over to a table and offered it to a surprised Drake. Erin watched Mrsha run back. She felt her heart squeeze.

“You are so responsible! Good job!”

She patted Mrsha on the head and watched the Gnoll smile, then hurried back to the Garuda.

“Here’s your drink!”

“Thank you. I’d like to drink, but alcohol goes through me faster than normal. And it seems we’ll be busy soon.”

“You mean with fighting? The Raskghar are gone.”

The Garuda nodded. Her companions, Drakes with wings folded on their backs, blinked as Mrsha ran up with two mugs, slopping a bit over the sides. The Garuda sipped from her mug with her beak. She was strikingly brilliant—her feathers were a beautiful spring green color with white and slightly pink feathers patterning down her arms and legs.

Her entire body was covered in feathers and her clothing was minimal—like the Gnolls, she wore only enough for modesty. She had a shortsword by her side and carried what looked like a bag of holding at her belt and nothing else. She wasn’t even wearing armor like some of the Drakes who were practically clanking with metal.

“That’s true, Miss. But the dungeon remains. And that’s why we’re here. My team thought about entering it, but that’s not our usual forte so we held back. But duty is duty. Pardon me, I haven’t introduced myself. Bevussa Slenderscale. I’m with the Wings of Pallass.”

“Oh! The Gold-rank team? But you’re…and your name…”

Erin frowned, confused. Bevussa smiled.

“I’m adopted. My people are known as Garuda. They live on Chandrar almost exclusively, but I was abandoned as a chick and taken in by Drakes living in Pallass. Hence the name.”

Erin slapped her forehead.

“That makes sense! Sorry, I’m a bit muddled. I was fighting off giant angry Raskghar a few hours ago. I’m so glad you’re here. Your team are all Oldblood Drakes, aren’t they?”

She nodded at the others. The Drakes looked surprised that she knew the term for them. Bevussa smiled.

“Correct. We’re a rare group. I got in because I can fly. The others are all Oldblood, as is our, uh, leader.”

The Garuda nodded to the Drake who’d first introduced her group. Erin peered over at the Drake as she stood with the other adventurer leaders at the front of the group. The captain of The Wings of Pallass was tall for a Drake and striking with her wings folded at her back. Erin saw the other adventurers from Pallass giving her some respectful space.

“Wow. That’s cool. Sorry, I’d love to chat more, but I have to keep waiting tables.”

“Of course, Miss…”

The young woman turned and grinned.

“I’m Erin Solstice. This is my inn! Don’t mind the mess! Or the blood. Or the Hobs. We have a sign!”

She pointed at the prominent sign she’d propped up next to the bar. It was the copy of the one some of the adventurers had stared at as they’d entered the inn via Pallass. Bevussa eyed it.

“Huh. This is one weird inn. What do you think?”

She glanced at her teammates. The two Drakes stared at the Redfang Warriors who were doing their best not to attract any attention as they hauled the Cave Goblin—still tied to the chair—to a far corner of the room. One of the Drakes with purple scales and a scar running down the left side of her neck leaned over.

“We were told by that Watch Captain that this inn is unusual, Captain. It even has Antinium in it! Do you think all the inns in Liscor are like this? Or is this about the Antinium entering the dungeon?”

Bevussa grimaced and glanced around. All the other adventurers were busy gossiping. She leaned forwards.

“I told you not to call me that! When we’re in public, Issa’s the Captain, got it?”

“Sorry.”

Disgruntled, Bevussa leaned back in her chair and sipped from her drink. Probably every Gnoll in the room had heard her if they’d been listening in, but it was only the Drakes she was concerned about. She glanced around and then frowned.

“Why’s that Antinium staring at me?”

 

—-

 

The adventurers standing around the table were in rapid conference with the officials from Liscor. All of them were team captains and almost all of them were Silver-rank or higher. A few were Gold-rank and they intimidated Ceria. She felt squished as she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Silver-ranks. Ceria also felt like a fraud as she looked around at the serious adventurers from Pallass.

Each one of them was an accredited leader of a Silver-rank team. Hell, even Pallass’ bronze-rank adventurers looked like they knew how to fight. Maybe the Drakes had a different standard for adventurers because Ceria had never seen so many scars on a Bronze-rank adventurer before. She shifted, stepped on someone’s tail, and winced. It was packed! At least the discussion taking place wasn’t that involved.

Halrac, Jelaqua, Ylawes, and four other Gold-rank Captains stood around the table. One of them, the huge Drake wearing plate armor who was the leader of the Flamewardens, spoke. His voice rasped and every time he coughed, smoke or blue flames issued from his mouth. He had a lot of space around him, despite the press of bodies.

“We’re honored to help, Wall Lord. And we’ve been appraised of Liscor’s situation. Our teams have studied the recordings of the Face-Eater Moth attack and we’re aware of the annual flooding. Obviously.”

Ilvriss nodded. The Wall Lord straightened in his chair, looking around importantly.

“And I thank you on behalf of Liscor. As Wall Lord of Salazsar, I personally guarantee all of the bounties promised by the Adventurer’s Guild will be met. Tell me, do you have a plan of attack?”

Halrac, Jelaqua, and Ylawes all shifted, looking annoyed. But the Captain of the Flamewardens nodded decisively.

“We have a clear dynamic to how this dungeon must be conquered. If these…Raskghar are strongest at night, we adventurers must move by day. Our team will enter as soon as day breaks. Until then, we will prepare. I’m told this inn isn’t part of Liscor. Where might we seek lodgings inside the city?”

The Wall Lord grimaced.

“There are a number of inns within the premises of Liscor. They are already quite full, but I personally reside at the Tailless Thief. I will speak with the innkeeper and see if any rooms can be made available. As for the other teams, they may have to seek lodgings with Celum if no more rooms can be found within Liscor.”

Celum? Isn’t that a Human city a hundred miles north of here?”

The other adventurers were astonished. Ilvriss nodded coolly.

“It is. But this inn is unique. The magic door that transported you all here from Pallass will also transport anyone from Liscor to Celum.”

The adventurers stared at the door they’d entered and murmured. Ceria felt a bit of pride—even the Gold-ranks looked impressed. One of the Silver-rank Captains spoke up.

“Does the innkeeper have any rooms to let here?”

“Sadly, I believe they’re all occupied. By Goblins, no less.”

Ilvriss sighed. He looked around at the adventurers.

“I will remind you all that Liscor is allied with the local Antinium Hive. Furthermore, this inn itself has proven itself…useful, so the laws of Miss Solstice, the Human who owns it, are also to be respected. Aside from that, I am honored to see so many brave souls from Pallass arriving to assist Liscor in its hour of need. I personally wish you the best of luck in your expedition into the dungeon.”

“Thank you, Wall Lord.”

The Flamewarden’s Captain inclined his head and Ilvriss did the same. The Gold-rank adventurer looked at Jelaqua.

“We have a limited window of time before we commence the dungeon raid. Does the Adventurer’s Guild have any guides or maps of the dungeon, Miss Selphid? Or can we buy the information from your team?”

Jelaqua folded her arms, her tail tangling the legs of the Drakes standing beside her as it lashed.

“Bold, aren’t you? I thought only the Silver-rank teams were crazy enough to go into a dungeon without prepping.”

The Drake met her eyes levelly.

“We’re ready to fight. And my team hardly intends to go in alone.”

“Exactly. We’ve discussed the issue amongst ourselves and we’ve elected to go in strong. We’ll hit the rift the Raskghar came from. Not as one, but as a united front, yes?”

Another Gold-rank adventurer spoke up. Jelaqua glanced at the Gnoll.

“Your team too? I get that there’s safety in numbers, but this dungeon isn’t something to be underestimated! Fine, if it’s three Gold-rank teams or something…hells, how many are going in today?”

The adventurers looked at each other. The Flamewarden’s Captain bared his teeth and spat a bit of flame.

Everyone.

 

—-

 

Over a hundred adventurers in her inn. Maybe two hundred? No. Over a hundred. Erin tried to guesstimate the numbers as she ran figures in her head. Guesstimate was a word, wasn’t it? It didn’t sound like it should be one. It sounded…fake.

And they were all going into the dungeon. All at once. Faced with that news, the other teams decided they’d join in too. After all, there might not be safety in numbers all the time, but if an army of adventurers was going in to save the missing Gnolls, you didn’t want to be the one team that stayed behind.

Erin’s stomach hurt as she thought of the missing Gnolls. It hurt harder as she remembered the Raskghar attack. She pushed the feeling down as she waved her hands desperately, trying to attract the attention of the mob of adventurers as they headed for the door to Liscor. They’d already left coins on the table for the drinks. Erin saw Lyonette sweeping them up and wondered how much they’d made already.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!

They all looked at her. Erin smiled, feeling a bit of sweat run down her back.

“Uh. Hi. I’m Erin Solstice. I run this inn. I uh, hope you all go into the dungeon safe and sound.”

They stared at her. Awkwardly, Erin fumbled with a jar of thick blue soup and held it up.

“The thing is—I also sell stuff to adventurers. My inn is connected to an [Alchemist]’s shop in Celum, and I sell other stuff! Like magic food. I have this soup that makes you warm—uh, keeps you warm. It’s magic. And I have another dish that makes your skin tougher! Come back and try it! I’m selling it at a discount to anyone that needs it. [Guardsmen], adventurers—anyone!”

She looked at Zevara, who was waiting by the door with Relc and Klbkch. The Watch Captain eyed the blue soup and shuddered, but gave Erin a slight nod. The adventurers murmured and some came over to try her Corusdeer soup. Erin had a feeling that no one would want that soup when they entered the dungeon, so she willingly gave out samples and answered questions about whether her food would conflict with other magical enchantments and how long it would last and so on.

“That’s one way to do business. I wonder how many teams will buy from you. We’ll be buying some of your Scale Soup before we go.”

Jelaqua strolled over as the press of adventurers broke up around Erin. The [Innkeeper] stared into her mostly empty jar.

“It’s called Scale Salad now, actually, Jelaqua. I finally figured out how to make it taste a little better. The soup still has all those crunchy bits in it, but the salad’s…well it’s still got crunchy bits, but it tastes palatable. If crunchy.”

“Hey, whatever works. I can turn my taste buds off. And I think any adventurer would gargle rocks if it meant they’d survive an arrow to the chest.”

Jelaqua smiled. The Selphid looked at the press of adventurers lined up to leave Erin’s inn through either doorway and shook her head.

“Dead gods, what a mess. I guess this is a good thing but—damn it, I can’t say I enjoy seeing this.”

“What? All the other adventurers?”

The Selphid nodded, looking miserable.

“Competition. I feel like a stomach ulcer for saying it, but it’s true. All these other teams means we’ve got a lot less of a chance of making it big on the dungeon. Saving the Gnolls would be great, but—”

The Selphid shrugged. Erin nodded slowly. Jelaqua and her team—and Griffon Hunt—had invested a lot into this dungeon. They’d worked tirelessly. It had to be hard seeing so many adventurers come in right when they felt like they were making progress.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. The people come first. And it’s not like they’re stealing anything.”

Jelaqua smiled crookedly. Seborn came over and Moore edged around all the Drakes.

Looks like we’re entering the dungeon. How much of that foul soup do you have, Erin?

“I made it taste better! It’s a salad now—well, it looks like a salad if you squint. I’ll have to make a lot more today.”

Moore rumbled as he bent down, looking serious.

“Just be sure to take care of your inn first, Erin. I heard the Watch Captain speaking to Olesm and her [Guardsmen]. Liscor will be fortifying while the adventurers go in. You should do the same. We will be here tonight, but it would be better if you made some preparations. Especially for young Mrsha.”

Erin nodded seriously.

“I will, Moore. Don’t worry. That’s on the top of my list. That’s why I’m pitching to the adventurers, actually.”

It was for the money. Of course, Erin appreciated money in any circumstances, but right now she was desperate for as much as she could get. The Halfseekers left her inn with the Horns and the rest of the adventurers. They wanted to talk more with the new adventurers and most of them had agreed to meet up in the Adventurer’s Guild after they found a place to stay. That news made Selys swear a blue streak and mutter about crowds as long as an ancestor’s tail. She ran off after saying the briefest of goodbyes to Erin.

Suddenly, Erin’s inn was empty. She stared around and saw Lyonette, Drassi, and Ishkr cleaning up with Mrsha dutifully helping. The Redfang Goblins were sitting in a corner with the little Cave Goblin, chattering amongst themselves, and Bird and Klbkch were talking to each other. Aside from that, everyone had gone.

Erin sighed and felt a bit of the mad energy leave her. She looked around and realized that the room was lighter. The sun was rising into the sky and with it came light. Erin blinked at it and realized she hadn’t slept since the Raskghar attack! She wobbled and sat down at a table.

Only now did she feel exhausted. Only now did she remember last night, and let herself give into a bit of the guilt and fear that had been flooding her. Erin rested her forehead on her arm, suddenly too tired to move, but too worn down to sleep.

It was there that Rabbiteater found Erin. The Hob shuffled over, his water cloak swirling around his shoulders. The other Hobs were busy patting Headscratcher’s muscles and pestering Numbtongue to play them music on the mostly broken guitar. But Rabbiteater had noticed Erin’s slump and came over to check if she was dead. She was not, and when she saw the Hob come over, Erin sat up.

“Rabbiteater. Are you okay?”

The Redfang Warrior nodded. Erin eyed him from head to toe. He looked okay. But she remembered him kneeling on the ground, covered in blood as the Raskghar attacked. She spoke softly.

“I feel pretty useless.”

Rabbiteater stared down at Erin. Rather predictably, he didn’t say anything. He hesitated, and then pulled up a chair next to Erin. She glanced up and saw his red eyes staring at her.

Goblins had pupils. It was just that their eyes looked uniformly red at a distance. However, Erin had stared at enough Goblins to know that the whites of their eyes were red, as were the cornea. The pupils, by contrast, were the darkest part of their eyes. She saw Rabbiteater’s focus on her now. The Hob waited for Erin to speak.

“You saved me last night. You and the others. If you hadn’t been there, the Raskghar would have killed me.”

Headscratcher didn’t respond. Erin stared down at her hands.

“You saved me. I didn’t do…anything. I threw pots and pans and knives and those Raskghar just blocked or ignored everything. I’m sorry, Rabbiteater. If you hadn’t blocked them, they would have gutted me in a moment. I was so scared I couldn’t even use my aura on them.”

Erin remembered trying. She remembered throwing her kitchen knife, watching it slice the Raskghar’s arm, as useless as spit. She’d thrown a frying pan at the Raskghar next, but it had done almost nothing. For the first time Erin had been acutely aware of her weakness. She was an [Innkeeper]. Not a warrior. And the Hobs had nearly lost a fight against the Raskghar themselves. After a while, Erin went on.

“I was so very glad to see everyone was okay. Even Ilvriss’s jerk face. He is a good leader, you know. He just happens to be racist, arrogant, and hate cake. But he does care about Liscor.”

Rabbiteater nodded. Erin sighed and rubbed at her eyes.

“I can’t believe how unprepared I was. I thought I could do something if I got attacked. But I keep relying on you guys. It’s a class thing. But I should have done more to prepare. I hope you leveled from the fighting at least.”

She looked up. Rabbiteater nodded.

“That’s good. Really. I haven’t slept yet. But I don’t think I will. As innkeeping goes, defending my inn doesn’t seem like it earns me many levels. Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you.”

Rabbiteater shrugged and smiled. That was the Redfang Warriors for you. They were casual—no, modest about what they did. Erin sighed. Then she leaned over. She gave Rabbiteater a one-armed hug and the Hobgoblin froze. Erin grinned.

“You’re too shy, you know that? You and all the other Goblins.”

Then she got down to business. Namely, the business of defending her inn. Erin’s brows drew together sharply as she thought. The Raskghar would come back. Krshia had told everyone that. The full moon hadn’t even been full yesterday. That meant there would be more nights of attacks. More fighting. Erin was determined that last night’s desperate struggle wouldn’t happen again.

She needed defenses. More defenses than just Bird, that was. It was funny. She’d invested in an Antinium watch tower, Hobgoblin security, and she had two adventuring teams under her roof, but Erin hadn’t yet done anything as simple as setting out some traps. Surely there were some she could buy or manufacture, right?

Erin thought about traps. She thought about boiling oil, pitfalls, giant walls of spikes that swung out, and then thought about how realistic any of that was.

“Mm. Nope. I don’t have the budget for any of that. And I’m on a time limit. What can I put out that’ll really inconvenience a Raskghar coming my way?”

Rabbiteater scratched his head.

“Nail? Sharp rock?”

“Nails? I guess. That’d really hurt, yeah. Sharp rocks…caltrops, maybe? But who makes caltrops? Really? No, there’s gotta be something—”

Erin snapped her fingers together.

“Bear traps! Landmines? Nope. Bear traps. Uh…attack runes? I don’t think I’ve got time to hire anyone for those. So bear traps. They have those in Liscor, right? Krshia knows a lot of [Hunters]. She’s got to have something like that in stock. Hey, Lyonette! I need you to go shopping for something!”

Lyonette looked up, her arms full of empty mugs. She came over as Erin found a piece of parchment and began to write an order on it.

“What’s up, Erin?”

“I need you to buy something pronto. To defend the inn. Go to Krshia and see if she knows where they sell bear traps, okay?”

“Bear what?

“Bear traps. They have them here, don’t they? Big, spiky things that go snap when something steps on them?”

Erin looked expectantly at Lyonette. The Human girl looked at Rabbiteater and the Hobgoblin shrugged. Erin’s face fell.

“Wait, they don’t have them?”

“Maybe they do. What do they look like?”

The [Innkeeper] frowned. She turned the bit of parchment over and fiddled with the stick of charcoal.

“Well, they’re like two steel jaws that close on anything that steps on them. I know it’s really cruel to animals, but if I was hunting like, giant Rock Crabs or something really evil…like a Troll? I’d use one of these. It looks…like this. See?”

Erin sketched out the bear trap on the parchment and held it up. Rabbiteater took the sketch Erin had made and looked at it dubiously. He tilted his head, frowned, and then turned the parchment upside down. That didn’t help.

“Hey, it’s not that bad!”

Lyonette looked at the parchment and frowned.

“It…are those teeth? I have no idea how that thing works. The teeth come together? How?”

“With a mechanism in the center! It’s like—okay, look. You have this thing here and if you step on it, the trap closes. Over your foot. Or your hand, I guess. Any part of you that lands on the trap, really. Look—does this make sense?”

Erin grumbled as she snatched the parchment back from Rabbiteater. She made another sketch and Rabbiteater began to see what she was talking about. Well, if she put it like that, it was easy, wasn’t it? Two spiky sides would close on anything that stepped on the little thing in the center. Unfortunately—

He grunted and shook his head. Erin looked disappointed.

“What? Why not?”

Rabbiteater pointed to the blueprints and pointed. He mimed the jaws of the bear trap closing on his foot and threw up his hands in surprise. Then he shrugged. Lyonette, who’d been frowning at the trap, came to the same conclusion and put it more succinctly.

“Erin, that trap won’t work. If someone steps in it, sure, it’ll hurt, but unless those blades are incredibly sharp, it won’t do that much damage. I guess it’d do some damage if it snapped really hard, but most times you’ll just step on that and…well, it might slow someone down.”

Erin was incredulous.

“On a bear trap? No way! Those jaws will snap shut and you won’t be able to open them!”

“Sure you can. You just pull the thing apart.”

“No, you can’t. See? It has these springs that’ll hold the jaws closed—”

“Springs? You mean…it jumps up or something?”

And then Erin ran into a problem. She paused as both Lyonette and Rabbiteater looked at her without a hint of comprehension on their faces.

“No, not spring. Springs. You know, the spiral things? Very flexible? Holds things together? Bouncy?”

She didn’t do a good job explaining what she meant. But it soon became clear that springs, or rather, the coiled version of springs that went in bed mattresses and so on, didn’t exist in this world. At least to Lyonette and Rabbiteater’s understanding.

“I’ve never seen one of those things before, Erin. You say this is a little metal coil all wrapped up, right? That sounds like very difficult work, even for a good [Blacksmith].”

“You’re right. You’re right.

Erin groaned as she thought about how hard making a small spring would be. There was no mass production in this world, after all! She tore up the bear trap blueprints in disgust.

“Great! So I can’t defend this inn. Unless they make landmines here? How am I supposed to guard the inn this time?”

“Well, why not barricade the door?”

Lyonette looked towards the door. The Raskghar had smashed into the inn through the door last time, breaking the wooden latch on the door. Erin looked up.

“Well yeah, I could do that. I could put a big honking bar across the door, and maybe the [Reinforced Structure] Skill would hold it, but what about my windows?”

“What about them? We can barricade them too. There’s already shutters on them.”

Lyonette nodded to the glass windows. Erin made a face.

“Yeah, but the shutters are in the inside. Which means that anyone smashing through’s already broken the glass.”

The [Princess] and Hob stared at Erin.

“So?”

“So, glass is expensive! Do you know how much Klbkch charged me last time to fix all that? I don’t want my windows broken in! Plus, those shutters aren’t made to hold out angry Raskghar.”

“Hm. Well, in that case…”

Lyonette trailed off. Rabbiteater frowned at the windows. He pointed to the window and mimed hammering. Erin sighed.

“Yes, Rabbiteater. That’s what we’re saying. But it won’t save the glass!”

Rabbiteater shook his head. He put up his hand and mimed a window. Erin frowned as Rabbiteater stood on one side of the imaginary window and then walked around. He began hammering…on the outside.

“Oh! You mean, put on shutters on the outside! Rabbiteater, that’s genius!”

Erin sat up in delight. That would work! All she had to do was install big defensive shutters on the outside of her inn. She could close them if she knew something was going to hit her inn—and then open them if it was all safe! Lyonette frowned.

“That’s a good idea, Rabbiteater. But putting shutters on the outside also means we can’t open them to look around at something right next to the inn. And that’s dangerous.”

“Right, right. Um—okay, what about this? We put the shutters on the ground floor windows, but leave the second floor open? I’m pretty sure my windows can’t be broken by arrows. Unless, like, it’s Halrac shooting them or something.”

Lyonette looked at Rabbiteater. The Hob scratched his head. Then both nodded. Erin clapped her hands.

“Alright! That’s phase one! Reinforce the inn! Lyonette, we’ll need some good wood, more nails, and maybe another hammer from Krshia.”

“I can pick those up. What’s phase two for the inn?”

“Uh—let me think it over for a bit.”

Erin stood up and paced about the inn. She was feeling a bit better now, and Rabbiteater and Lyonette both went outside to see how much wood the windows would need. Erin walked back and forth, trying to figure out what she could do. She discarded all of the impractical ideas or the things that’d take too much time.

Really, when you got down to it, the only way to defend her inn was to have enough people inside of it with weapons ready in case something attacked. Erin could build traps in her inn, but it would be easier to have something disposable. So she discarded bear traps and thought about potions. By the time Lyonette came back, Erin had a second plan ready.

“Essentially, I want a big box full of potions and alchemy…grenades? Right here. And Bird gets some of his own in case he’s attacked in his watch tower. And I want a lock on the door leading to the tower so he can get back in the inn if there’s a lot of monsters, like the moths.”

It was what she’d already done, except that Erin was doubling down on supplies. She found her money bags and poured gold pieces onto the table.

“We need a bigger defense budget. We should have, like four Tripvine Bags at all times. And those explosive potions! Octavia can’t make them. I don’t think she knows how. So…we need to go grab some from a better [Alchemist] in the city.”

“She’s not going to like that.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to know. As for the door lock—”

“Not a good idea.”

“Why not? If Bird’s in trouble—”

“A lock’s too much to work with, Erin. And Bird will forget the key. Why not just make it a door bar?”

“That is a reasonable suggestion.”

Both Erin and Lyonette looked up. Klbkch had walked over. He had stayed in the inn, mainly to explain to Bird exactly what a Garuda was and why he was not allowed to talk about shooting Bevussa or any of the Drakes with wings. Klbkch listened to the rest of Erin’s ideas and nodded when she finished.

“All of these additions seem like practical, simple measures that may save your life. I could send a Worker to make the improvements today if you wish.”

Erin waved a hand dismissively.

“What, barricading windows and making a door bar? I could figure out how to do that myself with [Advanced Crafting]. Just give me a few bits of wood and uh, maybe Rabbiteater can carve it a bit? I don’t like splinters. Okay, and maybe I could use some things from Krshia. Lyonette, can you see if she sells…door bar handles? And get me some screws? You do know what screws are, right?”

After Lyonette had gone, Erin turned to Klbkch. The Antinium was looking about the inn.

“Hey Klbkch. Are you okay?”

He turned and nodded precisely at her.

“I am well, Erin. Last night’s fighting did not extend to the Hive, and I was only made aware of the attack after a Street Runner was sent to the Hive. I was not injured. I was, however, concerned about you and your inn. As was Pawn. And Belgrade. And Anand.”

“Tell them I’m alright, okay?”

“I shall convey your words. However…your preparations for tonight’s defense are somewhat troubling.”

“It’s not enough?”

The Antinium paused as he looked around the inn.

“Given your budget and the time available, I would imagine that it is quite appropriate for any lesser crisis. But for a larger catastrophe, such as the invasion of the Face-Eater Moths?”

Erin nodded seriously.

“Yeah. It probably would be like last time. Which we survived! But I could do more. I’ve really been thinking about getting some enchanting done on my inn, actually. But none of the [Mages] I know have the ability to enchant things. I was going to see if anyone from Pallass could do it, but it’s been so busy—”

“No [Enchanter] would be able to perform more than rudimentary wards by nightfall anyways. That is a decent long-term plan. May I offer you a short-term one?”

Erin paused.

“Go on.”

Klbkch studied the inn, his head sweeping slowly down the long common room.

“I assume you intend to put on a play tonight?”

“Not tonight. I’ll tell Wesle and the others. It’s too dangerous to think about.”

“Very wise. That will aid my suggestion as well. I would like to send a squad of Painted Soldiers to your inn. They would be led by Pawn. In addition, they would be accompanied by several Workers armed with bows.”

Workers? Wait, you want to protect my inn with them? I’ll accept of course! But do you want to be paid or…?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“Consider it an act of friendship. And practicality. Your inn has aided Liscor’s Hive in more ways than I can state, Erin. However, I would like to keep this arrangement secret. Very secret, in light of the current controversy surrounding Liscor’s Hive. The fact that Workers are being armed is to be most secret of all.”

He stared at Erin. She nodded slowly.

“So they’ll stay here tonight?”

“And leave just after dawn. Watch Captain Zevara has already requested a group of Soldiers patrol through Liscor tonight as a precaution. Pawn’s group will be part of that unit.”

This all sounded dicey to Erin, but she wasn’t in a position to refuse. Maybe Klbkch was just being cautious. Arming Workers. It didn’t sound that bad to Erin, but then she remembered that Workers using bows had been part of the Antinium’s strategy in the Antinium Wars.

“Okay, Klbkch. I accept. Thank you.”

“There is no need for thanks. I will excuse myself. I have much work to do in Liscor.”

Klbkch nodded to Erin. He strode through the door. She stared after him as he walked through the rainy streets. Sometimes it felt like Klbkch was more of a stranger than when she had met in the old days. She wished she could sit with him and Relc for a while over a plate of pasta. Then she shook her head.

“Well, I guess the Raskghar are really going to get a surprise if they attack tonight.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel better.”

Lyonette came over. She hadn’t quite been eavesdropping. Erin turned to her.

“Yeah. But the Antinium are just for now. I do want to make upgrading the inn a priority, Lyonette. Not just with structural stuff and enchantments. I’d like some real guards, the kind that will be here all the time. I can’t always hope there’ll be adventurers or Goblins or Antinium in my inn.”

The Human young woman eyed Erin warily.

“What then? You don’t mean something like Toren, do you?”

Erin paused.

“No. I think…no. Well, if Pisces…no. Probably not. I was really thinking about Golems.”

Golems? How much do you think they cost, Erin?”

“Um…”

The two stared at each other. Erin laughed.

“It’s just a thought! But really, Lyonette, I am a bit worried. We’ll have Antinium here and I’ll be staying the night, but the Raskghar could still do a lot of damage. And there is…”

She and Lyonette both looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was playing with her ball, bouncing it against a wall and running about. Erin sighed worriedly.

“I wouldn’t risk her at all. Even if I’m like, 99% safe I don’t want to take a chance.”

“Neither do I. But your inn will be the most well-defended spot I can think of. What else could you do?”

Erin paused. She frowned at Mrsha, and then looked to the magic door of her inn.

“Well, I can think of a way to make her just a bit safer. So right after dinner, here’s what we’ll do…”

 

—-

 

The Redfang Warriors did not feel good. It wasn’t the aftermath of fighting the Raskghar that bothered them—they actually felt over the moon about that, so to speak. Headscratcher’s changing classes to a [Berserker] and Numbtongue’s [Bard] class was the best news they’d had in a long time.

No, it was seeing all those adventurers that made the Hobgoblins feel bad. There was something about a room full of hostile glances that didn’t do much for the nerves, incredibly enough. More than one team from Pallass had looked like they’d been ready to attack the Redfang Warriors right then and there. Of course, they’d given the same look to the Antinium.

Shorthilt’s stomach still felt bad, but it was restoring itself to something approaching normal as he squatted on the floor, staring at the Cave Goblin. She was still secured to the chair. There would be no sudden escape where she wriggled free—the Redfangs knew how to tie a knot properly. When you tied an Eater Goat to a pole to lure Gargoyles, the last thing you wanted was an angry goat getting loose and munching your face off.

He was confident in his knot. Still, Shorthilt checked again just to be sure. His attention to detail and caution was why he was the group’s best warrior with a sword. He nodded as he found the bindings secure, and then looked at the others. They stared back.

Grimly. Now the adventurers were gone, now that the Raskghar had retreated, at least for the moment, the Redfang Goblins were faced with one last task. The problem of what to do with the Cave Goblin. She’d gone very still with fear when the adventurers had arrived. She’d been terrified the entire time, really. Now the little Cave Goblin sat on her chair, practically panting with fear as the Hobs deliberated what should be done about her.

The logical thing to do, as Badarrow pointed out, would be to toss the Cave Goblin in the water. Without untying her from the chair. After all, there were only two things that could really be done with the little Goblin. The Redfangs couldn’t keep her here. She was the enemy! No matter how securely Shorthilt’s knots were, even if they locked her in the basement, the Redfangs knew from experience how resourceful a desperate Goblin could be.

And a Goblin who escaped in the middle of the night could kill anyone with a knife in the back. No, that was far too dangerous. Goblins didn’t keep prisoners, anyways. So that left letting her go or killing her. And letting her go was a stupid idea. So that left killing her.

It was the smart thing to do, but none of the Redfang Warriors wanted to do it. They were proud warriors! Just killing an enemy Goblin was…well, it was wrong. They’d kill another of their people if they had to, in battle, but not like this. After all, she was the enemy, but she was a Goblin. Like them!

Then again, the little Cave Goblin and her tribe were so not-Goblin that the Redfangs really didn’t know what to do. She and her tribe served the Raskghar! They obeyed a Chieftain who was not a Goblin—they didn’t even have any Hobs! They didn’t even remember Hobs!

It was pitiful. Pitiful and depressing and sad. However, the facts remained that the little Cave Goblin was an enemy in no small way. Letting her go would mean the other Goblins and perhaps the Raskghar would know too much. They owed Erin Solstice more than words could say. So the Redfangs were forcing themselves to come to a difficult decision.

It wasn’t easy. But at last, even Headscratcher bowed his head. They picked up the little Goblin as she was tied to the chair. They wouldn’t drown her—that was cruel. Badarrow would shoot her instead. One arrow through the head was quicker. Badarrow’s face was very blank as he strung his bow.

The Cave Goblin screamed and writhed as the Hobs picked her up. She’d heard the entire discussion of course. The Redfangs hadn’t bothered to hide what they were talking about. After all, what would be crueler than hiding the truth? They marched towards the door of the inn. They could toss her body in the lake afterwards. Better that than become one of Pisces’ undead. If they could, they’d probably dispose of the other Cave Goblin’s bodies that way too.

The little Cave Goblin wriggled desperately and shrieked as the Redfangs carried her. Her efforts made no difference to the Hobs. Unfortunately, the noise and commotion attracted a worse sort of problem. The worst person to be present in this moment, actually.

Erin Solstice turned her head as the Hobs marched past her with death in their faces. She stared at the Cave Goblin.

“I’m an idiot. I nearly forgot about her! Hey, Headscratcher! Hold up!”

The young woman intercepted the group of Goblins. She stared at the thrashing Cave Goblin with concern.

“Is she alright?”

The Hobs nodded. They looked at each other in silent anguish. Numbtongue signaled rapidly. Pretend. Go along with her until they had a chance to go outside. The other Hobs nodded slightly. Erin didn’t notice. They turned and put the Goblin on the ground. The Cave Goblin babbled wildly, but Erin couldn’t understand. She bent.

“Hello. I’m Erin. And you’re the Goblin that attacked my inn. I’m not angry about it. Well, I’m sort of angry, but I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”

The Cave Goblin screamed for help and tried to indicate the Redfangs with her head. Erin looked at Headscratcher.

“What’s wrong?”

“Bathroom.”

Numbtongue spoke the lie quietly. Erin nodded.

“Oh. Sorry. You’re taking her out?”

The Redfangs nodded. They picked the Cave Goblin up. The Cave Goblin shook her head wildly. Erin frowned.

“Hold up. Not bathroom? Can she understand me?”

“No.”

Numbtongue didn’t have to lie there, but the Cave Goblin was doing everything in her power to tell Erin that something was wrong. The [Innkeeper] frowned at her wide eyes and rapid babble in Goblin.

“She seems upset. I guess you guys really scared her. Maybe put her down, okay? What’s her name?”

All the Redfangs froze. Her name? But Erin treated the question as if it were the most natural thing to ask. She looked expectantly at Numbtongue who knew from his questioning. The Hob visibly hesitated before answering.

“Pebblesnatch.”

The other Hobs tried to forget the name as soon as they heard it. Erin smiled.

“Pebblesnatch? That’s cute! Hey Pebblesnatch, we don’t mean any harm. We—”

She extended her hand. Instantly, Pebblesnatch’s head shot forwards and she bit.

Whoa!

The small Cave Goblin’s teeth snapped together, narrowly missing Erin’s fingers as she snatched her hand back. Badarrow growled in fury and cuffed Pebblesnatch, making her screech in pain. Instantly, Erin smacked him on the shoulder.

“Don’t do that!”

Erin stared at the Cave Goblin. Pebblesnatch had abandoned hope. Now she was trying to bite, kicking wildly, determined to do some harm before the end. Erin looked at the Redfangs with a frown.

“She seems really upset. You haven’t been hitting her, have you? I told you to be nice to her!”

The Redfang Warriors stared at Erin. ‘Nice’ wasn’t a word they’d ever had to employ as warriors of Garen’s tribe. Nor was it something they thought of as necessary when dealing with their own kind, especially enemy tribes. In this case, ‘nice’ had nearly lost Erin a finger. And nice wasn’t about to happen later. They looked away.

“Bathroom.”

Numbtongue spoke the word and the Hobs lifted Pebblesnatch. Instantly, she peed on them. Headscratcher and Rabbiteater shouted with disgust and nearly dropped the Cave Goblin. Erin leapt away.

“Aw, gross! I’m sorry I stopped you! Quick, take her out and dunk her in the water. I’ll—hey, Drassi!”

“What? Why do I have to clean that up? Make Ishkr!”

“I can smell it better than you can. You clean it up!”

Now. The Redfangs left Erin and the two arguing employees and ran for the door. Pebblesnatch screamed. She screamed and screamed, with the truest terror in her voice as the Hobs tried not to listen. Then she started to cry. And Erin’s head turned. She stared at the Cave Goblin’s face, and suddenly picked up all the little clues—the panic and fear, the tense body language of the Hobs—and spoke.

“Wait.”

The word sapped the momentum from the air. The Hobs slowed and turned. Erin stood up and walked over. She stared at Pebblesnatch who was sobbing in the chair. Then she looked at Headscratcher.

“Headscratcher, are you really going to take her to the bathroom?”

The Hob avoided Erin’s gaze. She narrowed her eyes and then her eyes widened.

“Are you letting her go? No—oh no. You can’t!

She reached for Pebblesnatch. Instantly, Headscratcher grabbed Erin. He pinned her arms in a bear hug and spoke.

Go!

The Redfangs moved. Or rather, they tried to. The air was thick and heavy and their footsteps dragged. Erin, who had been too afraid to use her aura on the Raskghar, kicked and struggled in Headscratcher’s grasp, holding the Hobs in place with all of her might.

“No! No, Headscratcher! There’s a better way! Don’t kill her! You can let her go!”

They couldn’t. The Hobs moved slowly, growling with the effort it took. Shorthilt saw Drassi and Ishkr, frozen with shock at the sudden commotion. Ishkr wavered and Shorthilt drew his sword. The Gnoll froze and backed up.

The Hobs ignored Drassi and Ishkr. Neither of them could stop the Redfangs. Nor could Erin, no matter how much she tried to stop them with her aura. They’d do it quick. If she kicked them out—the Goblins tried not to think about it. It was like the artifacts, like Rabbiteater’s cloak. They had to do it and no one could stop them.

Do what you had to do. Pay the price later. That was what Garen Redfang had taught them.

“Don’t—stop—put me down! Headscratcher! Put me down!”

Erin was struggling. But it was too late. Numbtongue thrust the door open. Rabbiteater and Shorthilt marched to the door. Badarrow pulled an arrow from his quiver and closed his eyes. Erin went still, helpless in Headscratcher’s arms. She looked up into the Hob’s glistening eyes. When she spoke it was very calmly, in a carrying voice that reached across the inn.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your lives, you know.”

All five Hobs stopped. It wasn’t the aura that held them. Erin stared at Numbtongue’s back. The rain was pouring in through the front of the inn, drenching the Hob.

“You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t. If you do it, you will regret it forever. Don’t kill her. Put her down.”

The Hobs wavered. They wanted to believe Erin. But letting Pebblesnatch go? Showing her mercy? All they could imagine was disaster. Erin spoke again, urgently.

“There’s another way. Believe me. Give me ten minutes and I’ll convince you. Ten minutes.”

 

And because they really didn’t want to, because they cared, because their souls told them to, the Redfang Warriors turned. Headscratcher put Erin down. He let go slowly. She turned to him. There was no reproach in her eyes. Just a deep sadness. That cut him harder than anger. Erin stared at Headscratcher, then at the other Redfang Warriors. None of them could meet her eyes. She took a deep breath, and then exhaled.

“Let’s play a game of chess.”

 

—-

 

A strange gathering took place around one of Erin’s tables. The young woman sat on one side, arranging a chess board and explaining to Headscratcher how the game worked as he sat on the other end of the table with the four other Redfangs around him. Drassi and Ishkr worked in the background, nervously glancing at the tableau every few seconds.

Pebblesnatch sat at a table close by, her head lolling. She was unconscious. The Cave Goblin had fainted, probably so she wouldn’t feel anything. Erin glanced at her as she finished placing pieces.

“You understand? Well, if you don’t, I’ll teach you as we play. Your pieces are white, so you go first. Move a pawn. Or a knight, if you want.”

Hesitantly, Headscratcher picked up a pawn and tried to remember all the confusing things Erin had said. He peered at the board and looked at his fellows for guidance. They stared at the board. At last, Badarrow pointed decisively. Headscratcher placed the pawn. Erin nodded.

“Pawn to F4. Bird’s Opening. That’s what it’s called. Bird uses this opening all of the time. Because of the name.”

She placed a pawn at E5. Erin smiled as Headscratcher blinked. Didn’t she just give him her pawn? He stared suspiciously at Erin, suspecting a trap. He was right of course, but Erin gestured at him.

“Your move. This is From’s Gambit, by the way.”

She waited patiently as the Hob stared at the other Goblins for help. They deliberated, and then Hob took the pawn. Erin instantly moved another pawn up to D6, offering Headscratcher yet another target.

The game began. Each time Headscratcher moved a piece hesitantly, Erin would instantly move a chess piece with supreme confidence. It was unnerving. Within moments she’d reversed Headscratcher’s lead and begun tearing apart his chess pieces. The Redfang Warrior’s playing grew slower and slower as he bent over the board, trying to find an escape from Erin’s relentless assault. But that was the game. As she played, Erin spoke. Conversationally. Casually, as if she were having nothing more than a chat.

“Don’t worry about winning this game. Or losing it either. It’s not about playing chess right now. I just use chess because it’s what I know. In a sense, it’s the only thing I know. I’m an [Innkeeper], right, but that’s only my class. Chess is what I’m good at. People used to call me a prodigy—which wasn’t really true—when I was a child. Well, a prodigy is only really good at chess. I’m far better than I was back then. Because I practice.”

She moved a piece. Headscratcher stared at her. He looked past Erin at Pebblesnatch. Erin went on, her voice pleasant.

“It’s odd, being good at something most people don’t care about. A lot of people say how stupid it is to be good at chess. Or how pointless it is to play a game every day for years, decades, to get good at the game. Sometimes I thought the same thing. But you know what? I like playing. There was a time when I got sick of it, but I came back because I love it. I like playing. I’m good at it. There’s something nice about being good at something. And here, in this world, I’m probably the best player of chess. In the world.”

It was such a casual thing to say. But unlike any other species or people in the world, the Redfangs took Erin at her word. They looked into her eyes and tensed up. The greatest chess player in the world sat in front of them. Erin laughed gently.

“Don’t worry. That doesn’t give me any Skills. Or classes. Chess is a game to me. Just a game. And this is just a fun match. I’m not trying to win repeatedly—I have the magic chessboard for that.”

She pointed at another chessboard, where the ghostly chess pieces sat, playing out a game that had taken place over the course of the week. Erin’s mysterious chess partner had been busy of late. The Goblins stared at her. Erin waited until Headscratcher moved a piece, then cut to the chase.

“So. Why were you going to kill her? Because she tried to kill you?”

She looked at Numbtongue. The Goblin hesitated.

“Because she is the enemy. She will tell the Raskghar what we do. What we are doing if she goes.”

Erin nodded. It was a reasonable fear.

“Why not keep her here?”

“How long? Forever? Little Goblins are cunning. She will escape. Throat cut in middle of the night.”

Another nod. Another logical response.

“And letting her go? Not just outside, I mean. What if we went to Celum, took her outside the walls, and…let her go there?”

The Redfangs exchanged a glance then shook their heads. Numbtongue explained haltingly.

“Can’t let go. She will go back. Or die. A Goblin alone dies to monsters. To adventurers. It is one of the worst deaths. Slow, lonely death. Wandering death. Cruel death.”

The other Hobs nodded as one. Erin looked at them. So. It was too dangerous to keep her, too risky or cruel to let her go. That was why they would kill her. It was practical, like the Goblins. It was also wrong. She sighed.

“Okay. I see what you were thinking. And I think you’re wrong. Let me explain.”

She reached for a pawn, took Headscratcher’s bishop which she’d cornered, and spoke absently.

“Here’s the problem, I think. You say that Pebblesnatch is the enemy. You say she’s dangerous. If we let her go she’ll turn on us. We can’t keep her. So we need to kill her. And I say—why do we have to do any of that? Why can’t we help her?”

She looked up expectantly. Numbtongue shook his head.

“Help? Her? She is other tribe. Other tribe has many Goblins who will kill—

He emphasized the word.

“—Us. Why help them? We can’t help them. Too many. Too far away. What point? Why help enemy?”

“Good question.”

Erin rested her chin in her hands. She eyed the board.

“Whenever anyone says something like that—we can’t help them, or they’re the enemy, or how hard it would be, it’s sort of like a game of chess. That’s my analogy. I like chess. We’re all trying to get ahead, to survive. We’re all playing chess, if you think of it like that. So everyone wants to protect themselves, their side. The king. See?”

Erin pointed at her king, safely hidden behind her pawns. Headscratcher and the other Goblins eyed the white king on their side. It was being menaced from all angles by Erin’s pieces. They found that ironically familiar. They nodded and Erin went on.

“That’s how people play. Life, like chess. It’s all about sides. Us. Them. Me. You. But here’s the thing. Life isn’t a game of chess. You say that Pebblesnatch is the enemy, Numbtongue? In that case, you’re playing a game. Your side is the Redfangs, you, and my inn, I guess. And my side would be Pebblesnatch. And the Raskghar.”

The Redfangs stared at Erin’s side of the board. They eyed their disadvantaged position. Erin rolled her eyes.

“It’s a metaphor. It’s not representing how things actually are. Look, it’s your side and her side. That’s how you’re playing. But I don’t think that’s a healthy way to look at things. It’s too limiting. Sometimes I think we should do this.”

Erin spun the chess board. Suddenly, her pieces were in check and Headscratcher’s pieces were on the attack. The Hob blinked. He stared at Pebblesnatch, who’d woken up and was trying to bite at the ropes tying her down. Erin smiled slightly.

“Weird, isn’t it? Now you’re winning. Go on, move a piece.”

She waited as Headscratcher did. Erin continued to play, reversing the board yet again.

“The thing about sides, Headscratcher, you guys, is that they’re made up. Chess is a game. It’s not real. But we pretend the sides are real. Just like we pretend there are sides in real life. What makes the Raskghar our enemy?”

“They’re trying to kill us?”

Ishkr blinked as Erin looked over.

“Right. But are they trying to kill us because they’re hungry? Are they just monsters? If they are, I guess we might have to fight. But what about the Cave Goblins? Are they our enemy? Or are they being made to fight?”

The Redfangs looked at Pebblesnatch. They tried to imagine any scenario where a group of Goblins would assault an inn full of adventurers or try to attack Liscor without being coerced. They were silent as Erin went on.

“Sides. Winners. Losers. It’s all part of the gaming mentality. I win, so you lose. But life isn’t like that. Why does Pebblesnatch have to die? Because she’s the enemy? Why does she have to be the enemy? Can’t we do something about her? That’s checkmate, by the way.”

She pointed. Headscratcher groaned as he saw she was right. Erin smiled and swept his pieces off the board, leaving only her black ones behind. She got up and found another of her chess boards and carried it over. The Goblins watched, confused, as she set up the board again, only this time with a twist. When Erin was done, she pointed to the chess board, ready for another game.

“Life isn’t a game of chess. But if it was, I think it would look a lot like this.”

Headscratcher looked at the board. On his side were black chess pieces, lined up, ready for battle. On Erin’s side were her chess pieces, set to their default position. They were also black. Erin stared at Headscratcher over the chess board.

“Okay. If we play a game now, who wins? Who loses? And how can we tell? If I take a pawn off the board, who loses? Me? You? Or the pawn?”

She picked up the pawn and showed it to Headscratcher. He looked at her. Erin smiled very gently.

“Headscratcher. This is what I think about living life like chess.”

She reached for the chess board and lifted it up. Then she hurled the board across the inn. The chess pieces went flying, clattering off windows, the floor, the tables and chairs. The board cracked as it struck a table. Erin stood up. The inn went silent as she glared at the Hobs.

“You don’t have to kill. No one has to lose for you to win. This world is not a game. Why can’t we all win? Forever? Why does Pebblesnatch have to die, Headscratcher?”

He couldn’t answer. He tried. But whenever he attempted to form the thought—she’s dangerous, or it might hurt us, or we can’t keep her here forever—it was somehow not good enough. Yes, all of these things were valid. But it wasn’t enough for him to look at Pebblesnatch and agree to murder her in cold blood.

The Redfang Warriors didn’t quite look at Erin as she stood in front of them. Erin looked from face to face, and then sighed.

“But you are right. It is a problem.”

She stumped over to the chess board and began picking up pieces. Erin grimaced as she collected the black and white pieces.

“With that said, I really like chess. And board games in general. You know what? I should really find a game we can all play. Monopoly, or maybe Risk. Charades? I still have to teach Olesm how to play shogi. Or what about Ur? That game’s fun too!”

She inspected the cracked chess board and shook her head.

“I broke my board. Darn. But hey, it was worth it, right?”

She glanced up at the Redfang Warriors.  They watched her warily. Erin sighed and came back to the table.

“That was my lecture about sides. But you’re right in that Pebblesnatch is dangerous. And it’s probably not good to let her go. So here’s a thought from a chess player. Why don’t we stop playing chess and start playing another game? Why don’t we stop treating  this as a chess game and start playing shogi?

The Hobs stared at Erin. Now she’d lost them. Erin gestured energetically as she began to talk with the enthusiasm of a board game fanatic.

“You see, shogi is this great game that originates from Japan. It’s based on chess, but the rules vary in a lot of interesting ways. You can promote each piece in shogi like you do pawns in chess, but there’s other things you can do. For instance, and here’s the important bit—you can play any piece you’ve captured from your opponent on your side! Isn’t that cool?”

Erin looked from face to face and realized her audience wasn’t following her. She sighed.

“I knew I should have stuck to the chess analogy. Okay, look. Pebblesnatch doesn’t have to die. Nor do the Goblins. They’re your people. Why do we have to treat them like the enemy? The Raskghar are pretty evil so I’ll agree to shooting them with arrows, but the Goblins? Are they innocent in all this? Or at least, victims? I want to know.”

Erin began ticking off points on her fingers.

“Do the Cave Goblins want to fight Liscor? How many are there? Could they run away? Would Pebblesnatch help us if we fed her? Gave her a healing potion, maybe? Could she warn us when the Raskghar are about to attack or—or figure out exactly where they’re camped for the night? Could she feed them false information?”

The Goblins stared at Erin in amazement. They hadn’t considered any of this. Ever. The idea of turning a Goblin against their own tribe, of using them like spies…it was, well, unthinkable! Goblins didn’t do that. Even a Goblin from a poor tribe was loyal to their Chieftain. If the Chieftain was replaced, then they’d see if they were loyal to the new Chieftain. If they weren’t, they’d leave. Betrayal was…what kind of a Goblin would betray their tribe? Their family? But Erin was right. The Raskghar ruled the Cave Goblins. So theirs was the one tribe any Goblin would betray if it were possible. Erin smiled as the Hobs looked at each other.

“Exactly. Here’s the thing. Everyone’s still playing chess. Ilvriss thinks of Pebblesnatch as a pawn he’s captured. So does Olesm and everyone else. A pawn from the other side. A danger until you remove it. And then it’s gone. Like that. The enemy side is weaker. That’s how they play. But like I said, chess isn’t a game like life. Why can’t I take a pawn, a person—”

Erin picked up a white pawn and placed it on her side of the board.

“—And do this?”

The Hobs stirred. They looked at Erin in amazement as they finally got the entirety of what she was saying. She winked at them.

“Strategy. Not that I’m a [Strategist]. But I’m not always dumb either. I’m just better at making friends than I am at poking holes in people. Now, tell me. What’s going to happen to poor Pebblesnatch?”

The Cave Goblin looked up. She squirmed anxiously and Headscratcher looked at her. Really looked at her, without forcing himself to look away or rationalize her as the enemy. For the first time he saw how young she was. How hungry she looked. He stared at her arms and saw blood. Blood. She’d rubbed her skin off trying to escape. Her face was snotty and she looked terrified.

Headscratcher looked at Erin. He thought about what he’d done and his face twisted. A child. He’d nearly killed—he sank down as tears began to seep from his red eyes. He began to shake as the other Redfangs looked away. Erin came over and hugged him.

“It’s okay. Come on. You didn’t do it. It’s okay.”

The other Redfangs crowded around Headscratcher. He was too emotional. They slapped him on the back and pretended to laugh at him. But some of them had to turn to hurriedly wipe an eye or cough. Erin smiled and hugged them.

“Try something else. They’re your people, aren’t they? It’s okay. We can keep her here. If we can make her an ally—it’s not about food, it really isn’t. I’m happy to try. If we can save your people’s lives, or help—”

The Redfangs looked at Erin. Your people. She really cared. That was what was amazing. She cared about them. As Goblins. It was so strange and wonderful and painful that they couldn’t give words to it. They looked at her—

And then someone blew her nose. Erin and the Redfang Goblins looked up. She saw Drassi and Ishkr staring at them. The Drake’s eyes were running with tears and she was dabbing at them with Ishkr’s handkerchief.

“That was so beautiful!”

The Gnoll coughed. Both he and Drassi had been listening in. Drassi began to babble as she came over, smiling wetly at the Hobs.

“I totally look at you guys differently now! That chess thing made so much sense, Erin! Why do we have to kill the little Goblins? I mean, if they’re attacking us, yeah, but if they’re slaves? To the Raskghar? And you’re right, we can work together! Oh, Ancestors! We’re all on the same team! Give me a hug!”

She tried to embrace Badarrow, who fended her off. The Redfangs looked at each other, dry-eyed now. It wasn’t that they didn’t appreciate the Drake’s sudden change of heart. It was just that they were having a moment with Erin. Drassi was nice…but they didn’t know her. The Drake tried to hug the Hobs as they shared a common thought and nodded at each other sourly. They agreed that Drassi had rather spoiled the moment.

 

—-

 

Ceria had to remember that it was, in fact, late morning in Liscor. Despite all that had happened, the Raskghar attack had occurred in the middle of the night and all that had followed had taken place without the blessed relief of sleep. So it was day. Not that anyone could tell, really.

It was still raining. By this point, Ceria would have happily given half the money in her pouch for one day of sunlight. And that was because she had about eight silver pieces in her money pouch at the moment. Sunlight was cheap. But she was getting sick of the pouring rain, the slippery streets, and all the water where land should be.

“Not that it matters where we’re going.”

She looked to Yvlon. The woman grunted as she rowed on one side of the boat across the lake. Yvlon looked up and brushed water out of her face as Ksmvr paused in his rowing so the boat wouldn’t turn.

“You say that as if we don’t have to swim down through the water to get into the dungeon, Ceria. And you’re not the one rowing.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

“I don’t like being wet.”

Ceria eyed Yvlon. Or rather, her arms.

“If you want to switch, me or Pisces could take over.”

“Don’t volunteer me.”

Pisces looked up from his position in the back of the boat. He was trying to shield his spellbook from the rain and read at the same time with a [Light] spell. Yvlon shook her head.

“I’m fine. My arms feel good and Pisces says they won’t break.”

Ceria glanced over at the [Necromancer] for confirmation. Pisces looked up and nodded.

“Most assuredly. Let Yvlon row, Ceria. I most certainly will not.”

“If you say so. In that case, hurry up you two. We’re falling behind.”

Yvlon splashed Ceria with her oar. She and Ksmvr dipped their paddles into the water and the boat caught up with the others. Dozens of boats, large and small, patchwork and well-made were making their way towards the rift leading into the dungeon. The adventurers were out in force. They’d commandeered every vessel Liscor had and Ceria could see dozens of cloaked figures sitting miserably in boats.

Some groups didn’t bother with covering themselves—the brave ones sat stolidly in the rain, readying themselves for the fight. The higher-ranked groups didn’t have any problems because their [Mages] protected their boats from the pouring rain. Ceria glanced at the Silver Swords, who were rowing at the head of the group, untouched by the droplets thanks to Falene, who was sitting calmly at the back of the boat and insulting Dawil.

“This is so weird. Have you ever seen a dungeon raid this large, Yvlon?”

“Never. I’ve heard of them, though. It’s amazing to be part of one.”

Ceria nodded. This joint effort by all the adventuring teams was too large to call an expedition. It was what adventurers called a dungeon raid—a true attack on the dungeon, as opposed to exploration or opportunistic treasure seeking. She was amazed to be part of it. And nervous. And worried.

“I’m gonna say it when we get down there. Alright?”

Yvlon nodded. Pisces looked up and Ksmvr raised his voice.

“Captain Ceria, do you believe the other adventuring teams will cooperate with your mission?”

“They should. It’s uh, a courtesy among adventurers, right? Even if we are a Silver-rank team no one’s heard of. I can’t imagine they’d refuse, unless adventurers are that different in the south. Oh look, they’re already going in. Looks like they’re using…ropes?”

The adventurers were indeed casting ropes attached to weights down into the rift. The first teams who went down, the Flamewardens, used the ropes as guides while they dropped into the water. They didn’t even need to hold something to weight them down—their plate armor ensured they went down like anchors. Ksmvr sounded confused as more adventurers went down, some casting water breathing spells, others just holding their breaths.

“I thought that leaving an exit route for monsters was considered amateur by Gold-rank teams, Captain Ceria. Why are they doing what Vuliel Drae was criticized for?”

One of the teams, the Wings of Pallass, overheard Ksmvr. The Garuda, Bevussa, called out as she and her group checked their gear.

“A dungeon raid’s different, Antinium. No one wants to swim back up. And if we’re all dead, well, Liscor’s got a lot more to worry about than a few ropes. See you down there. Ancestors, I hate swimming.”

She leapt out of her boat. Ceria saw her flap her wings and gain a few feet of distance before she hit the water and disappeared. The other adventurers dove and Ceria looked at her team.

“Ready?”

The others nodded. Yvlon took a few deep breaths, Pisces closed his spellbook and sighed about the water and Ksmvr…froze. Ceria stared at him with concern.

“Ksmvr? Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I am quite positive, Captain Ceria. I will not abandon the group. And I will be fine entering the…liquid. I came here all this way of my own volition, did I not? I even helped with the rowing.”

“True. And you have your Ring of Waterbreathing on?”

“Yes, Captain Ceria.”

“In that case, I’m going to take your blindfold off.”

Ceria reached for Ksmvr’s blindfold. The Antinium was very still as she took off the blindfold she’d tied over his eyes. When it was off he looked around at the water and started screaming.

“Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaah! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

He started flailing about in a panic. Ceria swore and the other teams looked around as Ksmvr screamed and tried to hit everything with his paddle.

“Ksmvr! Calm down! You told me you could handle this!”

I thought I could! Water! Water everywhere!

“Ceria! Put the blindfold back on!”

Yvlon grabbed Ksmvr and held him still. Unfortunately he had three arms and he managed to punch both Ceria and Pisces before they could put the blindfold back on. When Ceria finally managed to tie it around Ksmvr’s eyes, he went still.

“Oh. I cannot see the water. I must be on dry land. I am on dry land. I am on dry land.

“Damn it, Ksmvr.”

“I am sorry, Captain Ceria. I am a disgrace. But please, toss me in the water!”

“After you just panicked? Not likely!”

“Please! It will work if I cannot see the water.”

“But if you’re in it—”

“I have never been in the water. It is a foreign experience to me since if I was ever in the water, I would be dead. Thus, I will not panic. I think.”

Ceria looked at her team. It wasn’t like they could back out now. It was too important.

“If he panics, he has the ring on. We can bring him back. Somehow. Okay Ksmvr, brace yourself—”

“I am braced. Please tell me before I enter the…thing. I wish to prepare myself. When will you—”

Ksmvr screamed as Ceria pushed him overboard. Yvlon glanced at the half-Elf.

“That was a bit mean.”

“He hit me in the nose. Come on, let’s go after him.”

The Horns dove after Ksmvr. To Ceria’s surprise, she saw Ksmvr wasn’t flailing about at all. He was very still as she, Pisces, and Yvlon all sank down, holding Yvlon so they’d fall faster. They fell into the dungeon, catching hold of the ropes and scaling down when the water met the dungeon.

It turned out that Ksmvr’s lack of panic had been due to mind-numbing fear. He shook like a leaf when he was on dry land and curled up into a ball. Ceria shook her head. How were they going to get him back up?

A problem for another time. The adventurers were all gathering, and the area around the rift had been secured by the Gold-rank teams that had gone in first. Griffon Hunt was already checking one tunnel and some of the Gnolls were conferring with the [Veteran Scout].

“…No sign of the Raskghar. I would have thought we’d be attacked soon after entering.”

“They must have known a counterattack was coming. Or they looked up and saw us all coming down. It makes sense they’d hide until nightfall when they’re smarter and stronger. Everyone down yet?”

The leader of the Flamewardens looked around as the last of the adventurers dropped wetly onto the dungeon floor. One team forgot to grab the ropes and crashed down onto another team. The ensuing screams of pain made Ceria wince.

“Stop making sound! And you idiots—make another mistake like that and you can leave. This isn’t a Bronze-rank mission. We’re in hostile territory. Act like you’ve got a brain.”

One of the senior adventurers barked. Shamefaced, the two adventuring teams got up. The Gold-ranks outlined the raid plan to everyone as some of the teams began moving around the perimeter. Ceria had heard the plan already, but she listened intently.

“Our plan is simple. We move in waves, in each direction. Gold-rank teams go first, Silver and Bronze-ranks behind. Each team chooses where they go and coordinates with the others. No one trails on each other’s tails. If your team can’t detect traps or you’re not confident, find a team willing to work with you. Call out for help if you need it, but don’t expect it. We’re adventurers. Let’s do our job.”

That was it. It wasn’t so much of a pep talk as a set of guidelines. In another way, this dungeon raid wasn’t like the expedition that Ceria and Yvlon had been part of. There was no real leader—it was a group effort of individual teams. The adventurers began dispersing, some calling out which way they were headed.

Now was the time. Ceria took a deep breath and shouted.

“Excuse me! There’s one more thing!”

All the adventurers turned. Ceria turned beet red, and stammered.

“I uh—we’re the Horns of Hammerad. We’re looking for someone in the dungeon. A companion of ours was lost. Calruz. He’s a Minotaur. He used to lead our group—we think he might still be alive down here.”

“A missing adventurer? We only heard about Gnolls. Did the Raskghar get him too?”

One of the Drakes looked surprised. Ceria shook her head.

“No, he vanished a while ago. On another expedition in Liscor’s crypt. But he might have arrived here.”

The adventurers looked at each other dubiously. Ceria’s heart pounded. One of the senior Drakes, an old yellow-scaled Drake with a greatsword, leaned on it and frowned at Ceria.

“How long has he been missing?”

Ceria wavered.

“Months. But we never found his body! And there’s a…route from Liscor’s crypts to the dungeon. He might have arrived down here! He was wounded when I last saw him, but I know he had a healing potion on him.”

She felt her heart sinking with every word. The old Drake shook his head.

“Months? If he’s been gone that long, he’s dead. Body’s probably eaten by now or shambling around as a zombie. Give it up, rookie.”

He turned away. Ceria stared as his team walked into the dungeon. The other adventurers began to move again too. Some looked sympathetic and promised to tell the Horns if they saw anything. But the rest just left. Ceria wanted to shrivel up into nothing and disappear.

“You tried.”

Yvlon patted her shoulder. Ceria nodded miserably. Not only had the others thought she was delusional, she’d given away the secret entrance from the crypt to the dungeon. What had she been thinking? Of course they’d think she was mad. How many people swore their missing companion was still alive? Ceria had heard that sort of talk herself—adventurers who’d seen a friend dragged away by a Mothbear, swearing that he was alive days later and that they’d go back and get him. She flushed and then saw familiar faces heading towards them.

“Hey Ceria, you’re with us.”

Jelaqua raised a hand as the Halfseekers strode towards their group. Griffon Hunt was right behind them and the Silver Swords were trailing in their wake. Revi scowled at the old Drake’s team who was already disappearing down one of the corridors.

“That Drake’s an ass. Talk about rude. Can you believe him?”

Everyone gave Revi the fish eye. The Stitch-Woman blushed and tugged at the string around her neck.

“What? We all thought the same thing, but even I didn’t say it. At least they know now. And we’re part of this raid. Hooray for us. We still doing this babysitting job?”

“Teaching job, Revi.”

Typhenous interjected diplomatically. He nodded to the Silver Swords, none of whom looked happy.

“We shall take the Silver Swords and the Halfseekers the Horns of Hammerad. We’ll impart our tactics and switch groups after a few hours. Is that reasonable?”

“Perfectly. Thank you for doing this.”

The other adventurers nodded. Halrac jerked his head.

“Let’s get moving. We’re falling behind.”

The teams split up, the Silver Swords falling in with Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers with the Horns of Hammerad. They headed down the right-most tunnel. Other groups had come that way, but they’d marked where they were going with bits of chalk. Someone had also spattered bright alchemical paint on the ground around a trap on the floor which all the adventurers gave a wide berth.

When both groups came to another intersection, Halrac pointed to a tunnel that hadn’t been claimed yet.

“We’ll take that one. Send a [Message] spell in three hours.”

“Got it. Let us know if you’re in trouble and we’ll come running.”

Halrac nodded. He strode forwards and then put out an arm to block Ylawes from following on his heels. Revi audibly sighed and Jelaqua turned to the Horns of Hammerad. The Selphid gave them a big smile.

“Alright, let’s do this. We’re not going to make this a habit, so if you have any questions, ask. Otherwise, watch and learn from the best. Which isn’t me. Seborn?”

The Drowned Man nodded. He moved forwards, pulling one of his enchanted daggers out.

Keep behind me. About ten paces. Stop when I tell you to stop. Try to follow in my footsteps. I’ll check the entire corridor, but I might miss things.

The other adventurers nodded seriously. Ceria saw Seborn move forwards cautiously, then stop. He squatted down to inspect a flagstone, stood up, and took another step. The Horns followed, waiting for anything to pop out. Monsters, a trap, something horrific—they froze as Seborn paused again, this time to inspect a wall. He stared at it, then moved on. Five seconds later he stopped.

Dungeon diving it turned out was boring. At least, it was when you had someone competent leading you. The tension the Horns felt quickly became mild boredom as Seborn moved forwards at a snail’s pace. However, they never quite relaxed. Ceria and Yvlon remembered all too well a similar encounter, and besides which, the dungeon was not exactly reassuring.

They could hear noises in the distance. Fighting. Shouts, and once, a thump in the distance that was either an explosion or an incredibly powerful impact. The other adventurers were making progress. But the Halfseekers refused to be rushed. Indeed, they took a meandering pace down the corridor and even talked as they went.

“What? Keeping silent? Nah, that’s only if we want the drop on monsters. And believe me, Moore’s not capable of sneaking up on anything. If something’s out there, it’ll attack us. We just need to be ready if it does.”

Jelaqua walked at the front of the group, a good pace ahead of the others. She had insisted on it, and no wonder. The Heartflame Armor wasn’t active, but the magical artifact still shone with power in Ceria’s gaze. Jelaqua had fended off over a dozen requests for other teams to buy out the lease contract on the armor from her when they’d seen her wearing it.

The Selphid never glanced over her shoulder despite the magical protection, though. Her flail was ready in her hands and she stayed alert to Seborn’s movements despite her chatty tone. She addressed Ceria in a soothing tone, trying to assuage the half-Elf’s voiced concerns.

“Don’t worry. We’ve done this before. We’ve done this a lot of times. Not like the Silver Swords. You said our formation is similar, though?”

“That’s sort of what the Silver Swords did. Except that they didn’t have a [Rogue]. They put Ylawes in front and had Falene cast [Detect Magic].”

“Not the same at all.”

Moore, the normally quiet half-Giant shook his head disapprovingly. He tapped his staff as he walked next to Yvlon. Moore’s face was serious as he flicked an eye towards Ceria.

“A [Rogue] matters. We may be less disciplined than other groups, but we know our strengths and weaknesses. Seborn is our guide. Without his Skills we would never risk this sort of thing.”

“But you’re not worried about an ambush?”

The half-Giant smiled.

“As Jelaqua said, I cannot hide. And our strategy this time is based around being attacked. Jelaqua wears the Heartflame Breastplate. With it we can take battles we wouldn’t wish for otherwise.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“It’s nice to be invincible. Don’t worry, we’d be quieter if I didn’t have this on. But the Halfseekers have always been the door-kicking type of team. We just do it practically. I can’t imagine walking forwards without Seborn being there to explode first if there’s a trap.”

Thanks.

Ceria glanced forwards.

“So this is all good? We haven’t made much progress.”

Indeed, the Halfseekers had barely progressed compared to what Ceria had expected of other teams. Jelaqua nodded.

“Can’t rush Seborn. We take things slow. Don’t worry if we don’t find anything—we can’t rush things. Relax, Ceria. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. The other adventurers can go in hot. We’ll hang back and take things at our pace. That’s one of the reasons why we got here first. Racing isn’t something the Halfseekers do. Again, because of Moore.”

“I’m faster than you are, Jelaqua. Long legs means quicker running.”

“Hah! As if. I could outsprint you any day of the week without pushing my body past its limits.”

And I could outrun the two of you any day of the week. And swim laps around you two in my sleep.

The Halfseekers laughed. Ceria winced as the noise echoed, and glanced at her team. Pisces walked along, looking equally wary and bored. Ksmvr looked raptly focused, paying attention to all of the conversation as if it were the font of all adventuring knowledge. Yvlon caught Ceria’s eye and grimaced.

To change the subject, Ceria brought up something that had confused her.

“What’s with the four teams that stayed behind, Jelaqua? Are they going in later?”

“Nah. You saw them, right? They were loaded up with boards and nails and mortar ingredients and stuff. They’ll fortify the entrance, give us a place to fall back to. It’ll help the next time teams go in and they’ll be paid for guarding our backs. Everyone’ll chip in a little bit. It’s a courtesy sort of thing.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, it’s a dungeon thing. It’s like how we got paid a bit for sharing our map of the dungeon. If the adventurers went through the main entrance, they’d pay us and Griffon Hunt a courtesy fee for untrapping everything. Most teams. Gold-rank teams would. They don’t have to, but it’s etiquette. Don’t worry, you’ll hear all about it if you don’t follow custom. In fact, that’s how we learned about the courtesy fee. It was eight years back, right when—”

The adventurers were passing by a section of wall that curved leftwards. Ahead of them, Seborn raised his head and shouted a warning. The Drowned Man leapt back and the wall evaporated and a horde of Children, the monsters shaped like the offspring of the races they preyed upon, poured out of the gap.

They looked like very young Humans and Drakes. But that was only from afar. Up close their skin or scales was too pale. Their faces were twisted, and their teeth and claws were sharp. They screamed as the adventurers turned. Ceria raised her wand. Instantly, Jelaqua charged forwards, flail blurring.

“Behind us, Horns!”

She swung her flail and crushed the head of the first Child. Moore raised his staff and swung, not bothering with a spell. Three of the monsters went flying as Seborn appeared behind another and stabbed it through the chest with both daggers. The Horns attacked at the same time. Ceria raised an ice wall, shouting for Yvlon and Ksmvr to guard them.

The Antinium and Human woman guarded Ceria and Pisces. This time Yvlon had activated her Forceshield and she deftly blocked a leaping Child with the shimmering shield of energy. She swung and the creature screamed as she slashed it across the chest. Ksmvr cut left and right, warding off the monsters around him.

“Pisces! Undead!”

Pisces was already on it. From his bag of holding he poured bones on the ground which sprang up to form three skeletal Raskghar. They surged forwards and Pisces drew his rapier. He took a position behind Yvlon and Ksmvr, throwing fire as Ceria blasted with [Ice Spike] spells.

They’d practiced this formation. It was a defensive tactic that allowed Ceria and Pisces to cast spells from the back with the ice walls holding off the monsters from flanking them while Yvlon and Ksmvr fought on the front. It was a good strategy for creating a choke point to funnel the Children through, and Pisces’ undead could wreak havoc. It would have worked fine too—except for the Halfseekers.

They had no strategy. At least, not one that involved them taking up positions. Jelaqua spun through the monsters, her flail flashing left and right. She ignored the teeth and claws that fruitlessly struck her blazing form. Behind her, Moore laid about left and right with his staff, only occasionally throwing a shower of thorns or tangling his opponents with a sudden flurry of vines that would burst from the ground. And darting from shadow to shadow was Seborn, watching Moore and Jelaqua’s back, striking and vanishing as quickly as he came.

They got in the way and attracted all of the attention. The Horns found themselves unable to help out for fear of hitting the Halfseekers, and the Children only paid them sparing attention, focusing more on the engaged Halfseekers than the defensive Horns. In the end it didn’t matter. The Children, for all their numbers, were no match for even one of the adventuring teams and soon lay dead. The Halfseekers walked about, finishing off anything that moved. Jelaqua grinned as she wiped blood from one cheek.

“Good fight! Looks like you held together well, Horns! Nice formation.”

“Yeah. Thanks. We uh, tried to help but you were everywhere.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s how we roll! Formations only work if there’s more than three people in your team. But the Halfseekers never really did any of that even when there were twice as many of us! Hey Moore, you got any cuts?”

“A few. Nothing bad. I didn’t have time to put my thorn armor spell up.”

“I keep telling you to do that first! Hey, nice undead. I forgot Pisces could do that. Good job you didn’t let the other adventurers see them, huh? Drakes really hate [Necromancers]. All right, let’s collect the bounty parts and move on. Seborn, there wouldn’t happen to be any treasure in that secret wall, would there?”

Guess again.

“Figures.”

Jelaqua laughed and followed Seborn. The Horns stared after her as the Selphid waved an arm, encouraging them to catch up. Slowly, they moved on.

In the end, they didn’t run into any other monsters. Seborn followed the corridor down to an intersection, took the left passage, ran into a team of Gnolls and turned around. By the time they went down the right corridor and found a particularly troublesome trap that Seborn didn’t want to cross, three hours had passed. The entire time Jelaqua, Moore, and Seborn had been talking. They gave up on the trap and began heading back to the meeting place with Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords, still chatting.

“So? Thoughts on how we’re doing so far?”

Jelaqua turned to Ceria as they were close to their destination. The half-Elf hesitated. She bit her lip, but she couldn’t lie.

“It was uh, instructive, Jelaqua. Really. But…I don’t think our teams work together particularly well.”

She glanced back at the other Horns and got two nods in reply. Yvlon looked a bit embarrassed. Pisces just rubbed one ear and shook his head. Ksmvr looked confused. He probably hadn’t minded any of it. Ceria winced.

“It’s not your team! It’s just…your style. You’re so laid back.”

It wasn’t like the Silver Swords who were practically foolhardy. The Halfseekers were cautious, but they were also casual. Ceria couldn’t relax like they did and she chafed with impatience every time Seborn double-checked something just to be sure. She looked down at her feet.

“I’m sorry. We really appreciated working with you.”

Jelaqua smiled.

“Hey, what’re you sorry for? It’s not like your team did anything wrong. Don’t worry about us not working together one hundred percent. Teams working together is tricky. It’s like a marriage between strangers—you never know what you’ll get. We’ll switch with Griffon Hunt and see how you do. After all, you don’t need us to dungeon. But now you’ve seen us work—do you understand what your team needs?”

“Yeah. A [Rogue].”

“Hah! Not our charm and wit?”

Ceria grinned in relief. Of course the Halfseekers wouldn’t take offense.

“We’ll do fine without that, thanks.”

Jelaqua was laughing when they spotted Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords. Instantly, Ceria knew there’d been friction. The two teams stood apart and Halrac looked even sourer than usual. He wasn’t the only one—Revi looked grumpy as usual, but even Typhenous looked put out. As for the Silver Swords—well, Dawil was stroking his beard and wincing as Falene spoke sharply to Ylawes.

“Looks like they didn’t have much fun either. Ooh, this might not be fun, Moore.”

“When is it ever with half-Elves? I can’t stand them.”

The half-Giant winked as Ceria and the others gaped at him. It took the Horns a second to realize that was a joke. Moore kept doing that. He’d make very sly jokes that no one would pick up on. He also had a very deadpan way of telling them. Jelaqua raised a hand as the Gold-rank teams spotted them.

“Hoi there! Ready to switch?”

“Never been happier! Let’s get this over with. We’re burning daylight and the other teams are making progress! One group even found a small treasure chest!”

“What?”

The other adventurers were stunned. Revi smirked.

“Yeah. It was filled with gold and little emeralds and already open. Wonderful—except for the rune on the bottom. When the team captain starting scooping up the money the rune exploded and it flew up like shrapnel. Don’t worry, he’s alive. But he has a chunk of gold lodged in his cheek.”

“Nasty. But that’s what you get when you don’t watch it. Okay, Silver Swords, let’s go for a walk. Horns? It’s been a pleasure.”

Jelaqua waved at the others and pointed back the way they’d come. The Silver Swords trooped after them, looking put out. Ceria wondered if they’d enjoy the Halfseeker’s company. Probably not. She looked apprehensively at Griffon Hunt. Revi sighed.

“Okay. Looks like we’re with you. Wonderful. At least we can tell you all to shut up and follow our orders without backchat. Or are we going to have another problem?”

The Horns exchanged a look. Yvlon shook her head.

“Not from us.”

“Not if the orders make sense.”

Pisces met Revi’s glare with raised eyebrows. The Stitch-Woman looked at Halrac.

“You want to do this?”

The [Scout] nodded. He appraised the Horns, then spoke up tersely.

“If we’re moving together, you need to follow our way of doing things. We keep silent. Nothing above a whisper, and only then when necessary. Speak only when we stop. I move fifteen paces ahead. Watch for my hand signals. If you spot anything, tell us to stop and everyone will stop. If there’s an ambush, we all fall backwards while Revi summons support and Typhenous buys time. What are your defensive spells and positions?”

Ceria blinked. She looked at her team and then stammered to answer.

“We uh, put up an [Ice Wall] first and Yvlon and Ksmvr take the front. Pisces summons undead and then we just…attack. I cast spells with him and he uses his rapier if need be. We try to stay together and not get separated.”

Griffon Hunt considered this. Typhenous stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“A good strategy. But prone to danger in case of ambush. It relies heavily on Ceria’s [Ice Wall] spell, although they do have three good melee fighters. Halrac, I suggest changing our positions. If Miss Byres follows with me in front while we place Ksmvr and Pisces in the rear, we’ll safeguard our two most vulnerable members—Revi and Ceria in the middle. Your thoughts?”

Revi grunted.

“I like the walling idea. Typhenous usually opens with [Sticky Webs], so if he casts it at anything running at us, Ceria has time to put them up. But how strong are the walls? We might want more space for my summons and Pisces’ undead. Or do you always send them forwards?”

To the great surprise of the Horns of Hammerad, the first twenty minutes of their time with Griffon Hunt wasn’t actual exploration, but rather changing and implementing their strategy moving forwards. When they did move at last, everyone knew exactly what they were doing. Halrac took point, and the group followed him in dead silence. They didn’t just rely on him either. As [Mages], Ceria and Pisces were both tasked with watching for the slightest magical glimmers that would indicate any kind of hidden spell or passage. Meanwhile, Ceria and Yvlon alternately watched forwards and back to avoid being crept up on, despite the fact that other adventurers had already secured the passages before them.

It was tense, working with Griffon Hunt. But of all the teams they moved fastest. Halrac pushed relentlessly forwards. Once he’d heard about Pisces’ Raskghar, he’d actually insisted on having two of them move in front of him. That way he could scout for traps and also have a decoy in case of an ambush or a trap he failed to spot. He was constantly signaling Pisces to move or stop his undead.

Ceria found herself constantly on edge and watchful. Not once did she or her team have the luxury of relaxing. Griffon Hunt would push down a corridor, reach an intersection, stop, and only take breaks once they were sure it was safe. They encountered no monsters and avoided each of the traps successfully—Typhenous wondered if all the adventuring and fighting was scaring away most of the monsters—but despite that, at the end of their three hours, the Horns found themselves walking backwards, still in formation, but chatting fairly amiably with Griffon Hunt.

Of all the teams, Ceria thought that Griffon Hunt’s style matched theirs best. The Gold-rank adventurers seemed to agree, because even Halrac and Revi were willing to talk on the way back, albeit quietly with Halrac watching their backs.

“We thought you’d be a disaster like the Silver Swords. Sand in my stitches, I’ve never met anyone as full of herself as Falene. Is that ‘wise half-Elf’ thing she does an act? And does your brother not know the meaning of stealth, Yvlon?”

“He never was good at it.”

“He took offense when we told him to dirty his armor. Dead gods. Only the Dwarf seemed to have a head on his shoulders and he kept trying to make Halrac laugh at his jokes.”

“Not a good team for dungeons.”

Halrac grunted. He stared at Ksmvr, who had a shortbow out. The Antinium nodded a few times. Then he looked at Halrac.

“Please tell me, Captain Halrac. Why do you think we have not found any monsters yet? Or Raskghar?”

The [Scout] considered the question.

“They probably pulled back. Monsters and Raskghar. It means this dungeon’s sentient. Or there’s a controlling force.”

“You think so?”

The Horns looked at Halrac, concerned. Revi nodded.

“The Silver-rank teams were attacked within seconds of entering the dungeon. There’s no way those furry things wouldn’t have spotted us coming down. And it doesn’t take an idiot to run from a hundred adventurers. The real mystery is why the regular monsters are gone too. That’s…not normal. We’ll see if the other teams had the same experience, but I don’t like it. Especially since we covered a good amount of distance. How big is this dungeon anyways?”

No one had an answer. And as the two teams met other adventurers they found that the actual number of encounters with monsters had been strangely low. Halrac grunted as he conferred with Nailren.

“So you have not seen any track of the Raskghar either, Captain Halrac? Nothing specific that might lead us to their den?”

“Nothing. There are crisscrossing fur trails all over the dungeon, but I can’t tell the difference between Raskghar fur and Gnoll fur. What about your team?”

Nailren growled and the Gnolls behind him shifted. Their ears were lowered and they looked slightly ashamed.

“We cannot smell our people. The Raskghar have…marked all the tunnels. The smell is overpowering. Too, they have rubbed blood on the walls to hide where they have gone. Gnoll blood. We followed one trail but we were wary of traps. And when we went too far…”

He hesitated.

“We sensed eyes on us and retreated. It is not brave, but we have marked the tunnel. We will go back next time, yes?”

“Nothing wrong in doing that. Can you mark the route you took? We’ll add it to the map of the other adventurer’s routes.”

Griffon Hunt studied the map they’d made afterwards. Ceria looked anxiously at the lines showing a dizzying labyrinth spreading out from the entrance via the rift. If all the other teams had gone their own route, they’d have a more complete picture. But from the looks of things, they were only covering a fraction of the dungeon so far.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t investigate the spot that Kelia’s Pride found now, Halrac?”

The [Scout] shook his head.

“Not enough time. We’re already in the evening and we agreed to meet in half an hour.”

“But the missing Gnolls—”

Revi interrupted.

“Amateurs. We don’t rush. If the Raskghar are setting up ambushes and hiding, we move slow. Carefully. Creating a proper map of every trap and tunnel in the immediate area is the first thing we should do. This first raid means we’ve found a bunch of traps and know where to go. We’ll try again tomorrow. But we can’t run about and risk getting stuck in the dungeon by nightfall.”

Ceria knew that was true. But her conscience plucked at her.

“What about the Gnolls, though?”

“They’re already dead.”

Halrac’s flat voice made her stop. Revi shrugged apologetically.

“He doesn’t mean that. It’s more like that’s what we’re assuming. Look, Ceria. We can’t afford to be reckless. Not our team. I know the other Gold-rank teams would do it. The Halfseekers have a soft spot for those in need. The Silver Swords are…”

“Idiots.”

Halrac frowned. Revi sighed.

“See? I’m not always the rude one. We’ve got to go back.”

Ceria knew that was true. Reluctantly she followed Griffon Hunt back. As usual, Halrac led the way. But since they were in familiar territory he let the group follow closer on his heels. And for the first time she noticed him doing something to the wall at each intersection he passed.

“What’s Halrac writing?”

“Adventurer sign. Marks that we explored this place already. And the way the exit is. For your Minotaur friend, if we find him.”

“For Calruz?”

Ceria was astonished. Revi raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. It’s not much, but if he’s any sense he’ll notice the markings. Minotaurs are great with mazes, right?”

“Um. That’s a stereotype. But he does know his away around trail signs. You think he’ll spot them?”

“It’s better than nothing. What would you do?”

The half-Elf hesitated. Revi narrowed her eyes.

“What was your plan, exactly? Wander about shouting his name?”

“It was a little more intricate than that…”

The Stitch-Girl rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure.”

She stopped at the intersection as Halrac moved on and pointed. Ceria stared at the faint lines on the wall. Halrac had written in a glowing white paint that was probably hard to remove. The Stich-Girl nodded to it.

“Here. We’ve been leaving these at every intersection. Your friend might see them, might not. But he’ll trust it more if you leave him something he can identify. Tomorrow you can do it at each corridor you pass down. But for now…do you have a symbol, or some code he’ll recognize?”

Ceria thought for a long while. At last, she took a small vial that Revi offered her and dipped her finger into the glowing liquid. She scrawled something on the wall. Revi blinked.

That’s your secret message?”

The half-Elf blushed.

“It’s all I could think of, okay? We don’t have a sign…but he’d see this and know it was me. Definitely.”

For the first time, Revi chortled. She waved at Typhenous and Halrac.

“Hey, look at this.”

The other two came over and Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr crowded around to see. Typhenous chuckled and Halrac actually smiled for a brief second before scowling. Pisces sniggered and Yvlon laughed. Predictably, Ksmvr didn’t get the joke.

And then they were done. Griffon Hunt reached the entrance to the dungeon and stared up at the teams going up through the water. Bevussa and the Wings of Pallass were overseeing the leaving adventurers as the rear-guard. Halrac and Ceria went to hear what the Garuda was talking about.

“Looks like almost everyone got back. How many teams are still unaccounted for?”

“Four.”

“And the casualties?”

“Three.”

Three?

“One stepped on a trap, and two more got killed by an ambush from the dungeon. Silver-ranks. Both from Gekla Raiders. Poor bastards ran into a group of Crypt Lords leading undead and called the alarm too late.”

“Damn. What happened to the team going in front of them?”

The adventurers conferred and waited for the last of the teams to come back, which they all did. By the time they left the sun was setting. The Horns were one of the last groups to go, mainly because Yvlon was worried about holding her breath all the way up to the surface and Ksmvr kept making excuses why he didn’t need to go up just yet. In the end, the Horns got one of the adventuring teams on the surface to haul Ksmvr up after tying the Antinium to a rope and they made it to the surface.

The dungeon remained. It was silent, disturbed and upset by the sudden incursion into its depths. It was also hauntingly empty. The corridors lacked life. The monsters roaming about had vanished in the face of the adventurers. Very few things were brave enough to stir until the ropes had been hauled up, and the last invader gone. Only then did things move and the flow of the dungeon change.

It was in that brief window before the denizens of the dungeon returned that a figure walked down the corridors so recently filled with adventuring teams. It moved slowly, warily, pausing at each trap that had been so clearly identified by the adventuring teams. It proceeded down one corridor, and then stopped as it spotted something on the wall.

A bit of glowing paint. At first it looked like just an odd symbol, but the figure spotted a crusted patch next to it. An old adventurer’s trick. The dirt rubbed away, revealing…an arrow. It pointed to the dungeon entrance. But that wasn’t all. Someone had left another message below it. A personal one.

The marking wasn’t a word, or a symbol, or anything so elegant. It was a drawing, in fact. A drawing of a cow. It was crude, but the cow had udders, spots, and a pair of oversized horns. It was…a joke. An old picture that only one of the original Horns of Hammerad would know. Something Ceria had used to make fun of her team’s leader until he snapped and roared at her that cows were not like Minotaurs.

A bit of the past flaked away on the stranger’s fingers. It—he, sniffed the marking. Then the figure bent and searched the ground. A hair had fallen while the illustrator had worked. It was mixed with a bit of the alchemical paint. The figure picked up the strand of hair and inspected it. He lifted it into the air and his eyes widened. Calruz spoke one ragged word.

“Ceria.”

He stared at the marking and touched it with one broad hand. His scarred fingers ran over the silly drawing of the cow. Then he turned and walked back into the dungeon, leaving the marker behind. Into the darkness. And the dungeon stirred. Enveloping him. Waiting for nightfall.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.37 G

Death came down from the mountain. Death and despair. The green tide of bodies fled from every tunnel and gap in Dwarfhalls rest. They abandoned Tremborag’s fortress in a panic, both Tremborag’s tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army alike. They were no longer an army. They were a fleeing mass of people. They fled from her. The adventurer with the bow. The one whose face had been burned in their memory.

Kingslayer.

The Goblins, the monstrous race despised across the world, fled while the adventurers secured the mountain. Their leaders hid rather than confront Elia Arcsinger as she stared down, wielding the shining silver bow. And that was not the worst of it. Not by half.

Drum beats rolled across the forest as Reiss’ army fled around him. He could hear them, pounding in the distance. Not his army’s drums—these were a mockery of the same sound that had sent Humans running to hide behind their walls. A vast Human army was approaching. The first wave of riders and soldiers had already appeared on the horizon, a glittering line of polished weapons.

Humans. Reiss wanted to curse them, but he dared not attract the attention of the half-Elf searching for him high above. So he kept his head down and ran.

Reiss! Reiss!

Snapjaw was hissing at him. She ducked low as she tried to push the Goblins in front of them aside, to get out of the central chamber of Tremborag’s mountain. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“What do! Kingslayer above! Kingslayer! And many Humans! This is bad-bad. Hunting death bad! Overwhelming death bad!”

The Hob’s command of the common tongue slipped in her fear and she spoke like a Goblin would. Reiss gritted his teeth, refusing to let the primal fear surging in him overwhelm him completely. He glanced back up at Elia Arcsinger. A Skill. She was using a Skill on the entire mountain! It had to be more than just the memory of what she had done.

“Reiss! Run!”

Snapjaw was pointing. Eater of Spears had broken up the press of Goblins running for the exit. He made them clear a path with his huge body. He beckoned urgently to Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded and ran. But not without purpose. As he reached the safety of an overhanging ledge of rock, Reiss turned and bellowed.

Goblins! Follow!”

His voice was nearly lost amid the thunder of Goblins screaming and fleeing. But it was the first real sound, the only note of command amidst the chaos. The Goblins around Reiss stopped, and a bit of sanity reached through the all-encompassing fear. They turned to look, and like a wave of the living, other Goblins throughout the mountain turned to stare at Reiss.

And Elia Arcsinger’s head turned. Her eyes locked on Reiss and he felt a jolt of true terror strike him. But he dared a second longer. He held up one hand and made black magic cover his fist.

“Follow me! Retreat!”

It may have been the most redundant order in the history of leadership. And yet, it was important that Reiss had said it. It was an order every single Goblin in the mountain could get behind. And because he had spoken, the Goblins began fleeing in a more organized manner. The press of bodies scrambling towards the nearest exit broke up and Tremborag’s Goblins remembered the other exits from the mountain and ran for them. Reiss’ Goblins didn’t need an invitation to follow.

“Lord! Back!”

Snapjaw grabbed Reiss and drew him further back so that Arcsinger’s eyes couldn’t find him. The half-Elf hadn’t loosed an arrow. Was she waiting? Or had the distance been too far for her to hit him before he could duck away? Reiss’ heart thundered wildly. He turned and barked an order.

“Go! Snapjaw, Eater of Spears, run ahead! Find other lieutenants! Get Goblins to follow! Reform army and move south! Now!”

They stared at him. But Reiss had fought off the fear. He ran past them, still afraid, but determined.

“This is a chance! Tremborag has fled! His Goblins have no leaders!”

He pointed around at the milling Goblins. Some had black armor on, but many were Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe. They looked at Reiss, afraid, looking for guidance. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears understood at once. They sprinted ahead, shouting orders. And they were Hobs, leaders of Goblins. Those around them followed instinctively. Reiss saw the mass of Goblins change once more.

I am the Goblin Lord! Reiss! Follow me!

He bellowed and the Goblins around him surged after him. Reiss felt his heart jump in triumph. Disaster had struck the mountain and his army. They had lost Tremborag’s fortress. The idea of taking back the upper levels with so many Gold-rank teams and the Kingslayer herself was impossible. But if he could escape the mountain with most of Tremborag’s tribe and his forces?

The Humans were coming. Reiss had no idea how many there were. A vast army. Larger than his? He feared that might be so. But so long as he lived, so long as his people lived—Reiss closed his eyes for a moment and slowed his pace. He reached out and gave a silent order.

Across the mountain, in the forest surrounding it, the undead under his command turned. They looked north, towards the Human army and lurched forwards. Tens of thousands of undead moved past the fleeing Goblins. Buying them time. Reiss grimaced as he imagined losing all of the undead. But his master’s fury would be nothing compared to the many that would die if the Humans caught them. So he ran on, still grasping at victory. But the Humans were right on his heels.

 

—-

 

“Find the Great Chieftain! Arcsinger will handle the Goblin Lord!”

The several teams of Gold-rank adventurers were moving through the mountain as the main force secured the center. A group of warriors and two mages stalked the tunnels. They weren’t run-of-the-mill adventurers either. It would be a mistake to call them [Warriors] and [Mages]. To Garen’s eye they were a [Shield Defender], a [Swordsman] of some kind, a [Pyromancer] and a [Light Mage] or whatever the class was called. He leaned back and covered his eyes as the mage in question threw a blinding ball of light which exploded and made the Goblins the adventurers were pursuing cry out.

Blinded, they didn’t stand a chance. Three Hobs and a score of Goblins went down to the warriors as the two mages burned and blinded the rest. Garen gritted his teeth. He’d been following the Gold-rank team for a while now. They were between him and his Redfang Warriors—pursuing his warriors, in fact. They were looking for Tremborag, but this team wasn’t shy about killing any Goblins they met.

Tremborag’s Goblins, actually. Any Goblin in black armor they left alone unless attacked. Garen didn’t know why. He gritted his teeth and gripped his red sword more tightly. Four Gold-ranks. They didn’t look like the best of the best, but their team was still far more than he could handle alone. The two warriors? Maybe, if Garen could get the other Goblins to jump into the fight. The [Pyromancer]? Definitely. Garen could sneak up and hopefully take her out. But that [Light Mage] worried Garen. A single spell and he’d be blind and dead in moments. He didn’t have a defense against that.

It had been a long time since Garen had been a Gold-rank adventurer. He remembered everything, but he’d lost most of the artifacts he’d had—broken them in life-or-death fights against monsters or in one case, simply misplaced one of his items and never found it again. Garen had an enchanted amulet and his sword on him—and a few high-quality potions. Not ideal against a Gold-rank team covered in magical gear.

But they’d run into the Redfangs soon enough. Garen gritted his teeth as the adventuring team burned another group of Goblins to death. He peeked around the corner again. The team was moving away. He’d step out, charge the [Light Mage] and gut the adventurer if he could. If they pursued him, he’d lose them amid the other Goblins. Garen took a steadying breath—

And saw the shadow move. He twisted and the shadow lunged towards him with a black blade. Garen snarled and used a Skill.

[Blur Dodge]! He accelerated out of the way of the blade and cut with his sword. Garen heard a curse and the [Rogue]’s concealment failed her. A Human woman appeared, holding a knife. She leapt back as Garen slashed at her. She was quick, but not enough. He cut her down the chest and heard her gasp in shock. Garen would have finished her, but he saw an arrow and ducked. The barbed arrow missed him by inches as the [Rogue] stumbled back, reaching for a healing potion.

“Minerva! Get back!”

A loud voice made Garen look up. He saw a [Ranger] aiming at him and two more [Rogues] right behind. He cursed and leapt back—

Right into the corridor where the other Gold-rank team was moving. They turned around in surprise as Garen appeared.

“Hey! Give us a hand here! I think this is a lieutenant!”

The [Ranger] called at the other team. They instantly turned and Garen found himself surrounded on both sides. The [Rogue] team advanced cautiously. They had knives and shortswords. Garen’s crimson blade had the reach on them. Aside from the [Ranger] with the bow, Garen was certain he could fight his way clear of this team. But the team behind him?

Death. Garen bared his teeth, trying to watch in two directions at once. The wounded [Rogue]—Minerva—rejoined the other three adventurers as they spread out to block him from escaping. Behind Garen, the group of warriors and mages called out.

“What’s with that Hob? He’s got enchanted gear?”

“Watch out! He nearly gutted Minerva!”

“Is he the Goblin Lord? Can’t be.”

The adventurer with the bow shook his head. His eyes focused on Garen.

“He’s not on the list. Take him down.”

Garen tensed. He could sense the two [Mages] behind him preparing spells but he refused to turn around. Turn and they’d blind him, he knew. He’d have to dodge whatever spells they cast from behind, fight his way forwards. If the [Swordsman] attacked him—

In the moment before the Gold-ranks attacked, before Garen could move, everyone’s minds were racing. The tension increased, as it did before high-level warriors fought. In a battle like this, a single Skill could mean someone’s death—or in Garen’s case, escape. He saw the team of four [Rogues] staring at him, and then the [Ranger]’s eyes narrowed.

“I know you. You’re Garen Redfang.”

Garen saw the other adventurers visibly react. The [Ranger] growled.

“Team killer. The Halfseekers deserved better. Take him—”

He raised his bow and Garen heard one of the mages mutter a spell. He twisted desperately as both arrow and a shower of flaming arrows flew and threw himself out of the way. The warriors and rogues charged Garen as he slammed into a wall. Garen raised his sword. Four adventurers at once! He saw the [Light Mage] raise his hand. Garen was looking his way! The [Mage]’s hand glowed—

And the wall exploded behind him. The [Mage] disappeared as a huge, green hand seized him and dragged him into the darkness. Garen heard a scream and a crunch.

The adventurers stopped. They turned their heads. A massive face appeared in the broken section of wall. A bestial visage thrust through the dust like something out of Human nightmares. Red eyes, yellowed teeth, dripping with saliva and blood. A body of muscle and fury. Tremborag roared as he charged out of his hiding place in the wall. He struck at the [Pyromancer] with a fist like a boulder. The [Shield Defender] caught the blow and the floor cracked beneath him. The adventurer groaned and Tremborag charged at Garen.

Trespassers! Human mice! This is my mountain! My mountain!”

The Great Chieftain roared. He struck the [Rogue] menacing Garen from the right and the adventurer crashed into a wall. Garen spun. He cut twice. The first blow the [Swordsman] caught on his sword, but the second cut Minerva’s belly open. She dropped, clutching at her sword as Garen dueled the Gold-rank adventurer. He could hear both teams screaming.

Dead gods! Back, back!

“Get Minerva! [Flicker Step]!”

One of the [Rogues] grabbed their stricken comrade and hauled her away. The [Swordsman] backed up as he and the two other Gold-ranks retreated from Tremborag. The Great Chieftain paused and stared down at Garen. His eyes were red with battle fury. Garen blinked up at him. He had expected Tremborag to have fled already.

“Run, Redfang. Run! My mountain is lost. My tribe flees! But I will have them back. And I will hunt these adventurers. Hurt them! Run. Your business and mine is not over yet.”

Then he turned and pursued the group of four [Rogues], who were fleeing desperately down the tunnels. Garen saw Tremborag pursue them, running on all fours, his bestial form filling the corridor as he roared. Only when he was gone did Garen remember to breathe. And then he felt the pain.

Garen checked himself. He had a bad cut down one arm. The [Swordsman] had gotten him. And he had a slash right below his breast. A dagger. Garen didn’t know if the blade was poisoned. He cursed, grabbed a healing potion and splashed the precious liquid on his wounds. Then he ran after the team of warriors and mages. They were still headed in the direction of his Redfangs! Garen rounded the corridor—

And saw the old Goblin. He was sitting on the ground, on the back of the Human in armor. The [Shield Defender]. The Human was dead. He had to be—Humans didn’t let Goblins sit on them. And the slit throat was another clue. Garen stared at the dead Gold-rank in shock, and then at the other two bodies. The [Pyromancer] had died at once. His head lay on the ground next to his body, looking surprised and panicked. The [Swordsman] had fought—at least for a second. But the hole in his enchanted leather armor told Garen how the battle had gone. The old Goblin polished the rusty greatsword with a bit of cloth and looked up. He grinned at Garen.

“Redfang, eh? Good name for a Goblin! Good name. Poor for you. A not-Goblin doesn’t deserve a name like that. Or a tribe. Which is why you lost yours!”

He grinned, showing Garen a mouth full of yellowed teeth. Garen hesitated. He had seen this Goblin somewhere before. He didn’t know where, but his memory told him he’d seen the old Goblin’s face before. The Goblin had a grey beard. A beard, where most Goblins didn’t have any facial hair. He looked old, as old as any Goblin that Garen had ever met. But his body was lean and wiry. And his eyes—

Garen shifted. He gripped his blade, Redfang, with both hands and lowered his stance. The old Goblin grinned. He stood up and flicked his blade. The blood coating the tip splattered on the ground and Garen heard the air rip from the force of the blow. Garen Redfang glared at the old Goblin.

“Who are you?”

“They called me Greybeard here. Greybeard, the old, useless Goblin. Good name, though. Every Goblin needs a name. But decades ago they called me another name. Greydath of Blades. A worthy name for a Goblin. A better name than yours.”

Greydath lifted his greatsword. Garen tensed. His mind raced as he watched the old Goblin approach. He walked casually, but Garen’s instincts screamed at him not to make the first move. He felt like the old Goblin could block him from every angle. And he had the reach on him. Garen retreated. He was trying to think. That face! And that name! Where had he—

His eyes widened. Greydath? But he was d—

The first thrust of the greatsword came at Garen’s chest faster than an arrow. It nearly skewered Garen and only a desperate parry threw the tip of Greydath’s greatsword off target. The second thrust made Garen dodge back and he blocked the third with the flat of his blade. His arms shook and Garen nearly gaped. Greydath was fast and strong. The other Hob gave him no time to breathe, though. He thrust the greatsword twice more, slashing with the tip at Garen’s right arm and then his leg and then he brought the sword up and down in an overhand slash.

Garen didn’t try to block that one. He threw himself out of the way and saw the sword split the packed earth floor like it was butter. Garen charged with a roar, but Greydath pulled back his sword and blocked all six of Garen’s cuts.

[Frenzy Cuts]! Garen howled as he rained strikes down on Greydath, hitting harder each time. The old Goblin grunted as he blocked each sword cut, and then blinked. Garen’s red blade was glowing—

On the sword’s sixth and final blow, Garen activated the magic in it. His crimson blade glowed and the magic within turned the blade transparent. His sword passed through Greydath’s greatsword, seeking his right shoulder. Greydath blinked—and leaned back.

The sword missed. Garen overbalanced and nearly stumbled. He jumped back, raising the transparent blade. Greydath blinked at it and touched his greatsword. It was unharmed—the power of Garen’s infamous Redfang blade was to pass through unenchanted armor and anything that wasn’t living flesh. He had slain scores of his enemies with it. But his secret trick hadn’t worked on Greydath. The other Hob had avoided the sneak attack… with ease. Greydath lowered his greatsword as Garen breathed heavily, waiting. Then the old Hob grinned.

“Good trick! But only a trick. My turn.”

He raised his greatsword. In the corridor Greydath was at a disadvantage in that he couldn’t extend his greatsword without hitting the walls or ceiling. Or so Garen thought. But when the Hob slashed left, his sword cut through the wall and flashed at Garen’s chest impossibly quick! Garen blocked, felt his arms compress, felt the sword slam into his chest and then he felt himself flying. His feet left the ground and Garen gaped at Greydath as the force of the impact hurled him back several feet. When he landed the other Hob was already charging at him.

Left slash, overhand, thrust! Garen parried, attacked, dodged left, blocked, slashed with both hands, took a cut to his cheek, roared and punched with one hand—nearly lost the hand, blocked, fell back, slashed upwards, ducked, retreated three steps, struck and took a wound to the thigh—

He hadn’t fought this hard for years. He hadn’t been this desperate…Garen couldn’t think. All of his body and mind was thrust into fighting, keeping Greydath’s blade from touching him, fending the Hob off. He was losing! Greydath pressed him backwards down the corridor, grinning manically as Garen fought. The sounds of their blades meeting overwhelmed all other sound. They fought like that for hours, days, or so it felt. But possibly only a few minutes had passed before Garen saw Greydath lower his sword. The Hob stopped, panting, covered in sweat. Greydath grinned at him and laughed.

“Good! Haven’t done that in years. You were a Gold-rank adventurer, weren’t you? Strong. They must have loved you and feared you. Your team. Didn’t they? Is that why you killed them?”

Garen didn’t reply. He was trying to get his breathing back. His mind raced, but all he could ask was the obvious.

“What do you want?”

Greydath bared his teeth. It was not a smile. Garen felt a cold shiver as the former Goblin Lord lifted his blade. How could he be alive? He tensed, but Greydath just rested the flat of his blade on his shoulder.

“What do I want? To see how strong Garen Redfang is. And the answer? Very strong. As strong as the coward, nearly. If you two fought and you had a bit more magic, would you win? You are stronger than the Goblin Lord. With the blade. Little else, though. You’d be a fine warrior in any tribe. You are the poorest of Chieftains.”

His words made no sense. But they annoyed Garen all the same. He growled.

“I’m not here…to fight, old one. Leave!”

“Make me.”

Garen hesitated. He couldn’t. Greydath grinned at him.

“A poor leader. A failure who can’t keep his tribe fed. Can’t keep their loyalty. But strong. Strength would be enough. But you are no Goblin. You betrayed your tribe. Your first tribe. That’s what they called you. Even the Humans know you. Team killer. Tribe killer. Not Goblin.”

The words struck Garen like arrows. He gritted his teeth, but didn’t reply. Greydath shook his head.

“Enough. A not-Goblin isn’t enough to challenge a Lord. Not at all. If you changed, maybe. But what did you do? You stuck with the coward, while the child ran away with your tribe. And the slave came and you lost your tribe again. Look around, Redfang. They desert you each time. And why? Because you are no Chieftain. Not worthy. Not a Goblin.”

For the third time he said it. If it had been anyone else, anyone in the entire world, Garen would have killed them then and there. But Greydath he couldn’t kill. So Garen stood where he was.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Nothing from you. Not now. I just wanted to see what would happen. The coward’s tribe is broken. The slave runs, but the Humans play games. And they brought her. Look.”

Greydath pointed. Garen risked a glance and realized that the Hob had pushed him back towards the central chamber. Elia Arcsinger was still standing above, watching the last of the Goblins fleeing the mountain. Greydath bared his teeth again. Only this time, he didn’t look amused. A flash of fury crossed his face, and then, disconcertingly, it turned into a grin.

“Good to see her. Good to remember! Good test for all of you. Especially the slave. I’d stay and greet her, but she knows me. And there’s something strange to the south. So I go. I’ll see you and the others soon.”

Garen had no idea what he meant. He watched as Greydath turned, and then the old Hob seemed to think of something. He looked around.

“But before I go…maybe a present for her, eh?”

He reached for something. He’d picked up the dead [Swordsman]’s blade when Garen hadn’t been looking. Garen moved backwards as Greydath advanced. The old Hob grinned at him. Then he stared up at Elia Arcsinger. His arm tensed and Garen braced himself. But the old Goblin wasn’t aiming at him. He turned and hurled the sword straight at Elia, hundreds of feet above like it was a spear.

The sword flew like an arrow. It shot up towards Elia, flashing in the torchlight. At first she didn’t see it. But then one of the adventurers—the other, younger half-Elf spotted the blade. She screamed one word.

“Mother!”

And the Kingslayer turned. The half-Elf’s eyes widened as she spotted the enchanted blade flying at her. Her bow rose. She loosed the arrow as the other adventurers cried out. The shining arrow met the enchanted sword in the air and Garen heard a terrible, ringing screech of sound from above.

Pieces of metal rained down, fragments of the enchanted sword blown to bits. Elia Arcsinger lowered her arm and the other adventurers stared around wildly. They pointed down and shouted.

“There! That Goblin!”

“That’s…Garen Redfang!

Garen started. He looked around. Greydath had vanished. The adventurers above wavered. Then he heard a voice.

“Kill him!”

A [Witch] standing on a bridge high above pointed. A giant fireball flew downwards. Garen shouted and ran. He dove for the safety of the corridor and felt something hot kick him in the back. His ears rang. He scrambled further into the tunnel as more spells and arrows blasted the ground around him. Garen ran back into the tunnel. He rounded the bend, saw the three dead adventurers—and then a group of Goblins. Garen nearly cut them down until he saw the red paint on their arms and faces.

“Chieftain!”

One of Garen’s Redfang Warriors shouted in relief. The Goblin looked wide-eyed at Garen’s injured body, and then at the Gold-ranks.

“Chieftain kill adventurers? Alone?”

Garen hesitated. He looked around. Greydath was gone. Garen cursed the old Hob. What had he been doing here? Had he been testing Garen? What did he mean by the slave and the coward? The child?

Not-Goblin. He had called Garen that. Lost in thought, Garen blinked as he realized his Redfangs were staring at him. He looked at the dead adventurers.

“No. Loot bodies. Get armor—artifacts! We leave mountain! We ride!”

The Goblins hurried over to the bodies and began looting the Gold-rank adventurers. Garen bent and hurriedly peeled the leather armor off the [Swordsman], grimacing at the blood. Enchanted gear! At least that was something. He stood up and felt the back of his neck prickle. The adventurers were coming after him. More Gold-ranks. They’d find the dead adventurers, blame him for it, no doubt. He pointed and his warriors ran.

Out of the mountain. Garen found himself pushing past the last of the fleeing Goblins, ducking spells as the adventurers spotted him. He wasn’t concerned about escaping—they were far overhead and even the most dangerous spells missed him. [Mages] had bad aim. No, he was worried. About what Greydath had said. About the attack.

Something was wrong. Garen’s crimson eyes narrowed as he stared back up at the adventurers. They were being far too passive, even raining spells down on his position as they were. They could have been throwing [Fireball] spells this entire time, killed thousands of Reiss’ and Tremborag’s forces. But they hadn’t. Why hadn’t Elia Arcsinger moved? Was her only target the Goblin Lord? If so—

He didn’t like it one bit. Garen ran, whistling for his Carn Wolf and praying it would hear him amidst the chaos. He had to find his Redfangs, rally enough Goblin warriors. This wasn’t over. Not yet! Garen cursed the Humans with every step. He hated losing. And he hated traps. All of this felt like one big trap. Inside of another trap.

 

—-

 

The Goblin Lord fled the mountain. But to the south and west, another [Lord] stood on the ground, perfectly at ease. He had not fled anywhere. Indeed, Lord Tyrion Veltras looked perfectly at ease as he stood in Riverfarm. His [Knights] and mounted [Soldiers] were pursuing the last of Rags’ Redfang warriors as the relieved folk of Riverfarm watched. Tyrion seemed content to watch. He was speaking to a [Mage] on horseback, and only when another [Message] was relayed did his brow crease.

“How many casualties? Four?

The [Mage] nodded.

“Yes, Lord Veltras. Apparently, two of the hunter teams encountered trouble while attempting to locate the Great Chieftain. They were ambushed and one team was completely killed. The giant Hob—er, Tremborag—killed one, and it is believed another Hobgoblin slew the other three.”

“One Hob?”

“Yes, Lord Veltras. Garen Redfang. He was identified by adventurers on the scene.”

Lord Tyrion frowned.

“Have a report readied. I will view it when I return to the main camp. For now—”

He glanced at his soldiers. They were pursuing the Goblins. The Redfangs mounted on the Carn Wolves were fleeing east as fast as they could. Tyrion eyed a pair of Goblins clinging to their mounts. Rags was trying to hold up Redscar, who was nearly falling out of his saddle. The [Lord] raised a hand.

“Pull the soldiers back. Let the Goblins run.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

One of the soldiers raised a horn and blew twice sharply. The riders turned and immediately halted their pursuit of the Goblins.

What are you doing?

Tyrion looked around. Laken Godart turned from talking with an older man who looked like a farmer and another [Lady]. Though his back had been turned, and though his eyes were still closed, he strode instantly towards the returning soldiers.

“Follow them! That Chieftain cannot be allowed to leave! Don’t let the Goblins escape!

His voice snapped through the air and took hold of the soldiers. They turned back again and half of the villagers started forwards at a run. Even some of the nobles moved. Tyrion did not. His brows snapped together. He raised his voice and shouted with a battle commander’s voice.

Hold!

His soldiers paused again. They started and looked back shamefaced. Tyrion raised a fist and his soldiers rode back towards him. The villagers had likewise paused. Tyrion Veltras strode towards Laken.

“Your majesty, I will thank you to not command my men.”

“The Goblins are escaping. The Chieftain of the tribe that attacked my people is running!”

“Really?”

Tyrion’s eyebrows rose. He glanced back at the fleeing Goblins and shook his head slightly.

“Do not worry, your majesty. I will pursue the Goblins shortly. My men and I are capable of catching the Goblins no matter how quickly they flee.”

“Why not catch them now?”

“I do not deem it necessary.”

“Really.”

Laken folded his arms. Tyrion frowned and stroked his beard. He glanced at his aide and attempted to moderate his tone. For Tyrion, that meant there was a bit less of a snap to his cold voice.

“Emperor Laken. If you wish to pursue the Goblins, by all means send whatever forces you possess. But I have given you my assurance that I will safeguard your lands and your people. However, I must coordinate with my main forces which are currently besieging another force of Goblins.”

“All of this has to do with leaving the Goblins here alone how?”

Tyrion did not quite look around, but his glance to the left pinpointed a woman standing in the crowd. Sacra, dressed in her maid outfit, stood out in the crowd of Riverfarm’s villagers.

“A discussion for a more private setting, Emperor Laken. I look forward to it. Give me two hours time to reconnect with my soldiers to the east. I will handle the Chieftain at that time as well.”

Laken Godart frowned, but Tyrion had given him very little to object to. He hadn’t the soldiers to follow the Goblins, as both men knew. He scratched at his hair with one finger.

“Your army. Yes…there’s a good number of them. All far to the east of here. You think you can reach them in two hours?”

If Lord Tyrion was surprised by Laken’s knowledge, he didn’t show it.

“I have the Skills to move quickly. I will reach them and return in that period of time. In truth, I had intended to arrive with all my forces to provide escort to the nobility gathered here to their lands. The Goblin presence here necessitated splitting my command.”

Laken’s brows drew together.

“I see. I’m sure the nobles will be pleased to have your escort. However, that may be a problem.”

“Indeed? How so?”

“No one is leaving Riverfarm. Not yet. Your men are free to go of course, Lord Tyrion. I doubt I could stop you. But the nobility here will submit to questioning before they leave my empire.”

The nobles, who’d gathered around Lord Tyrion in relief turned to Laken, suddenly confused. Lady Bevia, raised her eyebrows.

“Emperor Laken? This is quite unexpected. What sort of questioning do you mean?”

Laken turned his head, his closed eyes seeming to ‘look’ at Lady Bevia. The effect was unsettling—one instinctively felt that he was aware of everything around him, yet his eyes told the opposite story.

“Someone ordered my [General] to assault the Goblins. Someone abducted my mage—knocked him out and then impersonated him. I will find out who. And until I do, no one in this village will leave, noble or otherwise.”

The nobility fell silent, as did the villagers around Laken. Tyrion frowned. It was another of the nobles, Lord Tourant, who coughed nervously and spoke.

“We did hear about that, ah, your majesty. But surely you wouldn’t implicate one of us—”

His voice delicately indicated he was referring to the nobles, who were, of course, beyond suspicion of any crimes, himself included.

“—of such a heinous deed, would you?”

This time Tyrion watched closely as Laken turned his head with unerring accuracy towards Lord Tourant. The [Lord] had met those blinded before and Laken was too precise, too…accurate in his movements. An intriguing puzzle. The [Emperor] gave Tourant a ghost of a smile.

“Of course I wouldn’t dare to question your integrity, Lord Tourant. This is a precaution, nothing more. It wouldn’t do for the perpetrator to slip away in the confusion, would it?”

“Oh, no. Of course not.”

Tourant relaxed. A hair too soon as it turned out. Laken turned to the old farmer standing next to him.

“But just in case, I feel that we should make a complete investigation. Of everyone. With magic. And when I find the criminal who started all this—Mister Prost?”

“Your majesty?”

The man bowed precisely. Tyrion eyed him. Not a [Farmer], then? No, he had the hands and look of one. But he had the air of a trained majordomo. Another point of interest. Laken grinned, but without any humor.

“When we find the criminal, I have a mind to execute justice on the spot. So…find me an axe. It doesn’t have to be sharp.”

The people went silent as Prost nodded slowly. They looked at Laken, and then the nobility looked towards Tyrion as one. They didn’t quite ask him to intervene, but the suddenly nervous expressions on a good half of the noble’s faces said far more than words could. Lord Tyrion glanced at Laken.

“You plan to behead the criminal who sabotaged your command? What if one of the nobility were responsible? Hypothetically, of course.”

Laken turned back to Tyrion. His head tilted up. The air around him, already tense, grew a bit more intense. The atmosphere around Tyrion froze over as the two looked towards each other, though Laken never opened his eyes.

“Hypothetically? I would consider that an act of war. I might not behead who was responsible right then and there if they were…hypothetically…a noble, but I wouldn’t rule it out, either.”

Something invisible pushed in the air between the two. Tyrion didn’t draw back, although the soldiers around him were wincing and shifting uncomfortably. He slowly stroked his beard, and then, to the surprise of everyone, nodded.

“Very appropriate. Of course I will support any investigation to the fullest. If you would like me to lend you a few of my [Mages] to cast truth detection spells, I would gladly provide them.”

His reply caught Laken off guard. The [Emperor] wavered and the static feeling in the air vanished. He frowned.

“Really?”

Tyrion nodded, cool as an iceberg in the winter.

“If you have a mage of your own capable of casting the spell, I will submit to any test you wish, Emperor Laken. I have nothing to hide. The truth will out. If there is such a traitor in your kingdom, the axe is the least they deserve. And if, by some incredible chance, a peer of the realm was found to have resorted to such underhanded trickery…”

He shrugged fractionally and flicked is gaze towards the nobles of Izril, who were giving him very unhappy looks.

“I will leave it to your discretion. Although I would ask for clemency if a member of the fair sex were to be found to be guilty. Of either gender, I suppose. A more formal accusation would be more appropriate. Were you to desire it.”

“I appreciate the suggestion.”

Laken looked like he appreciated nothing of the kind. His head turned from Tyrion to Lady Bevia, suspicion once again creasing his brow. Tyrion noticed the gesture and nodded.

“Ah. I see your confusion, your majesty. In the interest of transparency, I did receive a number of [Messages] informing me of the Goblin presence in your lands. From Lady Bevia, among others.”

He nodded at Lady Bevia, who gave him a charming, and slightly vexed smile as everyone stared at her. Tyrion went on, undeterred.

“My war camp was also found by a desperate [Knight] in the service to Lady Bethal Walchaís who had escaped the Goblins in question. But that was the extent of my knowledge of this affair. My reasons for seeking you out were of a practical nature, Emperor. But I swear on the honor of my house that neither I nor any of my subordinates took any part in this…unpleasantness. I will swear that on any truth spell you wish, in any framing of words.”

“Huh.”

Laken paused. He tilted his head back, and then nodded. Now he seemed somewhat amused.

“It seems I have no reason to distrust your word, Lord Tyrion. I will hold you to that promise. Later. For now, I will interview those in Riverfarm. I think the answers I find will be…illuminating. Possibly messy. You said two hours from now you’ll return?”

“Indeed. Please excuse me.”

Lord Tyrion nodded to Laken. The [Emperor] stepped back and Tyrion looked pointedly at his aide.

“Reform the company and begin riding back towards Lord Pellmia. I will catch you on the road.”

The aide nodded and spurred her horse. Tyrion whistled and his warhorse trotted towards him through the crowd of people, forcing them to move aside or be knocked flat. He put one foot in the stirrups and paused.

“Ah. Lady Bevia.”

The old woman was making her way towards him, letting her nephew and guards elbow everyone else out of the way. She smiled at Tyrion, although her smile had an edge to it.

“As straight as an arrow as ever, aren’t you, Tyrion? Then again, I’ve seen arrows with more give than you. Thank you for throwing us all upon the mercy of Emperor Laken.”

Tyrion swung himself into the saddle and looked down at Bevia. His lips twitched, and he looked slightly amused.

“I spoke my mind as I saw fit. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear, Lady Bevia.”

The old [Lady] cackled.

“Who is truly innocent? Don’t worry—it wasn’t me who made a mess of that young man’s army. I would hate to see one of the nobility go to the chopping block for that trick, though. It would make things…complicated.”

Tyrion shook his head.

“Trickery has its place. But leading thousands of innocent soldiers to their death? That is a cowardly, pathetic act.”

“Mm. That’s practically a warm hug among the Reinharts, as I’m sure you know. And half the peers of the realm wouldn’t bat an eyelash if they thought they could get away with something like that.”

“This one would. I am relieved to see you are well, Bevia. However, I have pressing business to attend to. If we might converse another time? I will return to speak with the emperor. You may find me after that.”

Bevia waved a wrinkled hand.

“Yes, yes. You go and play your war games. I’ll stay and convince my peers not to run for it. I do believe young Laken means what he says about the axe. Until we meet again. Bring me back my [Mage], would you?”

Tyrion didn’t respond. He kicked his horse in the flanks and took off, dodging past the Mossbear who ambled past him into the village. It was a mark of Tyrion’s personality that he didn’t allow himself to stare at the green bear who whuffed and sniffed at a fallen body. The [Lord] sped out of the village, moving twice as fast as someone on a horse should. It looked like he and his horse were flying rather than galloping, so fast were the legs of his horse moving. Tyrion caught up to the group of [Knights] and [Riders] within minutes of leaving the village. He slowed and they sped up to match his furious pace. They raced eastwards down the road.

“Lord Veltras! Another report from Dwarfhalls Rest!”

“Speak!”

Tyrion snapped. The [Mage] galloped next to him and shouted. She spoke in an awkward manner—taking care not to bite her tongue as the surging motion of her mount carried her up and down.

“The Goblins are in full retreat! They are moving southbound—not scattering! It appears the Goblin Lord or another leader has taken command! Several parts of the army have reported contact with undead! Lord Byres’ command is entrenched in battle with thousands of zombies, ghouls, and a number of advanced undead!”

“Send him reinforcements. Move forwards slowly. Do not break encirclement. Have the main body of the army move towards the Goblins as soon as they arrive. What of Lord Pellmia?”

“He reported engaging the Goblins, but has not sent another [Message] yet, Lord Veltras!”

“Very well.”

Tyrion turned his attention back to the road. At this furious pace it would be less than an hour before he reached Laken’s army and the Goblins fighting there. However—Tyrion glanced over his shoulder and saw that several of the riders in his company were lagging behind.

They had been riding furiously all day. Even with stamina restoring Skills, there was a limit to how far his men could move. Or rather, their horses. Lord Tyrion raised a hand.

“[Knights]! Fall back to Riverfarm! Anyone who deems their mount unfit will join them!”

The riders in heavier armor immediately slowed, and a handful of the other riders fell back as well. Tyrion checked his mount. The stallion he was riding looked as if it could ride another hundred miles with ease. He smiled and patted it along the back of the barding on its neck.

“Lord Veltras!”

His aide called out. Tyrion looked up. His gaze spotted a group on the road ahead of him. Goblins. The very same Goblins that had been attacking Riverfarm, in fact. They were desperately riding their Carn Wolves down the road and when they heard the galloping they turned and shouted in fear and alarm. Immediately they broke off, riding madly towards the woods.

“Should we pursue—?”

The aide raised her hand and her fingertips glowed with magic. Tyrion shook his head. He calmly eyed the group. Less than two thirds remained and they were almost all wounded. Tyrion’s gaze picked out two Goblins in the bunch. The small Goblin with the black crossbow, and, riding beside her, the Goblin with the scar on his face whom he’d wounded. Tyrion saw both turn. He spoke loudly.

“Ignore them.”

He rode ahead, ignoring the Goblins who found themselves falling behind Tyrion and his men. He turned his gaze back to the road ahead—and then heard another warning shout. Tyrion turned and saw the Goblin with the red scar charging at him.

Redscar’s Carn Wolf howled as he dashed forwards, catching up to Tyrion’s insane pace for a moment. The Redfang leader’s shoulder was healed, though his face was still deathly pale. He raised his sword as he rode at Tyrion, howling. The aide raised her hand, but Tyrion stopped her. He didn’t slow as Redscar drew alongside him.

The Goblin slashed at Tyrion with his enchanted blade, aiming at Tyrion’s stomach, his arms, his legs, his warhorse. His blade blurred with speed.

[Flurry Strikes]! Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. His shield rose and he blocked. The clanging of blade meeting metal became an unceasing drumbeat. Redscar snarled in disbelief as Tyrion continued to block. His arm slowed as he desperately tried to score a hit and then his Carn Wolf slowed. The large wolf gasped for breath and despite Redscar’s urging, slowed its pace more and more, pulling the Goblin out of reach of Tyrion. Redscar fell behind, shouting helplessly as Tyrion kept galloping.

“Not bad. For a Goblin.”

Tyrion lowered his shield. He glanced over his shoulder at Redscar whom the other Goblins were catching up to. His aide stared back at the Goblin with distaste.

“Was that the Chieftain, Lord Veltras?”

“Possibly. I should have asked the Emperor which Goblin it was. No matter. We have two marked.”

The little Goblin was pointing at Tyrion’s back. A fiery arrow shot towards Tyrion. The aide waved her hand and the fiery arrow vanished. They continued ahead, leaving the Goblins behind.

 

—-

 

Within the hour, Tyrion reached the site of the battle unfolding between Pyrite and Wiskeria’s army. Or rather, what had been the battle. He slowed as his mount reached the site of churned mud and bodies. Tyrion glanced at the fallen, counting the Humans who’d died at a glance. Then he saw how the tide had shifted, and where ranks of Goblins had fallen, first in droves, and then in scattered groups from behind. He rode towards the first group he saw on the field, a [Lord] wearing enchanted plate and a young female [Knight] dressed in borrowed armor.

Lord Pellmia and Welca Caveis were both talking to someone standing on the ground. A [Witch] of all people, wounded lightly on her arm. She was pointing at the distant city. Tyrion glanced at it. Goblins were clustered on the walls, armed with crossbows. They were staring warily at the large force of Humans on horseback gathered just out of range. The city had multiple holes in its wall and was taking fire.

As Tyrion watched, a huge boulder soared over his head and crashed into the city. At the same time, a much smaller stone was launched back towards the Human army. It would have struck a group of riders, but one of them, another [Mage], pointed up and blocked the falling stone with a shield of magic.

“Lord Veltras!”

Lord Pellmia exclaimed the instant he saw Tyrion. He rode towards him, smoothing his mustache importantly. Pellmia was a broader man in the shoulder and gut than Tyrion, but he still cut an impressive sight on his white stallion. Tyrion nodded to him.

“Lord Pellmia. How goes it?”

“Well! We scattered those pestilential Goblins on the first charge. It wasn’t hard to send them scurrying back to the city. It’s been cleanup ever since. Half of the army was fleeing for the hills and the rest was wounded. I’ve been rationing out healing potions among the wounded and searching for survivors since. I would have assaulted the city, but the damn Goblins have a lot of pikes and crossbows! I’ve been letting them sit while that er, trebuchet keeps pounding them. Damndest thing! Never thought I’d see a weapon like that sitting about in the middle of nowhere!”

He laughed, and then motioned towards the two women.

“Lady Caveis here has been searching for her missing companion. Sir Kerrig. Apparently he rode south. You didn’t happen to see him? And this is the [General] of the army. General Wiskeria. A, ah, [Witch].”

The bespectacled [Witch] bowed towards Lord Tyrion. He blinked at her and then shifted his attention to Welca.

“We did meet your companion in Riverfarm, Lady Caveis.”

“Sir Kerrig? Is he well? Is he unharmed?”

Welca looked worried and relieved. Tyrion nodded.

“Both. We arrived in time to prevent the Goblins from sacking the village. I encountered their ruler. Emperor Laken Godart.”

“So there is an [Emperor] in Riverfarm? Five Houses, that’s another wonder!”

Pellmia whistled. He glanced speculatively at Wiskeria and nodded to the Goblins.

“I suppose he wants these Goblins gone, does he? Give the order and we’ll charge the gates, Lord Veltras. It won’t be pretty, but once we’re past those pikes it should be a rout!”

“Lord Veltras? Lord Veltras!”

The [Witch], or rather, [General] protested loudly. She bowed hurriedly towards him as Tyrion nodded.

“Forgive me. But I keep telling Lord Pellmia that attacking the city would not be wise! He took the Goblins off-guard, but they have incredibly strong warriors! They have hundreds of Hobs and their regular Goblins use twenty-foot long pikes! Any cavalry that charges them will be impaled! Not to mention their crossbows!”

“Nonsense! We have [Knights] who can break their lines.”

Pellmia dismissed Wiskeria’s complaint with a wave. Tyrion frowned at Pellmia, but smoothed his face before the other man could notice. He spoke calmly, nodding at Wiskeria.

“I’d prefer not to take a single casualty if possible, Lord Pellmia. Driving the Goblins from the city is a priority, but I would prefer avoiding a pitched battle in the city.”

The other [Lord] sighed dramatically.

“As you say, Veltras. Still, not a bad job of it, eh? We arrived just in the nick of time! Another minute and the Goblin Chieftain would have cut a hole right through the army!”

“You say the Chieftain’s here?”

That caught Tyrion’s attention. He glanced at Lord Pellmia and gestured towards his aide.

“Fetch me an artifact enchanted with [Appraisal]. I wish to sort this out. Pellmia, I have marked two Goblins as possible candidates. Yourself?”

“One. The fat one with the enchanted battleaxe. Over there. Lady Caveis claims that he might be the Chieftain.”

“I see.”

Lord Tyrion frowned at the monocle his aide handed him. He lifted it with his gauntleted fingers and peered through it with a frown. He searched the walls of the city for the Goblin until he spotted him. A fat Hob with an enchanted battleaxe, as Pellmia had said.

“Lady Caveis, you were captive of the Goblins for a period of time. Was this the Chieftain to your knowledge?”

Welca jumped. She stared at Pyrite.

“I uh—yes. He…might be the Chieftain. I can’t be sure. They all look the same. I advised Pellmia he could be the one.”

Pellmia snorted.

“Not hard to figure out. Dangerous, that fat Hob. He was cutting down [Soldiers] like flies when we charged him. Nearly got one of my [Knights], but we drove him back!”

Tyrion squinted at the distant Hob. He frowned as he slowly read and then nodded.

“He certainly has enough [Chieftain] levels. However—ah. There they are.”

His head turned. Behind him, a group of Goblins appeared in the distance. They spotted the army of soldiers, Tyrion’s five thousand or so cavalry, and then the Goblins in the city. They rode left, making a mad dash for the safety of the walls. Tyrion saw his aide calling back the riders who rode to intercept. As the Goblins fled, Tyrion once again picked out the Goblin with the red scar and the small Goblin. This time his eyebrows rose.

“The little Goblin has nearly as many in [Chieftain] as the fat Hob. The warrior…none. Interesting. He appears to have a Goblin commander class. [Raid Leader]. A powerful combatant then, but not of interest besides that. Mark the small Goblin and the large Hob, Lord Pellmia. Circulate their descriptions.”

“A difficult task given that all Goblins look like the other. At least these two have their size to tell them apart. How tiresome. Shall we disperse the rest of the mob now, Lord Veltras? Those trebuchets are fun to watch, but the Goblins don’t seem particularly deterred by the rocks. They have a few of their own. Annoying things.”

“Indeed. Give me a moment to plan the attack, Lord Pellmia.”

“Naturally.”

The man rode backwards and Welca did likewise. Tyrion dismounted and saw the [Witch] hurry up to him. She hesitated and tried to bow awkwardly again.

“My apologies, Lord Veltras. You’re the commander of this army, correct? Thank you for coming to our aid.”

Tyrion nodded.

“It was my pleasure, General Wiskeria. How many losses did your army take?”

Wiskeria tugged the brim of her hat down.

“Many. We’d have been slaughtered completely without Lord Pellmia’s arrival. As it is, there are thousands dead. I don’t know what Laken—excuse me. Did I hear that Riverfarm was attacked? Laken—Emperor Laken, his majesty. Is he safe?”

“He is. He claims that the order to attack the Goblins did not come from him. He is investigating the matter. I will return to Riverfarm within the hour. It only remains to root out these Goblins.”

Wiskeria gaped at Tyrion in horror. When she managed to recover she stared at the city apprehensively.

“Do you mean to assault the city? As I told Lord Pellmia, that was disastrous for our army. Even your soldiers might suffer if they tried it.”

“That was my analysis as well. Tell me, are you a trained [General], Miss Wiskeria? Pellmia claims you are a [Witch].”

Wiskeria reddened.

“I’m both. I—just obtained my [General] class. I was never trained. I don’t know that I belong in the position. Certainly not after a disaster like this.”

She stared numbly around the battlefield soaked with blood. Tyrion shook his head. He paused and searched for comforting words. He found none and spoke abruptly.

“Every leader fails. This battle was poorly chosen to begin with. Learn from your errors and continue to level. That you were able to lead an army at all without formal command training is impressive. Tell me, how did you obtain your class?”

Wiskeria hesitated. She bit her lip, and then answered slowly.

“From his majesty. It was…a gift.”

She eyed Tyrion from under her pointed hat. He nodded slowly.

“A gift from an [Emperor]. May I assume the trebuchets are also his devising?”

“You might. May I assume that you are an ally of his majesty, Lord Veltras?”

“You may. And I intend to make good on my promise to him. Jericha?”

He turned his head. His aide, the Human woman and [Mage], rode forwards. She had naturally grey hair, although she was only a little younger than Tyrion herself.

“Lord Veltras? Your orders?”

“Gather the [Mages] under my command. Have them form a link and assault the city. I want the Goblins driven out. Lord Pellmia is to take a wedge of the highest-level [Knights] and any [Lords] who wish to participate and assault the gates on my signal.”

“By your order.”

Jericha rode away, calling out orders. Wiskeria watched the soldiers riding forwards and a group of around twenty [Mages] dismount.

“A link? But if they move into crossbow range—”

She glanced apprehensively at the walls. Tyrion shook his head.

“There is more than one way to unseat an enemy from a fortress, General Wiskeria. This trick would not work on a Drake city. But a Human one without enchanted walls—observe.”

He gave a few orders and stepped back as the [Mages] formed a small circle just outside of the range of the Goblins. Tyrion opened his saddlebags and offered his stallion a feed bag. His horse ate hungrily as Tyrion watched the city with one eye. Wiskeria saw the twenty mages plus Jericha link hands. She saw the mana surge around them. To her eyes they shone like a small sun, and in the air between them a glowing orb appeared. White hot fire gathered into an orb, a spell which blazed heat. The Goblins on the wall stared at the ominous spell and looked at each other. By the time the [Siege Fireball] shot from the gathered mages the Goblins were already fleeing the walls into the city.

The thump and roar of sound appeared a few seconds after the blinding flash. When Wiskeria’s vision cleared she saw the gates of the city were blown inwards and the walls around the city—already damaged—were nearly completely caved in. Lord Pellmia whooped and raced towards the city with a group of a hundred or so [Knights] and [Lords], ignoring the crossbow bolts that glanced off his enchanted armor.

“A rout. Not that the Goblins intended to keep the city in any case.”

Tyrion calmly raised two fingers and pointed. Two thousand more soldiers raced after Pellmia’s band through the breach. Wiskeria heard the sounds of fighting in the distance, but didn’t hear the roar she expected. She saw a stream of Goblins pouring from the city’s west side, fleeing Pellmia’s soldiers.

“They were planning on running the entire time?”

“They would have tried sealing the gaps in the wall otherwise. Goblins are predictable. They leave escape routes in almost every situation. The Chieftain—whichever one it is—will have decided to flee rather than fight. But they will put up a token resistance. Perhaps even—ah. Here it comes.”

Another group raced out of the city. Goblins, mounted on Carn Wolves. Goblin elites, although the word made Tyrion’s lips twist. He calmly mounted his stallion as Wiskeria stared apprehensively at the group of Goblins. They were charging at Tyrion by the hundreds.

“They’re attacking you, Lord Tyrion! Should we retreat?”

She looked around wildly for Tyrion’s escort, but there was no one close by. Tyrion shook his head. He drew his sword and kicked his stallion forwards.

“No. This band is trying to buy time. They will disperse once their leader falls.”

He stared at Redscar. The Goblin was locked onto him, howling with fury. Tyrion kicked his stallion forwards. He rode at the Redfang Warriors. Alone. His horse accelerated as Wiskeria shouted something after him. Tyrion didn’t listen. He surged in his saddle, his sword bared, his shield raised. No lance for him this time. His gaze narrowed and he saw Redscar draw ahead of the pack. Tyrion’s voice was meant for him and him alone.

“The truth about Goblins is that they’re predictable. They do the same things. Over and over. The truth about Goblins is that they are a tool. Manipulable. And ultimately—”

He lifted his shield. An arrow glanced off the metal. Tyrion swung and one of the Redfang Warriors fell from his saddle, his side slashed open. The [Lord] slashed again and a Carn Wolf fell, the Goblin warrior riding it howling in grief and fear. Redscar screamed and slashed at Tyrion’s unguarded head. The [Lord] sighed.

“—expendable.”

He cut through the air in an arc. Redscar’s blade slashed across Tyrion’s shield. Tyrion’s blade caught the Goblin and spun him in his saddle. The Goblin fell onto his Carn Wolf’s front. He’d dodged the blade—for the second time, which was impressive. But his entire side was laid open, and at least four of his ribs were cut open. He gasped as his Carn Wolf tried to turn. Tyrion turned his horse, cutting down Redfang Warriors who tried to block him. He bore down on Redscar. The Goblin lifted the blade. Tyrion raised his. He brought it down and the little Goblin riding towards him pulled the trigger. Her crossbow twanged and Tyrion’s shield snapped up.

The crossbow bolt slammed into Tyrion’s shield. He turned his head. Rags flicked fire into Tyrion’s warhorse’s face, making it rear. The [Lord] saw the little Goblin push her Carn Wolf in front of Redscar as a huge Hob caught the fainting Goblin. Pyrite turned and ran with Redscar, letting a Goblin child clinging to the back of his head frantically pour a healing potion over Redscar’s chest. Rags remained. She faced down Tyrion, barking orders as the Redfang Warriors surged around her, pulling back in confusion.

The little Goblin had a shortsword in hand. Not an enchanted blade. And the fire magic she called into her other palm was barely more than Tier 2. Tyrion’s longsword gleamed with ancient magic that had infused it for thousands of years. His armor, shield, and weapon were all heirlooms of the Veltras family. He was a foremost [Lord] of Izril with decades of combat behind him. But the little Goblin faced him without fear.

She had a spark in her eyes. A glimmer of comprehension, of understanding. Tyrion felt a jolt of surprise. She knew. Rags raised her sword and struck at Tyrion’s side with a quick slash. Compared to Redscar’s strikes her blade was slow, but it still cut with deadly force. Tyrion blocked the blade with his sword.

Rags shot fire at his face. The [Lord] adjusted his shield and blocked the stream of fire. Undeterred, Rags shifted her aim and tried to blast his warhorse in the eyes with flame. Tyrion turned his horse sideways. The flames glanced harmlessly over the warhorse’s barding and Tyrion’s armored leggings. Rags growled and threw a [Firefly] spell at Tyrion’s face. He cut the spell in half. She slashed across his side. He blocked the blade again.

The two stared at each other. Tyrion’s sword was light and balanced in his hand. He made no move towards Rags. She stared at him with helpless anger. With frustration. He looked at her. And smiled.

It was a cold smile, a quirking of the lips. Tyrion’s eyes never changed throughout. He stared at Rags, without pity or hatred. As if she were dust. He waited. Rags turned her head, saw the fleeing Redfang Warriors and the rest of her tribe running. She looked back at Tyrion, hesitated. He kept smiling. Then he spoke.

“You have an hour to run. Run quick, Goblin Chieftain.”

She eyed him. Tyrion’s gaze flicked to Pyrite, running with Redscar in his arms. Then to Rags’ face. No, she was the Chieftain. He was sure. There was something in her gaze. Rags looked at Tyrion, shifted her grip on her sword. She hesitated, as if debating trying for another attack. She shook her head and turned. Then she looked back and spat at Tyrion.

A glob of spit flew towards Tyrion’s face. He saw it coming and raised his shield perfunctorily. A sword tip flashed past the shield and flicked. The glob of spit splashed onto Lord Pellmia’s blade and he lowered his sword. Tyrion turned as Rags kicked her Carn Wolf and rode away.

“My thanks, Lord Pellmia. You needn’t have sullied your blade, though.”

“Nonsense. We cannot allow these lesser creatures to insult us.”

Lord Pellmia was flushed with a battle high and his sword and armor were bloody. Not from his own blood. His mount was practically steaming from exertion. Pellmia leaned down and ground the tip of his sword into the earth. Then he sat back upright and frowned at Rags’ retreating back. He turned and Tyrion saw that Pellmia had brought a host of mounted soldiers to ‘rescue’ him. Pellmia gestured at a group of [Archers] mounted on horses.

“Send a volley into the Goblin’s backs as a lesson!”

“No.”

Tyrion countermanded the order, raising an open hand. Pellmia stared at him in shock. Tyrion smiled tightly.

“You might hit her.”

He nodded towards Rags, who was racing ahead to the front of the group. Pellmia blew out his mustache in amazement.

“Dead gods, Veltras! All this to save a single Goblin? Did you mean what you said about an hour’s head start? By Dragons, why would you do that?”

Tyrion wiped his sword with a cloth and then sheathed it. He spoke casually.

“That Goblin is important—at least for the moment. Kill a Chieftain and their tribe scatters to the winds. As for the hour’s reprieve—I thought it might amuse you.”

“Me?”

Pellmia’s eyebrows rose. Tyrion nodded. He smiled again. It had to be said that he was bad at smiling, at least as the activity was meant to reassure or uplift.

“You are by all accounts a sporting man, Lord Pellmia. What would you say to a wager? If you can corner the Goblins in two hours? Say—a thousand gold coins and two head of prime cattle on it?”

Lord Pellmia stared and then laughed. He looked around at the [Soldiers] on horseback, many of which looked tired and not in the mood for a chase.

“With this army? At dusk? Make it two thousand gold and a warhorse from your stable! Damn the cattle—I’ll provide the steak if I win or lose!”

“A deal, then.”

Tyrion took the gauntlet from his hands and shook Pellmia’s bare hand. The [Lords] grinned at one another and Tyrion’s tone became businesslike once more.

“Mind what I’ve told you about the Goblins.”

“Aye, I won’t forget. It’ll be harder keeping most of them alive. Well, a few hundred won’t matter, will it? Not for the bet. I’ll have to leave my son behind, though. He’s too hotheaded to avoid trying to kill the Goblins, never mind orders!”

Tyrion saw Pellmia point at an excited [Lord] wearing gold-leaf plate mail. He nodded.

“It seems he’s slain a few Goblins. A credit to you.”

“You say that without having met him! He’s not half the level I was when I was his age. Still—I hope to raise him at least to Level 20 before we finish this campaign. So, I’ve two hours to round up the Goblins, eh? Don’t you worry. I’ll have them running where you want by nightfall! And I’ll expect to be visiting your stables as soon as I head north! With a steak for your tables!”

Tyrion smiled as Lord Pellmia rode forwards, laughing and waving at the soldiers to follow him. He had to remind Pellmia to give the Goblins an hour’s head start first. Lord Pellmia sighed and rode back.

“I suppose we’ll have to have a late dinner of it, then. Will you be joining us, Veltras? I doubt there’s any good food to be had around here. My [Manservant] has [Advanced Cooking] and [Campfire Chef], though. He’ll make a good meal of it!”

Lord Tyrion shook his head.

“I must return to the main force shortly. I leave this matter in your capable hands, Lord Pellmia. And our bet.”

“Very well. And this Emperor Godart I’ve heard so much about? What if he complains about an army camping on his lands? And what should I do with his army? Let them go?”

Tyrion nodded.

“Do not concern yourself with this [Emperor]. I will deal with him before I leave; focus your attention on the Goblins. If any issue arises, do not hesitate to contact me. Our timing must be impeccable.”

He held Pellmia’s gaze. The [Lord] smiled.

“Over half the nobles in our war camp are still speculating about what you have planned, Veltras. I have an inkling. But I’ll keep that to myself for now. Your orders I’ll carry out. However, if you might indulge an old man?”

He was probably fifteen years older than Tyrion. Which would put him close to sixty years. Still, Pellmia looked like a young man as the evening light faded across his face. Tyrion paused reluctantly.

“Very well.”

“How long have we? According to your schedule.”

Lord Tyrion Veltras paused. He weighed answering, and then replied, knowing that his response may well be circulated to those Pellmia considered his allies and possibly beyond that. But it was a calculated risk.

“Fourteen days.”

The [Lord]’s eyes gleamed.

“Fourteen days, eh? And then what?”

Pellmia never received an answer. Tyrion turned and turned his mount. He set a quick trot back towards Riverfarm. A small escort led by Jericha fell in behind him. Behind him, Pellmia laughed heartily and called for wine before he went to hunt the tribe down.

 

—-

 

And the Goblins fled. From the mountain, away from the lands of Emperor Godart, in disarray, in defeat. Demoralized and broken. Reiss ran with his master’s words echoing in his mind, planning, trying to find victory amid another setback, another obstacle. Tremborag escaped, burning with rage, seething at his lost mountain. Afraid of the Kingslayer at his back. Garen rode, confused, angry, the words Greydath had spoken poking at his mind and conscience like hot needles.

And Rags? She turned in her saddle and looked back. She stared at the distant army of Humans, at the blood and death around the broken city. She thought of Laken, and looked at Redscar, nearly dead on the wagon they’d put him on. But alive. She thought of all that had passed, and she felt guilty and bitter and despairing. Her head drooped, and then rose. Rags straightened her back.

Beside her, Pyrite jogged to keep up, his fat body heaving with the effort. He was bleeding, and his expression was bleak. Rags’ tribe stumbled to keep moving. Again they were running. Again in defeat. But Rags kept her head high. Not because she felt good, or because she saw a silver lining in the clouds hanging over her. But because no one else was looking up. Because she was a Chieftain. She sat tall and moved on.

And her tribe followed. They marched after their Chieftain into the night, the little Goblin who kept urging them on. Who had dueled a [Lord] and spat in his face. Who had bested an [Emperor]. She would have won, of course. But the Humans had cheated. They always cheated. But the Goblins still called it victory. They cheered Rags as she rode past them, urging them to pick up the pace. They were hers. And she was theirs. Their little Goblin leader. The genius who had bested Redfang. A bit of hope.

Rags.

 

[Chieftain Level 24!]

[Skill – Tribe: Rapid Reload obtained!]

[Skill – Flashfire Spellcraft obtained!]

[Spell – Burning Blades obtained!]

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.38

“I think I see them. Alright everyone! Let’s get ready for tonight! Lyonette? Begin Plan A. Numbtongue? How are the windows coming?”

Erin Solstice stood on the hill outside her inn, shielding herself from the pouring rain with a cloak. It didn’t really help; she was already quite wet from being outside and the cloak just made water run down her arms. Still, it beat being pelted by the rain. Erin stared across the darkening waters. Evening had just begun around Liscor and the sky, never light to begin with, was starting to darken.

She could still easily pick out the boats sailing towards Liscor on the water, though. The returning adventurers illuminated the way with [Light] spells, magical torches, and waterproof lanterns. They seemed in relatively good spirits. Erin didn’t see less of them, so she assumed everyone was alright.

“Looks like everyone’s okay!”

“What about the Horns? The Halfseekers? The Silver Swords? Uh, Gemhammer and the Pride of Kelia?”

Lyonette peeked out the inn’s door. Erin shaded her eyes.

“…I can’t tell the difference between the Gnolls, but I think I see Gemhammer! Yeah, Earlia’s got that huge warhammer. And the Silver Swords are bright and shiny! Hm. There’s Moore. That wasn’t hard. And the Horns…aha! They’re in the back with Griffon Hunt!”

Erin heard a loud sigh of relief and echoed it. The Horns of Hammerad looked unhurt at a distance, although they seemed to be arguing loudly with someone in the boat that Griffon Hunt was sharing with a few Drakes. Probably Revi. Erin turned her head.

“Hey, I bet they’ll be starving! Lyonette, let’s get some food prepped!”

“What should I heat up?”

“Uh—the stuffed pasta? I just made it so I want to see how it’s received. What did I call it again?”

Drassi popped her head out behind Lyonette.

“Manicotti. I think. How do you not remember your own dish, Erin?”

“I have a lot on my mind! Right. Manicotti. That’s Italian, you know.”

The Drake gave Erin a blank look.

“I don’t know that nation. Do they make good pasta?”

“Do they make—yes! And I seasoned the stuffing! It’s this delicious cheese filling with herbs and a tiny bit of spice in some of them. I call it Gambler’s Manicotti! You bite the wrong one and your mouth explodes!”

“From a tiny bit of spice?”

“Well, a tiny bit of super hot spices. I marked the plates that have the spice, don’t worry. I want to see if anyone takes the dare. I bet Jelaqua’ll try it.”

Drassi grinned and pulled her head back into the inn. Erin stared past her at the five Hobs industriously banging on the windows outside her inn. They were installing the shutters she’d helped make in preparation for tonight. Erin waved at Numbtongue who hadn’t replied to her.

“Hey Numbtongue! How’s it going?”

The Hob looked up. He spat out a nail into his palm, and pointed. Erin sighed. For a Goblin who could speak as well as any Human, Numbtongue had an incredible amount of disdain for actual conversation. He was telling her to look and see for herself. Erin saw that all but one shutter was fixed into place.

“Okay, good job! Come in as soon as you finish! I’ll have warm towels and dinner—early!”

She saw the Hobgoblins brighten at that. They picked up the pace. Erin’s decision for an early dinner wasn’t just incentive—like Liscor, she was getting ready for tonight, when the Raskghar would surely attack again. Erin saw Headscratcher pound a nail into the inn’s wall and then wave at a little Goblin awkwardly hammering to his left. Pebblesnatch looked up, gabbled a word, and then visibly brightened. She stared at Erin hungrily until Headscratcher made her continue hammering nails.

It was very strange to Erin how relaxed Pebblesnatch was about nearly having been executed a few hours earlier. But after the Redfang Goblins had explained their change of heart, the Cave Goblin had willingly begun to follow their orders. They kept a close eye on her, but she seemed content to help them out with their tasks. Erin had two theories on why that was.

“Numbtongue explained it to me. Actually, I had to bribe him and tell him I’d buy a new guitar since the old one’s broken, but he told me in the end. Hobs are natural leaders. Pebblesnatch will obey the Redfangs because they’re Hobs, probably more willingly than she would that jerk Raskghar Chieftain.”

“Mhm?”

Lyonette was busy setting tables. Erin nodded, watching Mrsha scurry out of the kitchen with a stack of plates balanced precariously on her head.

“That’s right. And I bet Pebblesnatch enjoys hammering nails in the rain a lot more than nearly dying in the dungeon. That’s the theory anyways.”

“Hmm. Right.”

Lyonette replied absently. Erin sighed. The [Barmaid] was too focused on her work. And to be fair, she was setting a dozen tables for what would hopefully be a crowd of adventurers while making sure Mrsha didn’t drop anything and trying to get Apista not to walk all over the plates at the same time. Drassi appeared with a load of silverware and grinned at Erin.

“And you’re not worried about her running off or stabbing you in the tail, Erin?”

Erin brightened. You could count on Drassi to ask questions.

“What a good question, Drassi! No I’m not. Because…Pebblesnatch is going to be sleeping in Badarrow’s room. Actually, she’ll be locked inside and one of the Hobs will watch her. They’ll be up all night, obviously.”

“Right. Say, on that note, are you sure the inn will be safe? I’m going back to Liscor before it gets dark, right? Or am I staying here? I was telling Ishkr that I might be safer here, but, I uh, don’t know. Do you?”

Drassi shifted nervously as she placed silverware next to the plates. Her tail was curled up, though she tried to keep her voice confident. Erin frowned.

“We’ve got the windows on the ground floor all set and the shutters are in place. I thought it’d be harder, but apparently adding onto the inn doesn’t trigger the [Reinforced Structure] Skill. Bird’s got a lock on the door so he’ll be able to run inside if there’s trouble and Badarrow will be right up there with him. And the Horns and the Halfseekers will be in the inn tonight. We should be good. With that said, I still think Liscor’ll be safer, but if you want to stay, you can, Drassi.”

The Drake hesitated and chewed her lip lightly.

“No, that’s okay. I was just curious. And I should probably get back—the Watch has ordered a curfew just past dark for anyone without ten levels in a combat class.”

“Got it. Oh, and by the way, you and Ishkr need to eat before night time. I’ll bet there won’t be any restaurants or taverns open in Liscor, so make sure to get a meal!”

“Right, boss!”

Drassi smiled and saluted Erin. The young woman grinned and turned her head. She could hear distant shouting. It sounded like the adventurers were in high spirits!

“Awesome. Lyonette, make sure Mrsha eats early too. And yourself! I’ll see if I can get some of the adventurers to eat here.”

“Got it, Erin.”

Erin hurried out of the inn, putting on her best smile. Maybe she should wave a plate of food so everyone could see she had some? She stopped when she saw the Hobs. They’d finished with the shutters and were waiting with Pebblesnatch just outside the inn. They hadn’t come in yet because they were watching the adventurers on the water. A giant rocky shell had burst out of the water and two huge pincers were menacing a team of Drakes who were shouting as the other adventurers tried to help them.

“Oh no! Rock Crabs!”

Not just one. Another Rock Crab burst out of the water and capsized a boat. The adventurers shouted in panic as one of the Gnolls was dragged down into the water. The hapless Gnoll might have been torn apart, but five of the [Mages] on the boats threw spells at once and Erin saw several other adventures including Halrac loose arrows.

The Rock Crab that had seized the Gnoll virtually exploded as a bolt of lightning blew chunks out of its shell, then a hail of bright red missiles and a sickle of grey-green light cut their way in. An enchanted arrow sent Rock Crab bits flying everywhere and the second Rock Crab retreated as a Drake in armor leapt onto its body and proceeded to wail on it with a huge hammer.

Still, the aquatic skirmish wasn’t over. More Rock Crabs surfaced, and a pair of black tendrils ensnared one boat. The fish were either agitated or very hungry and the adventurers shouted as they tried to fight the aquatic monsters and not slip into the water. The Goblins cackled with laughter as they watched.

Erin tried not to smile and failed. There was something funny about this battle. She didn’t feel like anyone was in danger, not with all the Gold-rank teams around. At last, the Rock Crabs were fleeing and the Lurkersnatch Fish was floating belly-up, its black tentacles severed and dark red blood staining the water.

“Ew. I hear the bounty on those things is pretty good. Can’t speak for the taste, though. Hey, do you think I can get them to haul it over? Probably not. The fish are already eating it.”

Erin waved at the adventures as the Goblins trooped into the inn, electing to eat upstairs rather than face the adventurers. Erin began shouting as the boats began heading towards the walls of Liscor where ladders were already being thrown down.

Hey! You want food? We have food! Hot food! Ready to eat! And we have a magic door! You don’t have to climb up to Liscor! Just come on over and walk through!

It might have been that last comment that brought over a small flotilla of boats to the inn. The tired adventurers swarmed up the wet hilltop, nodding at Erin. She smiled at the Drakes and Gnolls and the rare other species. She kept up a running dialogue as she ushered them in. Another stroke of genius had seen her investing in fresh towels, and soon there was a stack of muddy, wet towels piled up and a bunch of much happier, drier adventurers.

“Hey, how are you doing? How’d the Scale Salad do? Find any treasure? Nasty cut! You should probably pour a healing potion on that. Hey, you. Want a bite? Ask about our Gambler’s Manicotti! That’s pasta. With cheese!”

Erin saw a familiar face as the adventurers passed by her.

“Bevussa, right?”

The Garuda looked up. She was wet, but smiling.

“That’s right. And you’re…Erin?”

“Yep! Want something to eat?”

“We’d love to. All this dungeon exploring has me ravenous. Too bad it wasn’t much action, at least on our end.”

“Really?”

Apparently not. As more adventurers walked through, Erin got a chance to talk to a few teams not immediately stuffing their faces. The dungeon had been quiet—unnaturally so. Aside from sporadic encounters with monsters, most teams had been mapping and finding traps. The fact that they’d already lost three adventurers made Erin’s heart sink, though.

“It happens. Especially with a dungeon this large and so many of us going in. The trap was a good one and the Crypt Lords encounter was just bad luck. Gekla Raiders got caught right up against a trap. They couldn’t run and they were too far away for another group to get to before they lost two of their own.”

“That’s horrible.”

Bevussa shrugged and flicked some water from her feathers.

“That’s adventuring. It’s all a risk. Speaking of which, why is this called Gambler’s Manicotti?”

“Ooh, well if you’re in a sporting mood…”

Erin grinned wickedly. Her spice-filled trap Manicotti had already claimed two Drakes and a Gnoll, who were frantically drinking while the other adventurers laughed at them. It was harmless fun, and that was what the tired adventurers needed most.

 

—-

 

The last groups to arrive at Liscor and The Wandering Inn were the Horns of Hammerad and Griffon Hunt. By the time the Horns of Hammerad reached the inn, it was well into evening. It had taken a while for them to get back. Mostly because of Ksmvr. Hauling him up through the water had been a challenge and a half, and the traumatized Antinium couldn’t stop screaming.

Aaaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaaa—oh. We are not on the water any longer. That is good. Was I an asset to the team?”

The instant Ksmvr got onto dry land he was better. Ceria, Yvlon, and Pisces glared at him and the other adventurers unplugged their ears. The half-Elf opened her mouth and raised a finger, then decided against it.

“Let’s just tie the boats up. Halrac, Revi, Typhenous, do you want to eat in the inn?”

“We might as well since we’re here. We can finish our discussion there. So long as Ksmvr doesn’t scream my ears off.”

Revi grumbled as she sewed her ears back onto the side of her head. Ceria stared as Typhenous took over the needle. She knew other species had odd characteristics—she’d hung around Jelaqua long enough to know that—but this was weird even by Selphid standards. The Stitch-Girl grinned at Ceria.

“Don’t you wish you could do that?”

“I can do that. It’s just that my ears don’t work when I try it.”

That made Revi laugh. Griffon Hunt followed the Horns up the hill. The two teams were fairly amiable towards each other. The understanding they’d developed in the dungeon carried on outside, and soon they were sitting in the inn, warm and dry, with a hot plate of pasta in front of them. Ceria poked at her plate.

“Erin, did you have to make eating a game?”

“No, but it sells better if I do. Don’t worry! This plate of manicotti’s safe. Or is it?”

The [Innkeeper] waggled her eyebrows. Revi glared at her plate.

“I swear, if I eat a hot…whatever this is, I’m taking my tongue out and throwing it at Erin.”

“Don’t worry. None of these plates have spicy manicotti. I checked.”

Drassi moved past the table and gave the others a reassuring smile. Revi didn’t look convinced.

“She could just be saying that.”

Ceria shook her head.

“Drassi doesn’t ever lie, Revi. It’s actually the one amazing thing about her. That, and her ability to talk for nine hours straight without taking a breath.”

“Really?”

The Stitch-Girl stared at the Drake [Barmaid] who was indeed chattering as she made her way around the tables. Revi took a bite of her pasta and her eyebrows shot up.

“Hm.”

In a few moments she was eating rapidly. Reminded of their empty bellies, the other adventurers set to with gusto. Only after they’d consumed their first plate did they rejoin the ranks of the social adventurers and start conversing with the other tables and each other.

“I’m telling you, that dungeon wasn’t nearly as populated as I thought it would be. Our team ran into a small nest of Dropclaw Bats, a handful of zombies…what you’d expect of a small-time dungeon. Where’s all the monsters we’ve heard about? Cleared out because they heard we were coming?”

“Hiding? Maybe they’re organized.”

“How would they be? If there’s a bunch of Face-Eater Moths or Ghouls or what have you, there’s no way that group would work with another group of monsters. Maybe the Raskghar scared them off.”

“Right. Scared an entire dungeon of monsters?”

“Apparently there are thousands…”

“Allegedly. A Goblin said that. And I say…”

“Shame about Gekla Raiders. It’s not like they were Bronze-rank. They got to Silver a year ago. I saw their team leader after the fight. Just devastated.”

“I hate Crypt Lords. What is it with undead getting nastier with age? At least the Flamewardens got there in time to save the rest. You know, I heard the first expedition that went into Liscor’s dungeon got wiped out? Over forty adventurers, most of ‘em Silver-rank. Taken out by undead.”

“What, all of them?”

“Apparently there were like, six survivors…”

It was very hard for Ceria to continue happily eating after hearing that. She wondered if she should turn around and address the team of adventurers. But what would be the point? It wasn’t like they were that wrong. And she didn’t want to give them a blow-by-blow of what had happened either. So she turned her attention forwards. For once, Ceria was thankful that Revi was engaged in another argument with her team.

“This isn’t criticism! Okay, it is, but it’s well-intentioned. Halrac and Typhenous agree with me. Your team’s biggest flaw is your fighting style. You fight like Silver-ranks when you should be thinking of advancing to the next level.”

“I thought we did fine. We handled ourselves when a bunch of Children attacked us. And we’ve fought other monsters well.”

Yvlon looked peeved as she stabbed a fried Yellat on her plate. Ceria thought part of the woman’s annoyance was guilt—she’d said the same thing this morning about the Raskghar. But it was never easy hearing criticism from another team. Revi sighed and looked imploringly at Typhenous, who cleared his throat after taking a sip from his mug.

“Revi lacks delicacy, Miss Byres. But she is correct. As adventuring teams go, your team is good. Excellent for a Silver-rank team, given your magical artifacts. But Gold-rank teams stand on another level.”

Revi nodded.

“I’ll give Ylawes’ team this—they can fight like Gold-ranks. Even if they’re about as smart as rocks when it comes to dungeon diving, they can fight the monsters your group can’t. And that’s all because they’re better on an individual level than you all are. Teamwork isn’t actually your weakest point.”

“I fail to comprehend. Fellow Adventurer Revi, will you give us an example of this difference?”

Ksmvr tilted his head left and right, his mandibles closed and drooping to indicate his displeasure. Revi looked at Halrac. At last, the [Scout] looked up. He’d been patting something under the table. And feeding it scraps from his plate. Mrsha popped her head up, smiling happily. Halrac’s expression defied anyone to made a comment. He spoke curtly.

“Look at Ylawes versus Yvlon. Both have enchanted armor. Both have the same kind of class. Ylawes is better. He has shield techniques like [Shield of Valor] that can hold off a huge monster or an entire line of enemies. He has close-combat Skills like the one he slew the giant Face-Eater Moth with. Yvlon might have a few, but they don’t change a battle like Ylawes can. The same goes for the others.”

Revi nodded. She pointed at Jelaqua, who was dumping milk into Moore’s mouth. The poor half-Giant had gotten a spicy manicotti and he did not do well with hot food, apparently.

“Jelaqua’s another example. She doesn’t use her Skills as much, but she could probably fight as well as Ksmvr and Yvlon put together. I’ve seen her with her flails—the Halfseekers only need her on the front lines to keep their enemies busy. With the Heartflame Armor she’s practically immortal. Plus she’s a Selphid.”

Typhenous and Halrac nodded in agreement. The Horns exchanged an unhappy glance. Pisces blew out his cheeks in exasperation.

“Are you saying that the difference between our teams comes down to levels alone? I happen to be quite high-level. I don’t feel as though I lag behind a Gold-rank adventurer that far.”

“No?”

Revi cast an appraising eye over Pisces. She shrugged as she tugged at an errant thread on her arm.

“You might be high-level, Pisces. But you don’t fight as well as you could if that’s the case. You use weak undead, you fight with a rapier and Tier 2 and Tier 3 spells—really well, but still—and you don’t have a game-changing spell like Typhenous. Look at Falene. She can throw three times as many spells as you can. They’re not high-level, but she’s an expert at filling the air with magic. And that’s because she has a style. You don’t. You’re just good at a lot of things. And that’s great for Silver-rank. But Gold-ranks are experts in their field.”

The table went silent. Pisces bit his lips but didn’t reply, surprisingly. Typhenous glanced around.

“I believe we’ve belabored the point long enough, Revi. This is just our advice. Please don’t take it as condemnation.”

“No, we won’t. And we really appreciate your team helping us out. Really. Your team works a lot like I’d hope our group will.”

Ceria looked around the table. Griffon Hunt looked pleased. Revi blushed a bit.

“Well, we used to work better when Ulrien…”

She trailed off, and then went on.

“…When he was alive. Our formation’s actually a lot weaker since we depended on Ulrien to fight on the front. My summons can support him, but they lack the offensive power he has. So it was reassuring to meet a team that had good melee fighters. And that had an actual brain in their heads. If you wanted to team up again, we might be willing to do another dive in the dungeon together.”

The Horns looked at each other in surprise. They looked at Halrac for confirmation and the [Scout] nodded. Ceria felt a little bubble of elation form in her chest. Griffon Hunt wanted to work with them? She felt a rush of pride, and then concern.

“What about the Halfseekers? Won’t they be upset?”

“Funny enough—you won’t believe this, but I think they’d be happy to go into the dungeon with the Silver Swords.”

Revi grimaced and pointed. Jelaqua was laughing and elbowing Ylawes in the stomach. Moore was talking with Falene and not rolling his eyes like Ceria or Pisces did every five seconds, and Seborn and Dawil were chatting over a drink. The adventurers looked at each other.

“Huh.”

“They really hit it off?”

“They do act the same, I guess. And the Halfseekers don’t insist on silence.”

“Moore’s probably the only one who could tolerate Falene for more than twenty minutes.”

“Hah!”

It was settled, then. Ceria reached over and shook Halrac’s hand, agreeing to work together tomorrow. And just as soon as she’d done that, she found herself walking over with Halrac to a table filled with adventurer team leaders. The Flamewarden’s Captain, who was named Keldrass, had called a meeting. He braced himself on the table, speaking in short bursts so he didn’t accidentally immolate everyone in front of him. Apparently he couldn’t control his flame as well as some other Oldblood Drakes.

“The dungeon was quiet today. But that means we got a lot of ground covered. Our initial fortifications are complete. Some have suggested making a formal outpost or securing a better route into the dungeon, but Wall Lord Ilvriss insists we push in further. Tomorrow we’ll be searching hard for the Raskghar’s lair. Any objections?”

The other team leaders shook their heads. They began to pool information, and Ceria heard a few tidbits she hadn’t gotten from the gossip before.

“The treasure chest that the Belfast Hunters found—the cursed one—was brought back on the boat. Don’t worry about the Captain—he’s resting in Liscor with a bit of gold lodged in the side of his face, but he’ll be fine.”

There were a few sniggers around the table. The Drake grinned a bit and then went on.

“Yes, well, he’ll be able to afford a healer. The gold and jewels in the chest are higher-quality than our gold coins. We didn’t do a perfect test, but Earlia of Gemhammer claims that they’re purer than the metal we make our coins with.”

He looked at Earlia. The woman grinned.

“That’s right. Our gold coins aren’t pure gold, you see. We use an alloy. But the gold that was in the chest? I’ll bet it’s as close to twenty-four karat as I’ve ever seen. That chest was probably worth twice as much as we thought!”

The adventurers murmured. Ceria felt a jump in her chest. Envy and excitement. Another adventurer, a Gnoll, spoke up.

“We ran into an unusual occurrence as well. We encountered a masked adventurer who warned us away from a trap. She fought with us against a pair of giant maggots and then left when the retreat was signaled.”

The other adventurers had heard of the masked adventurer. A Drake exclaimed.

“You too? She appeared in front of us while we were exploring. We tried to communicate, but when we said we were fine she left.”

Keldrass frowned.

“See if you can convince her to return next time. Or at least ask her name and rank. An unknown adventurer wandering about in the dungeon is a danger, not least to herself. Anyone else?”

There was nothing. Keldrass nodded.

“Then it’s time to go. Watch Captain Zevara’s asked my team and several others to be ready tonight. There’s about twenty minutes before it’s dark. Any team requested to man the walls, now is the time to move.”

The adventures broke up. Ceria saw team leaders rousing their groups and heading towards the door to Liscor. It was surprising how organized they were—and how willing they were to follow Keldrass’ orders. Erin, who’d been visibly eavesdropping, expressed the same sentiment.

“That’s the difference between Human adventurers and teams who live in Drake cities. We have a chain of command. And we’re obligated to listen to Watch Captains.”

Bevussa sighed as she drained her mug and then fished around for coins in her pouch. She handed them to Erin and smiled.

“Your inn will be alright?”

“I think so. We’re sending everyone through. Hey Drassi! Ishkr! Want leftovers? And the Horns and the Halfseekers are staying.”

“I won’t worry, then. Until tomorrow, Miss Solstice. We’ll come back to eat that horrible Scale Salad you’ve got.”

“You think that’s bad? Try the soup!”

The Garuda smiled and left. Erin looked around her suddenly deserted inn. Then she eyed the closed windows.

“Night’s coming soon. Ceria, what’s your plan?”

A small knot of anxiety twisted in Ceria’s stomach. She glanced at the Halfseekers for reassurance.

“I think we’ll stay downstairs. We won’t sleep until we know it’s safe. We’ll get some sleep in the morning before the dungeon dive.”

“Dungeon diving by day, guarding by night. That’s not a lot of time to rest! But it’s probably a good idea for this night at least. The Hobs will be downstairs too. I’m going to warn Bird.”

Erin nodded and dashed upstairs. Ceria looked around. The convivial mood that had been filling the inn had evaporated. Now the adventurers looked serious. As four of the Redfang Goblins came downstairs, Ceria saw they were all armed.

If the Raskghar come, we’ll handle them. Stay behind us, Halfseekers. Jelaqua will have the door. She’s got the armor.

Seborn was checking one of Erin’s windows. Ceria nodded and drifted over to Pisces.

“Hey, you can make Bone Horrors, right?”

“I have been adjusting my designs. Should I animate one?”

“Maybe hold off. We’ve got enough bodies as it is. But have it ready just in case, okay?”

Pisces nodded. He sat down at a table and stretched his legs out. Ceria thought that was too casual, but then she realized they might be waiting for a long time and did the same. Erin soon came back downstairs.

“Alright. Bird’s secure and Badarrow’s up there too. He’ll make Bird run if it’s dangerous. Now. Lyonette? Is Mrsha fed? Are you fed? Is Apista fed?”

“We’re all good, Erin.”

The young woman was combing Mrsha’s fur with a brush. The Gnoll was sitting in her lap, looking around anxiously. She knew what was happening and she didn’t like it. She hugged Lyonette’s stomach. Erin hesitated. She went over to the magical door and changed the destination. She opened the door and Ceria saw Octavia’s shop appear.

“Okay. I think now’s the time. Hey Mrsha?”

She came over and bent down with a big, fake smile. The Gnoll looked up, instantly suspicious. Erin smiled and pointed to the door.

“How would you like to sleep at Auntie Octavia’s for tonight?”

Lyonette stood up with Mrsha in her arms. The Gnoll looked at Erin in alarm, and then instantly began to howl. She fought wildly to stay, struggling with both Erin and Lyonette.

“It’s just for tonight, Mrsha! Just in case! We’ll be fine!”

Nothing Erin said convinced the Gnoll. She was afraid. Not just of staying at Octavia’s—she clung to Erin until she was pried free. Then she began crying. She was afraid. Afraid to leave Erin behind. Afraid she’d never see Erin again.

When Lyonette finally dragged her through the door, Mrsha’s loud crying was the last thing Erin heard. She closed the door and looked around. The adventurers and Goblins looked away hastily. Erin took a deep breath.

“Okay. It was just in case. We’ll be fine. Okay.”

“You could go through too, you know. You should.”

Jelaqua looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] shook her head.

“And abandon my inn? What if my [Reinforced Structure] Skill doesn’t work if I’m not here? And I can use my aura skill. I will use it this time! I won’t run away. I have a responsibility to stay here. Plus, I can always run with everyone else if it gets really bad.”

The Selphid met Erin’s determined eyes, then nodded. Silently, the adventurers, Goblins, and Erin settled down. They talked occasionally, making jokes, commenting on some trivial detail or other, but the words grew fewer and fewer. They were waiting. And night fell as the rain continued falling over Liscor.

 

—-

 

Watch Captain Zevara strode down the battlements of Liscor’s walls, taking care not to slip. It wasn’t that hard—Liscor’s architects had factored the danger of slipping into the rain and carved small grooves into the stonework that added friction to the slick stone. Still, Zevara placed her feet with care. Every eye was on her and she had no intention of making a fool of herself in front of her men. Or the adventurers. Or Wing Commander Embria.

Part of what made a Watch Captain was their reputation. Zevara had fought tooth-and-tail to get to her post and she was determined not to lose it. She raised her voice and shouted as she passed a group of her soldiers.

“The Raskghar are coming with the night! I want every Drake and Gnoll alert! Watch the waters! We won’t let a single one of those hulking bastards up the walls! We’ve got Embria’s [Soldiers] on the walls and the City Watch has every inch of the walls lit up. Adventurers are waiting on standby and Olesm’s prepped every defensive spell. We’ll be ready! Check your posts! Report any suspicious behavior at once! Do you hear me?”

Yes, Watch Captain!

The [Guardsmen] and [Guardswomen] shouted as they passed. They stood a bit taller as Zevara walked down the line. It wasn’t a Skill. Zevara wished she had a Skill, but she hadn’t gotten a good one yet. No, this was just good leadership. She walked the entirety of the walls, repeating her speech at least a dozen times, and then walked back towards the walls that had been assailed last time.

The eastern wall was practically glowing with light. The City Watch stood with their backs to bright [Light] spells—the advanced version known as [Illumination] which allowed the [Mages] who’d cast it to change the angle and intensity of the light. Thus, the light shone from the battlements at the Watch’s backs, blinding anyone who might be trying to scale up the walls while the Watch maintained their night-vision for the most part.

“Are we ready?”

Zevara strode up to Olesm, who was nervously staring into the water. He had his Ring of Sight equipped. She saw him twist the ring on his finger and blink furiously before looking at her.

“We’re ready, Watch Captain. The Antinium are on patrol in the streets, Embria’s soldiers are in position, we have a few adventurers with spells and bows on the walls—oh, and I saw a group of Antinium break off and enter Erin’s inn.”

“Really?”

Olesm nodded. He looked around and hesitated.

“Some of the Antinium were Workers. With bows. They were trying to hide it, but my Ring of Sight…”

He gestured to the enchanted ring. Zevara’s head snapped over to the inn. She stared at the boarded up windows, eyes narrowed.

“Put that on your report to me later. The Walled Cities will want to know.”

Olesm nodded. Zevara thought about finding Klbkch and asking him about the Workers, but she decided not to. She’d have all the time later. She stood on the walls, staring into the waters as the rain fell with everyone else. She could not see the moon rising, but she knew it was there, behind the rainclouds. And sure enough, with the moon came the first contact with the Raskghar.

Contact!

It was a Gold-rank adventurer who spotted the first Raskghar. Halrac drew and loosed an arrow before the others could turn to look. The Raskghar jerked as an arrow struck it in the chest. It floated upwards and only then did it become visible, a small, bobbing form amid the dark waters. The [Mages] shone more light into the waters and more shouts sprang up along the walls. Not just from the east side either.

“Raskghar to the north!”

“On the western side too! Goblins as well!”

Hold your fire!

Zevara bellowed as the Watch began loosing arrows at the Raskghar who immediately dived. She shouted again and heard her words relayed.

“Hold your fire! Let our high-level [Archers] pick them off! Mages! I want those of you with the best aim to hit the Raskghar when they come up for air! Everyone else—spot the Raskghar in the water and relay the targets!”

The shouting on the walls subsided slightly. Now Zevara heard tense voices calling out targets, and the sounds of [Archers] and [Mages] doing their work. Below, the Raskghar found themselves literal sitting ducks. They tried to dive deep into the waters, but the need for air and the monsters below drove them upwards to the waiting adventurers on the walls. Over a dozen bodies were floating in the water before Zevara sensed the Raskghar retreating. But it wasn’t over. Olesm’s sharp voice made Zevara look around.

“Watch Captain! The inn!”

He pointed. Zevara looked and cursed. The Wandering Inn was under attack! On the far side of the hill a large group had surfaced. They’d been hidden by the inn. Now Zevara saw small forms scuttling up the side of the hill, disappearing behind the inn’s walls. She cursed.

“How many are over there? It looks like at least sixty Goblins and ten Raskghar! Archers! Get over there and start shooting every Goblin you can see!”

She saw adventurers and guardsmen running down the walls. The inn was under siege. Little Goblins swarmed around the windows, trying to open the locked shutters. They gave up and began climbing the walls until the two figures on the guard tower, Bird and Badarrow, began shooting them and the Raskghar off. Then it was the doors.

A pair of Raskghar smashed into the inn. They roared for half a second and then the sound cut off. The rest of the Raskghar and Goblins charged in after them. There was a brief pause in which Zevara waited with baited breath, and then the Goblins ran out, screaming. A Raskghar made it to the door before a spike of ice burst from his chest and he tumbled to the ground. A loud voice thundered from the inn.

Begone, jerks!

The rest of the Goblins exploded from the door of the inn as if they’d been hurled out by a catapult. More of the Raskghar tried to flee, but only one got out the doorway and Halrac’s arrow took him in the throat. Zevara blinked. She turned to Olesm.

“What do you think they ran into in there?”

“At a guess? Two adventuring teams, a unit of Painted Soldiers and Workers, Hobgoblins, and Erin.”

Zevara stared down at the inn.

“That would do it.”

Then she frowned.

“Wait. What’s happening there?”

Someone was leaving the inn. The fleeing Cave Goblins were pursued by a group of four Hobs. The Redfang Warriors! They charged into the Cave Goblins and began kicking, punching, and laying about with a sword. The flat of a sword. Zevara stared down incredulously.

“What are they doing? Our archers are shooting at Goblins! Hold! Hold your fire!”

She shouted at the Watch who stopped trying to hit the fleeing Goblins. One person kept shooting, though. Halrac’s arrow took a Cave Goblin through the eye and another through the chest. He ignored the Hobs as he loosed arrows.

“Perfect aim.”

Olesm whistled. Zevara frowned. The Hobs were taking the Cave Goblins apart. No surprise there. But they seemed to be shielding the Goblins as well! One was waving a sword and shouting something at the walls. She couldn’t hear his voice well, but it sounded like he was trying to say ‘stop’ to Halrac. But the Gold-rank adventurer kept firing, hitting the Cave Goblins with each shot.

 

—-

 

On the hill outside the inn, Shorthilt, Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, and Numbtongue fought. As Zevara had noticed, they fought with fists and feet and in Shorthilt’s case, the flat of his blade. The Cave Goblins were armed with crude daggers and clubs. There were dozens of them and fleeing though they might be, they outnumbered the Hobs several times over.

It still wasn’t a fair fight. Headscratcher punched a Cave Goblin as the little Goblin rushed at him, then kicked another Goblin in the chest. He whirled, caught a Goblin by the arm as it tried to stab him in the back of the knee, and hurled her screaming into the air. Rabbiteater smacked two Goblins together and then tossed them back towards the inn. An arrow flashed by his head and pierced a Goblin’s skull. Rabbiteater whirled, saw the dead Cave Goblin falling and looked up.

The hail of arrows had stopped, but someone on the walls was still firing! Their aim was incredible—they hit every Goblin they were aiming at. And the Cave Goblins were dying. Numbtongue shouted up at the walls in frustration.

“Stop! Stop shooting!”

It was no use. Another arrow sped downwards and took a Goblin in the heart. Shorthilt snarled. He lifted his sword, narrowing his eyes as he saw the archer on the walls—Halrac—take aim again.

Legends were told of sword masters so skilled that they could deflect or cut arrows in flight. Shorthilt’s arm rose as Halrac shot at a Goblin running past the Hob. His arm shot out—

And he blocked the arrow with his arm. The impact made Shorthilt’s arm shake with the impact, but the arrow was buried in his arm rather than the Goblin’s head. He grunted as the little Cave Goblin shrieked and ran. Headscratcher chased after it. He tackled the Goblin and looked up. Another arrow took another Goblin through the face.

Stop!

And then another arrow flew. Not from the walls of Liscor, but from the roof of Erin’s inn. Badarrow took aim at Halrac and loosed an arrow.

 

—-

 

Incoming!

Zevara instantly ducked with everyone on the walls. An arrow snapped on the battlements just below Halrac and he leaned back. He snarled and drew an arrow. Olesm exclaimed in disbelief.

“That Hob is shooting at us!”

Badarrow was aiming up at Halrac. The Gold-rank adventurer took aim at another Cave Goblin and another arrow shattered on the battlements right next to Halrac’s face. A warning shot. Halrac turned. He shifted his aim and loosed an arrow. His arrow thunked into the wood right next to Badarrow’s right ear. The Goblin and Human stared at each other as they drew an arrow. And then another arrow flew upwards.

This one came from Bird. It shot straight towards Halrac’s chest. The [Scout] saw it coming and ducked behind a battlement. The arrow curved as it followed him. Zevara’ mouth opened as she saw the arrow flying towards Halrac’s chest. The [Scout]’s eyes widened. His hand shot up and he snatched the arrow out of the air.

“[Arrow Grab]!”

The tip of the arrow was less than an inch from his chest. Halrac stared at it as the other guardsmen and adventurers stared at him in awe. He stared down at the inn. His hand tightened and the arrow snapped. He threw it to the ground and snarled.

Goblins!

For a second Zevara thought he’d resume shooting, but he turned and stalked back down the walls. Zevara watched him go. She stared back down at the inn.

“Is that Antinium insane?

Far below, Bird lowered his bow. He clicked his mandibles together.

“That was a good shot. We were shooting at Mister Halrac, yes, Badarrow? I shot him better than you.”

He looked over at Badarrow. The Hob was staring at him with his mouth open. Bird nodded a few times. Then he stared up at the walls and hesitated.

“…Why were we shooting at Mister Halrac?”

 

—-

 

Erin only heard about the archery duel and Bird’s nearly fatal shot after the fighting was over. In truth, the fighting had been over the instant the Raskghar had come through the door and been torn to shreds by the adventurers and Goblins. The rest was just mopping up. Headscratcher and the other Redfangs came in, dragging unconscious or dazed Goblins and the adventurers resumed peeking out the windows. Arrows and spells kept flying from Liscor’s walls, hitting any Raskghar they saw.

In truth, after the first hour of excitement the night was quite boring. The Raskghar and Goblins kept trying to get close to Liscor, but only in small groups and never successfully. By the time midnight had passed into the half-light of just before dawn, Erin was exhausted from the tension but relieved no one had been hurt. Except for the Goblins. Only then did she head up to the roof and get the story of what had happened with Halrac. Then she flipped out.

There was nothing Erin could do while Liscor was on high alert. So she stayed in the tower, trying not to shout at Bird who was humming, oblivious to what had happened. Badarrow wisely got out of her way, although Erin knew why he’d decided to act. A score of dead Goblins were lying on the grass, each hit with a single arrow.

As dawn broke, the Raskghar fled for good. Erin saw the few dark shapes that had kept out of bow range swimming back towards the submerged dungeon rift. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the distant shapes disappearing back into the water.

“That was way too easy.”

“What was?”

Bird looked at Erin. She met his innocent gaze and bit her tongue.

“Come downstairs, Bird.”

“Okay, Erin.”

He followed her downstairs. Erin stared around the inn. The dead Raskghar had been dumped outside. There was blood on the floor, but little else. The adventurers were yawning, clearly exhausted from lack of sleep.

“They’re leaving?”

Jelaqua looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] nodded.

“Get some sleep. The Hobs will stay up. You’re going back into the dungeon, right?”

“At midmorning. Or something like that. Yeah, time for bed.”

The Halfseekers and Horns trooped up the stairs, swaying silently as they went to their rooms. Erin looked around. The Redfang Goblins stared at her. They were standing guard next to a pile of battered Cave Goblins. Pebblesnatch was staring wide-eyed at the comatose Goblins. Erin nodded.

“Do you think you can control them? Get them where you need them to go? I’m not letting Mrsha and Lyonette back into the inn until they’re gone.”

The Hobs nodded. Erin hesitated, and then pointed.

“Bird. Sit there. Right there. Don’t go anywhere. Pawn?”

She waved at the Antinium standing at the back of the inn. Pawn looked up. He and the other Antinium were sitting together. They hadn’t done much after the first round of fighting, but it had been reassuring to have them here.

“Yes, Erin?”

“I’m going into Liscor. It should be safe. I’ll be back soon. Can you stay until then?”

“That is perfectly fine.”

“Thanks.”

 

—-

 

The night’s attack had been too easy. Too small in scale. That was Erin’s conclusion, though her brain was so addled with exhaustion that she couldn’t really think of anything else. But she knew what she knew. The Raskghar had attacked…but for a race of what should have been super-intelligent reverse werewolves, that had been a bad attack. It was probably a ruse of some kind.

Watch Captain Zevara was of the same opinion. Erin could hear her wearily addressing her men as dawn broke. Erin climbed the walls and heard Zevara shouting before she reached her.

“Those Raskghar knew we were ready. They’ll be back tomorrow night. And this time they’ll probably try something a lot bigger. Get as much as much sleep as you can today! We’re all on the night shift tomorrow!”

A stream of weary Gnolls and Drakes came down the steps. They blinked at Erin as she walked up past them, but everyone was too tired to ask silly questions. They were all dead on their feet. Erin bet that the city would be slumbering well into morning. Heck, she’d probably sleep until noon! But she had another task before she could rest.

“Psst, Zevara.”

The Watch Captain looked up as Erin sidled over to her. She glanced around.

“The walls are off-limits to civilians, Human. We are under curfew.”

“Oh. Oops.”

Erin hesitated. Zevara eyed her and sighed.

“Speak.”

The young woman nodded. She took a deep breath.

“I’ve got Goblins.”

“I noticed. One of your people shot arrows at my men.”

“That was Bird and Badarrow. Sorry about that. But we’ve got more Goblins. For, y’know, intelligence?”

Zevara stared at Erin. The young woman hesitated.

“Okay, and because I didn’t want to kill them. I’ll keep them in the basement, okay? And the Redfang—I mean, Headscratcher and the others will find a place for them sometime tomorrow. I mean, today. Soon.”

The Drake paused. She seemed to be wavering between shouting and resignation. Exhaustion and her sore throat won. She glared at Erin.

“I won’t stop you. But your inn is a possible threat. We’ll be watching both entrances to your inn. If one of those Goblins takes so much as a step into Liscor, they’ll be dead. The Hobs—we’re watching them too.”

“Thanks for caring.”

Erin made a face. She hadn’t expected anything more of Zevara. Actually, she’d expected a lot less. She supposed she should be grateful, actually. Another Watch Captain might have tried to kill the Goblins outright. She turned.

“I need to speak to Halrac. Is he up here?”

“Down the wall over there. He’s not in a good mood.”

“I don’t think he would be. Thanks.”

Erin walked off. Zevara called after her.

“Why are you doing this, Erin? To make friends with the Goblins? They tried to kill you.”

“The Redfang Warriors didn’t. They saved my life.”

The [Innkeeper] turned. Zevara shook her head.

“And that means you’ll try to save all the Goblins? They’re enemy combatants.”

“They don’t need to be. The Raskghar are using them like slaves.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that they’re attacking Liscor. I’m not arguing with you. I’m too tired. But here’s something you should know. There was a battle at Dwarfhalls Rest. A mountain far north of here. Apparently the Humans led by that Lord Tyrion Veltras finally made a move against the Goblins. Both the Great Chieftain and the Goblin Lord.”

“Really? What happened?”

Zevara shrugged.

“Apparently, a huge army of Humans is in pursuit of the Goblin Lord’s forces. They’ve even hired Ellia Arcslinger, the Kingslayer, to slay the Goblin Lord. It’ll be public knowledge in a few hours. But the Goblins are on the run and by all accounts, Veltras has an army that outnumbers them.”

Erin whistled. Zevara glanced at her.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

She received a blank look in reply. Erin shook her head.

“There’s a big, bad army of Goblins up north. Got it. What does that have to do with the Goblins here? Goblins are not alike.”

“That’s not how Liscor’s citizens see it.”

Erin frowned.

“Well they won’t see the Goblins, then. Any of them.”

With that, she turned and marched away. Zevara stared at her and frowned at Erin’s inn, visible from the walls.

“What does that mean?”

Zevara didn’t know. But she had a bad feeling that it would mean trouble down the road. She watched Erin walk down the battlements to the [Scout] sitting in the rain.

 

—-

 

Halrac had unstrung his bow and stowed it away in his bag of holding. He was not in the mood for conversation, though. The piercing glare that he gave Erin as she walked towards him made her want to turn around. But she walked up to him determinedly. Erin didn’t beat around the bush.

“I want to apologize. For Bird, I mean.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

The [Scout] growled. He was watching the waters, though most of the Watch and all of the adventurers had gone. Erin bit her lip.

“I know. But I should explain.”

“Explain what? The Antinium nearly shot me through the chest.”

“I know! Don’t you think I’m upset! I can’t believe he did that! But—I can believe it too.”

Halrac glanced at Erin. She scrubbed her hands through her hair.

“How can I explain this? Halrac—I’m not making excuses for Bird. What he did was so bad! But he’s…well, he’s like a child. He doesn’t understand some things.”

“Like shooting people?”

The older man’s look told Erin he was losing patience fast. Erin shook her head.

“I think he didn’t expect the arrow to hurt you. Halrac, you’ve met Bird. You know he’s different. He saw Badarrow shooting at you and thought he should do the same. Only, he didn’t understand that Badarrow was shooting warning shots.”

“So he took his shot. I survived. What do you want me to do?”

“Come with me. So Bird can apologize. And before that, so you and I can explain what he did wrong.”

Halrac’s shoulders tensed. Erin took a quick breath.

“He doesn’t think he did anything bad, Halrac. He has to know. Just come with me. Please? Bird likes you. He admires you! That’s why he has to know just what he did.”

For a few minutes the [Scout] just sat there. Then, at last, he got up. Expressionlessly he nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Erin hurried down the battlements. Halrac followed after her. The two didn’t speak until they were heading down the stairs. At last, Halrac spoke.

“Are you going to explain what the Goblins were doing?”

“Headscratcher and the others? They were trying to save the Cave Goblins. Badarrow—he was trying to get you to stop killing the Goblins. Did you not realize that was what he was…?”

“I’m an adventurer. That’s my job. I’ve seen what Goblins can do.”

Halrac spoke flatly. Erin looked back at him.

“I get that. But, see, Halrac, these Goblins are slaves to the Raskghar—”

“Doesn’t matter. They attacked the inn. They’ll do it again if ordered.”

“But—”

“I don’t trust Goblins. I know you do. I can’t stop you, so I don’t try. I’ll eat at your inn, but I won’t trust those Hobs with my back. And I don’t think it’s safe for you to have them under your roof, either. That’s what I believe, but I know you won’t change your mind. So I don’t waste my breath.”

Halrac folded his arms. Erin stared at him and raindrops pattered off her head. The [Scout] stared at her. Erin was the one who looked away.

“We’re not going to agree on this, are we?”

“No. So let’s drop it. Where’s Bird?”

“Inside. Let me speak first. Please.”

Erin opened the door to her inn. Bird looked up happily.

“Miss Erin! Mister Halrac! Is this who I am supposed to meet? Hello, Mister Halrac. You caught my arrow!”

Halrac’s glare could have peeled paint. Erin took a few deep breaths as she walked over.

“Bird, that’s why we’re here. We need to talk about what you did. You shot an arrow at Halrac.”

“Yes. I did. Because Badarrow was shooting at him. But I shot better.”

“Badarrow wasn’t trying to hit Halrac, Bird! And even if he was, that doesn’t excuse what you did!”

The Antinium paused. For the first time his raised mandibles lowered slightly and he looked less happy.

“Oh.”

“You shot an arrow right at Halrac’s chest, Bird. You would have killed him.”

Erin spoke slowly, trying to convey this to Bird. The Worker looked confused. He hunched his shoulders and looked at Halrac.

“But he is Mister Halrac. A Gold-rank adventurer. He wouldn’t die.”

Erin and Halrac exchanged a glance. Bird looked at both of them.

“…Would he?”

They nodded. Bird paused. He seemed to grapple with this. If Badarrow hadn’t been shooting at Halrac…and he had…and Halrac would have died if he’d been shot…Bird looked up suddenly in alarm.

“Did I do bad?

“Yes!”

The Antinium began to shake. He looked at Erin.

“How bad did I do. Very bad? Very bad?”

Erin’s heart twisted. But she kept a stern face.

Very bad, Bird. As bad as bad can be. I brought Halrac here so you can apologize. He might not forgive you. That’s how bad it was.”

Bird looked at Halrac, stricken. He wavered, looked around wildly. Erin held her breath. Then Bird curled up. He wrapped his four arms around his body and he began to rock back and forth.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—

“Bird? Bird!”

The Antinium didn’t respond. He seemed petrified and kept babbling the same words over and over. Erin went to stop him, but Halrac caught her hand.

“Let me.”

Erin hesitated, then drew back. She took a few steps away as Bird kept rocking back and forth and took several breaths. Someone put a hand on her shoulder and she turned.

“Pawn!”

The Antinium had been watching the entire thing. Pawn stared at Bird. And then he spoke.

“I have known Bird as long as I have been alive. I understand that he is…different. Even for an Individual. What Bird does not understand is why some things are not permissible and why other things are. Would it be appropriate for me to apologize with Bird?”

Erin stared back at Bird and Halrac. The [Scout] had stopped Bird from rocking. His expression didn’t change much, but he spoke quietly to Bird and the Antinium looked up desperately. Erin sensed a flicker of what might have been pity cross Halrac’s face. Or sadness.

“No, Pawn. I think Halrac understands. You should get your Soldiers and Workers back. Thanks so much for the help.”

“We will be back tomorrow night.”

The Antinium nodded to her. He stared at Bird, then motioned to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier broke off from staring at Bird and the other Antinium followed Erin out the door. She wished she could have talked with Pawn, but she was too tired to think, really. The Raskghar…Erin frowned. They were gone. Yep. Which meant…she glanced around. The Goblins were gone too. As were the Redfangs. Plan A was working. Or was it Plan B? Plan G?

Her mind was fuzzy. When had she last slept? Probably nearly 24 hours ago. She’d been up all day getting ready for tonight, and then up all night. And now it was nearly morning again. Erin stumbled towards the magic door and set it to Celum.

“Is anyone awake?”

“Erin?”

A shape moved into view. Erin jumped as Lyonette appeared, pale-faced, a sword in hand. Octavia poked her head out with a pot for a helmet and two potions in her hands. Both relaxed when they saw Erin.

“Is it safe?”

“I think so. The Raskghar are gone and it’s nearly morning. You can come back now. How’s it over there?”

“Bad! I barely got a wink of sleep! I should charge you for staying the night!”

Octavia rubbed at her bloodshot eyes. She plucked one out and stared at it. Erin looked around.

“Mrsha?”

“She fell asleep after she threw a tantrum. I think she’s—oh. She’s up.”

Lyonette grimaced. A flurry of paws and fur exploded from behind her and barreled into Erin’s midriff. Erin went oof and sat down as Mrsha climbed all over her, licking her face and hugging her.

“It’s okay, Mrsha! The bad Raskghar are gone. We’re all fine. We’re all fine.”

Lyonette walked into the inn as Octavia, yawning, shut the door, muttering about sleep deductibles. The [Barmaid] stared at the floor and the blood and blanched a bit.

“Fighting?”

“They barely got through the front door. The Redfangs captured a lot of Goblins—they’ll be gone most of the day. If they even return by night.”

“Plan G?”

“Plan G. We’ll have to make a takeout meal for them. Uh…”

Erin tried to get up and nearly fell over. She felt like she was drunk, but without any of the buzz of alcohol. She looked around. Halrac was walking towards her.

“Halrac. Did you…?”

“I spoke to Bird. I think I understand.”

Halrac looked past Erin. He hesitated.

“I’ve met people like that. Adventurers, even. I didn’t realize Antinium had the same problem.”

The young woman slowly shook her head.

“Not a problem. Just different. Just…him. He still did a bad thing.”

“Yes.”

Halrac looked as if he were about to say something more, but he decided not to.

“I’m going to rest. I’ll return later today. The adventurers will rally at the dungeon at midday.”

“I’ll see you then. Halrac? Thank you.”

The [Scout] nodded, and left. Erin looked around. Bird was sitting in his chair. He’d stopped rocking, but he was staring down at his legs and he was still curled up. The pose was nearly exactly identical to the one Pawn had made. Erin saw Mrsha pad over to him, looking curious. She patted Bird’s leg with one paw as Apista buzzed away from Bird, still afraid of the Antinium. Mrsha patted Bird and then waved a paw at him. The Worker spoke without looking up.

“Go away. I am worthless.”

Mrsha stood up on two legs and waved her paws. Bird turned, refusing to look at her. He faced towards the fireplace, which was now full of dull embers.

“Leave me. I am not-Bird. I am bad-Bird.”

Unfortunately for him, Mrsha refused to go. She walked around to face Bird. He instantly turned away.

“Mm.”

She padded around his other side. Bird swiveled, making the same unhappy noise.

“Mm.”

Lyonette and Erin stared at the Worker and Mrsha. Erin sighed.

“I’m going to make Bird go to sleep. He’s tired and really upset now that he knows what he did wrong.”

The [Princess] nodded.

“I think we’re all tired…uh, what did Bird do wrong?”

And then Erin had to explain the confusing story all over again. Lyonette clapped her hands to her mouth and then stared at Bird with sympathy and anxiety. Lyonette lowered her voice.

“That’s…I don’t know what to say! He shot at Halrac? And he didn’t realize—do you think he’s getting worse, Erin? I mean, not worse, but he seems more Bird-ish now. Than he was before, I mean.”

Erin nodded slowly.

“I think that’s because Bird’s happier here. He’s always been this way I’ll bet. But he can be more free here than in the Hive. And that’s not a bad thing. Usually. Pawn told me that Bird used to make mistakes before he became Individual.”

“Got it. Well, if he knows not to shoot at people…I’ll take over. You and Bird get some sleep.”

As soon as she said that, Erin realized how tired she was. She yawned.

“Okay. I’ll…get a few hours. Gotta have breakfast soon. But I’ll…short nap.”

She staggered away, urging Bird up and making her way into her soft, warm bed in the kitchen. Then she realized Lyonette would be walking around her and decided to sleep in Lyonette’s room. After a while, a small Gnoll opened the door and stole Erin’s blankets. But she was warm so Erin slept peacefully.

 

—-

 

Night passed into day. The sun rose, and the rain let up a bit, so that a light rain fell while the sky lightened. For once, the inhabitants of Liscor could have done without the daylight. They shut their curtains and cursed the daylight—those of them that weren’t still out cold from sheer exhaustion.

Liscor had survived the second night of Raskghar. It had worn everyone out—even people who weren’t standing guard. The city was practically abandoned until around seven hours had passed since dawn, and after that people moved about grudgingly, yawning widely. The battlements were crewed by a smaller force of [Guardsmen], all of whom looked like they resented each second they stood at their posts.

When Erin woke up, she felt like she could have used another ten hours of sleep. But there was noise downstairs, so she got up, had a weird moment where she wondered where the hell she was, and then realized she was in Lyonette’s room. Erin headed towards the door and stopped. A giant bee was fanning itself on the door.

A giant insect was never pleasant to see, much less right upon waking. Apista had one benefit in that she was cuter than a cockroach, but Erin still gingerly shooed her away before opening the door and heading downstairs. And then it was work as usual. With a few twists.

“Big late breakfast, small lunch. We’re going into the dungeon and the last thing we need is to be crapping in corners. It’s really disgusting. Plus, it attracts monsters.”

Jelaqua’s first comment of the day earned her a slap on the back of the head from Moore.

“Don’t be foul. We’re eating.”

The light blow from the half-Giant sent Jelaqua’s head smacking into her plate of eggs. Erin blinked at the adventurers. Both teams were already up, although Pisces was drooling into his bowl and Ceria had to prop her head up with her arm as she ate.

“You’re going into the dungeon at midday?”

“That’s the plan.”

Jelaqua levered herself up and wiped egg from her face. Then she ate it.

“We’re pushing in hard against the Raskghar. Strike while we have daylight, and all that.”

“Be careful. I’m going to try and fortify my inn a little more. You haven’t seen the Redfangs, have you, Lyonette?”

The [Barmaid] paused as she rounded the tables with some butter and fresh bread.

“Rabbiteater came back an hour ago. Swam back, rather. He’s fishing outside. You want to see him?”

Erin nodded. She opened the door.

Hey Rabbiteater! Let’s talk!

The Goblin looked up. He was indeed fishing for food, but his idea of fishing was sticking an arm in the water and wiggling it about until a fish came for him and then grabbing it. He’d already caught two of the flat fishes. Erin shuddered as he offered them to her.

“No thank you. I don’t cook with those fishes. I have a bad history.”

Disappointed, Rabbiteater lowered the fish. Erin relented a bit.

“Okay, put them in the kitchen and I’ll see what I can do. I can always wear gloves or something.”

The Hob brightened and went into the kitchen. Erin motioned him to one side. None of the other Redfangs had returned since last night and the Cave Goblins they’d captured were gone too. She could sense the eyes of the adventurers on her. Erin lowered her voice.

“So? How’d it go? Was the place good like you thought?”

Rabbiteater nodded.

“And they didn’t give you any trouble?”

The Hob shrugged. He mimed thumping a few heads together. Erin winced.

“Okay. But you’re good? You sure?”

He nodded. Erin wavered. She wished she could ask him for details.

“Hey, I know I asked for one of you to come back and give me a status update, but wouldn’t it have made more sense to send Numbtongue to tell me what’s what?”

Rabbiteater shrugged apologetically. His expression made it clear that Numbtongue had been his first pick too, but the Hob had probably refused. He made a scowly face and them mimed shutting his lips tightly. Erin laughed.

“That’s true. Numbtongue would probably say about as much as you. Say, for a Goblin who hates talking so much, why is he called Numbtongue anyways? Wouldn’t…Closedmouth be more appropriate? Or Notongue?”

Rabbiteater shook his head. He bent and patted the air at about waist height, then mimed talking rapidly. He pulled out his tongue and bit it gently. Erin frowned, then grinned.

“Wait, when he was a child he talked so much he bit his tongue and couldn’t speak? That’s hilarious!”

Rabbiteater nodded, smiling hugely. The adventurers stared at Erin. Ceria closed her mouth full of food, swallowed, then spoke.

“Erin, how are you getting all of this?”

“What? Oh.”

Erin turned. She shrugged, much like the Goblins did as a catchall expression.

“It’s not hard, actually. Goblins don’t really need to speak most of the time. It’s all body language.”

Rabbiteater nodded. He mimed swimming through the air and then patted his belly. Erin nodded.

“Right, we’ve got food. You can take some back. Uh—it’ll be a lot. Should we do the special thing? No, wait, you don’t have any wood over there, do you? Okay, I guess we’ll just give you a boat or something. Are you sure it’s safe to go alone? Right, you have a magic cloak. But there’s a lot of water and I don’t think you can drown a Rock Crab. But then, what do I know?”

Rabbiteater frowned. He thought about it, and then agreed to come back with someone else. He left the inn as Erin looked around.

“Okay, I’m gonna make a trip into Celum. I don’t think most people in Liscor are awake. Lyonette? I leave the inn to you. Let’s get ready for a lunch rush.”

“Got it! Don’t worry about us over here. Drassi and two of her friends are coming in. Uh—Welfa and Imissi, I think.”

“Awesome. I’ll be back soon!”

Erin smiled. She opened the door and paused. She frowned for a second and looked around.

“Huh. Guess my ears are ringing.”

Then she closed the door and stepped into Celum. It must have been her ears indeed, because the ringing stopped moments after that.

 

—-

 

Erin missed the lunch rush of the adventurers. They’d come and gone earlier than Halrac had told her, so all she got back to was Lyonette and the Drake [Barmaids] cleaning up a whole host of dishes. And Mrsha playing leapfrog with Apista. It was adorable. The Gnoll would leap over Apista, then the bee would buzz over her head and land on the floor.

Since the only limiter was Mrsha’s jumping ability, the game carried them over table and chairs until Lyonette caught Mrsha and told her that she had to either help or not jump around all the fragile dishes. Erin dragged in her purchases, swearing and grunting with the effort. Lyonette nearly dropped the stack of dirty dishes she was holding.

“What are those?

Erin grinned.

“Bear traps! I told you they existed! And without springs, too! Hold on—keep Mrsha clear! I’m going to set them up outside. Uh, we might have to keep her from playing out there in the near future.”

Lyonette stared at the bear traps. Erin had bought three—the only three in stock, actually. To her great surprise the [Blacksmith] not only had known what she was talking about, but had directed her to the Adventurer’s Guild, who apparently sold the things to adventurers hunting large game.

“Can you open the door?”

Erin rubbed at one ear as she dragged the bear traps to the door. Lyonette nodded. She opened the door and blinked.

“Oh. It looks like Rabbiteater’s back. With…Numbtongue?”

Erin looked. The Hob was indeed back! And he’d brought Numbtongue to haul the food via boat. She waved at him as the two Hobs came up to the inn. They stared at the bear traps.

“See! I told you they existed! Bear traps! I can believe Lyonette never heard about them, but I thought you were an expert on survival stuff!”

Rabbiteater frowned. He peered at the bear traps, touched the steel jaws carefully, and then straightened and shrugged at Erin. He held his hands up and indicated that they were quite small compared to what he expected. Then he gave the traps a dismissive flick of his hand.

“Hey! What do you mean, ‘small’? These things are dangerous!”

Erin wasn’t sure if she was outraged on behalf of bears or bear traps. Rabbiteater smirked. Both he and Erin looked at Numbtongue. The Hob sighed, but explained.

“Those traps don’t work on Gargoyles. Or Eater Goats. Or monsters from the…Human name. What is it? High Passes. Bear traps useless there. Maybe useful on Carn Wolves. Probably will just make them madder.”

Frowning, Erin rubbed at her ear again. The distant ringing was back, and louder.

“What? Gargoyles? You have…they’re not friendly, are they? And Eater Goats? But the bear trap would totally work on them!”

Numbtongue shook his head.

“If an Eater Goat gets caught, it will bite off its own leg. Or be eaten by other goats. Doesn’t work.”

The Hob seemed to relish the way Erin’s face fell. Numbtongue smirked until Rabbiteater elbowed him in the stomach. Erin shook her head, muttering.

“Aw. Why do you have to tell me stuff like that? Now I’m going to think about that—hey, I’ve only got three of these. I was thinking of putting them in the grass near the water. You know, if the Raskghar try to sneak up again? Think that’ll work?”

The Hobs nodded. For all they’d pooh-poohed the bear traps they were all too willing to bury them in sod and dirt. Erin carefully memorized the spots where the traps were buried.

“Don’t you go stepping on these, now. I’ll warn Lyonette and the others to draw water only from the front of the inn. And Mrsha can’t play outside now. Not that she could with the fish and Raskghar anyways. Okay, you’re here for the food, right?”

The Hobgoblins nodded. They followed Erin into the inn and soon emerged with packs of food which they began loading into the boat. Dried meat, some flour, a few flasks of oil and water—it didn’t need to be too much. Erin helped them, but she kept pausing to rub her ears. The fifth time she did it, Rabbiteater frowned and pointed at her ear. He mimed shaking water out. Erin shook her head.

“It’s not that. There’s nothing in there. I just keep hearing—”

She paused suddenly. A worried frown crossed her face. Erin looked around, then lowered her voice.

“Hey—you have [Dangersense], right, Rabbiteater? Is it going off for you right now?”

The Hob immediately straightened and looked around. He frowned and put a hand to his head. He waited, but at last shook his head definitively. Erin exhaled.

“Must just be my imagination.”

Still, now that she’d thought of it, the distant ringing sounded a lot like a warning. But Rabbiteater could hear nothing. That was curious. The Hob looked concerned. He pointed back at the inn and mimed sitting. Erin smiled.

“No, that’s fine. The others must be starving. Get the food to them. But maybe come back? If three of you can handle the Cave Goblins…”

Rabbiteater paused and then nodded. He walked over to Numbtongue, poked the Goblin, and jabbered quickly in their tongue. Numbtongue looked up sharply and nodded. Within moments their boat was skimming across the water as both Hobs rowed hard. They headed west, further away from Liscor. Erin watched them go and then turned.

“Right. He couldn’t hear anything. Which means we’re probably safe. Probably. But if we’re not…”

She chewed her lip and looked around. There was nothing to see. Just grey skies, rain, and the occasional ripple in the water from a larger fish. Liscor looked fine. But now that Erin had thought of it, she felt like she was being watched. Or was that her imagination?

There was nothing in sight from Bird’s watch tower. Nothing. Erin looked, but the few hills poking out of the water were wet and muddy but otherwise unchanged. The waters were fine. She would have asked Bird to look for more details, but the Antinium was in his room. He’d really been crushed by his mistake—or rather, realizing his mistake. Erin wanted to talk to him, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

The ringing persisted in her head. But why? Erin had talked to Rabbiteater and he’d felt nothing. Was it just something in her head? A mistake? Something that only affected her? Or—was it something only she’d noticed?

Was her mind trying to tell her something? What had Erin picked up on. The young woman stared around. The sky was clouded over, but it was definitely day. The Raskghar were probably waiting for nightfall. What did that leave?

Rock Crabs? Lurkersnatch Fish? The…Goblins? Surely not. The Goblins were far away and the fish weren’t a real danger to her inn. Not with the magical walls and Liscor being so near by. Was it the adventurers her [Dangersense] was warning her about? Were Ceria and the others in trouble?

No. [Dangersense] didn’t work like that. Erin tried to remember how it had felt in times before. She frowned and then had a small idea.

“Lyonette?”

The [Princess] came over with a cleaning cloth in hand. She frowned when Erin told her of what she was feeling but she didn’t dismiss the possibility that only Erin was being warned. She frowned as she put a hand to her head.

“I was taught about [Dangersense] once. By my tutor. I didn’t listen too much—and I don’t have it. But I was told that not all threats get detected.”

Erin’s gaze sharpened.

“Really.”

“Yes…it’s fuzzy. Hold on. I think…ambushes get detected sometimes, but the higher-level the enemy or the more stealthy the monster, the less likely it is your [Dangersense] will warn you ahead of time. Sometimes it only goes off right as the attack happens. But high-level [Scouts] have great [Dangersense]. Or upgraded versions of the Skill. Sometimes it goes off for everyone, like when something disastrous happens.”

“Like opening Liscor’s dungeon.”

“Exactly. But usually I think it depends on what you’re able to notice. Like—if you couldn’t detect the trap no matter what, the [Dangersense] won’t go off. Does that make sense?”

“Too much. Thanks, Lyonette.”

The [Princess] nodded, looking slightly worried. She glanced around.

“Should I take Mrsha to Celum?”

Erin wavered.

“No…she’ll fight too hard and we’re doing that tonight anyways. But why don’t you lock the doors? I’m going back up to Bird’s tower.”

Lyonette nodded. Erin went back up the stairs. This time her heart was beating faster. She stared around. But she was no eagle-eyed Halrac. What could she have spotted that he couldn’t. Erin stared around. Then she stared up at the sky.

“No Raskghar. Not until tonight. Jerks’ll probably try to sneak up on us. Good thing we have [Light] spells. Otherwise they’d be impossible to see with all the clouds and rain.”

Erin’s mind twinged a bit. Clouds. Rain. There was something there. She paused and re-examined her thoughts. Clouds and rain. The Raskghar would come back tonight. Why was that odd?

“Because…there’s no full moon. Or rather, we can’t see it. Doesn’t matter, I guess. The moon’s still up there. Both of them.”

Two moons. Erin frowned up at the sky. Well, obviously they won’t be visible now. But the lunar cycle was underway. Stupid double moons that both waxed and waned at the same time. That was probably why the Raskghar got to be reverse werewolves for six days each month.

“For six days each month. And they’re werewolves. Totally. Even though werewolves don’t exist in this world. Apparently. But the Raskghar get powers. Even if the moons…”

Erin trailed off. Even if the moons weren’t visible. She glanced up at the sky. Right. Even if the moons weren’t visible the Raskghar would be out tonight. Why did that phrase make the alarm in her head ring louder and louder? She stared at the sky for several long minutes.

“Shame that I can’t see the moons. I could check on them or something with a telescope. If I had one. Are there telescopes in this world? It has to be possible. I bet there’s a spell that does the exact same thing so no one invented a telescope. Can I get someone to make one for me? Or would Ryoka call that another bad technology to create? Hold on…I bet that if I went to Celum or Pallass I’d be able to see the moons at night! Duh!”

Erin slapped her forehead. Then she had another thought.

“Olesm has that Ring of Sight! I could borrow it, right? Then I could check on the moons. And anything else.”

She hurried downstairs. The [Princess] looked up anxiously. Erin tried to smile reassuringly, but the ringing in her mind made her voice slightly more rushed than usual.

“Lyonette? I’m going to Liscor to borrow Olesm’s ring.”

Mrsha had been playing with her ball. She noticed Erin’s tone of voice and looked up. She whined anxiously. Erin smiled.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Lyonette went over to reassure Mrsha as Erin headed for the door. Drassi had caught the mood. She and her friends hovered around Erin anxiously.

“Did I hear you right, Erin? Are you looking for Olesm? We can help you search if you need to find him quick. I know where he lives and Welfa and Imissi can check the Watch’s barracks and the city hall.”

Erin turned, relieved.

“Would you? I’ll run up to the battlements. Meet me…meet me by the barracks if you find him, okay?”

The three Drakes nodded. All four females ran into the rain. Erin charged up the battlements. She didn’t know why she was running. Only, she felt an increasing sense of urgency. She scaled the walls and surprised the Gnoll on duty. He blinked at her.

“Wall’s off limits to civilians right now, Miss.”

“I know! Where’s Olesm? I need to speak with him.”

“I think he’s in his office. In the city hall.”

Erin cursed and ran down the steps. She wondered if Imissi had already gotten Olesm and then ran towards the city hall anyways. Both Imissi and Drassi met Erin. Olesm was following them.

“I found Olesm heading back to his apartment!”

Drassi panted. Olesm looked from her to Erin. His look of annoyance faded into concern.

“Erin? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

Erin shouted the word. She couldn’t help it. Now the alarm in her head was ringing loudly. Erin pointed at Olesm.

“I need your ring!”

“My ring?”

“Yes! I need to see the moon!”

Olesm looked at Erin as if she were insane.

“But it’s not dark outside yet, Erin.”

“I know that! But I need it for something! The moon’ll be out tonight! I just need to see it! Or—”

Erin froze. Her head snapped up. She stared at the dark sky. Clouds. No moon. The Raskghar were still werewolves when they couldn’t see the moon.

They were intelligent even when the moon was out of sight. Suddenly, Erin’s mouth was in her chest. She turned and opened and shut her mouth. Olesm stared at her.

“Erin? What’s wrong?”

The words didn’t come out for a second. Erin was transfixed in horror. Then she grabbed Olesm.

“Sound the alarm! Get everyone to the walls! Get the adventurers out of the dungeon! Now! It’s a trap!”

“What? What?

Erin didn’t answer. She turned and ran for the battlements. She heard Olesm shout after her and then the Drake was pounding after her down the street. Erin ran with the speed of panic. Somehow she found enough breath to scream—something. A family of Drakes on the street stared at her wide-eyed and backed away. Erin didn’t care. She ran up the steps two at a time and gasped at the Gnoll [Guardsman] she’d met.

Sound the alarm!

He stared at her. Olesm, panting, caught Erin.

“Erin, what is it!”

“We’re going to be attacked! Right now! The Raskghar are still smart! It’s still the full moon!”

Both the Drake and Gnoll stared at Erin uncomprehendingly. She nearly screamed in her effort to explain. She pointed up.

“The moon is still up there! It’s still a full moon! It’s the lunar cycle! Time! The moon doesn’t have to be visible! It’s still the right time of the month!”

Still they didn’t understand. But Erin’s [Dangersense] was blaring now. Something only she could detect. No, it was something only she could understand. Only someone from Earth understood that the moon was always in the sky, always orbiting. It just wasn’t always visible. And if it was the orbit, the position of the moon that mattered and not whether it was visible—

“I don’t understand. We can’t see a thing. And it’s early evening, Erin!”

Haven’t you ever seen the moon on a clear day?

Olesm froze. He stared up at the sky and then whirled. The Gnoll looked at him, wide-eyed. Olesm put his hand to his earhole and then shouted.

“Sound the alarm!”

The Gnoll grabbed the horn at his belt. He raised it and blew a long, piercing note. For a second the wailing sound filled the air with shock. And then another horn blew. Someone began to ring a bell. Erin turned. She stared out into the waters. No one had been checking for the Raskghar. There had been guardsmen on the wall, but they’d been exhausted. Why would the Raskghar attack during the day, after all? She saw nothing at first. But as the bell began to ring, the waters stirred. A shape moved on one of the hilltops. The Raskghar stood up, exposing itself on the far side of the hill. It pointed to the walls and roared a word. Erin saw a group of Raskghar stand up. They’d hidden themselves behind the hills, right where Liscor’s defenders couldn’t see them. Olesm swore.

“Don’t worry, they’re too far away! We’ll get them—”

These Raskghar were different. They weren’t armored in fur and carrying primitive weapons. One of them was wearing shining plate mail. Another held a staff. It pointed it at the walls. Erin heard a shriek in her mind.

Duck!

She grabbed Olesm and the Gnoll and knocked them to the ground. She heard a scream as something ripped through the air and then a hammer of wind knocked every guardsman on the wall flat. Erin felt as though her chest was compressed. She lay on the ground, gasping, and then heard shouting.

“They’re coming up! Ancestors, they’ve got grappling hooks!”

The Raskghar were swimming to the walls. Another blast of air knocked everyone down, and then the Raskghar were throwing hooks upwards. The water was so high that they could reach the walls. Erin saw a hook land, and then a grinning face pull itself up.

The Raskghar grabbed the Gnoll guardsman as he shakily got to his feet. The Gnoll tried to stab him with a spear, but the huge Raskghar pulled him over the wall. The Gnoll screamed and splashed into the water. Erin saw the Raskghar turn to her. His armor shone brightly. He had an enchanted axe in his hands. She backed up—

“Down!”

Erin heard the voice and threw herself down. She felt a flash of heat on her back and then heard a triumphant howl. When she looked up, a shimmering wall had encased the Raskghar and his armor. Zevara spat more fire as Olesm dragged himself up and pulled Erin back.

“Push them back off the walls!”

The Watch Captain roared. The armored Raskghar slashed at her, but she dodged back. More Raskghar followed him. The Raskghar roared triumphantly, but too soon. Erin heard pounding feet and then someone launched himself.

“[Relc Kick]!

Relc slammed into the Raskghar and struck him in the helmet with the butt of his spear. The Raskghar stumbled back. Another Drake with red scales charged past Relc. Embria whirled her spear and a Raskghar climbing up fell, howling, his left hand a stump.

“Push them back!”

Drakes and Gnolls were suddenly charging up the walls. The Raskghar found themselves being thrown back, cut down. The Raskghar in armor snarled and jumped off the side of the battlements into the water. They’d been too slow.

Forewarned by Erin, the Watch and Embria’s soldiers cut them off before they could launch another sneak attack and secure the wall. Erin felt another blast of air nearly throw her to the ground again, but the Raskghar with the staff was only trying to keep the archers from harrying the fleeing Raskghar.

“We got them! Alert the adventurers! They’ve got Raskghar coming down behind them!”

Zevara shouted at one of the Drakes. Olesm hauled Erin up.

“You okay?”

“I think so. I think—wait. Oh no.”

Erin looked around. Only now that the walls were safe did she have another thought. Erin grabbed Olesm.

“The inn! There’s no one there but Lyonette and Mrsha!”

Olesm paled. Zevara whirled. She roared.

Get to the inn!

She ran after Olesm with a squad of guardsmen at her back. But even Olesm wasn’t able to keep up with Erin who sprinted for the door to her inn. But by the time she got there it was too late.

 

—-

 

“Lyonette? Lyonette!

The young woman was lying on the ground. Her head was bleeding. Erin rushed over to her. Lyonette sat up groggily. Her sword was bloody. Her wrist was broken.

“What—Erin?”

“Lyonette! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Fine.”

The young woman’s eyes didn’t quite focus on Erin. She stared around dizzily. Erin heard Zevara shouting orders to search and secure the inn. All of her attention was focused on Lyonette.

“What happened? Where’s Mrsha?”

The [Princess] blinked without looking at Erin.

“I’m fine. They broke through the door. I’m sorry, Erin. They weren’t after me. They were looking for something. They ignored me. Broke my wrist.”

Erin looked around. The common room was trashed. Chairs were upended, a table thrown over—the Raskghar had come in fast. She saw a small shape struggling to move. Apista was lying on the ground, two of her legs mangled. But there was no one else.

Where’s Mrsha, Lyonette? Where’s Bird?”

“Mrsha? She’s…”

Lyonette looked around stupidly. Then her gaze focused.

“Mrsha? Mrsha!

She screamed the word. Bird came down the stairs, looking confused. But no matter how much Lyonette screamed, Mrsha didn’t appear. She was gone. Erin shouted her name, running around the inn, throwing the basement trap door open, shifting the magic door to Celum and Pallass. Then she heard the shout of pain from outside and ran for the door, ignoring Zevara’s warning to wait.

Mrsha was not outside. The ground was muddied, and there was no Gnoll—or Raskghar in sight. But someone was out there. Erin saw a Cave Goblin lying on the ground near the water. He was screaming and clawing at a pair of metal jaws fastened to his left leg.

The Cave Goblin was screaming, his leg caught in one of the bear traps. He twisted as Erin approached, fingers scrabbling on the bloody metal. She stared at him, feeling sick. Then she grabbed him. He screamed and tried to bite. Erin head butted him and the Goblin went limp.

“Where did they go? Where did they go?

The Goblin shook as Erin seized him. She raised a fist and he flinched. Erin hesitated, and then lowered her fist. Then she looked down at the bear trap. Her mind was numb, but she made it work. Mechanically, Erin spoke.

“Got to get that off your feet. Bone’s probably broken. Up to the inn with you. You’re going to answer all my questions there.”

The Goblin had been maddened with pain. He shrank and screamed as Erin grabbed the jaws of the bear trap. But the Human hauled the jaws open. The Cave Goblin jumped back as soon as his leg was clear. He turned to flee into the water, but too slowly.

Erin grabbed the Goblin and he twisted up to stare at her. He met her eyes and stared into her burning gaze. He tried to run again and screamed for different reasons than pain. He grabbed a dagger from his belt and slashed at her. A fist flying at his face was the last thing he saw for a while.

 

—-

 

“Looks quiet, don’t it?”

Ceria wished the Drake team would stop talking. It had been bad luck that Griffon Hunt and the Horns had taken the same route as a Drake team. But the first few twists and turns in the dungeon had been marked, so they had to share the corridor with a team of chatty Silver-rank Drakes before they could split up.

After working with Griffon Hunt for one day, Ceria already realized how stupid it was to talk in a dungeon where noise travelled so much further. She glared at the Drake, but he was undeterred.

“You’re the Horns, right? We’re the Tail of Xil. Silver-rank, like your team. This is our first dungeon dive. I hear your team’s been challenging this dungeon from the start, is that right?”

“We have experience. And we prefer to work silently. You never know what might happen.”

Ceria grated out the words. The Drake laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what all the Gold-ranks say. But even they chat sometimes! And we’re safe here, remember? We have these maps—”

He flourished the copy of the map from the first day’s expedition in his claws. It was a twisting maze of tunnels, but it did show clearly what areas had been explored and how many places there were left to check.

“—and we’re in known territory. What’s the harm in chatting?”

Ceria clamped her mouth shut. The Drake sighed. He turned to his partner, a female Drake with pinkish scales.

“Humans. I thought it was all tall tales about them, but they’re just as rude as they say, you know?”

His companion glared at the talkative Drake.

“That’s a half-Elf, thick wit.”

“A half-Elf? But she looks like regular Humans! I mean, sort-of.”

“You’re an idiot, Fess.”

Fess the Drake glowered. He strode ahead of his companions, stalking further down the corridor. Ceria wanted to call him back, but they were in safe territory and he was truly annoying. She could hear Fess talking loudly ahead of them as he stomped forwards.

“I’m just trying to be social! It’s not like I asked for our team to be assigned to a dungeon! I hate enclosed spaces, but we have to follow orders!”

“Shut up, Fess!”

The leader of the Tail of Xil’s team shouted at Fess as he strolled along with a pike propped on his shoulder. Fess turned unhappily.

“I just—”

The Drake took another step forwards and exploded. His body bulged and then overinflated like a burst flask. Ceria saw a red fountain, and felt something strike her in the face. She looked down and saw a chunk of scales and flesh fall from her cheek. The adventuring teams, the Tail of Xil, the Horns of Hammerad, and Griffon Hunt all froze.

“Fess?”

The pink-scaled Drake stared at the spot where Fess had been, stunned. The team leader made a choking sound. He stared at the innocuous spot on the ground.

“A trap? But how? We checked all the corridors!”

He took a step forwards but Halrac thrust him out of the way.

“Stand back!”

The [Scout] knelt, ignoring the gore staining the ground. He peered at the ground, then straightened. When he turned to the adventurers his gaze was sharp. And worried.

“Someone’s erased the markings for the trap. There’s paint residue, but it’s been scraped clean.”

“Sabotage? Who?”

“The Raskghar? We need to tell the other teams at once!”

The adventures broke out into a nervous babble. Halrac raised a hand and then pointed.

“Back the way we’ve come! Now! Retrace your footsteps!”

The adventurers immediately reversed pace. As they did, they began to hear more shouts and thumps from elsewhere in the dungeon. And as if on cue, a long, loud howl echoed through the dungeon. Ceria’s skin crawled.

“What the hell?”

She broke into a run with the other adventurers. Ceria ran back down another ‘safe’ corridor and spotted a group of adventurers running towards them. She could hear them shouting.

“There are Ghouls coming down the corridor! At least sixty of them!”

“Face-Eater Moths! A giant one’s coming down this way!”

“We’re under attack! I just got a [Message] from the other groups! The Raskghar are flooding the tunnels! They’re everywhere!”

“Retreat! Get back to the rift and start going back up!”

Halrac roared the order above all the other voices. The Drake [Mage] turned desperately to him.

“We can’t! Liscor says the Raskghar are coming from above, too!”

Revi seized the Drake.

“That doesn’t matter! We secure our exit or we’ll be surrounded! Back to the rift! Move!

She and the other adventurers charged back the way they’d come. Now they could hear sounds in every direction. The dungeon was coming alive. And behind them they could hear howls and barking. The Raskghar were closing in. More and more teams flooded back the way they’d come, some injured, some missing teammates. Monsters were hot on their heels. Ceria turned and blasted a giant thing with too many eyes and pinchers for a mouth and then formed an [Ice Wall] with another [Mage]. She shouted at Ksmvr and Yvlon to follow as the adventurers made a line of steel that slowly retreated back from the rift. They ran into the Raskghar from above two tunnels from safety.

Ahead of us! Raskghar with magic weapons!”

Ceria turned as an adventurer shouted. She stopped firing [Ice Spikes] at the melee of monsters behind her and saw a group of Raskghar charging towards their group. They had burdens on their shoulders—limp or bleeding Gnolls, tied up. They crashed into the Drakes in front as Griffon Hunt shouted for the adventurers to make a wall. Revi’s summons dueled with the Raskghar as Halrac loosed arrows at the Raskghar in front, sending them toppling to the ground. He drew an enchanted arrow and fired.

[Piercing Shot]!

His arrow snapped as it struck the Raskghar in the plate armor. The impact made the huge Raskghar pause in his step, but he charged forwards. Halrac rolled out of the way, avoiding a slice from the battleaxe. Ceria saw Yvlon charge the Raskghar. The woman brought her sword down and the Raskghar blocked with a glowing blue shield. He roared as the impact sent him staggering, and then struck Yvlon with his axe. She raised her arm and blocked with her shield. Ceria shouted in horror. The impact—Yvlon’s arm cracked and then buckled. It bent—slightly—and the woman fell. The half-Elf stared in disbelief. But the Raskghar kept coming.

It was fleeing! The adventurers were of less concern to the Raskghar, who were trying to escape with their burdens. Typhenous whirled his staff and pointed. A Raskghar carrying a Gnoll screamed as a flurry of magical arrows burst from his chest. Ceria pointed.

“Block them! Pisces! Form a wall!”

She spun, pointing. Ice sprang up around the Raskghar in the enchanted armor. He snarled as his feet became tangled in the ice but smashed through. He turned to look at Ceria and paused. The Raskghar dropped the Gnoll he was carrying, bent his head, and sniffed.

“Captain Ceria! Beware!”

Ksmvr charged the Raskghar. It swatted the Antinium aside with a huge metal hand. The Raskghar sniffed and then lunged, incredibly quickly. Ceria tried to dodge, but the impact knocked her flat. She saw the Raskghar bending over her, a huge bestial head inches from hers. It sniffed her again and then lifted her up.

Ceria!

Pisces bellowed. He appeared at the Raskghar’s back and slashed with his rapier. But the Raskghar turned his head and Pisces’ blade missed entering the gaps in his helmet. The [Necromancer] struck the Raskghar’s armpits and sides desperately, looking for gaps in his armor. There were none. The Raskghar turned and ran as its companions streamed past it into the dungeon.

Pisces sped after them. He blinked and reappeared, using [Flash Step] as he harried the Raskghar in armor. But it didn’t slow. And as the other Raskghar and monsters closed in, the [Necromancer] had to retreat. He stumbled back, bleeding as a cut opened up the flesh covering his ribs. Pisces shouted, but it was too late. The Raskghar were gone. And they had taken Ceria with them.

 

—-

 

An hour later, Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr stood in Erin’s inn. They were healed, but many of the adventurers who stood with them had taken wounds that couldn’t be healed with a mere potion. Some had been injured by the traps. Others by the sudden monster attacks. Others were completely fine and had escaped the Raskghar’s ambush unharmed, like the Silver Swords. But no one was smiling.

The scene was familiar. A Goblin was tied to the chair, surrounded by Drakes, Gnolls, Humans…adventurers and people from Liscor. Only this time the mood was murderous.

Where are they! Talk!

Of all people it was Moore who was doing the questioning. The half-Giant loomed over the tiny Cave Goblin. His face was twisted with fury. He lifted the Goblin up as the little monster screamed and thrashed. Moore roared.

Where did they take them? Where did they go?

The Goblin shrieked. It screamed, turning to the two Hobs standing in the inn. They were surrounded by adventurers who watched their every move with suspicion. Numbtongue shouted up at Moore.

“He knows nothing! The Chieftain moves their camp every night! So adventurers and monsters don’t find!”

“He knows where they were!”

Moore shook the Goblin again. The Cave Goblin screamed. Numbtongue listened.

“He is giving directions! Left, right—long tunnel, up stairs—stop shaking! Neck will break!”

Moore’s hand was white and the chair back creaked and snapped in his grip. Slowly, he lowered the Cave Goblin. It panted wildly as the half-Giant dropped him to the floor. Erin, standing behind the Horns, opened and closed her mouth silently. Moore bent.

“Where is Mrsha. Where is Ceria? Why were they taken?”

The Goblin didn’t know what he was saying. But as Rabbiteater translated he instantly gabbled a reply. Numbtongue translated.

“Take Gnolls! Take white Gnoll! Special Gnoll! Chieftain want! Raskghar want! Also take special-smelling…pointy-eared not-Human! Very important! No Goblins or Raskghar kill or Chieftain kills them! They must have pointy-eared not-Human!”

“Why?”

The Horns looked at each other, confused. Yvlon’s face was white. Her hands bled as her fingernails dug into her palms. Ksmvr was gripping his shortsword, barely restrained in place. Pisces was less calm. He strode forwards and seized the Goblin.

Why Ceria? Who is this Chieftain? Why does he want her?”

He shook the Goblin wildly. The little Cave Goblin screamed as Pisces bent. The [Necromancer]’s face changed, turning into a rotting mask. Pisces grew as the illusion magic transformed him. His voice boomed and his body contorted, growing into a fleshy monster of undeath.

Answer me, wretch!

“Pisces!”

Erin shouted, unable to take it anymore. Pisces ignored her. He kept shaking the Goblin, hitting it, until Dawil and Seborn dragged him off the Goblin. The little creature was sobbing. It shouted a response. Numbtongue listened.

“Chieftain ordered. Chieftain ordered! Must obey Chieftain or die! Chieftain will kill!”

Pisces shouted, struggling.

“Who is the Chieftain? Who?

The Goblin screamed an answer.

“One arm! One arm! Horn Chieftain! Great Chieftain! Not Raskghar! Not Goblin! One arm!

And then there was silence. Numbtongue looked around, uncomprehendingly. Every eye stared at the Cave Goblin in shock. Then, slowly, the adventurers, the guardsmen of Pallass, Erin, Lyonette…everyone, turned to look at the Horns of Hammerad. Yvlon’s face went white. She stared at the Goblin.

“It can’t be.”

 

—-

 

“Wake up.”

Somewhere in the darkness below, someone slapped Ceria roughly. She came to with a start. She felt a terrible pain in her chest, bruising, maybe a cracked rib. And her head—she groaned, then remembered. Ceria raised her skeletal hand. A hand caught it.

“You’re awake. Good!”

The voice was familiar. But it was odd. Ceria couldn’t place it. The deep, rumbling voice—she looked around wildly.

“Where? The Raskghar?”

It was dark. There was barely any light in the room. Slowly, Ceria’s eyes adjusted. As it did, the hand that was holding hers slowly released.

“Move slowly. You are injured. It has taken me a long time to find, you, Ceria. At last. I’d given you up for dead.”

That voice. It was familiar! But Ceria hadn’t heard it in…months. She looked around.

“It can’t be. Are you—is it—”

A huge figure stood in front of her, barely visible. Ceria squinted up at him. A giant stood in the darkness. Not as tall as Moore, but built of muscle. His body was powerful, humanoid, but not Human. He had short, dark brown fur, and his face was shaped like a cow’s. He had a pair of sharp horns and his hands were larger than any Human man’s.

No. Not hands. Hand. Ceria stared at the figure and squinted. He only had one arm.

One arm. Her breath drew in sharply. The figure smiled. He moved and a bit of light shone down. Calruz grinned down at Ceria, his yellowed teeth flashing in the darkness.

“You’ve returned to me. My precious teammate. My Horn of Hammerad. At last I have someone to rely on. Someone to help me.”

He stepped back. Ceria stared at Calruz, too shocked for words, for thought. Then, at last, she took in the room behind him. She sat in a massive domed chamber, the roof of which had caved inwards in two parts. She saw many, many furry shapes moving about, some sleeping, others eating. And between them scurried a multitude of smaller shapes. Ceria’s breath caught as she identified them.

Raskghar. And Cave Goblins, scurrying around between them. And behind them on the far walls—

“Gnolls.”

They were lined up, held captive in crude cages of wood and hide. The Gnolls of Liscor huddled together, staring at the Raskghar in silence. And held captive in a small cage separated from the rest was a white shape.

“Mrsha!”

Ceria lunged to her feet. She tried to move, but the hand caught her again. She twisted. Calruz stared down at Ceria.

“Hold, Ceria. Those are my prisoners.”

The half-Elf’s jaw worked soundlessly.

“Prisoners? Calruz. Is that you? How are you alive? What are you doing down here? Why are the Raskghar—”

Calruz grinned at her. The Minotaur’s eyes focused on Ceria, looking her up and down. He spoke casually.

“Why, they are my team of course. A new team. A…tribe. I lead them. The Raskghar are my tools to conquer the dungeon.”

“The dungeon?”

“Of course! Why do you think we came down here? This dungeon is far larger than I thought. I miscalculated our first expedition. But we haven’t failed. There are thousands of Raskghar. And they have artifacts! I’ve turned them into a fighting force. And they grow stronger on the full moon. And with the Gnolls, they’ll be stronger still. But most importantly, they found you.”

“Me?”

The Minotaur drew closer. Ceria could feel her bones grinding as his grip tightened on her arm. Calruz’ breath was foul and rancid as he peered at her.

“Yes. My teammate. You’re here. We can finally finish our job. We’ll conquer this dungeon and emerge as heroes! Heroes, Ceria! Imagine it!”

And at last, Ceria understood. She felt the cold dungeon floor beneath her feet, heard the Raskghar growling, saw the Cave Goblins moving about fearfully, and saw the Gnolls watching her. Her and the Minotaur with one arm. But Calruz only had eyes for her. He grinned at Ceria. There was triumph in his eyes. He looked relieved, elated, confident, and he spoke as she remembered. Their fearless leader, ready to charge into the fray. There was only one difference now.

He was completely, utterly insane.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.39

When she’d first woken and seen him, he had been just as she remembered. Tall. Proud, his horns gleaming in the faded light. A warrior and leader. The Captain of the Horns of Hammerad. That prickly, stubborn, prideful, honorable friend she’d fought with for years.

Calruz. But when the shock had faded and she’d taken in the Raskghar and the captive Gnolls—seen the madness in his eyes, Ceria had seen him as he truly was. Calruz was not the same. Not at all.

It was a thousand different things. The first thing Ceria noticed was his fur. The short hairs on his body were rough and dirty, matted with dried blood in places. She could see scars beneath his fur in places. Calruz looked like a savage. The Minotaur she’d known had cared for his appearance as fastidiously as any [Knight]. This Calruz looked scarred and rough.

His teeth and odor were another part of that. Calruz looked like he hadn’t cleaned his teeth and he stank of rotten meat and sweat. And blood. The smell of blood actually covered most of the other smells. To Ceria, the Minotaur stank like a butcher’s shop. Unwillingly, her eyes drew downwards and stared at his arm.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to see the pinkish stump of flesh at his shoulder, but it still was. Calruz’s right arm, his dominant arm, was missing. Ceria could remember the moment when he’d lost it. She’d had nightmares of that moment, when Skinner had reached down and plucked Calruz’s arm off his chest.

She stared at his other arm. It was whole. Damaged—clearly injured in later battles from the scars—but intact. It looked bigger than she remembered. Dead gods, she’d forgotten how tall Calruz was. Taller than Gnolls or Drakes and Humans. Only Moore was taller. The Minotaur still looked like a mass of muscle. But his eyes and the crazed smile he gave her—

Insanity.

Ceria had seen it many times before. In half-Elves in the village she’d run away from, in [Mages] in Wistram—and adventurers. In everyone, really. Or maybe just the people she hung around. She knew madness. The different kinds that took hold.

The half-Elf villages were isolated bubbles where centuries could pass with little to no change. The elders there had been insane, babbling about the glories of half-Elves and their connection to their ancient ancestors. They were frightening—dangerous old half-Elves who had twisted their minds so firmly around an idea that they couldn’t think any other way.

By contrast, the [Mages] of Wistram had been crazy in a different way. They hoarded secrets and played games of politics in what they thought of as the center of the world. Like half-Elves they were cut off from the rest of the world. Those of them that dreamed of more—Ceria thought of Illphres. She had been insane, but in her own way. She had reached for the height of magic, been willing to risk her life for that end. You had to be insane to do that.

By contrast, adventurers were just normally crazy. They risked their lives for glory, levels, and gold. They would rather die with sword or wand in hand than live a peaceful life. They charged into danger for the reward and thrill of it. Ceria understood and admired that. But Calruz? When she looked at him she saw something that made her shudder.

He was gone. It was something in the way he looked at her, as if he’d found her after getting separated. As if he wasn’t standing in a dungeon, as if he wasn’t leading a tribe of murderous beasts and holding innocent people captive. It was something in his eyes. Or rather, something missing.

“You’ve returned to me.”

Calruz repeated himself. He reached out and grabbed Ceria’s shoulder. His hand was huge, rough. Warm. It squeezed Ceria and she felt a shock run through her. He was real after all. She wasn’t insane herself. She stared up at Calruz as he went on, eagerly, triumphantly.

“I knew one of my team had to be alive. All of our team couldn’t have fallen. But no matter how long I waited, you didn’t find your way down here. You must have…escaped the undead and that thing some other way. How many of the others made it? Gerial? Hunt? Sostrom? Barr? My Raskghar were only able to identify you by smell. If you tell me where the others are, I can send another raiding party to retrieve them.”

He gestured to the Raskghar moving about the large, cavernous room. Ceria opened her mouth, head spinning. Calruz shook his, sending his hair flying. Ceria saw a tiny black speck jump from his fur. He had fleas.

“Later, though. The damned Drakes must be on high-alert after our last raid. I would have captured three times as many Gnolls if they hadn’t discovered my elite team. Those fools must have given themselves away somehow.”

“They attacked the city? Again?”

For some reason that was the first thing Ceria focused on. Calruz turned, looking surprised.

“Of course! A day attack. I misled the Drakes into believing the Raskghar were only able to function at night. I hid a team armed with artifacts above. They were to attack and seize as many Gnolls as possible, but they were spotted somehow and forced to retreat. They returned with you and a few Gnolls, though. So their mission was not a complete failure. I spared them from punishment because they brought you. With you at my side, managing these savages will be far easier.”

He grinned at Ceria again, revealing a cracked tooth. Ceria stared at Calruz. Her mouth worked silently a few times. Then she just said it.

“No. What the hell are you doing, Calruz?”

The Minotaur blinked. He frowned at Ceria.

“Laying out our plan of attack, of course. We have a dungeon to conquer. Or have you forgotten our mission?”

“Our mission? That was months ago! We failed, Calruz! The undead killed everyone! Skinner—that thing in the crypts wiped out our team!”

The Minotaur had no whites of his eyes. Rather, they were yellowish and his pupils were dark brown. He paused and Ceria saw his gaze flick to her uncertainly.

“Nonsense. I’m sure they escaped. You did. They’re in hiding, no doubt. We took—casualties—yes. But they can’t all be—what about Gerial?”

“They’re dead, Calruz! They’re all dead!”

Ceria screamed up at Calruz. He looked shocked, and shook his head in denial. But Ceria couldn’t believe any lie. She had been there. She had seen it all. She remembered Gerial pushing her back, striding forwards towards Skinner. She remembered having to identify his remains. She remembered—she felt sick.

“What is this, Calruz? You’re working with Raskghar? They’ve been killing innocent people! And—and kidnapping Gnolls? Why? Let them go!”

Calruz’s confused look hardened.

“The Gnolls are my prisoners. I told you. The Raskghar are my—my tribe. My warriors. Yes, that’s what they are. I found them. Forged the isolated Raskghar camps together. They’ve expanded since I became their leader. We’ve conquered a good section of the dungeon.”

“You ambushed adventurers. Killed them!”

“Those fools? They knew what they were getting into.”

The Minotaur waved a hand dismissively. Ceria stared at him. Then she looked at the Gnolls.

“Let them go.”

“No.”

Calruz turned his head. He looked irritated.

“I brought you down here to rejoin my team, Springwalker. Not to question my orders!”

“Your orders? Your orders?”

Ceria laughed hysterically. This was unreal! She couldn’t believe it. She wanted to throw up. She pointed at Calruz. Her living hand trembled.

“You’re crazy! Working with monsters? Abducting innocent people? Where the hell were you, Calruz! We were searching for you! We left messages! Why didn’t you try to get out of here? Why did you—”

Calruz was shaking his head, more and more violently. He erupted.

“Enough! Don’t—don’t question me! You are my subordinate! You will obey me! I am your captain!

Ceria stared up at him. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Not anymore. I lead the Horns of Hammerad now, Calruz. We made a new team. We were looking for you. I wish we’d found you dead rather than like this.”

He jerked. The yellow whites of Calruz’ eyes began to turn red. Ceria’s heart beat faster. She recognized that. That was a bad sign. He was losing his temper.

“You replaced me? Me? I was in the dungeon this entire time! I was fighting! For our honor! For our pride! How dare you question me! Enough talk! You will follow my command!”

“Oh yeah?”

Ceria’s ability to banter was nonexistent. But to an enraged Minotaur, even that was too much provocation. Calruz raised his arm and made a fist.

“Do not test me, Ceria. I tolerate no treachery. None! Stop talking about the Gnolls! Stop questioning my—stop talking!”

She almost laughed. Almost. Ceria remembered that Calruz had been just as bad at witty repartee as she had. She’d always gotten under his skin. This time though—Ceria’s mirth faded. She looked up at Calruz and shook her head. She raised her skeletal hand and raised her middle finger. She waved it in front of the bull man’s face.

“No.”

He roared and punched at her. Ceria ducked. She felt a rush of air over her head and scrambled away. She was suddenly aware of all the Raskghar in the room. Oh hell, she hadn’t thought this through at all! Ceria rolled as Calruz swiped for her and drew her belt knife.

Ceria didn’t have a plan. If she had to put the rush of blood and fear into a plan, it would be to defend herself, and then take Calruz prisoner, somehow get the Raskghar to release the Gnolls, and make a break for it. She slashed at his arm with her dagger. Wound him, get the knife to his throat—

Her blade struck Calruz’ arm with all of her weight behind it as he grabbed for her. Ceria felt the impact, and then heard a ping. She saw the tip of her dagger snap on Calruz’ arm. The piece of metal fell to the ground with a ringing sound. Calruz’ arm on the other hand was unharmed.

“Oh hell. That’s new.”

Ceria raised her skeletal hand. Calruz seized her by the throat and lifted her up. He roared, spraying her with spit.

“Submit!”

The half-Elf pointed at his face. Calruz cursed and threw her a second before the [Ice Spike] shot from her fingers. Ceria landed hard, tried to get up, and felt a huge paw grab her. She twisted and the Raskghar slammed her into the ground.

The world went black and red. Dizzily, Ceria squirmed and felt another blow to her head. Something—the Raskghar held Ceria down. She felt warm blood trickling down the side of her head. The Raskghar growled as he held Ceria. She heard Calruz roaring with fury and then striding over. A huge hand reached down—

And seized the Raskghar. The furry beast man had only a chance to yelp in surprise before Calruz threw the Raskghar to the ground. Then he began kicking the Raskghar. Ceria scrambled to one side.

“Insubordination! You do not touch her without my permission! You dare to injure her? You?

He pummeled the Raskghar with his feet, striking him with a hammer blow from his good arm when the Raskghar tried to rise and fight back. For all of the Raskghar’s huge size, Calruz was still bigger. And clearly, stronger. He had always been strong, but Ceria thought he had gained some kind of Skill. Calruz turned from the bloody, whimpering body at last and turned to Ceria. The red madness in his eyes made her brace, but suddenly, Calruz was calm again. He strode over to her.

“Did that fool injure you? Let me see your head.”

The half-Elf flinched, but Calruz’ fingers were gentle as he inspected her head wound.

“Superficial cuts. A bit of healing potion will fix that.”

Then the Minotaur frowned and looked down.

“What happened to your hand?”

Ceria blinked up into Calruz’s face. He sounded…normal. Still a bit crazy, but more normal. She swallowed the bile in her throat and tried to respond.

“I uh, lost it when I used a spell to hold off the undead. The magical backlash froze all the skin off.”

“Dead gods. But your hand works! Is it magic? Some kind of spell?”

Calruz stared down at Ceria. She could see the Raskghar behind him trying to get up, keening silently in pain. He’d lost some of his teeth! The other Raskghar growled at him, mocking, but a Cave Goblin scurried forwards with a cloth in one hand. The Raskghar grabbed it and knocked the Cave Goblin back. Pain begat pain. Ceria focused on Calruz.

“My hand? No it’s—I think it’s a half-Elf thing.”

“That creature. That flesh monstrosity.”

Calruz growled. He opened and closed his left hand, breathing heavily. He turned away from Ceria.

“Do you know where it is? I’ve searched for a way back up to the crypt. I fell down a—a hole. But I cannot remember where it was. However, I am sure that this time we can fell the beast. The Raskghar have artifacts. I have a weapon myself that will do the job. How many undead remain, do you think?”

Again, Ceria had to remember what he was talking about. She shook her head.

“Undead? None. That thing—it was called Skinner, Calruz. Remember the poem on the wall? The people of Liscor killed it. And all the undead that came out of the crypt. Almost everyone in our expedition died. But Skinner—they killed him. It.”

This time, Calruz’ brows creased. He repeated her words slowly, as if trying to make sense of them.

“Slain? They slew it? That’s good. That is…all dead? All of them? You saw them? All of my Horns? Are they truly…?”

He looked at Ceria. She nodded slowly. The Minotaur stood very still, and then he sat. He covered his face with his hand.

“I see.”

Ceria took that moment to look around. The Raskghar were staring at her appraisingly. They didn’t look afraid—rather, they looked like predators eying up a main course. But they looked apprehensively at Calruz. Apprehensively, but with expectation as well. He was leading them! And Ceria saw too much intelligence in their eyes. She looked at Calruz. A bit of hope stirred in her chest.

“Calruz. Erin killed Skinner.”

The Minotaur gaped at her.

“The…[Innkeeper]? The Human female? With the skeleton? Yes. Yes, I remember her. She slew the monster? How?

“Acid jars.”

Ceria watched Calruz’ expression change. Shock, indignation, and then—he laughed.

Acid jars? Are you serious?”

She nodded. Calruz bellowed a laugh. He turned, made a fist, pounded his thigh. He laughed again.

“We should have bought everything she had! Acid jars? Truly? An [Innkeeper] did what four Silver-rank teams couldn’t? Acid jars?

He roared with laughter. Ceria forced herself to smile and nod. She cleared her throat as Calruz’ laughter ebbed.

“Right. Erin killed Skinner. And guess what? That white Gnoll? The one your Raskghar kidnapped? She’s Erin’s ward.”

“She is?”

Calruz turned. He glanced at Mrsha, visibly confused. The little Gnoll was peeking out of her cage. She hid the moment Calruz turned, but she had been looking at Ceria. The half-Elf’s heart pounded wildly. If she could pull this off—

“That’s right. She took in Mrsha after Ryoka rescued her. Ryoka and Erin both care about Mrsha. These Gnolls are citizens of Liscor. You need to let them go.”

“Erin. Ryoka. Where is Ryoka? The last we saw her—”

Calruz shook his head. Ceria spoke quickly.

“It’s a long story. But I’m sure Erin—and Ryoka—are concerned for Mrsha. If you let her go…”

A rumble of protest sprung up from the Raskghar. Ceria looked at them, wide-eyed. They were listening! Worse, they understood. Calruz glanced at them and the rumble instantly faded.

“My people spoke of the white Gnoll. They believe she is special.”

White fur. Ceria glanced quickly at Mrsha. The Gnoll was peeking at her.

“She might be. But Ryoka saved her. Ryoka did. And Erin’s been raising her. Calruz. You should let her go. And the others.”

Calruz had been slowly nodding. Right up until Ceria said ‘others’. Then he paused. He frowned and looked at the Raskghar. When he turned back he shook his head.

“No. I told you. They are my prisoners. I have a use for them. You—I told you! That is not why I brought you down here! You will fight by my side! Leave the prisoners alone!”

“No. Let them go and I’ll join you.”

Calruz swung back to Ceria.

“You don’t make demands. I lead here! This is not a negotiation! Obey me or you will share his fate!”

He pointed at the bloody Raskghar. Calruz loomed over Ceria. The half-Elf felt his anger. Her legs shook, but she made herself stand taller. She made a fist with both hands and braced herself.

“Never.”

Again she saw Calruz’ face twist with fury. He raised a hand and Ceria gritted her teeth. She readied a spell. But this time Calruz’ madness took a different turn. He threw his head back and barked another short laugh.

“You always were insubordinate! It’s what I appreciated about you.”

He shook his head and turned away. Ceria lowered her hands. She felt another shiver crawl down her spine. This was not Calruz! He went from fury to humor in the blink of an eye. The Minotaur gestured around the Raskghar camp.

“This is why I needed you. Someone who could speak back when needed. Not like these Raskghar. They’re nothing more than beasts for most of the month. Only when the moon is nearly full do they regain any semblance of intelligence. We must make as many gains as possible now. Come, I need to show you around the dungeon. I plan to launch an offensive with your magics to back up my warriors. Can you cast [Fireball] with that wand or do I need to find you a better one?”

“Calruz—I told you no.”

The Minotaur paused. He looked at Ceria.

“And I do not accept that. You will work with me. I warn you, Ceria. Do not refuse me again. Join me.”

Ceria wavered. She crossed her hands behind her back, flicked her fingers. A bit of light flared, invisible to Calruz. Then she shook her head. Calruz’ eyes turned red again.

“I will not be disobeyed! You!”

He whirled and pointed. One of the Raskghar sitting on the ground looked up. She—it was a she—stood, looking wary. Calruz pointed at her.

“Take one of the Gnolls. Any of them save for the white one. You may perform the ritual. Do it now!”

The Raskghar bared her teeth. Alarmed, Ceria looked at her.

“Wait—”

Calruz swung back towards her. Now the insanity lit up his eyes.

“You did this. You forced my hand.”

She didn’t know what ritual he meant. But the way the Raskghar smiled made Ceria terribly uneasy. She looked at the Gnolls. But he wouldn’t hurt them because of her, surely. He might be insane, but she had never known him to compromise his honor. She croaked as she watched the Raskghar turn.

“Wait, Calruz, I—”

Too late. The female Raskghar stepped towards the cages at the back. They weren’t the typical barred cells that Ceria had seen in Human cities. These were more like boxes, made of metal and wood and tanned hides. For all that, they were impossible for the Gnolls to escape. The Raskghar had taken one item from Liscor’s City Watch—iron shackles. Bound hand and foot, the Gnolls could barely move.

There had to be at least sixty of them in the cages. Ceria saw the female Raskghar sniff, and then look from face to face. The Gnolls tried to edge back. There were children, males, females—Ceria saw the female look at a young male Gnoll. She opened his cage. A terrible foreboding seized Ceria. She ran forwards but a Raskghar grabbed her. Calruz growled.

“Hold her down. Make her watch.”

A pair of Raskghar forced Ceria down effortlessly. She tried to blast them with magic, but the blow to her head made her dizzy. And the Raskghar were forcing her hands down. She couldn’t aim at them. She shouted desperately at the Minotaur as he turned to watch.

“Calruz! Stop! I’ll obey you! Stop! I’ll do it!

He ignored her. The Raskghar held Ceria down but she could still see. The female Raskghar entered the cell after barking at the others. The Gnoll in the cell jerked and struggled as the Raskghar entered. One ripped the shackles from his hands and legs after unlocking it with a key. That gave the prisoners a chance. Ceria watched, hoping—but in vain.

The Gnoll fought wildly, but he was surrounded. Four Raskghar grabbed his arms and legs and towed him out of the cell. The other Gnolls howled, fighting their restraints. The Raskghar watched. All of the Raskghar in the room had formed a circle. Around—Ceria’s heart stopped—a slab of stone in the center of the room.

It was just a piece of rock, but it was stained dark red. Ceria struggled and the Gnoll did the same. The Raskghar paid him no heed. They were—crooning. Making a soft growling sound as they carried him. All the Raskghar were making the sound. It was low, ominous. Expectant.

The four Raskghar carried the Gnoll to the slab of rock. They slammed him onto the flat surface. The Gnoll groaned and then stiffened as the female Raskghar stepped forwards. She had a jagged bit of stone in her hand.

Calruz! Calruz! Don’t do this! Don’t—

A paw muffled Ceria’s screams. The Minotaur didn’t look back once. The female Raskghar looked at him and he nodded. She raised the stone and the crooning sound from the Raskghar stopped. The sudden silence was complete. Ceria could hear nothing, not even her voice screaming. She felt something in the air. Magic? It made her sick to her stomach. She saw the Gnoll struggling, his tendons bulging beneath his fur. Then he looked over at her. His voice echoed.

“Half-Elf—tell my family in Liscor—tell them I thought of them—”

The female Raskghar brought down the chunk of stone. The Gnoll screamed as it pierced his breast. He surged, fighting the four Raskghar holding him, howling. The female Raskghar twisted the stone and he jerked and went still.

Ceria heard a howl, long and loud. The Raskghar lifted the bloody stone dagger and licked the blood from the tip. The Raskghar around her howled in triumph. The four surrounding the dead Gnoll stepped back. The female Raskghar bent and, to Ceria’s horror, began to tear at the Gnoll’s chest. She was eating something.

His heart.

The grisly feast took seconds. The entire time Ceria was staring at the Raskghar. At Calruz, who was watching, expressionless, his left hand clenching and unclenching impatiently. The female Raskghar chewed noisily and swallowed. Something like a sigh filled the room. Something changed.

When the Raskghar raised her bloody muzzle, her eyes glowed with inner light for a second. The Raskghar’s body shifted. Ceria saw the Raskghar grow slightly, her fangs and claws lengthening, her muscles developing. The change was slight, but when the Raskghar straightened she was taller, more fearsome than before. But the worse difference was in her eyes. Again. Only the Raskghar wasn’t mad. Fierce, bright intelligence shone from her gaze as she looked around. She wiped blood from her fur and licked it.

The room was silent. The Gnolls clung to each other, staring at the Raskghar, wide-eyed. Calruz grunted. He strode forwards and the female Raskghar turned to him.

“Well?”

“Good.”

The Raskghar’s growling voice made Ceria jump. She stared at the female Raskghar in shock. This Raskghar looked much like the others to her, but Krshia would have recognized her as the very same one she had met in Liscor. The female Raskghar’s deep voice rumbled as she addressed Calruz deferentially.

“Old way works. Gnolls make us stronger. Smarter. More blood means more power. All Raskghar will drink. Grow.”

The other Raskghar growled expectantly. They stared at the Gnolls. Calruz shook his head. he raised a finger, raised his voice imperiously.

“One for today. One. I will select another worthy Raskghar to conduct this ritual. The best of the warriors. You will take command of Dailre’s Fist. I expect greater results. The Gnolls will not be touched until then.”

The Raskghar female didn’t like that. She licked her lips.

“Want more Gnolls. More—”

Calruz’s face twisted into a snarl. He lashed out at the Raskghar, swinging so fast that Ceria heard the crack before she registered his left arm move. The female’s head jerked backwards. She howled in pain and surprise and lurched backwards, her ears flattening along her head. Calruz glared down at her.

I decide! You will follow my orders or die. Is that understood?”

The air was tense. For a second Ceria thought the Raskghar would lash out, but she clearly thought better of it. Her eyes flashed with discontent, but she bowed her head submissively. Her tail lowered.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

“Go.”

She bounded back towards the other Raskghar. They made way for her, sniffing at her. Ceria saw the female glance back at her. Then she disappeared. Ceria turned her gaze back towards Calruz. The Minotaur nodded and the Raskghar let her go. He let her get up and looked at her.

Insanity. Or was it just him, now? Ceria didn’t know. She stared dully at the Minotaur. Calruz spoke coldly.

“Every time you disobey my orders I will sacrifice another of these Gnolls. Follow my command and I will let a few go. Perhaps even the white one.”

He nodded at Mrsha. Ceria stared at the Gnoll. Mrsha had seen the entire thing. She was trying to hide in the corner of her cell. She stared at Ceria with wide eyes. Calruz looked at Ceria.

“Well? Do I have to make an example of her?”

“No. No. Please, Calruz.”

Ceria hung her head. Calruz grinned.

“Good! I knew I made the right choice. You and I—we’ll bring the Horns to glory yet. This dungeon is halfway conquered as it is. Isn’t it?”

He waited. Ceria didn’t respond. Calruz instantly turned to fury again.

“Answer me!”

The half-Elf looked up. Calruz took a step back. Ceria was crying. Tears rolled down Ceria’s cheeks. She stared up at him. Silently. Calruz wavered. The fury left him. He stared at Ceria and reached out with his left hand. Then he turned away.

“Follow me. We have work to do. Fourth Company, to me!”

He roared and a group of Raskghar sprang to their feet. They ran after Calruz. Ceria watched him stride away.

“Ceria! Follow!”

Ceria didn’t waver. Her feet moved forwards. Slowly. Her voice was defeated when she spoke.

“Yes. Captain.”

The Gnolls in the room watched her silently walk across the broken, domed room. On the altar, the Cave Goblins were swarming around the Gnoll with knives, rusted swords. Turning him into food. Ceria looked once at him, and then at the captive Gnolls. She whispered two words that they all heard.

“I’m sorry.”

She flicked her fingers again. A spark of light shone. The Gnolls saw a tiny butterfly made of fire and light flicker into life and then disappear. The half-Elf turned. She followed Calruz into the dungeon.

 

—-

 

Mrsha sat in her cage. The shackles were tight on her paws. They hurt. She could barely move. And she hurt. A Raskghar had grabbed her, squeezed her and smacked her when she tried to bite. She’d thrown up. She was dizzy. Thirsty. And Lyonette was gone.

She’d tried to protect her. Mrsha remembered it. She saw the Raskghar burst through the front door again, saw Lyonette scream at her to run. Mrsha had run up the stairs, but the Raskghar was fast! He grabbed her on the stairs. And then Lyonette attacked him. Apista attacked him! But he hit Lyonette. Made her wrist bend and crack.

Mrsha could remember the sound. And he’d hit Apista so hard the bee had landed on the far wall. And then he’d run with her into the rain and she’d been dragged underwater, inhaled water and choked until he’d struck her to make her throw up—

And now she was in a Bad Place. A Very Bad Place. Mrsha knew it. She could smell the badness in the air. And the horrible not-Gnolls, the Raskghar made her shudder. She knew, just as certainly as she knew that Erin was nice and Lyonette was warm and that water was wet that the Raskghar were her enemy. She tried not to remember what she had seen. But the Gnoll’s last scream echoed in her ears. Mrsha tried to bury her head in her side, feeling the shackles on her paws. Only when she sensed she was being watched did she look up.

A Gnoll was staring at her. He had dark grey fur, streaked with reddish-brown stripes. He looked old. Not as old as Urksh had been, but older than one of the Stone Spear hunters. He was a Gnoll from Liscor. Mrsha had never seen him, but she could smell that on him. Along with his fear. He was one of the oldest Gnolls in the cages and she could see the others looking to him. Mrsha sat up. The Gnoll stared at her and then looked around the room.

The Raskghar were agitated. Many were clustering around the terrible female who’d performed the ritual. The rest had followed bad Minotaur out of the room. So had Ceria. Mrsha wondered why the Minotaur had captured her. She knew why he’d ordered the Raskghar to catch her. Her stomach turned over when she thought of that.

The old Gnoll was thinking the same things. He eyed the Raskghar. They were keeping away from the cages as Calruz had ordered. But every so often they would look over and sniff the Gnoll’s scent. They stank of blood and death and grown up things. None of them washed, Mrsha was sure. She edged her bottom away from them. The Gnoll glanced at her and then he spoke in a gravelly voice.

“Doombringer.”

Mrsha froze. She stared at the Gnoll. Her heart beat painfully in her chest and her stomach did another flop. The Gnoll shook his head tiredly.

“I did not believe it myself, no. I thought the legends and tales were just that. So Krshia claimed and I believed her. But I see the Raskghar here. Ancient enemies, stories made to frighten cubs. And I see you. And I think the old days are upon us once more. So. Doombringer.”

He looked at her. At Mrsha’s fur. The white Gnoll shivered. She tried to back away, but the older Gnoll shook his head.

“I do not blame you for what you are, cubling. You cannot help your curse. Nor will you escape, I think, no. But know what you are. Doom and death of tribes. Cursed one.”

Mrsha wanted to howl at him. She wanted to speak, to tell him no. But all she could do was hide. Hot shame and fear and too many emotions for words made her burrow her head in her side. She sensed the Gnoll staring at her for a long time. Then he turned his back on her. The other Gnolls stared at Mrsha too. They looked away. She was not of them.

Mrsha had known that. She knew that was why Lyonette didn’t let her play in the city. Because the other Gnolls told her she couldn’t. She’d been fine with that because Lyonette played with her and so did Moore and Erin and everyone else at the inn. But they weren’t here. And this was worse, to be alone with her people who weren’t her people.

The Raskghar were celebrating. They were in a frenzy. They drooled as they yipped and growled at each other, staring at the Gnolls. Like food. Like prey. The Gnolls stared back. Defiance flashed in their eyes. The Raskghar stood up, struck the cages, trying to scare the Gnolls. But they couldn’t.

It might have been a child or one of the younger females who opened her mouth and howled first. The high-pitched sound made the Raskghar growl in fury. The Cave Goblins looked up in alarm. The loud sound echoed through the room. At once, the other Gnolls did the same.

They began to howl. The Raskghar snarled and barked, but the Gnolls howled. Mrsha huddled in her cage, longing to join in. The howling filled the room, echoing, trying to bounce down the dungeon’s corridors, reach above. It was a howl of fury, of grief. And defiance!

We are here! Here! It was a call any Gnoll would know. A call for aid, of kinship. The Raskghar knew what the Gnolls were doing and hated the sound. But the defiant howling was stopped as soon as it had begun. Raskghar, enraged, tore open the cell doors, strode inside and began beating the Gnolls with their bare hands, feet, and stone clubs.

The howling stopped and cries of pain filled the air. Mrsha covered her eyes and ears with her paws and curled up. The beating lasted a long time. When the Raskghar finally strode away, Mrsha saw many of the Gnolls lying on the ground, bleeding, badly bruised. Some had broken bones. The Raskghar emerged from the cages, bloody, sniffing. One came towards her, baring his teeth for violence.

Mrsha backed against the back of her cage. The Raskghar bared his teeth at her, and then yelped as a hand pulled him back. Mrsha saw another Raskghar strike the first savagely and the Raskghar slunk away, growling. But he wasn’t the only one. The other Raskghar kept looking at her. Only Calruz’ order kept them from Mrsha.

Reluctantly, the other Raskghar moved away. The Gnolls stayed where they were, trying to tend to their injuries, beaten into silence. Mrsha sat up desperately. She wished she could do something! Anything! But the shackles were hard on her paws. She couldn’t move.

She didn’t have her wand. Lyonette was gone. Apista wasn’t here. She’d broken her legs. Mrsha had seen the Raskghar hit her out of the air. Erin had been gone. She might not even know where Mrsha was. Or she might be dead.

That was a terrible thought. Mrsha tried to take it back, but she couldn’t. She wiped her running nose on her arm. She tried very hard not to cry. If she did, the Raskghar might hit her too. She wouldn’t cry. Ceria was here. Ceria would rescue her. Or—or the other adventurers would. Halrac was strong. Moore was strong. They would find her. They would rescue her if she didn’t cry. Erin would come, or Jelaqua, or Pisces, or Ksmvr, or Ryoka, or Zel—

But Zel was dead. And Ryoka was gone. She’d gone far away. Mrsha curled up. She tried not to cry. But the hot tears that trickled from her eyes made her a liar. She hid her face and hoped this was all a dream. But when she slept and woke, she was still far below. And no one had saved her.

 

—-

 

Calruz. It was Calruz. It had always been Calruz. And in a way, it fit. The disaster had begun with the expedition into the crypt and it had never quite ended. Skinner had come, and Skinner had died. But the misery he had brought had festered. And now, half a year later, one of the very same adventurers who had entered the dungeon was behind the attacks on the city.

There was a horrible order to it. But Erin’s mind couldn’t focus on all of that. She was just thinking about Mrsha and Ceria. They were gone. The Raskghar had taken them. They were gone and Calruz was behind it all. She imagined the big Minotaur, remembered him showing her how to punch. That Calruz was responsible for this. Erin looked around at the adventurers conferring, the Cave Goblin tied to the chair, the grim look in Ilvriss’ eyes as he spoke to Zevara and Olesm and Embria.

All of this.

It was too much. Erin couldn’t take it in so she shut it out. She focused on the only thing she could think about right now. Mrsha. Ceria. They had to be found. Erin looked around at the crowd of worried people and saw a familiar face standing at the back. Lyonette stood, one hand wrapped up, white as a ghost, staring at nothing.

She was cradling Apista. The Ashfire Bee’s legs were wrapped up and they’d been healed with a bit of potion, but the [Princess] didn’t let the bee fly or perch on her shoulder. She had made a little sling and Apista lay in it, fluttering her wings now and then but not moving. Lyonette gently ran her fingers down the bee’s fuzzy body. She looked lost, pale. Her left hand was splinted. The healing potion had mended the bone, but it was still weak according to Pisces.

“Lyonette.”

The young woman didn’t look around the first time Erin called her name. Only when Erin touched her did she glance over. She looked lost. Erin hugged her with one arm.

“We’ll get her back. We’ll get them both back.”

“How?”

Erin had no reply. Lyonette stared at her and then turned. She was listening to a group of adventurers talk. The Gold-rank Captains were standing in a circle. Halrac, Jelaqua, Bevussa, Keldrass—they all looked worried. Some were still hurt. They’d had to fight their way out of the dungeon. There were a lot less adventurers in the inn. They’d all been attacked by monsters and Raskghar. Many were just resting from their injuries or exhaustion. Some were dead.

“We took a score of Silver-rank casualties and we lost a Gold-rank adventurer in the battle.”

“Rebat.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t lose a team. Those monsters were flooding the corridors! My team barely escaped—how did the Raskghar control them?”

“I saw them coming down with artifacts. They’re intelligent—maybe they had one that manipulates monsters?”

“There were hundreds of them. Hundreds! And they have artifacts of their own. How are we supposed to fight—”

“Wait them out? In four days they’ll lose their intelligence.”

“In four days every Gnoll they captured will be dead. I don’t understand that part. Why Gnolls? Vengeance? Food? Breeding—”

“Ancestors, no!”

“It’s a possibility. We have to hunt them down before then. But after what happened—”

“We can’t let Silver-ranks down there. Tekshia was right. This is a Gold-rank only. And we’ll struggle for every step. If there’s no safe time of day…”

“We’re going in. As soon as we replenish our potions and recharge our spells. No question of that.”

Jelaqua snapped. She was flushed, her dead-white skin slightly orange as her true body within manifested itself. Her claws trembled on her flail’s grip. An arrowhead had embedded itself in the Selphid’s body, right in the scales under her cheek, but she hadn’t pulled it out.

“So are we.”

Halrac folded his arms. His face was impassive, but Erin could feel emotion rolling off him, a hot torrent of fury and distress. The other Gold-rank Captains nodded, some dubiously.

“Of course, we’re contracted to go in. But we need a plan of attack.”

“You do. We don’t. I’m going in with my team at first light tomorrow. I’d go now, but Moore’s out of juice.”

“My team as well.”

Bevussa nodded. Keldrass spat a bit of flame from his mouth and nodded.

“The Flamewardens won’t run. We’ve taken this dungeon too lightly and paid for it. Tomorrow we’re going in. Our team will go scorched ground. Your teams will need to steer clear.”

“We’ll be using radical strategy too. Keep away from our team.”

Halrac turned. He strode away from the Gold-rank Captains, towards Revi and Typhenous. The Stitch-Girl was tending to the old [Mage], who had several scrapes on one arm. Halrac spoke sharply.

“Revi, Typhenous. We’re heading to our inn. Tomorrow at first light we’ll go in. We’re using the Griffin-kill strategy we used at Screaming Falls.”

Revi and Typhenous looked up, surprised. Revi hesitated, then nodded.

“I’m going to change up for tomorrow. The Screaming Falls strategy? Halrac, you know that last time we used it, we were banned—

“We’re fighting Raskghar. Not Griffins. Typhenous, can you cast the spells?”

The old [Mage] grimaced.

“Give me a night’s rest and I will be.”

“Good. Erin.”

Halrac turned and strode over to Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked up blankly.

“What?”

“We need your defense food. The soup or the salad. Tomorrow before dawn. Can you have it ready?”

Erin’s felt a bit of normalcy enter the world. She nodded once, and then again.

“I can.”

“Have it ready to go.”

Halrac whirled and began to stride away. Erin called out after him.

“Halrac!”

He came back. Erin grabbed his arm.

“Save Mrsha. Please? And Ceria. Tell me you can do it.”

She knew she shouldn’t have said that. But Halrac just grabbed Erin’s arm. He looked in her eyes and lied.

“We’ll find them.”

Then he was gone. Some of the other Gold-rank teams left just as fast. A good number of Silver-rank teams looked like Lyonette, uncertain if they were dreaming or having a nightmare. Erin breathed in and out heavily, and then looked around. Yvlon was standing at the center of a group of angry adventurers, trying to answer questions. Ksmvr was being ignored, and Pisces—

“Pisces!”

The [Necromancer] was walking towards the stairs. He turned as Erin called after him. Yvlon spotted him as well and shouted.

“Pisces! Come back here! We need to figure out what to do! Pisces!”

He turned his head and walked up the stairs. Yvlon fought free of the group of adventurers and raced after him.

“Pisces! Stop, damn it! We need to make a plan! We have to find Ceria—”

Pisces turned his head slowly. Yvlon stopped. The [Necromancer] had the blankest look on his face that Erin had ever seen. Anger, regret, sadness—none of it was reflected there. Yvlon let go of his arm. The [Necromancer] walked up the stairs and disappeared. Both Yvlon and Erin stared at his back.

“What was that? Is he insane? We need to prepare for the dungeon! We’ll go in with the others at dawn! Before that! Ksmvr, grab as many healing potions as you can—”

“Oh no you don’t. You’re banned from entering the dungeon.”

Yvlon spun. Falene, Dawil, and Ylawes were standing behind her. The half-Elf frowned at the stairs and then at Yvlon.

“What do you mean, I’m banned? Ceria is missing!”

Falene nodded.

“Which is precisely why you can’t be trusted in the dungeon. You’ll get yourself killed. Plus, your team’s understrength. You’ll stay right here.”

“Horseshit I will.”

The armored woman snapped. She put out her hand to brush Falene aside, but Ylawes caught it.

“Listen to Falene, sister.”

“Don’t try and stop me, Ylawes.”

“We’re doing this for your own good.”

Yvlon’s eyes narrowed. She made a fist at Falene.

“Try and stop me and I’ll tear your ears off. I’m going after Ceria.”

Dawil sighed. He grabbed his beard and tugged it unhappily.

“No you’re not, lass. And we’ll bind you in ropes and hex you until you can’t move if we have to.”

“You b—”

Erin saw a flash and covered her eyes. Ylawes grabbed Yvlon as she sagged. Dawil grunted as he lifted Yvlon’s legs.

“We’ll need to tie her down when she wakes up. I doubt she’ll want to listen to reason.”

Ylawes shook his head, looking troubled.

“She’ll understand once we explain it to her and she’s cooled down.”

The Dwarf looked up at the [Knight] and shook his head disapprovingly.

“You really don’t know your sister at all, do you? Miss Solstice, can you show us to her room?”

“Why are you stopping Yvlon? We need everyone going in after Mrsha and Ceria!”

Erin stared at the Silver Swords. Falene shook her head.

“Adventurers who rush in die. And this dungeon has shown us exactly how deadly it is. Our team will go in and support the other Gold-ranks. Naturally, we could do no less. But not Silver-rank teams.”

She sniffed. Erin stared at her, debated breaking Falene’s pretty half-Elven nose, and turned away before she did. She stormed past the adventurers, ignoring Ksmvr who was anxiously asking whether Yvlon was alright. Straight towards Olesm, Zevara, and Ilvriss. Zevara grimaced as Erin approached and turned.

“Miss Solstice.”

“How are you going to get Mrsha and Ceria back?”

The Watch Captain folded her arms.

“We’ll be doing the same thing we’ve done already. Watch the walls—in the day as well as night, now—and support the adventurers going in. We can’t do anything else. I won’t risk a single [Guardsman] in the dungeon. Even Relc would be outmatched if Gold-ranks are falling down there.”

“But Calruz has Ceria! And Mrsha!”

Zevara glowered.

“We know that. That Minotaur bastard already captured citizens of Liscor! Don’t you think we’ve been doing everything in our power already?”

“Yes, but—”

Erin realized what she was saying and bit her tongue. But this time it was Mrsha and Ceria. Zevara shook her head. She looked sympathetic, but impatient.

“I understand, Miss Solstice. I do. But I cannot help you. And I must get back to the walls in case the Raskghar hit us again.”

She hesitated.

“Olesm tells me that you were the one who raised the alarm to begin with. For what it’s worth, you saved dozens of my guardsmen and a lot of civilians. The Raskghar might have gained the wall without your warning.”

“Yeah. And I wasn’t in my inn.”

Erin looked around blankly. Zevara sighed and swished her tail before walking away. Erin stared at her door. The Raskghar had come right through that. It hadn’t been bolted or anything. Erin had been so sure they’d come at nightfall. She should have sent Mrsha into Octavia’s shop the instant her [Dangersense] had warned her. She should have raised the alarm and gotten Ceria out of there. She should have…

“We’ll find a way to get them out, Erin. The adventurers are working on a map and I’m contacting the Gnoll tribes for more information about the Raskghar. We’ll get them. The Raskghar can’t hide themselves forever. I’ll be working with the adventurers each day, and I’ll get you updates…”

Olesm was speaking to her, trying to reassure her. Erin stared at the unconvincing smile on his face until the [Strategist] had to stop. Ilvriss cleared his throat.

“Swifttail, why don’t you assist Watch Captain Zevara on the walls? And I’m sure Wing Commander Embria would appreciate an update. She has been on duty and I believe her input would be essential.”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, yes, Wall Lord Ilvriss. Erin, I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Erin replied distantly. She watched Olesm back away and then looked at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord studied her.

“Can you do anything?”

He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“If you are asking whether I will enter the dungeon with my people, the answer is no. I will double the reward for returning the missing citizens of Liscor. I can easily afford to pay that out of my own coffers. But that is the limit of my ability to help.”

“You won’t fight?”

He shook his head. There was regret in his eyes. She thought it was genuine. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I am not an adventurer. Nor am I versed in detecting traps. As a [Lord], my abilities are split between diplomacy, economy, and warfare. I am…sorry. But we must trust in the adventurers.”

“Yeah.”

Erin looked at the bewildered Silver and Gold-rank teams. She shook her head.

“Yeah. No.”

She whirled, suddenly sure of what she had to do. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue were speaking to each other, standing next to the unconscious Cave Goblin. Erin strode towards them.

“Solstice!”

Ilvriss snapped. Erin looked back at him. The Wall Lord eyed her much as Falene had looked at Yvlon.

“I’ve heard about your past exploits. Going into the dungeon would be a death sentence.”

The young woman looked silently back at Ilvriss.

“I know that. I’m not stupid.”

She walked on, making a beeline for the Goblins. Wall Lord Ilvriss stared at Erin’s back and frowned. He tapped a claw on the table and looked around.

“Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her leave the inn.”

 

—-

 

Selys jumped. She hadn’t realized that Wall Lord Ilvriss had noticed her there. She stammered and nodded.

“I’ll—I’ll try.”

Ilvriss studied Selys and nodded curtly.

“I must communicate with the Walled Cities. Until later, Miss Shivertail.”

He strode from the inn. Selys watched him go and looked around. The gathering was breaking up fast. All the adventurers were headed for the doors. All save for the Halfseekers, the Silver Swords who were going to stay the night until they could make sure that Yvlon didn’t run into the dungeon, and Halrac of Griffon Hunt. He’d gone for the doors, but Bird had stopped him.

“Mister Halrac. Everyone is very upset.”

The Antinium looked subdued as he clutched his bow worriedly. Halrac looked like the last thing he wanted to do was talk, but he let Revi and Typhenous go before him. He spoke in a voice roughened from shouting.

“Everyone is upset.”

“Oh. Is it a bad thing that has happened?”

The [Scout]’s eyes blazed.

“Yes.”

Bird rocked back and forth as he stood in front of Halrac. He looked uncertainly at the man.

“Is it…is it my fault?”

“No.”

The Worker brightened.

“Oh. That is good. I feel much better.”

He began to hum under his breath. Halrac stared at him.

“Do you not know what is happening?”

Bird shook his head cheerfully.

“No! I was in my room thinking about the bad thing I did. Then I heard many crashes. When I went to look, Lyonette was lying on the ground. So I looked for enemies. I shot at Raskghar. Who are bad. They are bad?”

He waited for Halrac to nod and then went on.

“I shot at them. Then Miss Erin ran up to get me. She said I had to come downstairs. So I did. Many people talked. But I do not know what they were talking about. Raskghar and a Calruz and more things about the dungeon. Revalantor Klbkch says that I do not need to worry about the dungeon so I do not.”

Halrac listened to Bird’s speech. He visibly wrestled with a reply, and then shook his head.

“I need to sleep.”

He stormed past Bird to the door. The Worker watched him go and then turned to Selys anxiously.

“Did I do another bad thing?”

Selys stared at him.

“No. Bird, right?”

He nodded.

“I am Bird. This all seems to be about the dungeon. And Raskghar. I am not worried about it, though. Revalantor Klbkch says that everything is going according to plan.”

The Drake bit her tongue to avoid screaming at Bird. She took a few deep breaths.

“You should worry, Bird. Mrsha is missing. So is Ceria. The Raskghar took them.”

“They did?”

Bird looked alarmed. Selys nodded. Had he not been listening? She thought of Bird and imagined him rocking back and forth, singing about birds. He had not. The Antinium looked visibly shaken.

“But Mrsha is a resident of the inn. And I am supposed to guard the inn. If Mrsha is gone, then I have failed. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”

He began to rock back and forth. Selys stared at him and took a step back.

“It’s not your fault, Bird. The Raskghar attacked when no one was expecting them. Stop that. Please.”

Bird stopped. He looked around wildly.

“Miss Ceria is gone too. I have failed twice over. She is a resident of the inn. And Ksmvr is gone. I have failed thrice over.”

“No, Ksmvr is here. He’s…”

Selys turned. She searched for Ksmvr, but the Antinium was nowhere to be found. Selys frowned.

“He was here.”

Bird moaned.

“I did not see him go up the stairs. Which means he is not upstairs or in this room. So he is outside the inn! He might have been taken by the Raskghar too!”

“No, he’s fine, Bird. I saw him just a few minutes ago. He’s fine.”

“How do you know?”

Selys had no reply to that. So she backed away. Bird kept rocking back and forth on his feet, muttering to himself about failing. He seriously creeped Selys out. The Drake looked around. She’d almost forgotten what she was doing.

“Drassi! Hey, Drassi!”

The [Barmaid] was cleaning tables. She looked worried and aimless. She jumped when Selys waved at her and then hurried over. Drassi was Selys’ friend. Normally it was impossible to shut Drassi up, but tonight the Drake looked at a loss for words. Nearly.

“Ancestors, oh, Ancestors, Selys! This is so bad! Mrsha’s gone! And Ceria too! I thought we were safe with all the Gold-rank adventurers! What do we do? What can we do? If they can’t find Mrsha—if she’s hurt or—I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t think of it!”

“Drassi! Calm down!”

Selys grabbed Drassi and shook her sharply. She felt panicked herself. Drassi blinked as Selys lowered her voice.

“You need to calm down. I need your help!”

“My help? What can I do? I’m just a [Barmaid], Selys!”

And a [Gossip]. Selys still couldn’t believe that was a class. It didn’t matter. The [Receptionist] shook herself and tightened her grip on Drassi’s arm.

“That’s fine. Keep doing what you’re doing. But I can only rely on you. Ishkr can’t leave the city. The Council ruled that aside from adventurers, no Gnoll is allowed outside the walls. That includes The Wandering Inn. So I need you to be here. Make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Lyonette?”

Drassi looked worriedly at the [Barmaid]. Lyonette was still standing in the same place, white as a sheet. Selys glanced over at her.

“Right. Her too. I meant Erin. Don’t let her out of your sight. Sleep at the inn if you have to. But don’t let her do…anything. The last time Ceria went missing, Erin went into the crypt and brought her out. This time—keep her here. I’ll try to get other people to look after her too.”

“I’ll try, but—”

Drassi bit her lip. Both Drakes looked at Erin. She was talking to the two Hobgoblins. Selys groaned.

“I know you’re afraid of the Hobs, but try, Drassi?”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of them any longer.”

“You’re not?”

Selys looked at Drassi stupidly. The Drake [Barmaid] smiled.

“Not one bit! Erin had this amazing moment with them. They were dragging the Cave Goblin out of the inn—the other one, I mean. I think they were going to kill her when Erin made them play a chess game! Okay, let me tell you what happened. First—”

Drassi! Now’s not the time!”

“Sorry.”

The other Drake closed her mouth apologetically. Selys breathed in and out heavily.

“This is a disaster. I need to get back to the Adventurer’s Guild and tell grandmother what’s happening. We need to tend to the wounded—help the adventurers get into the dungeon! I don’t know how many Silver-rank teams will even go back in. The Gold-rank teams are our only hope. They have to find Mrsha. I’m going to light a fire under their tails. You stay here. Get all of Erin’s magical food ready and make sure she doesn’t leave the inn! Got it?”

Drassi nodded anxiously. Selys turned. She felt like she was going to throw up. She had thrown up when she’d heard about Mrsha going missing. The thought of anything happening to Mrsha made Selys’ stomach lurch. She walked unsteadily towards the door and looked back at Drassi.

“The adventurers will save them. They have to. There’s no one else we can rely on.”

Drassi nodded. She looked like she was trying to believe Selys’ words. Selys was trying too. She wished she could. The Drake opened the door and walked into the rain, cursing it, cursing the Raskghar, and praying without knowing what praying was, that Mrsha and Ceria would be safe.

Only the adventurers could save Mrsha and Ceria. Only they could find the Raskghar camp. Selys had meant what she’d said. To her, the words had been true. But they were wrong.

 

—-

 

Bird was right. Ksmvr had left the inn. But the Worker was mistaken. Ksmvr hadn’t been abducted. He’d left of his own free will. He marched down the streets, rain glancing off his carapace. Yvlon and Pisces were still in the inn, he knew. But Ksmvr hadn’t told them where he was going. Yvlon was unconscious and Pisces had left. Besides which, Ksmvr didn’t belong in the team anymore. All of this was his fault.

No one had said it because it was obvious. Perhaps they were being kind to him. Ceria and Yvlon were very kind. So was Pisces, at times. But the fact was that everything was Ksmvr’s fault. Ceria’s abduction? Completely and utterly his failure. After all, he had been right there. In the prime position to stop the Raskghar. He had charged in—and been knocked aside as if he were a fly.

Everyone else had done more. Yvlon had struck a blow and actually blocked the Raskghar’s axe. Pisces had chased the Raskghar, even downed another with his rapier during the pursuit. But what had Ksmvr done?

Nothing. He was a failure. Klbkch had been right to expel him from the Hive. Ksmvr knew it in his heart. Ceria was missing. Possibly dead already. So was Mrsha. Ksmvr felt far more strongly about Ceria. She was his Captain. His leader. She had given him a place. And he had failed her.

The streets were empty the further he walked. The adventurers heading to their inns were silent, but they disappeared street by street. At last, Ksmvr was alone. No one walked where he was going. Not even the Watch patrolled this street. There was no point.

The entrance to the Antinium Hive was a dark, sloping tunnel fortified with dirt. It looked like any ant hole, really, but made a million times larger. Ksmvr hesitated at the entrance. He felt afraid as he gazed down into the Hive. He had not returned since he had been cast out.

He would have rather have jumped in the water than entered the Hive. He would do it too, if it meant returning Ceria. Without his Ring of Waterbreathing. But life wasn’t that convenient. Life, Ksmvr had realized, demanded thought. Skill. Sacrifice.

“If that is what will bring back Captain Ceria, death is nothing.”

Ksmvr reassured himself with those words. Then he walked into the Hive. He descended down the dirt ramp and paused.

Though Ksmvr had been a Prognugator for mere weeks, he had been trained to the position by the Queen herself. He knew the Hive and its defenses. Thus, Ksmvr was keenly aware of the Soldiers hidden in alcoves. They would step out and disembowel any intruder. Or rather, crush them to paste since disemboweling wasn’t enough for some monsters. It was the Hive’s first defense against unwelcome visitors. And right now, that included Ksmvr.

Death was nothing. But a meaningless death was worthless. So Ksmvr stepped forwards cautiously. He saw the darkness move and stopped.

Soldiers appeared in the tunnel. A dozen of them, their fists raised. They stared at Ksmvr, clearly warning him off. The former Prognugator hesitated, and then raised his voice.

“Move aside. I have business in the Hive with Revalantor Klbkch.”

The Soldiers didn’t move. Ksmvr hadn’t expected them to. But there was no going back. Ksmvr drew his shortsword and the enchanted dagger. His cloak swirled behind him. Soldiers were tough. If he had to fight his way through he’d have to kill them or incapacitate them fast. So many would tear him apart in moments. The Soldiers tensed—and then paused.

The former Prognugator heard a whisper in his mind. Someone—the Queen or Klbkch—had sent an order. He saw the Soldiers straighten and stand aside. Ksmvr walked past them warily, and then strode into the Hive.

Workers and Soldiers streamed through the main flow tunnels. They moved day and night. They moved like the most perfect of dancers, though their only purpose was to move as efficiently as possible from destination to destination. Ksmvr ran into the tunnel and the flow stopped as a discordant note entered it. The Workers and Soldiers stared at Ksmvr. The Antinium shouted as he brandished his shortsword.

“Step aside! I must speak to Revalantor Klbkch! Where is he?”

The Antinium looked as one, Ksmvr felt a pang of dread as he slowly turned. Workers and Soldiers parted in a wave. Klbkch stood in the entrance of a tunnel. He alone was unique. He had two arms instead of four. His body was slender, lacking the beetle-like shell of the Workers and Soldiers. A pair of silvery swords hung at his sides, as did a belt around his waist.

He stood out from the others, an Individual among the many. Ksmvr felt his stump of a fourth arm throb. He was wearing a cloak and carried the equipment of adventurers. In his way, he was as unique as Klbkch.

“Follow.”

Klbkch turned and walked back the way he’d come. Ksmvr followed as the Antinium stepped aside to make a path. He followed Klbkch, nearly running, as the Revalantor strode down the tunnels. When Klbkch stopped, it was in a place that Ksmvr recognized.

The front lines of the Hive. The place where the Hive met the dungeon. It had changed dramatically since Ksmvr had lived here. The network of tunnels was gone, replaced by a fortified kill zone manned by Workers with bows and a group of Soldiers. Dead monsters were being cleaned up even as Ksmvr watched. A pair of Antinium Workers—Belgrade and Anand—were supervising the defenses. They turned in surprise as Klbkch stopped in the center of the open space.

“So. You’ve returned. I trust you have an adequate reason for attempting to enter the Hive?”

Klbkch’s voice was clipped. Precise. He spoke without hesitation, like the perfect Prognugator that Ksmvr had aspired to be. He terrified Ksmvr. But the Antinium refused to show weakness. He opened his mandibles.

“Yes.”

“Speak, then. Why have you returned? The Queen does not desire your presence. Nor do I consider you to be an asset to the Hive.”

“I know. I am aware of my failings. But my team—the Horns of Hammerad—need aid. The Raskghar captured Captain Ceria. And Mrsha. They are being led by the former Captain of my team. Calruz.”

“Is that so.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. Disinterested. Ksmvr nodded desperately. He clicked his mandibles together.

“She must be rescued. She is an asset to Liscor! To Miss Erin’s inn! To the Hive!”

“I do not see the relevance.”

“Captain Ceria is—she is a leader! A kind and wonderful leader and mage and—and she will be saved! It is unacceptable that she die. Unacceptable! She must be rescued! I request—I demand that the Hive send Soldiers to locate and retrieve her unharmed!”

Behind Klbkch, both Anand and Belgrade stirred. They looked uneasily at Klbkch. The Revalantor looked up slowly.

“You may demand nothing, Ksmvr. You were expelled from this Hive for incompetence and failure. You are not of the Free Antinium.”

The words pierced Ksmvr’s chest like one of Halrac’s arrows. He actually staggered and felt cold despair—emptiness clawing at his very soul. If he wasn’t part of the Hive, what was he? iF HE wASn’T anTINiUm, wHAT wAs—

A vision of Yvlon flashed in front of Ksmvr.  She was showing him how to hold his shortsword. He saw Ceria offering him one of her raw eggs, saw Pisces brushing his hair back and smiling before a lecture.

The world stabilized around Ksmvr. He stood taller, gripped the hilt of his shortsword. He was a Horn of Hammerad. Even if he had no Hive, he had a team. That gave him the strength. Ksmvr drew his shortsword and the enchanted dagger. He heard Belgrade gasp, and saw the Soldiers and Workers turn as one.

“Hold.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. He studied Ksmvr carefully.

“What are you doing, Ksmvr?”

“Revalantor Klbkch. I challenge you for the position of Revalantor.”

Ksmvr was amazed at how steady his voice sounded. Klbkch paused. Ksmvr had never seen him surprised, but for a brief moment he thought the other Antinium was. Then Klbkch shook his head.

“The Antinium do not decide such matters by challenge.”

“I know. Nevertheless, I challenge you.”

“And if I refuse?”

Ksmvr shifted his grip on the shortsword’s hilt.

“I will attempt to kill you and take the position anyways.”

“I see. In that case, I accept your challenge. It is meaningless either way.”

Klbkch drew his silvery swords. The sound rang through the large chamber. The Antinium watched in silence. Ksmvr and Klbkch held perfectly still. They did not walk around each other. They did not speak. The instant Klbkch had drawn his swords, Ksmvr had tensed. He had one chance. And it was beyond slim.

There was no doubt that Klbkchhezeim the Slayer was far stronger than Ksmvr. He had led the Hive before Ksmvr had been created, long before. He was a master with the twin blades he carried. Nevertheless, he had a weakness. He had gone through the Rite of Anastases. He had lost his levels. Plus, his swords weren’t enchanted. Ksmvr’s were.

He had an enchanted shortsword and the Flamecoat Dagger. That was his real weapon, the one Ksmvr was counting on. One cut from it and he’d set Klbkch ablaze. And his cloak could probably take a blow from Klbkch’s swords. Ksmvr could use his Ring of Jumping—no, Klbkch would cut him apart as he landed. Keep it simple.

Ksmvr moved first. He lunged at Klbkch, jabbing with his shortsword. At the same time he swung his dagger, aiming for Klbkch’s leg. He was hoping that Klbkch would slice his arm off, give him a moment to touch the Antinium. One touch was all he needed. Klbkch moved the instant Ksmvr did. His swords rose and fell.

Fast.

The Antinium blurred. He blocked Ksmvr’s shortsword with his left blade, forcing the Shortsword off-target. With his other, he batted aside the Flamecoat Dagger. The instant that the silver sword met the dagger, it burst into flame. Klbkch regarded the flaming blade in surprise. Even the handle was ablaze.

That was the gap Ksmvr needed. The Antinium cut at Klbkch’s chest, shouting desperately.

“[Quick Slash]!”

He had gained that Skill after the Face-Eater Moth attack. Ksmvr’s blade shot towards Klbkch’s chest. The Revalantor dropped his flaming blade, gripped his sword in both hands, and leaned back. Ksmvr missed. The Antinium saw Klbkch step backwards and his blade flashed. The silvery light was beautiful as art. It cut as deep as despair.

Klbkch cut twice. His blade sheared into Ksmvr’s carapace both times. Klbkch yanked his blade away. It was green with blood. Ksmvr collapsed. The Revalantor studied him and kicked Ksmvr onto his back. He reached for his belt and produced a bottle. He uncorked it, poured the contents onto Ksmvr, and turned away.

“Take this failure out of the Hive and leave him on the streets.”

On the ground, Ksmvr could only stare up in shock. The cold pain to his insides had come and gone so suddenly he was still processing it. But he knew what had happened. He had failed. But still, as the Workers scurried forwards to reach him, he tried again.

“Please—”

He reached for Klbkch, not caring about pride. The Revalantor stepped away from him, not even deigning to look down. Ksmvr collapsed. He wept and shook without tears. He was a failure. A complete, utter—

“Anand, how many Soldiers have been assembled yet?”

The [Tactician] straightened.

“A full wave, Revalantor Klbkch. Ready to attack on your orders.”

Ksmvr froze. Klbkch nodded, satisfied. He turned back to Ksmvr and spoke casually.

“We are launching an attack on the dungeon. This has nothing to do with your request.”

“You’re attacking the dungeon?”

Klbkch seemed to contemplate whether Ksmvr deserved an answer. He nodded abruptly.

“Of course. Now is the opportune time. For the Hive’s ends. The monster influx has drastically reduced and the presence of both the Raskghar and adventurers have thinned the monster population.”

“Then allow me to help. I will fight. Please—”

“No. The Hive does not need you. Go back to your team and serve them instead.”

Klbkch turned away. The Workers hauled Ksmvr backwards. He stared at Klbkch’s back until it was out of sight. Ksmvr did not dare to hope. If Klbkch was pursuing the Hive’s objectives, he wouldn’t try to rescue Ceria or Mrsha. But Ksmvr hoped anyways. He had nothing left.

 

—-

 

When he was sure that Ksmvr was out of earshot, Klbkch turned back to Belgrade and Anand. He nodded as if nothing had happened.

“As I was saying. Belgrade. Your defenses are useful against the monsters. They will crumble against any kind of formation with a magic user in it. I want you to study Antinium pit traps and learn how to dig them efficiently.”

“Pit traps? Revalantor Klbkch? I mean, yes! What kind of pit traps?”

Belgrade started nervously. He was the more timid of the two. Anand, who was outspoken and far more assertive, stared at Klbkch and the trail of Ksmvr’s blood, clearly nonplussed. Klbkch ignored him.

“Antinium pit traps, Belgrade. It is unique to the Hive. A spiked pit trap or one that relies on gravity takes too long. Antinium pit traps were employed by the Hives during both Antinium Wars. A Soldier digs himself into the earth and waits for a target to pass above. With the correct timing and position, he will be able to slay most magic-users and lower-level officers.”

“I see. But wouldn’t that mean the Soldier—”

Belgrade paused. His mandibles pressed together, the Antinium version of a gulp. Klbkch nodded dispassionately.

“Naturally that Soldier would be sacrificed. Anand, I want you to attempt to create a better variety of bow for our Workers to use. Bird’s abilities would be invaluable to have. Our primitive bow designs have not been updated. Take a budget out of the Hive’s treasury and experiment with materials to create a cost-efficient bow and arrows.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

Anand replied promptly, but Klbkch wasn’t satisfied. He studied the Worker’s response. Body language, the way they shifted and looked at each other. It wasn’t something he’d ever imagined having to do before this, but Belgrade and Anand, these new Individuals were…different. Klbkch had never met Antinium like them before. They had personality like true Antinium, and yet they were not. They had…moods. They could disobey. They would disobey. So he watched and waited. After a second, Anand voiced what was clearly on his mind.

“Revalantor Klbkch, may I make a suggestion?”

“Speak.”

“Why are the Workers to be armed with bows made in the Hive? Would it not be more cost-efficient to arm them with bows produced by high-level craftspeople. And on that note, would not a crossbow be a simpler weapon to distribute to Workers?”

Klbkch considered the question. It was a good one. It spoke to Anand’s thoughtfulness. Klbkch had been working with both [Tacticians] of late to improve their effectiveness. And to impress on them what was important to the Hive. He shook his head as he cleaned Ksmvr’s blood off his blade. Klbkch stooped to pick up the other silvery blade, which was slightly blackened with soot. The enchanted dagger had surprised him. It showed that Ksmvr was learning. Good.

“I do not intend to buy the Hive’s arms. And the Drake cities monitor and prohibit mass shipments of weapons to the Antinium. If you are able to design and manufacture crossbows in the Hive, I will consider implementing their usage.”

“I understand.”

“Very well. Send the first wave to the eastern dungeon entrance. They will await me there. Have you any more questions?”

The two Workers paused. Anand delicately scratched his antennae.

“So, Calruz is the leader of the Raskghar? That is fascinating. Revalantor Klbkch, are we to make the Minotaur a target? It appears that his raids have significantly hindered Liscor and the adventurer’s progress in the dungeon.”

“That is so. However, I do not deem it necessary to target the Minotaur. Or the Raskghar for that matter. I will insist on stationing a guard of Painted Soldiers in Erin’s inn at all times, though. The assault on her inn could have resulted in her injury or death, which would have been unacceptable.”

Anand nodded. He hesitated.

“Erin does care for Mrsha and Ceria, though. Revalantor Klbkch, if I might add a secondary objective to your raid?”

“That will not be necessary, Anand. If I locate Mrsha or Ceria, I will do everything feasible to retrieve them.”

The two Workers looked at each other. Anand raised a finger.

“But you told Ksmvr—”

Klbkch sheathed his swords briskly.

“Do not mistake my words to Ksmvr, Anand. He is an asset to the Hive, although he does not know it yet. It suits the Hive that he learn from adventurers. Retrieving Ceria and Mrsha is a priority, if not the main one.”

Anand cocked his head sideways thoughtfully.

“Ah. So you lied to him. Why are you telling us?”

“It is important that you understand the goals of this Hive. As [Tacticians], you are responsible for more than just the security of the Hive. The Queen and I both desire you to take on larger duties. When you are ready, I will inform you of longer-term objectives. For now, it is enough that you consider Ksmvr an asset in development. And it is crucial that he not learn of this fact.”

“We understand.”

Belgrade spoke for the two of them. Anand turned.

“The Soldiers have arrived.”

A rank of gleaming carapaces followed his comment. Klbkch turned and saw a stream of Soldiers marching into the chamber. Their bodies were dark black-brown, gleaming, unscratched and freshly formed. New Soldiers, freshly made to serve the Hive. They formed into perfect ranks and marched down a tunnel past the Antinium. Klbkch nodded.

“I will commence the assault on the dungeon shortly. I expect to take at least 60% casualties.”

“Out of a thousand Soldiers. Devastating.”

Belgrade murmured uncertainly. Klbkch nodded.

“A necessary sacrifice. If I am slain, you will report to the Queen. Another detail. You will not tell Pawn of this operation, especially in regards to the number of casualties.”

Anand paused.

“A curious order.”

Klbkch’s voice was icy.

“I expect it to be followed.”

“Are you not afraid that we will disobey?”

For a second Klbkch felt his hand twitch towards his swords. What a question! If he had not known Anand, he would have assumed the Worker was an Aberration. He checked himself and then responded.

“No. As [Tacticians], you understand that Pawn’s actions are erratic. His abilities benefit the Hive greatly, but he is unable to sacrifice the lives of Workers and Soldiers to achieve an objective.”

“I see. Thank you for clarifying that, Revalantor Klbkch. I agree with your thinking.”

The Worker nodded. Belgrade looked at Anand uncertainly. Klbkch weighed the odds of Belgrade informing Pawn. If it happened he would deal with it. He moved onto the next point in his mind without dwelling on the consequences unduly.

“Stand by to send reinforcements. You will not be risked on this assault, but your abilities will be needed to analyze traps and the dungeon’s layout. An Antinium will be carrying a scrying mirror which you will use.”

Again, Belgrade and Anand were visibly surprised. Anand clicked his mandibles together sharply.

“A scrying mirror? I was not aware the Hive had such artifacts.”

“The Hive has stockpiled a number of magical items. The scrying mirrors in particular are useful to the Queens during battle. Take care not to damage either artifact. They are the only two in the Hive’s possession.”

“What of the one possessed by the strange Antinium in the Queen’s chamber?”

This time Klbkch definitely twitched. He forced his hand away from the blade at his side. This was normal. For Individuals. He looked at Anand and injected as much frost into his voice as he could.

“Your inquisitiveness is an asset, Anand. Do not employ it in matters regarding the Queen.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

“Monitor the progress of the Soldiers. Analyze the monsters and traps and update the existing map of the dungeon with relevant details. I will commence the assault now.”

Klbkch strode down the tunnel before the other two could reply. He did not want to entertain any more questions. It was a relief to stride past the Soldiers who moved silently out of the way. Klbkch reached the entrance to the dungeon—a caved in wall that opened into a dark corridor. The same one the Horns of Hammerad and the Silver Swords had ‘accidentally’ stumbled into. That had been inconvenient in the extreme.

Individuals. Strange new Antinium who were not True Antinium, but were more than the half-made Soldiers and Workers that were what the world knew of as Antinium. Klbkch didn’t know how to deal with them. He had had problems understanding Pawn. By contrast, Belgrade and Anand were easier, but they asked questions that Klbkch was not accustomed to answering.

Drones, the mindless Soldiers and Workers, were easier. Klbkch paused at the entrance to the dungeon. The Soldiers stared ahead, patient as rocks. Klbkch unsheathed his swords and pointed.

“The first rank will follow me! Avoid designated spots and engage any monsters at will!”

The Soldiers snapped to attention. Klbkch led the charge into the dungeon at a run, the Soldiers following on his heels. He pointed with his sword to a spot on the right side of the corridor. Instantly, the Soldiers shifted left, hugging the wall, avoiding the trap.

Yes, this was easier. The drones the Queens had made weren’t True Antinium either, but they were close in many ways. They did not ask questions. All he had to do was order and they obeyed. They were part of the Hive. Not perfectly part of it, but close enough.

Behind Klbkch, a Soldier stumbled. He stepped onto the trap and vanished. Teleported somewhere, or perhaps just disintegrated. He was lost either way. Klbkch saw the Soldiers correct their footing, give the trap a wider berth. Klbkch didn’t waste time grimacing over the lost Soldier. Many more would die before the night ended.

The first group of monsters they came across was a patrol of enchanted armor. The metallic suits immediately charged the Antinium, not heeding exactly how many there were. Klbkch ran straight past them, hearing the crash and thumps as the Soldiers tore the suits apart.

Drones were useful. The problem was, these Antinium weren’t even perfect as thoughtless warriors. Even Soldiers and Workers who weren’t Individual developed…personality after living for a year or two in Liscor. They could be erratic, so Klbkch had requested freshly made Soldiers for this assault. They would not break or hesitate.

“How inconvenient.”

Klbkch sighed as he avoided another trap, leaping over the trapped floor tiles and then sprinting into combat with a group of humongous caterpillars which exploded as Soldiers tackled them. He maneuvered past the traps and led the Soldiers on automatically. His new body felt light and agile and he had memorized the Antinium’s map of the dungeon. Countless raids into the dungeon had allowed the Antinium to perfectly pinpoint all of the traps—by letting Soldiers and Workers run onto the traps in previous assaults. They had been costly. But this time Klbkch’s progress was smooth. The Soldiers trampled all the monsters he came across and soon Klbkch was at his first destination.

A treasure chest sat in the center of a small room, complete with running water and flowers. A bit of sunlight shone down, a final touch of irony by whomever had created the trap. It was so obviously a trap, but the allure of the chest was enough to overcome the sense of danger to most adventurers. However, the trap was deadly enough. Klbkch paused at the corridor and pointed.

“Soldiers will proceed into the room and attempt to open the chest. Move one at a time after the trap has activated. Stand clear until the preceding Soldier has perished.”

The Antinium backed up. Not just down the corridor—this particular trap didn’t just affect the room it was in, but both adjacent corridors. Klbkch pointed.

“Go.”

The first Soldier went. Klbkch heard it charge forwards, and then saw the trap activate. The corridor in front of him twisted. Klbkch heard a snapping sound and knew without looking that the Soldier had been wrenched violently in every direction, like Erin wringing out a rag.

“Next.”

The next Soldier ran forwards without hesitation. Klbkch waited patiently, hearing a group of monsters run into the Soldiers queued up behind him. He had time to think as the trap activated and the next Soldier ran forwards. By the fifteenth Soldier, they had to drag the bodies of their companions out of the way before attempting to open the chest.

The irony was that the Individuals, the five Workers, Pawn, Belgrade, Anand, Garry, and Bird, were actually better than the true Antinium Workers of the past. They could level exponentially quickly by Antinium standards—they were, in a way, closer to the Prognugators, rare autonomous Antinium destined to be leaders. But as for the rest? Klbkch shook his head.

“Individuals triumph as singular entities or small groups. But the true Antinium linked could still tear these Painted Soldiers apart.”

He felt that was true, at least as it applied to the Painted Soldiers of Pawn’s unique unit as they were. If they had ten more levels each? Perhaps. But the true Antinium Soldiers—the ones who were truly of the Hive and not replicas made by Queens trying to rediscover lost forms and techniques were stronger to begin with. And they fought as one.

Any [Drillmaster] would have been offended by Klbkch’s statement. After all, the Antinium Soldiers fought like the most finely-trained unit in the world. But in the past, Antinium Soldiers in Rhir had fought like a single thought. And it was impossible to break their morale. Their will was magnified a thousand times together, as was their ability to react to any situation. Whereas here…

It was possible to break Antinium Soldiers. Not easy, but Klbkch had seen it done in both Antinium Wars. When Soldiers died by the thousands or tens of thousands they lost their will to fight. They became aimless, rather than a disciplined fighting force. Again, not something the true Antinium had ever faced. They had lived and died in service to the Hives. Much like Klbkch himself, death was a necessity, not an end. Which made Pawn’s ideals all the stranger to Klbkch.

Speaking of which…Klbkch looked up. The forty second Soldier had returned. He was undamaged—and he was holding something in his hands. A pair of crystalline daggers, which shone bright pink despite the lack of light. Klbkch eyed them.

“Was there anything else in the chest?”

The Soldier shook his head. Klbkch did the same.

“Deficient. A trap that can only function forty one times before failing is no trap at all. Bring the artifacts to the Hive. You. Smash the chest.”

Another Soldier ran forwards as the lucky Soldier retreated. Klbkch nodded and set off at another dead run. There were two more treasure sites the Antinium had located that they hadn’t managed to plunder. He repeated the ‘trick’ again, waiting patiently as Soldiers went in and didn’t come out. Some traps could activate indefinitely, but most had a finite amount of energy they could expend before having to recharge. The breaks gave him time to think some more.

These Drones. Yes, they were convenient. Yes, they achieved objectives. But they weren’t as good as true Antinium. They just weren’t. He had to order them now along with sending the mental projections only he and his Queen were able to use. In the past, all Klbkch would have had to do was think and it would have been done.

True Antinium were broadcasters as well as receivers. They were linked, not tenuously held together like these half-Antinium. Yet, Klbkch thought of Xrn’s words and felt a pang. She was right. It wasn’t their fault that they had never known what they should be. It was not their fault they were ill-formed. The Free Queen had done her best. And they were still capable of becoming Individual. It was something.

Someone stood in front of him. Klbkch looked up and realized the third trapped treasure room had been cleared. The Soldier was half-dead. A pair of ghostly blades sprouted from his chest. He was bleeding, but he didn’t move. He held a handful of gems carved into eyes in his hands. Were they cursed? Klbkch would find a way to appraise them later. He eyed the Soldier.

“Return to the Hive with a companion.”

The Soldier turned and began running with another Soldier. He left a trail of blood behind. Klbkch studied it, and then did a rough count of the Soldiers remaining. They stood in rows, many damaged from encounters with the monsters or traps.

Five hundred and…twenty one. A good number considering his projections to Anand and Belgrade. And enough that Klbkch thought that it was worth pressing ahead. The Antinium had mapped out the dungeon in every direction, but progress without dedicated trap finders was slow. If he ordered the Soldiers into unknown territory they would die by the hundreds. Not to the monsters so much as the traps. That was why the adventurers were necessary.

But Ceria and Mrsha were missing and Erin cared for both of them. Klbkch made a decision.

“Soldiers! You will charge the next corridor. Move in waves, staggered ten feet apart. Avoid any traps encountered. Slay any monsters. If you come across non-hostiles, hold back and wait for my arrival.”

These Soldiers wouldn’t know what a Gnoll or half-Elf looked like after all. Klbkch checked the Soldiers, looking to see if they would break. They made no reaction to his statement. Good Drones.

And each one of these could be a Painted Soldier. Could be an Individual, like Pawn or Belgrade.

Klbkch paused. Where had that thought come from? He looked at the Soldiers and mentally shook himself. If he started valuing the lives of Drones over objectives, the Hive would surely perish. Pawn had his place, but the Antinium lived by sacrificing. These Soldier’s lives didn’t matter.

And yet, Klbkch’s mind denied that logical conclusion. It reminded him of the True Antinium. Klbkch paused as the Soldiers braced themselves for the charge, for the unknown and death. Slowly, Klbkch walked in front of them. The Soldiers looked at him, expectant. The Revalantor of the Free Antinium looked towards the dark dungeon ceiling. When he spoke, it was not in the voice of command, but in a carrying, loud tone.

“What I am about to tell you probably will not matter. I do not believe many of you will survive. Perhaps none of you will. You are worthless as individuals. And I have no expectations of you.”

The Soldiers stared at him. For the first time in their short lives, they were confused. Klbkch went on.

“You will be sacrificed for the goals of the Hive. This is fitting. However…if you die here, you are dust. You will be forgotten. As if you never existed.”

The Soldiers were silent. Klbkch felt the most inaudible of ripples go through them. This was how you created Aberrations, even among Soldiers. He remembered the old tests he’d done with his Queen, trying to provoke Individuality among the Antinium. Failing. How had Erin done it? He went on.

“If you die, you are gone. You will not be remembered. Perhaps the Soldier next to you will remember, or the one behind. But they will die soon as well. You will be forgotten. You will be nothing to the Hive or to me. But. Fifty years ago, centuries ago…if you died, you would be remembered. By all the Antinium who lived. The instant you were created, you would know why you existed, why you fought. You would never be alone. Those were the true Antinium. And you are only copies. Fragments of what they were.”

The Soldiers were silent. Klbkch lowered his head. He remembered them all. He remembered them all. Every nameless Soldier and Worker and all the Queens and every Antinium who had lived and died. They were part of him. One of the last True Antinium. When he straightened, it was with the weight of his species on his shoulders.

“Those days are gone. They may never return. But for what might have been, what was, and what we seek to reclaim, fight. Fight, and show me what kind of Antinium you truly are. Fight and be remembered. Now. Charge.

The Soldiers moved in a soundless wave. They made no sound save for the hammering of their footsteps on the ground. They rushed past Klbkch, into the darkness. Into death. Klbkch watched them go and then shook his head.

“A pointless speech. What flaws am I developing?”

No one answered him. Klbkch concentrated. He spoke out loud, projecting his thoughts to the only other True Antinium close enough to hear him. In ages past, Klbkch could have reached out and communicated to another True Antinium a hundred miles away with ease.

“My Queen, we have obtained our three objectives. Permission to send a second wave into the dungeon?”

It will be done. They will rally at the eastern entrance.

“My thanks, my Queen.”

Klbkch ran back the way he had come. He stopped only to skirmish with a pair of Face-Eater Moths. When he reached the dungeon entrance his blades were still wet with their blood. Over a thousand Soldiers and Workers stood ready. The Queen must have determined that they had Workers to spare. Klbkch raised his voice.

“Time to launch the counter offensive. Soldiers, charge the western tunnel! Avoid traps! Engage monsters! Avoid non-combatants! Workers, follow me!”

A thousand Soldiers raced into the dungeon. Klbkch strode forwards. There would be death tonight. Death. But the Antinium knew death. And this dungeon was a foe worthy of every Hive. Too long the Antinium had been on the defensive. Now, for the first time they were fighting back. Klbkch wished he could feel happier about it. But he thought of the Soldiers who would be forgotten. For the first time in aeons, he wondered if he were growing too old. Then he shook off his doubts and charged into the dungeon. And the monsters fled and died as the black tide flowed forth.

 

—-

 

Workers and Soldiers rushed into the dungeon, fighting, dying, sending fear into the hearts of even the most primitive of monsters. Shield Spiders fled. Flesh Worms fell, screaming. The Raskghar howled in alarm and retreated rather than fight. The stream of Antinium could not last forever, after all.

And sure enough, the last of the thousand-some Antinium passed down the corridor, their footsteps echoing like distant thunder. Only then did the Worker with the bow dare to emerge. Bird peeked his head around the corner and watched as the last Worker raced past him. He’d pretended to follow Klbkch, but he hadn’t been ordered to join the fighting, so he didn’t. He didn’t like crowds, anyways. Bird stepped forwards, then looked around. He took a corridor none of the Antinium had run down and began walking down it.

“I am Bird. And I have done bad things. I must do a good thing. So I will find Mrsha.”

Bird had understood more than Halrac and Selys had assumed. He knew there was a dungeon. And he knew the Raskghar were in it. And since they had taken Mrsha, it made sense that Bird would find her or the Raskghar if he walked around long enough. That was his plan. It was a good plan, without flaws in Bird’s opinion. He walked along, humming. After a while he began to shout.

“Mrsha? Are you there? Hello? Mrsha? And Ceria? Where are you?”

The dungeon echoed with his voice. Undeterred, Bird kept shouting as loud as he could. It was night. He had to be back by morning or Erin would be angry. She would not serve him his unborn birds for breakfast, or his fried bird flesh that he loved so much. Bird walked forwards, happily carrying his bow. It was his special bow. His Queen had let him buy it.

Around him the dungeon stirred. Things woke up and began to move towards the shouting Antinium. Bird took no notice. At first.

 

—-

 

Someone else watched Bird walk down the tunnel. A skeleton. He’d been following the Antinium as well, and had noticed Bird’s aberrant behavior. Toren paused as he bent over a dead Raskghar which had been beaten to death by a horde of Workers and Soldiers. First the angry beast-men got stronger and smarter, and then the adventurers came—now the Antinium? The dungeon was getting crowded recently!

Still it meant more dead bodies. Toren shrugged. He’d take that. The skeleton bent down and began dragging the dead Raskghar back towards his inn. If he had lips and lungs he would have whistled. More bodies for him. He was starting a collection. And she was happy with all the new adventurers too. All in all, both Torens felt pretty good about death at the moment.

He wondered what all the fuss was about.

 

—-

 

“You know they’ll come down after you. You have to know that.”

Even if you are insane. Ceria looked up at Calruz. The Minotaur was sitting in his squalid ‘personal chambers’. He had a dirty mattress made up of the cleanest and softest pieces of cloth the Raskghar had, and they had drawn a clumsy curtain around his ‘room’ for privacy. The Minotaur sat, polishing a huge axe with one edge that shone with magic. He grunted.

“I know.”

He raised his head and listened. Ceria heard a Raskghar’s howl, barely audible at the distance they were at, reverberate down the tunnels. Calruz grimaced.

“Antinium. My Raskghar have fought them in years past, apparently. They are launching an assault. There are thousands of them in the tunnels.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?”

“They’ll be dead soon enough. The Antinium do not hold the dungeon. Wise of them. The adventurers will encounter the same problem. There are enough monsters to bury two Antinium Hives down here. Only someone who knows the dungeon will be able to navigate without fighting constantly.”

“Like your Raskghar.”

Calruz looked up, pleased. He was sane, or pretending to be. But he spoke about the death of other adventures and Antinium as if it were the most natural thing.

“Exactly. The adventurers will not find the Raskghar camp. They are too well hidden, too deep in the dungeon and I move the camp nightly between set locations. My expedition will not be set back.”

“Sounds like you’ve prepared for everything.”

Ceria’s sarcastic tone made Calruz raise his eyebrows.

“You disagree?”

“You’re underestimating the adventurers. There are Gold-rank teams. I know some of them. They won’t give up. And the dungeon won’t kill them.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Calruz snorted and turned back to his axe, clearly unimpressed. Ceria closed her eyes. Her hands were squeezed behind her back. She was still numb with horror, but she knew what she had to do. Silently, unnoticed by Calruz or anyone else, Ceria flicked her fingers. The tiny butterfly appeared. It was made of fire and light. Illusion magic. The only one she knew. It flickered between her fingers and then vanished.

If anyone had seen it, it would have looked like a failed spell. But it wasn’t. The butterfly flew—not to any spot around Ceria or in the dungeon—but to the one person to whom the spell was meant to find.

Sitting in his room in The Wandering Inn, Pisces ignored Yvlon’s screams of fury and the argument she was having with Ylawes. He ignored the rain falling overhead, ignored his hunger as he worked. The pile of bones sitting in front of him was enormous.

Bones flew up and rearranged themselves, forming shapes, bending, cracking, reshaping themselves as the [Necromancer] willed it. He stared at the creation in front of him, barely blinking. Sweat ran into his right eye. Pisces didn’t move. Only when he saw the flash of light and the tiny butterfly did he look up.

Pisces remembered. He remembered sitting in Wistram, talking with Ceria when they had still been the closest of friends. His mouth formed the words he’d spoken so long ago.

“Naturally, a [Message] spell is the height of folly in the Academy. Any competent student should understand that. The potential for interception by an older mage is beyond—”

“So what’s the solution, Pisces? Stop showing off your vocabulary. If we want to trade secrets, how do we do it without everyone knowing?”

“We create a spell, obviously.”

“Uh huh. A new spell. All by ourselves. Hey, why don’t I carve a magic wand out of my sideboard while I’m at it?”

“Don’t be so hasty to disparage, Ceria. A simple illusion spell would do the trick. All we would have to do is, ah, customize it. Encode messages so that only we would understand what each spells says. Perhaps a cipher?”

“…Go on. And explain what a cipher is, first.”

Pisces smiled as the little butterfly landed on his finger, flashing a dizzying array of colors only he and Ceria would know to look for, much less interpret. It had taken them months, but in the end not even Calvaron could crack their code, and he had seen them using the spell countless times. It was a spell only they shared, a spell only they could read. Ceria didn’t actually know [Message]. She’d never bothered to learn. But this?

He could read the words she sent him, though the butterfly had to spell them out. The message repeated itself. Ceria had to form it before sending and then it played itself until it vanished. Pisces read the words.

Alive. I’m alive. Gnolls alive. Mrsha alive. Dungeon. Raskghar.

That was the first butterfly he’d seen. The second’s message was simpler.

Calruz. Enemy. Calruz. Chieftain.

“I know. I know.”

Pisces closed his eyes. He rubbed them, feeling exhaustion creeping in. Then he looked at the bones. They rose and shaped themselves into a skull, a creature that had never walked the earth, with three tusks and serrated teeth. Pisces changed the shape of the skull, added more teeth. He abandoned the design and tried to construct a foot.

“I know.”

Unconsciously, he made a fist. His fingernails cut into his flesh. Blood dripped down onto the floorboards. Pisces didn’t notice. The bones kept dancing, long into the night.

 

—-

 

Erin stood with Rabbiteater and Numbtongue, staring at the small Cave Goblin. He was bruised. Battered. The questioning had been horrible to watch. She hadn’t stopped it. Nor would she have again. That was what made Erin feel like a terrible person. But she thought of Mrsha.

“She’s down there. She’s alive. So is Ceria. Calruz wouldn’t kill Ceria, and Ceria wouldn’t let Mrsha die. So she’s alive. But only the adventurers are going in and only the Gold-rank teams. They’ll never make it in time.”

Both Hobs looked at Erin. She took a deep breath.

“I know we had Plan G. Well—I’m abandoning it. This is more important. ”

She looked at them, pleadingly.

“You’re an adventuring team. I know you’ve never taken a request—but please. Please. Find them. Find Mrsha and Ceria. I’ll give you everything I’ve got. Find them and I’ll do anything. Please.”

She felt hollow inside. Hollow and useless. And weak. For a moment Erin wished she were as big as Moore, as strong as Dawil, capable of casting magic like Pisces. Someone who could walk into the dungeon and find Mrsha. Someone who could kill—

Erin’s hands shook. She remembered a burning Goblin dying in her kitchen. No. She didn’t want that. But she never wanted to see the dead little Gnoll in her mind become reality either. She looked at the two Hobs, tears in her eyes.

“Please.”

Rabbiteater looked at Numbtongue. The surly Hob hesitated. He reached out and grabbed Erin’s hand. She looked up at him through blurred eyes. Numbtongue’s voice was soft.

“We will.”

The two Hobs turned and strode for the boats. Erin watched them flip the boat over and then begin paddling across the water. She wiped her eyes and prayed for their success. Then she went into the inn. Drassi watched her anxiously from the windows, but Erin had no intention of leaving. She had a lot of cooking to do. It was all she could do and it would matter.

 

—-

 

Adventurers. Goblins. Antinium. Pisces. All of them had their own reasons. Their own goals and methods. But as night fell on Liscor, the varied races and peoples of the city, above and beneath, found a common purpose. They prepared. They made plans. They were angry.

The next day they set the dungeon on fire.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.40

Yvlon Byres woke up and realized two things. Firstly, that Falene had hit her with a sleep spell. And secondly, that she’d been tied to her bed.  With a spell. The magical bindings looked like they were barely more than strips of glowing cloth, but no matter how hard Yvlon struggled and cursed, she couldn’t make the crisscrossing bands of light shift at all. They were webbing her to her bed.

In armor. With the blankets covering her up to her neck. Someone had even put a pillow under her head. Ylawes, probably. Damn him. It was sweltering with both armor and blankets on—it was that heat and the unpleasant sweat that had woken Yvlon up. She struggled, cursed, and then noticed something right in front of her.

Someone else had put a sandwich right on her chest, so that Yvlon could tilt her head forwards and bite it if she was hungry. That was probably Dawil. Yvlon stared at it, and then swore.

YLAWES!

Her scream of frustration went unanswered. Yvlon craned her head, trying to look around. The Silver Swords had put her in her room and judging by the three chairs, they’d been present for a good while. But they weren’t here now and Yvlon could see the sky was brighter. Rain was pattering against the window as always, but she would have bet anything it was morning.

“That damn half-Elf put me to sleep until morning? Falene! Take this spell off me! Ylawes! Where are you?”

Normally Yvlon would have expected her brother to be about. He always had thought of himself as her guardian, whether she liked it or not. But he didn’t arrive. And neither did anyone else.

Yvlon strained against the magical ropes holding her down. What was this spell? She hadn’t journeyed with many [Mages]—the Silver Spears hadn’t had any—and neither Ceria nor Pisces were on Falene’s level. Then again, maybe this was just a Tier 3 spell. The only problem was that the ropes bound Yvlon’s arms and legs so she couldn’t exert any real kind of force.

Is anyone there? Let me out! Hello?

Yvlon bellowed, but she couldn’t hear anyone. Where was Erin? Lyonette? …Bird? Had the Silver Swords convinced them not to let Yvlon go?

“I have to find Ceria! Let me go! She’s my teammate! If you can hear me—I really need to visit the outhouse!

That last admission made Yvlon flush, but it was a real and growing concern. Yvlon screamed as loud as she could and, at last, the door opened.

“Hello Comrade Yvlon.”

Ksmvr walked into the room. He looked down at his feet and he was hunched over, appearing smaller than normal. Yvlon stared at him in surprise, then relief.

“Ksmvr! Help me break this enchantment!”

“Miss Falene told me not to. So did Mister Ylawes. They told me you would get yourself injured or hurt if I did.”

“What? That arrogant pointy-eared—ignore them. Ceria’s down below, Ksmvr! We need to save her!”

“But the Gold-rank teams are already in the dungeon.”

Yvlon swore. It was later than she’d thought. She twisted as hard as she could and succeeded in knocking the sandwich off her chest.

“Ksmvr, we need to enter the dungeon too.”

“We will not make a difference. We will only get hurt.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Ksmvr, come on.”

Yvlon frowned at Ksmvr. Agitated as she was, she could still tell that something was wrong with him. Normally the Antinium would be jumping to follow her slightest suggestions. She’d expected him to be trying to enter the dungeon on his own. But Ksmvr looked deflated.

“I cannot be a good part of the team, Yvlon. I will not be able to protect you or function as an adequate member of the Horns of Hammerad. I have failed our group twice now. I have no place here. I have been writing my letter of resignation.”

He looked down at his feet. Yvlon stared at him.

“Ksmvr, what are you talking about? You’re not a failure.”

The Antinium shook his head.

“I am. I am worthless. I went to Revalantor Klbkch for help, but I was unable to scratch him or persuade him to help me find Ceria. And it was my failure to stop the Raskghar that led to Captain Ceria’s abduction.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

Yvlon shouted. Ksmvr started. Yvlon’s face turned red as she heaved. She heard the bed crack, but the magical bindings did not.

“You—did—nothing—wrong! We were all there and we—failed—too! Damn! You went to see Klbkch? I got knocked out from a single spell by Falene! If you’re a failure, what does that make me? We both made mistakes, Ksmvr. But are you going to let Ceria die if no one else can find her? Are you her friend? Are you my teammate or not?

Ksmvr stared at Yvlon. He looked down at his three hands, and then his shoulders straightened.

“Of course!”

He shook his entire body as Yvlon smiled in relief. Ksmvr strode over to the bed and paused.

“What should I do, Yvlon?”

“Uh…pull this magic rope stuff off me!”

Ksmvr obediently reached for one of the shining streamers of magic. He pulled at it, but it was so tightly wrapped around Yvlon that he could barely get a grip on it. And when he did pull, he only dragged the bed and Yvlon a few feet across the room with a dull screeching sound. Yvlon grimaced.

“This isn’t working. Break the bed.”

“But the bed is Miss Erin’s property.”

“I’ll pay for it! Just break the bed, Ksmvr! Hit me! Jump on top of the bed! Give it a good kick, I don’t care! I’ve got armor on!”

Ksmvr hesitated, but he eventually clambered on top of the bed and began leaping on it. Yvlon heard the wooden frame creak and groan and then snap. She yelped and Ksmvr waved his arms and fell backwards as the bed collapsed in a heap. Yvlon heard the wood snap and tried to sit up—only to find that the magical bands had constricted even tighter around her.

“Silver and steel! You have got to be kidding me!”

She wriggled and tried to move, only to find that now she was stuck to part of the broken bed and the mattress. And the infernal covers! Ksmvr crawled into Yvlon’s line of sight, shaking his head.

“I have hit my head. It appears that the spell still remains in effect, Comrade Yvlon.”

She glared at him. Ksmvr reached out and grabbed her with three arms.

“I will attempt to pull you up.”

The Antinium heaved and Yvlon felt her body rise. She was impressed—Ksmvr was lifting both her, her armor, and the bed. He grunted and she stumbled. She was on her feet! Wrapped up like a caterpillar, true, but she was upright! She tried to walk and found her feet were tied together. She could only hop.

“Dead gods, I am going to murder Falene and my brother.”

Yvlon gritted her teeth. Ksmvr tilted his head.

“I believe you are in no shape to take offensive action whatsoever, Yvlon. How will we dispel this magic?”

The Human woman took a deep breath.

“There’s only one way we can do it. Where’s Pisces?”

“In his room. He has not left. Nor has he responded to anyone’s attempts to open the door. It is locked.”

“Help me get there.”

It was hard for Yvlon to say whether she was angry at Pisces or not. Last night she’d been in a panic, and he’d been—what? After he’d threatened the Goblin, he’d gone up to his room. And his face! Yvlon remembered the blank expression. What was that about? She didn’t know.

Yvlon was still angry. She was still filled with panic and dread and confusion with everything she’d learned. Calruz was leading the Raskghar? And he had Ceria? If she stopped to think about it all she’d go mad. So she clung to her fury as the only thing keeping her going. But even she felt quite, quite stupid as she hopped out of her room and down the hall with Ksmvr guiding her. The broken bed and mattress kept falling apart with each hop, and Yvlon left a trail of broken wood and feathers in her wake.

“Pisces! Open up!”

The [Wounded Warrior] shouted as she reached Pisces’ door. Ksmvr knocked politely. There was no response. Yvlon growled and raised her voice even louder.

Pisces! I know you’re in there! What are you doing? Ceria is down there! Calruz is down there! Open the damn door!”

No response. Ksmvr knocked politely again.

“I am here too, Comrade Pisces. Please open the door.”

“He’s not answering. ”

Yvlon tried to kick the door, but she couldn’t. Instead, she tilted forwards and head-butted the door with all of her weight behind it. The thump left her seeing stars. Yvlon fell onto the floor and stared up at the ceiling, still bound, as Ksmvr tried to get her up.

“Damn it, Pisces! I trusted you! Why the hell are you hiding away? We’re teammates! If we can’t rely on you, then what—”

The door opened. Pisces stepped forwards, his white robes swirling around him. He stared at Yvlon and Ksmvr. His eyes were bloodshot and he was unsteady on his feet. Dust swirled around him, white, as if he’d been baking with flour. He paused.

“What are you doing?”

Yvlon glared at Pisces. She heaved again, but she was still trussed up. The mattress spat out some feathers as Ksmvr tried to pull her up and failed.

“Falene bound me with a magic spell. I can’t get it off.”

“Ah. That would explain things.”

Pisces rubbed at one eye. He blinked down at Yvlon. He looked like he hadn’t slept one bit since last night. She stared up at him.

“Well? Where the hell have you been?”

“Preparing.”

“For what?”

Pisces looked at Yvlon as if she were an idiot.

“To rescue Ceria, of course. What have you been doing? Sleeping? Ksmvr, stop attempting to lift Yvlon. Let’s dispel her enchantment and enter the dungeon. Ceria is alive. She’s contacted me twice. Calruz has her. He’s leading the Raskghar, just as the Cave Goblin said.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr gaped at Pisces. He didn’t pay them any attention as he squatted to inspect the bindings on Yvlon. She spluttered and tried to form a coherent question.

“Wait, how do you know that, Pisces? You spoke to Ceria?”

“Not in words. She sent me a coded message via a spell we know. She only described her location as a large, domed room and told me that she was a captive. And that Calruz killed a Gnoll. Mrsha is alive. Beyond that, we must find her.”

He reached out and touched the magic bindings with one hand, frowning. Yvlon tried to digest all of that and then gave up.

“Okay. Get this off me and let’s go! Dispel the enchantment!”

“I don’t know [Dispel Magic].”

“Are you serious?

Yvlon began to thrash about, screaming furiously. Pisces raised his voice.

“Stop shouting, Yvlon! The bindings should be easy to break. Just have Ksmvr use your sword.”

Ksmvr and Yvlon stared at Pisces. Yvlon protested indignantly.

“That won’t work!”

“Why not?”

The woman faltered.

“Because…they’re magic bindings?”

Pisces raised one eyebrow at Yvlon.

“Your sword is enchanted. The bonds shouldn’t be able to hold up to that much force. It’s only a Tier 4 spell, I believe.”

“But my sword has a weight enchantment on it. Not one that cuts magic!”

“And this magic is very physical. You’re wearing armor beneath all this, aren’t you? Then let Ksmvr cut at the bindings. Every enchantment has a limit to how much force it can take before breaking. I cannot imagine that Falene put that much energy into this spell.”

Pisces rose, dusting a feather off his robes. He stared disapprovingly at Ksmvr and Yvlon.

“Why didn’t you try that to begin with?”

Yvlon turned red. Ksmvr opened his mandibles and then decided not to speak. Silently, he went into Yvlon’s room and grabbed her sword. Pisces yawned as he listened to the dialogue between the two.

“Okay, cut right there.”

“Right here?”

“I can’t see. Cut right by my side. Can you hit me there? Do it gently, gently—gah!”

He heard a thump, and then the sound of a compressed mattress unspringing all at once. Clattering wood as it hit the ground—and then two solid footsteps. Pisces turned. Yvlon lifted her sword. She looked angry.

“I really need to visit the outhouse. Give me five minutes and then we go. I hope you spent last night well?”

“I was not tied to a bed and magically asleep if that’s what you are asking.”

Yvlon stared at Pisces and then walked past him. Ksmvr followed. Pisces brought up the rear. The three said only a few words as they trooped down the stairs, but they were the right words.

“The Gold-ranks won’t be happy to see us in the dungeon.”

“I couldn’t care less about their opinion. Actually, let me rephrase that statement. I do not care about their opinion whatsoever.”

“Captain Ceria is alive?”

“For now.”

“There’s lots of monsters in the dungeon. Traps.”

“I have a plan. And you?”

“I am ready to die to rescue Captain Ceria.”

“I think she’d rather you live instead. I’ll risk anything. We’re a team. And we’re not losing anyone else to the dungeon. Pisces?”

“I concur. Ksmvr?”

“This team is the reason for my life. Let’s go.”

They walked down the stairs. Pisces in front, Yvlon behind and Ksmvr bringing up the rear. Pisces stepped into the common room and looked around.

Several dozen heads turned. Adventurers were sitting around at their tables, many nursing drinks. Few looked like they were willing to talk—many were progressively getting drunk. They looked defeated.

Lyonette was serving tables. She looked lost. A Drake [Barmaid] was helping her—not Drassi—but she was more keeping an eye on Lyonette. The [Barmaid] looked like a ghost, as if she were dreaming.

A Drake stood as Pisces strode across the room. He had black scales and was short. Insill of Vuliel Drae gulped when Pisces stared at him. Other adventurers got to their feet. Anith, Dasha, Insill, Larr, Pekona—the five members of Vuliel Drae blocked Pisces’ way. Earlia of Gemhammer and Nailren of the Pride of Kelia and a few other Silver-rank Captains stood to one side, not with Vuliel Drae, but watching.

“Move aside.”

Pisces didn’t stop walking. He raised a hand to push Insill out of the way, but he stopped when Larr’s arm shot out. The Gnoll stared down at Pisces.

“You’re not leaving.”

“You’re going to stop us?”

Anith nodded.

“It’s nothing personal, Horns. But the Silver Swords charged us with keeping you here.”

His eyes flicked to Pisces and Ksmvr, making it obvious that they’d assumed it would only be Yvlon they’d have to stop. Yvlon grimaced and put a hand on her sword hilt.

“Our Captain is kidnapped. We’re going in after her. Move or we’ll make you move.”

Dasha crossed her arms.

“Oh yeah? We’re Silver-ranks just like you, tall legs. And every Silver-rank team here got the same order.”

The Horns looked around. Earlia looked away and Nailren shook his head. The other Silver-rank adventurers looked at the Horns and then away. Yvlon counted heads.

“How many people are going to follow orders, then?”

Vuliel Drae glanced around for support. None came. Earlia leaned on a table.

“I remember being told what to do by a bunch of Gold-ranks. Funny, I didn’t become an adventurer to take orders. What about you Pallass teams?”

“We follow orders. That’s how things work in the south, Human.”

A Drake growled at Earlia. He was drinking from a mug. He had a fresh scar on his arm, a deep gouge of recently-healed flesh and scales. He made no move to rise. The Drake took another drink.

“Problem is, sometimes we have hearing problems. A team wants to die in the dungeon? Go ahead. That’s their Captain.”

Earlia nodded. Vuliel Drae wavered. None of the other adventurers were standing up. Yvlon’s hand tightened on her sword.

“Don’t.”

Pekona had a hand on her katana. She and Yvlon stared at each other, tensed. Ksmvr’s dagger and shortsword were both in his hands and Insill looked like he wanted to run. Anith raised his staff.

“This is for your own good. Please don’t make this difficult.”

Pisces had been blinking repeatedly. He rubbed at his eyes and muttered.

“Don’t bother with the sword, Yvlon. We don’t have time for this.”

He reached for his side. Vuliel Drae tensed. Pisces grabbed his bag of holding and they relaxed slightly. Too soon. He upended the bag and bones fell out.

Every adventurer turned and stared as a shower of yellow bones fell from Pisces’ bag of holding. The bones landed with a clatter on the floor. Lyonette, mechanically wiping a table over and over in the same spot, looked up. Insill stared at a bear’s skull.

“What—”

“Stop him!”

Pekona unsheathed her sword in a flash. She was quick! But she hesitated. There wasn’t anything she could do short of cutting Pisces down. Yvlon drew her sword and cut. She didn’t hesitate. Pekona leapt back and Pisces pointed down at the bones.

“Rise.”

Vuliel Drae scrambled back as the bones floated upwards. They stared as the bones rearranged themselves, flying into position, rotating, joining together. They looked down at the thing emerging and their heads tilted back. Anith gulped.

A beast of bone rose from the ground, eight feet tall, arms and body a mass of bone. It looked like some ancient predecessor of a bear, one that had been made of bone and given a spiky body armor. It had an oversized bite and almost nonexistent head. It had one solid, gaping hole for an ‘eye’ and a bright yellow flame burned in the socket. Its claws when it raised them were a solid weapon of bone.

Insill backed up fast. The [Rogue] was deathly pale. Vuliel Drae retreated as the other Silver-rank adventurers got to their feet or leaned back. Pisces walked forwards and the monstrosity lumbered forwards.

“Move out of the way.”

“You can’t leave the inn. The Gold-ranks—”

Pisces turned his head. Dasha choked on her words.

“Stop me. I’d like you to try.”

The [Necromancer] strode out of the inn. Lyonette starred at the Bone Horror following him. Yvlon stared at the huge armored monstrosity and the cold fear that had gripped her for a moment faded. That was Pisces’ creation. He had made it! She forced her legs to move.

“Pisces, hold up!”

The [Necromancer] paused at the door. The Bone Horror was too large to exit, but it was reconfiguring itself to squeeze out bone by bone. It was…impressive to watch. Yvlon nodded to it.

“That’s your secret weapon?”

“One of them.”

“One of—holy steel, what is that?

Yvlon shouted the instant as she stepped outside. The adventurers swarmed to the windows and then recoiled. Another Bone Horror had come out of Pisces’ window. It was a giant spider made of bone, at least in basic shape. Each part of its legs and the thin abdomen was covered in barbed bone, sharpened to an edge. It crawled down as Pisces walked towards the boats.

“Two Bone Horrors?”

Ksmvr looked from undead to undead. Pisces shook his head. He was sweating and his eyes looked feverish.

“Many.”

Something crawled out of the water. Several somethings. They had come out of Liscor’s sewers. Drenched in slime, and muck and worse, they had climbed the walls and leapt from them, surprising Liscor’s [Guardsmen]. The rat-hunting Bone Horrors resembled rats themselves, but they had been redesigned to be stronger, bigger. And infinitely more deadly. The dead rat flesh and other scraps that hung from their scything jaw-tusks were a testament to their design.

The undead lined up in the rain. Pisces pointed and they turned. They walked or crawled or bounded into the water, sinking beneath the surface. They were headed towards the dungeon rift.

“How long can you control them?”

“Long enough. I have mana potions.”

Pisces walked towards the boats, stumbling a bit in the rain. Yvlon went to follow him and turned.

“Going to try and stop us?”

Vuliel Drae and the other Silver-rank adventurers were staring at her from the inn’s entrance, wide-eyed. At her question they looked at each other and backed up. Someone else pushed past them. Lyonette was still white, but she focused on the Horns.

“You’re going into the dungeon.”

It wasn’t a question. Yvlon nodded.

“We’re going in after Ceria. We’ll look for Mrsha, Lyonette. If we find her, we’ll bring her out.”

The [Princess] nodded. Her hands were red from scrubbing and she didn’t seem to notice that she’d cut her finger. She clasped her fingers together.

“Please find her. Please—I’d go with you if I could.”

“No, Lyonette—”

The Drake [Barmaid] gripped Lyonette’s shoulder tightly. Some of the other adventurers drew closer. Lyonette stared pleadingly at Yvlon.

“Find her? Bring her back?”

“We will.”

Yvlon nodded. Lyonette relaxed ever so slightly. The woman checked her sword hilt and eyed the outhouse.

“I’ll pee in the water. Let’s go, Ksmvr!”

The Antinium strode towards the boats. He actually stepped into the water and shuddered, but then he grabbed the edge of the boat and pulled himself in. Yvlon leapt into the boat and felt it rock.

“Let’s go.”

Ksmvr pushed them off and Yvlon grabbed the oars. Pisces was sitting at the front of the boat. Well, lying, really. He was propped up on the stern and his eyes were blinking rapidly.

“You look exhausted.”

Pisces’ head jerked up a bit.

“I had to design the new combat forms. It took…a while. These ones are better. Should fight better. The armor form is virtually indestructible and the spider…thing is quick. The rat-hunting horrors are deadly despite their size.”

“Good work.”

Yvlon didn’t know what else to say. She looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium was also drooping, nodding off and then sitting up. He rowed erratically with his oar.

“You were in the Antinium Hive, Ksmvr?”

“Trying to persuade Revalantor Klbkch, yes. Then I was dumped outside. I recovered from blood loss and returned to the inn two hours ago.”

Both Pisces and Yvlon looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium yawned, opening his mandibles wide. Pisces turned to Yvlon. His expression was bleak, but he managed to raise an eyebrow.

“Were you sleeping all night?”

Yvlon looked from Ksmvr to Pisces. She opened her mouth and hesitated.

“I’ll row. You two get some sleep.”

The boat cut across the water as the rain fell. Yvlon rowed hard, letting her reinforced arms take the strain. It felt—good. Nothing broke and nothing bent. Her arms were heavier, but she could compensate for the weight. She turned her head to the right.

“Are you going to stop us?”

Earlia grinned as her team pulled alongside the boat Yvlon was rowing. Gemhammer was rowing hard and part of Nailren’s team was sharing their boat. Yvlon turned her head left and saw Nailren and other teams from Pallass following them. Earlia nodded towards Pisces.

“I didn’t much like hanging back, but I was pretty sure that half-Elf would hex our entire team if we argued. The other Gold-ranks were ready to knock anyone else out. Plus, they had a point. Our teams don’t have their firepower. But if you’re bringing that—

One of the Bone Horrors—the spider—crawled onto a distant hill. There was a shout from Liscor’s walls. The Bone Horror leapt a good twelve feet into the water and Earlia shuddered.

“That looks like it could kill something. And if you’re going in, well, I think you could use some backup. We might not be Gold-ranks, but we can work together. Mind if we tag along?”

Yvlon looked around. Six teams had taken to the boats and were following her. She nodded.

“You know that we’re going to keep going until we find Ceria?”

“I had a feeling. Don’t slow for our sakes. We’ll see how far we get.”

The woman nodded and Yvlon grunted. She put her back into the oars. The Horns rowed to the dungeon entrance and dropped into the dungeon. They entered the Raskghar’s home, where monsters and traps promised an early death. However, they were not the first adventurers to enter the dungeon that day. The Gold-rank teams had been there since dawn. And they’d been fighting the entire time.

 

—-

 

“At them!”

Bevussa, Captain of the Wings of Pallass, dropped from the air. There was little room to maneuver in the dungeon corridor, but her team was fighting in a spot with ten feet of clearance on the ceiling. There had been a trap up there—a device that dropped whirling blades to cut anyone below apart. It was neutralized, the mechanism gummed up by a thick orange paste. That hadn’t stopped the monsters from attacking, though.

A pair of large, stone ‘eyes’ were battering one of Bevussa’s teammates. These creatures were covered by a thick shell of stone and only their fronts—which resembled black eyes with white pupils—were exposed. They had long, wiry arms made out of the same stone shell that could easily break bone.

The monsters were Stone Starers and they looked deceptively simple. They could shoot beams from the white holes in their fronts. Those beams could pierce through weak enchanted metal and steel with ease. Going at them from the front was dangerous.

So Bevussa dropped. She flew downwards, angling her wings and calling for her teammate, Issa, to get back. The Drake flew backwards with a flap of her wings and Bevussa stopped her descent. The Stone Starer looked up, eye glowing, and Bevussa kicked.

The feet of the Garuda were talons. Bevussa’s were sharp and she’d trained her legs. Her claws went into the Stone Starer’s fleshy eye and drew blood. It screamed a muffled wailing sound, and fired a white beam at Bevussa. She twisted and dodged right, out of the way. Bevussa’s right hand came up and her shortsword stabbed, plunging hilt-deep into the Stone Starer’s eye.

“Captain!”

The second Stone Starer was aiming at Bevussa. She immediately let go of her blade and back flipped. As she did she flapped, flying all the way up to the ceiling. The second beam missed her and Bevussa extended her hand.

“Return!”

Her sword ripped loose of the Stone Starer. It collapsed as brown blood spurted from its front. Bevussa saw Issa and Zassil land on the second Stone Starer. Before it could target them, they stabbed at it with spear and sword. It collapsed, pooling blood.

“Everyone alright?”

Bevussa landed, panting, flicking blood from the tip of her sword. Her other three teammates landed around her. They were sweaty, and their wings were sore. Bevussa checked all of them.

“Issa, you got tagged by one of the beams.”

The Drake grimaced. She flexed a wing and showed Bevussa a hole in her side.

“It’s nothing. The thing shot through my armor is all.”

“That’s enchanted leather. It should’ve blocked that!”

Zassil muttered unhappily. Bevussa inspected the injury as Issa pulled out a healing potion.

“Looks like it blocked some of it, otherwise Issa would have a hole going right through her. Watch the armor, Issa. I don’t know if the enchantment’s broken. Let’s pull back.”

“I can still fight!”

Issa protested, but Bevussa shook her head.

“We’re tired. How many monster groups is this?”

“Six in the last two hours.”

Bevussa nodded.

“We’re tired and I’ve had to use one of my Skills. We need a break. Come on.”

She led the way back down the corridor. The Wings of Pallass followed, stepping around the corpse of a third Stone Starer and more monsters. Bevussa’s arm wings ached. She’d been fighting since dawn, and even with the high-quality stamina potion she’d downed, she felt worn.

“Who goes there?”

A sharp voice shouted as the Wings of Pallass walked back the way they’d come. Bevussa instantly halted and raised a hand.

“Wings of Pallass! That you, Essa?”

“Come forwards slowly!”

The Wings walked forwards and saw a barricade had been erected in the tunnel. A team of Drakes and two Gnolls were standing behind a pair of wooden barriers fronted with metal. They checked over the Wings of Pallass, one of the Drakes, Essa, staring at them through a pair of enchanted spectacles.

“You’re clean. Come on back.”

“How’s the fighting?”

“We’ve seen action. You nearly had a pair of Flesh Worms hit you from behind. We scared them off, but we’re running low on enchanted arrows.”

Bevussa nodded. The Garuda leaned against one wall.

“Don’t think we’ll be here too much longer. My team’s tired. Yours?”

“We’ve just been sitting here shooting at anything that moves. We can keep going. Head on back. There’s a rally point right where the rift begins.”

“Thanks.”

Bevussa motioned and her team followed them. Essa’s team, the Scaleguards, stayed put. They were watching one of the choke points to the dungeon. The Gold-rank adventurers had taken no chances this time. They’d committed over half their numbers to holding tunnels, making sure that they were secure while their attack groups went forwards.

Bevussa’s group had been clearing tunnels for hours and they’d done…six…since they started. The problem wasn’t the monsters—well, it had been nonstop fighting—but it was also fighting and making sure they weren’t walking into traps.

“This is the worst dungeon I’ve seen. Ever.”

Issa murmured as she walked backwards. Bevussa shook her head.

“This is the only dungeon you’ve seen, Issa. The one south of Pallass doesn’t count. It’s been cleared for decades. This is a real dungeon. Unexplored. But you’re right. It’s a bad one. A vengeance dungeon. If it weren’t for it being right under Liscor and the missing Gnolls, I’d refuse to enter this place.”

“Think we’re making progress? We cleared six hallways.”

“It’s impossible to say. This dungeon could be vast for all we know. And these monster attacks are relentless. Each time we turn a corner we run into another group, always a different species of monster. It almost feels like—”

Hold!

All of the adventurers froze. Bevussa’s team turned as one as they heard a dull roar. They immediately spread out, ready to fly backwards.

“What was that?”

“Fighting? Up ahead—”

“Let’s go. Watch for trap signs!”

Bevussa took wing. She and the Wings flew through the cramped corridor, flying around a marked trap. They landed and stopped as they saw what had caused the commotion.

“Enchanted armor! A platoon of them!”

A wave of animated suits of armor had smashed through a barricade set up by Gold-rank teams. Over forty of the metal giants strode forwards, carrying steel battleaxes, greatswords, maces—the Gold-rank team assigned to the spot was falling back, throwing Tripvine bags and shooting spells. But there were so many suits of armor that they had no choice but to run.

“Ancestors! Just what we need.”

Bevussa cursed. She drew her enchanted shortsword, wondering if they should retreat to the Scaleguards or fight. Her team was bad at fighting armored foes. The Wings of Pallass were lightly armored, meant for quick offensives and rapid retreats. She was on the verge of ordering her team into the fighting when she heard a call.

Clear the tunnel! Flamewardens, breathe on my mark!

“Back, back!”

Bevussa shouted. She saw another team running forwards and the heavy plate mail and Keldrass’ rasping voice identified them along with their name. She and the Wings of Pallass flew back. She saw the Flamewardens, all four of them, line up. The platoon of enchanted armor charged them, a wave of dull steel. The Flamewardens inhaled as one and Keldrass shouted.

Ma—

Bevussa didn’t hear the rest. A roar and then a dull ringing filled her earholes as she recoiled. She saw a flash of bright flame burst from Keldrass’ mouth, and fiery red and orange flames leap from the other three. The flames shot down the tunnel, combining. The sound and wave of heat blasted the Wings where they stood. Bevussa turned away as the Flamewardens exhaled for fifteen straight seconds. When she looked back, the corridor was scorched beyond recognition. And the enchanted suits of armor?

They’d kept charging straight into the flame. The front row had just melted away. Black slag was all that remained of them. Bevussa could see rapidly cooling pools of metal, the scorched remains of a breastplate in the back—nothing else.

Ancestors.

Zassil stared at the Flamewardens. His wings trembled before he folded them on his back.

“That’s a Gold-rank team? They have to be Named Adventurers! At least!”

He stared at the four Oldblood Drakes, as if forgetting he was Oldblood himself. Bevussa glanced at Zassil in amusement. He was the youngest of her team and sometimes showed his inexperience. Well, that wasn’t saying much, really. Bevussa was more experienced than the other three by a good bit.

“No, they’re Gold-rank. The Flamewardens have firepower, but they don’t have stamina. The curse of the Oldblood. See?”

She pointed as the Wings hesitantly approached. The Flamewardens were all doubled over. Keldrass was leaning against a wall, gasping for air. His breathing was shallow and it seemed as if he couldn’t take in enough air. He straightened as Bevussa approached, but she waved him back.

“Breathe. That was a hell of a display.”

“Thanks.”

For once, Keldrass’ words didn’t elicit a tongue of blue flame or smoke from his mouth. He’d used up his fires. He took a few deep breaths and reached out to touch the shoulder of one of his team members.

“Breathe, Nautia. In. Out. Slowly.”

The Drake nodded. She gulped in air and the color in her scales slowly returned. Bevussa eyed Keldrass’ team worriedly. It didn’t look like the first time they’d pulled off this trick today.

“Good job on the fire breath. We might have been overrun if the suits of armor had broken through. Your team should pull back, though.”

She nodded at the Gold-rank team who was returning, a bit shamefaced, to guard the tunnel. Keldrass shook his head.

“We…can keep going. We’ll rest for half an hour, burn another tunnel. Scorched ground. We can destroy traps and wipe out monsters this way.”

That was true. The Flamewardens were one of the best teams in the narrow dungeon corridors. But Bevussa was worried.

“Don’t push too far, Keldrass. Your team is tired. If you get ambushed after using your fire breath—”

The reason the Flamewardens weren’t a Named Team was because of their weakness. After they used their trump card, they were literally unable to breathe for a while. But Keldrass shook his head stubbornly.

“Can’t let those…northern teams show us up. They’re still fighting.”

Still?

Bevussa turned. She stared down another tunnel, where she could hear more fighting.

 

—-

 

Charge!

The roar came from Jelaqua’s lips as her team encountered the Raskghar. The Selphid shot towards the Raskghar team, who were visibly surprised to see them. Understandably—the Halfseekers had cut through fourteen corridors to get here. The Raskghar snarled and the Selphid recognized one of them. The Raskghar in armor. The one who had taken Mrsha.

“You!”

Jelaqua ran towards the Raskghar, her flail spinning. She crashed into the Raskghar. He was leading a group of eight other Raskghar. They turned and raised their hide shields as the Selphid whirled into them. The Raskghar howled as the flail struck like lightning from every angle. Jelaqua’s body was a flaming cyclone of motion—the Heartflame Breastplate burned as she struck.

But her movements were slower. Dulled. Jelaqua’s spiked flail heads were deformed and a spike had broken off on one. She’d been fighting for hours and now, at the crucial moment, she was faltering. The Raskghar in armor raised his enchanted battleaxe and ignored the flail heads striking sparks off his armor. He swung and caught Jelaqua in the chest. The head of the axe skated off the armor, but the impact sent Jelaqua stumbling backwards. She swore and shouted.

Moore! Seborn!

The other Raskghar turned. A shadow jumped off the walls and Seborn lunged into a Raskghar. He stabbed with both of his long daggers, plunging them hilt-deep into the Raskghar’s chest. The wounded beast woman roared and threw Seborn backwards. Another jabbed at the [Rogue] and he rolled to safety. Jelaqua struck the Raskghar, but saw her flail bounce off its shield. The other Raskghar spread around her, jabbing at her armor, growling as their stone weapons failed to penetrate the magical flames on her armor. Jelaqua lashed out with her flail, and again a Raskghar blocked.

They were so strong! And smart! These weren’t anything like the unthinking brutes that Jelaqua had fought before. And then the Raskghar in armor struck Jelaqua again. The impact sent her stumbling back. She saw the Raskghar raise its battleaxe, aiming at her head. A huge hand covered in vines and thorns grabbed his chest and lifted him. The Raskghar howled in surprise. He twisted and Moore roared in his face.

Where. Is. Mrsha!?

The half-Giant was covered in light wounds. His face was dirty and streaked with sweat. His body was covered in thorns and vines, his [Thorn Armor] spell. The Raskghar snarled at him and the half-Giant roared, his mouth opening wider than the Raskghar’s entire head. The Raskghar froze. Moore lifted him and slammed the armored Raskghar into the wall.

Where is Mrsha? Answer me!

The Raskghar around him jabbed spears into Moore’s side, howling. The half-Giant ignored them, bashing the armored Raskghar into the wall as it struggled. He only let go when one of the Raskghar struck deep into his side. The spear broke and Moore let go.

Moore!

Jelaqua smashed a Raskghar with her flail’s head and then turned. She abandoned her flail, grabbed a Raskghar charging at her, and threw it into a wall. She heard a snap. The Selphid felt her body’s muscles scream in agony, but she didn’t care. She pushed them past the limits and charged to Moore’s side, tackling a Raskghar to the ground. The half-Giant turned. His fist caught a Raskghar and the monster tumbled, bones broken. Moore grasped at the spear in his side, grimacing.

The other Raskghar howled as Seborn cut among them. The one in armor got up shakily. His magical gear had protected him from the impacts, but he looked dazed. He turned and ran on all fours, abandoning his battleaxe.

“Don’t let it escape!”

Moore and Jelaqua charged after it, ignoring their wounds and Jelaqua’s missing flail. The Raskghar ran as one, four instead of nine. They were quick! It was all Jelaqua could do to keep them in sight with the armor weighing her down. She pushed her muscles, ignoring the screaming that warned they might snap. Moore charged after her, roaring.

Moore, Jelaqua! Stop!”

Seborn flickered into view and tackled Moore’s leg. The half-Giant slowed, but Jelaqua didn’t. She ran after the Raskghar and saw one of them leap over a suspiciously clean patch of the dungeon’s floor too late.

The explosion that engulfed Jelaqua threw Moore and Seborn back. It might have been some kind of fiery detonation—or maybe the air itself had exploded. Seborn rolled with the impact as Moore groaned and fell backwards. The Drowned Man got up, ears ringing and shouted.

Jelaqua!

He ran forwards, stopping where the trap had been. Something moved in the smoke. Jelaqua stumbled forwards, her body looking—torn. Flesh had been ripped up and she was missing scales along her tail, arms, face—every exposed part of her body. But she was intact. The magical flames engulfing her body had gone out, though.

“I’m okay. I’m—”

The Selphid wobbled. Seborn grabbed her with his Human hand and let go with an oath. Her armor was still searing hot. Jelaqua caught herself.

“I’m fine, Seborn. The armor…took the hit. Powerful stuff. Glad I wore it. Come on…they’re getting away.”

She tried to turn. Seborn held her with his claw arm.

“You are not fine. Moore’s injured. We have to fall back.”

“No—that was the one! You saw it, Seborn! We have to follow—”

“If we chase it, we’ll die.”

The Drowned Man pulled at Jelaqua. She stumbled.

“But—”

She looked back at Moore. The half-Giant was sitting down. A red stain was spreading from his side. The stone spear had gone through his vine armor. Either the strike had been lucky or the Raskghar had found a gap. Jelaqua swore.

“Moore! Healing potion!”

“I’m trying. I’ll do it. You get the Raskghar.”

Moore mumbled as he gripped the spear. His hands were white. Jelaqua and Seborn rushed over to him.

“Get it out. We have to heal that wound.”

“Trying. I think the head’s spiked. Barbed.”

“Seborn, use one of your daggers. Cut it out. I’ll use the potion—”

Moore groaned as Seborn cut into his side, slicing the head of the barbed spear out. The half-Giant nearly screamed, but then he bit his arm rather than make a sound. Jelaqua poured an entire healing potion into the chunk of missing flesh and saw it begin to close. Seborn sat back, throwing aside the bloody spear. He looked at her. Jelaqua felt her body screaming, and knew he was right.

“We fall back. But we find another team and tell them what we saw, alright?”

“Agreed. Come on, Moore. We have to get to a safe spot.”

Neither Seborn nor Jelaqua could pull the half-Giant up, but they supported him as best they could. The Halfseekers stumbled back the way they’d come, until they heard a shout.

“Who goes?”

Us!

As passphrases went, it was simple, but Jelaqua’s voice was enough to assure the other team that they weren’t monsters masquerading as adventurers. She saw a group approaching them and a bobbing [Light] spell, then recognized the group of three.

“Moore!”

Falene exclaimed as the Silver Swords hurried down the tunnel. The three Gold-rank adventurers looked battered. Ylawes’ perfect armor was dirtied by blood and Falene’s face looked drawn. Dawil had a scratch on his cheek and the armor around his shoulder looked crumpled from an impact. They still looked a lot better than the Halfseekers.

“What happened?”

Ylawes pointed at Moore’s armor. Jelaqua rasped.

“Barbed spear. We pulled it out. Ran into a Raskghar group. Same ones that got Ceria.”

Where?

“Down the tunnel. Past a trap.”

The Silver Swords stared the way Jelaqua was pointing. Ylawes raised his shield and then checked himself. He turned towards Falene.

“Falene, how many spells can you cast?”

“I’m…I’m nearly out of mana, Ylawes. I’ve used as many potions as I dare.”

Falene wobbled on her feet. She was using her staff for support. Dawil grabbed his beard.

“And I’ve only one Skill left to use. We could be walking into an ambush.”

“That’s the team. I’m sure of it. We can go back as soon as we get Moore to a safe spot. He can’t fight.”

Jelaqua insisted stubbornly. Moore mumbled.

“Just leave me and follow.”

No.

All the adventurers said it at once. Moore was in no condition to do anything. If he passed out in the dungeon he’d be dead. Ylawes ran a finger through his hair. It was dirty with blood.

“I don’t know if we can follow right now. We’ve run into two Raskghar teams. Both groups were big. Thirty or more. We…barely fought off the first. The second we routed more easily, but they’re strong.”

“Then we go back for another group. There has to be one around here!”

Ylawes nodded. He strode past Jelaqua.

“I’ll support him.”

Seborn nodded. Ylawes grunted as he helped grab Moore. His head only came up to the half-Giant’s armpit. With Jelaqua, he helped Moore walk down the corridor. They passed by monster corpses, blasted to pieces, squashed, or battered to death. The Gold-rank teams had pushed into the dungeon with a vengeance. But they were losing steam. Jelaqua didn’t know how far they’d walked—it felt like hours to her exhausted mind—before they heard a shout.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Us!

The counter phrase didn’t work as well on the Drake teams. There was a pause and then something appeared down the corridor. The Silver Swords and Halfseekers instinctively reached for their weapons, but it was Bevussa. The Garuda landed and shouted back the way they’d come.

“It’s the Halfseekers and Silver Swords! Get over here, I think the half-Giant’s wounded!”

“’M fine. Go after the Raskghar.”

Moore muttered. His face was pale. Despite the healing potion he was barely conscious from the blood loss and shock. Jelaqua saw more adventurers run forwards.

“We found Raskghar. We saw the ones that got Ceria! That way!”

She pointed back towards them. Bevussa’s eyes widened, but she shook her head after a second.

“We’ll see if we can pursue. But almost all of our teams are running low on supplies. And we’re trying to pull back another team.”

“Which one?”

“Griffon Hunt! They’ve pushed in even further than you have! Come on, let’s get the half-Giant to our rest spot. What’s his name?”

“Moore.”

“Hello.”

“Charmed. Come on big fellow. Hey, we need more claws over here!

It took nearly a dozen adventurers to half-drag, half-carry Moore past the barricades. The Gold-rank teams had set up in the area below the dungeon’s rift. They hadn’t put much there—just a few crates of healing potions, a spot for adventurers to rest before attempting the journey to the surface—and a table where a Gold-rank Gnoll with levels in [Cartographer] was trying to make sense of the adventurer’s reports.

Jelaqua saw Moore to the rest site and made sure he was being looked over. Then she forced her stiff body over to where Bevussa was conferring with Keldrass. The Drake was sitting—he looked like he’d run out of energy to stand.

“They’re down the tunnel. My team caught up—but we can’t get them to come back.”

“Damn. We need to get them to return! Jelaqua, is it?”

Bevussa turned to Jelaqua. The Selphid nodded. The Garuda stretched out her arm wings.

“Your friends, Griffon Hunt, are going in way too far. There’s no one guarding their backs and we’re too tired to fight. You need to recall them.”

“We can try. But the Raskghar—”

Keldrass coughed a bit of smoke out.

“Another team’s on that. A group of teams. The Horns, Gemhammer, Kelia’s Pride—”

“The Horns?

Ylawes strode over. He looked shocked.

“You let the Horns enter the dungeon? Are you insane? We have to go after them!”

“They were already down here when I returned! We didn’t stop them because they were ready to fight to get past us! There’s six Silver-rank teams plus the Horns heading towards the spot the Halfseekers mentioned. Plus, that [Necromancer] had…things with him. Bone Horrors. They’re not who I’m worried about.”

Keldrass snapped at Ylawes. The [Knight] opened his mouth and Bevussa cut him off.

“Both Griffon Hunt and the Horns are in the same spot. I’m taking one of my team and a few other Gold-ranks who can still move. We need to grab both teams.”

“But the Raskghar…”

Jelaqua feebly protested. Bevussa turned and looked at her seriously. Her eyes were bright green. Bird’s eyes.

“Miss Jelaqua, they’re too far. We can barely hold the tunnels around here. We’ll pursue the Raskghar—tomorrow. But right now we’re looking at the very real possibility those teams will be ambushed.  We have to pull back.”

Jelaqua knew she was right. The Selphid looked around for her flail and remembered that she’d left it buried in a Raskghar’s skull. She reached for her bag of holding.

“Let me grab a spare flail. I’m going with you.”

In the end, eight Gold-rank adventurers headed out to retrieve the Halfseekers. Jelaqua, Issa, Seborn, Bevussa, Ylawes, Dawil, Keldrass, and Essa moved down the corridor, following the direction Griffon Hunt had taken. They didn’t know their exact location, but it wasn’t hard to catch up. All they had to do was follow the bodies.

 

—-

 

“Undead ahead!”

Halrac spotted the undead a moment before the others. The ranks of glowing Stitch-Warriors raised their weapons and Typhenous breathed heavily. He raised his staff and fired a glowing red-and-black orb into the crowd of ghouls and zombies and the Crypt Lord leading them. The orb burned a hole through a Ghoul’s chest and then detonated.

“[Black Burst]!”

Typhenous turned his staff and shot another ball of magic at the undead. Halrac raised his bow and calmly shot a charging Ghoul through the head. He saw Revi’s summoned warriors and her Corusdeer fighting the zombies who lurched forwards and drew another arrow.

Left!

Revi called out in alarm, pointing. Halrac turned. The wall had opened up, revealing another tunnel hidden by an illusion spell or hidden mechanism. Another wave of undead poured through. Halrac’s eyes narrowed. He loosed an arrow as Revi’s summoned warriors shot spells and arrows in the same direction.

A Crypt Lord staggered as the first arrow struck it. Halrac grabbed for an arrow. This one was enchanted. The undead exploded as the fiery arrow penetrated its chest and then blew apart in a fireball.

“Fall back!”

Halrac’s team retreated as the undead flowed towards them from two directions. They let the undead bunch up and then Typhenous blew them apart and Halrac loosed another flaming arrow. Revi bent over and panted when the battle ended.

“Another group. Another…hold on, you two. I’m running out of mana. I can’t keep up this many summons.”

She shakily pulled a mana potion from her belt and gulped at it. Typehnous did the same. The old man’s face was drawn. Halrac glanced at both of them, not reaching for the stamina potion at his belt. His callused fingers burned, and his arm was fatigued, but he was unharmed.

“Can you still fight?”

“Another corridor.”

Typhenous leaned on his staff. Revi wiped the mana potion’s bright orange liquid from her mouth and nodded.

“I can…I can do that.”

“Move on, then. Through the illusory tunnel.”

Halrac led the way. He had another arrow ready and as he walked, he reached for something at his side. Very carefully, he opened a small wooden container and dipped the head of his arrow into the mixture, coating it with a dark substance. Halrac raised his hand and his group slowed.

“Raskghar?”

“Yes.”

Halrac had heard the distant barking sound. He raised his bow and Typhenous lifted his staff. The Raskghar team was heading their way. Griffon Hunt moved stealthily ahead, Revi keeping her summoned creatures back lest their glow give the team away. Halrac’s eyes pierced the darkness ahead. The instant he saw movement he held up his hand. Typhenous raised his staff.

The Raskghar approached, sniffing the air warily. They were a group of archers, probably on reconnaissance. They didn’t smell Griffon Hunt in time. Halrac waited until he could see one of the Raskghar perfectly and then spoke.

“Now.”

He loosed the arrow at the same time Typhenous cast his spell. The arrow flew and caught a Raskghar in the shoulder. Typhenous’ staff spat black liquid which spattered across the corridor and hit two Raskghar. Not perfect, but it would do. The Raskghar howled in surprise and the one struck grabbed the arrow in his shoulder and tore it out.

“Revi!”

Halrac snapped. Revi charged forwards and her summoned warriors and Corusdeer filled the hallway. The Raskghar spotted the Gold-rank team and hesitated. There were ten of them, but Revi’s summons evened the odds. They yipped loudly and howled before fleeing. Halrac drew another arrow and aimed high. The Raskghar fled as his arrow flew past them. Halrac didn’t bother drawing another arrow.

“Got them.”

He turned to the others. Revi nodded. She was looking paler than before. The Stitch-Woman’s dark skin looked far too light, and Halrac recognized it as the first symptom of mana exhaustion. Typhenous looked worse. The [Mage] seemed to lurch, and then he spat out a stream of liquid. It took Halrac a moment to realize that Typhenous had thrown up.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m—”

Typhenous wavered before saying ‘fine’. Halrac stared at him and then at Revi. He knew they should fall back. But his mind refused to say it.

“One more corridor. If we can ambush another group…”

Revi and Typhenous didn’t protest. Griffon Hunt made their way back down the corridor rather than pursue this group of Raskghar. Revi kept stumbling as she walked, though she refused help from anyone, even her summoned warriors. Halrac found his gaze unfocusing and he had to remind himself to watch ahead.

They were exhausted. Griffon Hunt had pushed further and farther than any team. Enough so that they’d began running into the Raskghar. But now they were in a dangerous situation. Halrac wanted to keep going. He knew that finding the Raskghar again would be difficult. But his team—

Who goes there?

Someone shouted the words up ahead. Halrac’s head snapped up. He grabbed for the arrow, realized he hadn’t poisoned it, and cursed. He shouted.

“Griffon Hunt!”

“At last! Don’t fire!”

Halrac saw a group appear in the darkness. He should have spotted them—the dim glow of their lanterns and [Light] spells gave them away. Eight adventurers appeared. He recognized Jelaqua, Ylawes in his stupid reflective armor, Dawil, Bevussa…the adventurers looked relieved to see him.

“Dead gods, Halrac! We thought we’d never catch up! You must have cleared twenty corridors!”

“What are you doing here?”

Halrac snapped at them. He felt uneasy. If they’d been Raskghar, they would have ambushed his team. He shifted as Jelaqua strode towards him.

“We spotted the bastard that got Ceria.”

Griffon Hunt immediately jerked to attention. Halrac focused on Jelaqua.

“Where?”

“A few corridors back. But no one’s going after them. We need to leave the dungeon. And get that damn group of Silver-ranks!”

Bevussa interrupted Jelaqua. The Garuda eyed Typhenous and Revi and turned to Halrac.

“You need to come with us.”

“No. We’ll go after the Raskghar.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Your [Mages] are nearly dead and you’re tired. If you go after the Raskghar they’ll ambush you. There’s too many of them. We had to fight through a group of twenty. And if they’re sending out scouting teams that big, there must be hundreds or thousands of them, just like that Cave Goblin claimed.”

Bevussa folded her feathery arms. Halrac knew she was right. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and looked at Revi. She swayed.

“I can go.”

“No.”

Halrac said it and felt the energy leave his arms. He looked at Bevussa and the other adventurers.

“We’ll go back. What’s this about Silver-rank teams?”

“The Horns entered the dungeon. This idiot—”

Ylawes turned towards Keldrass. The Drake gave him an affronted look.

“—didn’t stop them. They went after the Raskghar that Jelaqua saw. We need to go after Yv—after them!”

Jelaqua nodded wearily.

“They can’t have gone far. There’s monsters everywhere. We’ll run after them, pull them out.”

Keldrass growled, eying Ylawes.

“They might have gone farther than you think. I told you, that [Necromancer] had Bone Horrors. At least six of them!”

Halrac’s face twisted. Bevussa nodded.

“All the more reason to grab them. They’ll be a huge target.”

“We need to get them fast.”

Revi bent as the others looked at her. She straightened, still looking pale.

“Bone Horrors probably suck mana way more than lesser undead. I can barely summon that many spirits and I’m an expert. Pisces won’t be able to maintain that many undead for long. He’s probably pushed himself too far. Idiot.”

No one paused to dwell on the hypocrisy of her statement. The Gold-rank adventurers turned. Bevussa looked at Halrac.

“Can your old [Mage] move or do we have to split our team?”

Typhenous frowned at her slightly cross-eyed.

“I…am quite able to keep up, you feathery young lady. Lead on!”

Halrac nodded. Bevussa hesitated, and then turned.

“Okay. We’re searching for the Horns! Follow me!”

They set off at a jog through the dungeon.

 

—-

 

“Dead gods.”

Issa muttered as she passed by another group of dead monsters. This one was a cluster of worms—ordinary earthworms, really—except that they were twice as long as she was and had barbs along their body. It was another group of monsters that Griffon Hunt had slain. She thought of the six corridors her team had killed and felt a bit embarrassed. The Oldblood Drake chanced a glance back at Halrac, Typhenous, and Revi. They were lagging behind the brisk pace the others had set, but they were still keeping up.

“They killed that many monsters? Are you sure they’re only a Gold-rank team, Bevussa?”

She leaned towards her Captain, Bevussa. The Garuda was someone Issa looked up to and admired greatly. Ironically, it was Issa who was tasked with pretending to be the captain of the Wings of Pallass in public. It just wouldn’t do for a Garuda to lead a team of Oldblood Drakes, no matter how much more qualified she was. Bevussa turned her head and regarded Halrac.

“They’re good. I’ll give them that. If there’s any team ideally suited for this dungeon, it’s probably theirs. That [Scout] especially. I’ve heard of his name. They call him Halrac the Grim.”

“He’s even got a title? He must be a Named Adventurer, or nearabouts!”

Bevussa nodded as she glanced ahead down the corridor.

“And apparently they lost a team member. One of the better Gold-rank teams. But it doesn’t surprise me they’re not Named Adventurers yet, or that Halrac isn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Look at the monsters they killed. That group.”

Bevussa pointed. Issa stared at several crumpled forms they passed.

“Face-Eater Moths. Not too big.”

Not compared to the ones attacking Liscor. These ones were ‘only’ the size of ponies. Bevussa nodded and eyed them.

“Right. But that’s not the important bit. Look at how they died. No spells, only an arrow to their abdomens—they were poisoned.”

“Poison?”

Issa looked back at Halrac. Bevussa nodded.

“They said they were using a tactic they employed against Griffins. I asked about it at the Adventurer’s Guild. One of the [Receptionists] looked up what that might be.”

“And?”

Bevussa shrugged her feathery shoulders.

“Around three years ago, there was a massive Griffin colony plaguing the Nameless Heights—that’s a group of hills and valleys in the north eastern part of the Human lands. Hundreds of Griffins. Apparently a group migrated across from Terandria and they had a massive mating season the year before. Well, they began destroying farms and villages and even attacking cities. Griffon Hunt was one of the teams called in to kill them. They managed to wipe out over two hundred Griffins by themselves, but they were fined and nearly lost their Gold-rank status.”

Issa gaped at her Captain.

How?

“Plague and poison.”

Both Drake and Garuda jumped. Typhenous had caught up with them. The [Mage] looked weary, but true to his word he’d caught up with the group. He raised one grey eyebrow at the two adventurers.

“If you wish to know about the event in question, why not ask us?”

Issa’s scales turned bright red and her wings quivered in embarrassment. Bevussa ducked her head.

“My apologies, Mister…Typhenous, is it? We were curious.”

The [Mage] bared his teeth in a very Drakeish smile. Issa had to remind herself that Humans didn’t smile like that to be friendly.

“Many are. The truth is simple. Our team was called upon to deal with this crisis. As experts in Griffin Hunting, Halrac and Ulrien contracted my services and Revi’s. We dealt with the Griffins as we felt we had to when it became clear that the adventurers and local armies couldn’t handle the Griffins.”

“So you poisoned them. And spread diseases. I take it that there were consequences?”

Typhenous nodded.

“We poisoned their nests and killed hundreds of Griffins. But the plague got out of control. My spells…I used the wrong ones. The resulting sickness killed off almost every livestock animal and three cities and numerous settlements fell ill. We were lucky to keep our Gold-rank status.”

“But you killed the Griffins!”

Issa felt that wasn’t fair. But then she remembered the strict standards Gold-ranks were held to. Typhenous shook his head.

“We erred and people died for it, Miss…”

“Issa.”

“Miss Issa. Thank you. We made mistakes no Gold-ranks should have and were punished accordingly. The cost…drove away some of our former members. Halrac and Ulrien stayed with Revi and I, and we have worked hard to regain our status. I never thought we would employ the same tactics in the dungeon, but the Raskghar are not Griffins. And the cause is dire, despite the consequences.”

The entire short story made Issa want to protest on Typhenous’ behalf. In Drake cities, his team would probably have been commended, even if people had fallen sick. Two hundred Griffins versus a plague? But she bit her tongue on her reply. Typhenous walked next to her, looking weary, but determined. He had probably adventured three times longer than she had. Issa had risen to Gold-rank so quickly in part due to her Oldblood heritage and joining Bevussa’s group.

“Apologies. We didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s important that you know. We’ve attacked three Raskghar groups and let them run each time. We hope they’ll bring the poison and sickness back to their camps.”

“What about the Gnoll prisoners?”

Typhenous hesitated and glanced at Bevussa.

“I didn’t use the same spells as…previously. This spell spreads by contact. The Raskghar will rot from within and convey the sickness to anything that touches their infected parts. Unless they’re close to the Gnolls, they should be fine. The disease takes days to kill. If we reach the prisoners, we can cure them. And if not…”

If not, the Gnolls would be dead either way. Issa shuddered, and then wondered what Tier that spell was. And how did Typhenous know it? She opened her mouth to ask and then paused. Ahead of them, Seborn had raised a hand.

“Hold up!”

The eleven adventurers paused. Halrac walked forwards and then he and Seborn motioned. The adventurers moved ahead warily and then they saw it. Issa gasped.

“Dead gods. What is that?”

“Bone Horror!”

Something was walking down the corridor towards them. Something tall—six or seven feet—but far wider. A—a spider made of bone was the best way Issa could describe it. Only, the spider’s legs were meant to stab and cut, and it had no head, no eyes. It had been designed to kill, not ever to live. It was an undead creation. A Bone Horror.

Bevussa stared at the undead in alarm and disgust. The headless spider turned towards them. Its razor-sharp, barbed legs were covered in gore. It scuttled towards them, fast. The adventurers tensed, and then they heard a shout.

Pisces, stop!

The undead spider paused. The adventurers saw someone appear from behind it. Yvlon Byres walked forwards. She held her enchanted sword in both hands. Her arms and blade were bloody. Behind her, a giant monstrosity of bone opened its jaws. An armored bear-thing twice as large as it should be lumbered forwards, its spikes covered in blood. Issa imagined what would happen if it charged and rammed into her team. She gulped.

“Yvlon?”

Ylawes’ voice was disbelieving. He stared at the Bone Horrors, absolutely appalled, and then called out to Yvlon.

“Yvlon! Are you unharmed?”

“We’re alright. We’ve been fighting down this way. Is the route behind you clear? Pisces! It’s the Gold-ranks! Everyone, get over here!”

Yvlon shouted back the way they’d come. The Gold-rank adventurers saw a wave of Silver-rank adventurers behind them. They all looked like they’d seen combat, but, amazingly, the teams were all in one piece. It looked like they’d been heading down this corridor, fighting everything they came across. And by the amount of gore on their weapons, they’d found a lot.

“Dead gods. We told you Silver-ranks to stay put!”

Bevussa exclaimed as she saw that several adventurers had recently healed wounds—bad ones. Earlia grinned as she lifted her warhammer.

“Well, you know us. We don’t listen to orders all the time. Glad we found your team, though. We’ve been fighting an hour and I think Pisces isn’t doing so well.”

She gestured behind her. Issa saw a pale young man walking forwards with white robes. There was nothing sinister about Pisces’ appearance—he looked like any other Human male, really. But she shuddered. A [Necromancer]. Even so, Pisces looked quite pale and unwell. Someone—an Antinium, another shudder-provoking sight—was supporting him by one shoulder.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Mana exhaustion.”

Revi tried to push Ylawes out of the way and failed. She walked around him and strode up to Pisces. She stared at both Bone Horrors, appalled, and then at the smaller ones.

“You’ve got too many creations summoned! Look at the size of that thing! Get rid of them or you’ll burn yourself out!”

“I’m fine.”

Pisces’ eyelids flickered as he glared up at Revi. She glared back.

“You’re about to burn yourself out. You can’t sustain this! If you keep going you’ll injure yourself. Or die.”

The other adventurers turned to look at him, concerned. Yvlon wavered.

“Revi’s right, Pisces. We’ve been fighting over an hour and you haven’t slept. We can rest, try again in a bit.”

Pisces shook his head violently.

“I can keep going. I can—”

He faltered. Revi looked around, then made a fist. Before anyone could stop her, she punched Pisces in the side of the face.

It wasn’t a good punch. In fact, as punches went, it was more like being hit by a very soft rock. But it was enough. Pisces blinked, and then lost control.

One of the Bone Horrors took a step. The armored monster raised a foot and it broke apart. Bone scattered across the floor and the undead collapsed. Yvlon caught Pisces as he dropped.

“He’s out of mana. Someone give me another potion—”

“Don’t. He’s had too many already. He needs rest. Someone gather up those bones and let’s get him out of here. I’m nearly tapped myself.”

Revi wavered. Ksmvr lifted Pisces up.

“I can carry him, Miss Yvlon. Please take my buckler.”

He offered her a buckler which was surrounded by a shining force field. Yvlon shook her head.

“Deactivate it. You keep it, Ksmvr. I can’t fight with it as well. My arms are slower—I’ll use this.”

She lifted her sword in both hands. Ylawes frowned at her.

“You weren’t taught how to fight like that, Yv. A sword and shield is how the Byres family fights!”

“Shut up, Ylawes!”

Yvlon rounded on him. Ylawes opened his mouth to argue. Dawil clapped his hands together sharply. Everyone turned towards him. He frowned at Ylawes and Yvlon.

“Argue as much as you want, you two, but do it when we’re safe! While we’re all standing here braiding our beards, we’ve got monsters climbing up our arses! Back to the dungeon entrance!”

The adventurers looked at each other, but no one argued. They turned and followed the way the Silver-ranks had come. Only when they reached an intersection did Halrac turn.

“We have fresher adventurers. The Silver-rank can support me. I’ll head forwards with Jelaqua and pursue that armored Raskghar.”

“No, Halrac—”

Exasperated, Bevussa tried to argue with him. But the [Scout] was already heading down the corridor. Jelaqua and Seborn followed him. The other adventurers wavered for one second and then Keldrass, Yvlon, Dawil, Ylawes, Earlia, and a whole host of Silver-ranks followed. That left only a handful of adventurers behind and after they realized that, they followed too.

“We have injured here! And Pisces is unconscious!”

“Then head back. I want to find that armored Raskghar.”

“You’re going too far! We’ll all die if we go any further and get ambushed!”

Halrac ignored the truth of Bevussa’s statement. He checked his bow and poisoned arrow.

“We have to be close to the Raskghar. We must be.”

He strode down the corridor, past the spot where Jelaqua had stepped on the trap. Halrac rounded a corridor, barely pausing to check for traps. He reached another intersection and cursed.

“Which way?”

Halrac squinted at the ground, looking for fur, tracks, anything. He knelt, wobbled, and braced himself on the ground. Then he scanned the intersection. The adventurers came to a halt. Halrac bit his lip as he tried to make out clues. He was moving too fast and his mind was fuzzy. But they were close. They had to be.

As the other adventurers waited, they leaned against walls or even sat, too tired to maintain their guards. Yvlon tried to keep alert—they’d only fought for an hour, after all—but her arms were weary. She didn’t know how the Gold-ranks had lasted this long, stamina potions or not. The fighting had been relentless! She’d chopped through at least fifteen monsters with her blade alone.

As for Pisces’ Bone Horrors, they’d been scarily efficient. The one team of Raskghar that they’d run into had been slaughtered in minutes by the spider-thing, and the armored Bone Horror had been hit by a boulder and barely needed a few repairs from Pisces which he’d done on the spot. But the toll on Pisces had been immense. Yvlon leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. If they couldn’t find Ceria after all this—she paused as her ears picked something up, on the edge of hearing.

“What’s that sound?”

Everyone looked up. Yvlon frowned as she stared down the left corridor. Something was echoing down the corridor. Something…familiar. She straightened and looked at the others.

“What’s down there?”

Halrac got to his feet. He frowned ahead and motioned.

“Follow.”

The adventurers trooped down the corridor. They made it ten feet and Halrac inhaled. They froze, but he moved forwards. In a few seconds they saw what he had.

A dead Flesh Worm lay on the ground. It was very dead—blood had pooled and dried around it. It was not nearly as big as Skinner had been, and it had no layered armor of skin, but it was still terrifying, a red, serpentine worm monster with teeth and long feelers that could snatch away flesh. But it was dead. Someone had killed it.

The Flesh Worm’s hide was riddled with arrows. It had been shot over a hundred times, and as Yvlon walked forwards, she saw that its eyes—the two protruding bulbs that hung from the top of its head—had been shot off. The Flesh Worm lay on its side, curled up. And a few feet past it—

“Who did this?”

Bevussa stared at a pair of dead Stone Starers, their eyes shot through with an arrow each. Beyond them lay a group of maggots, riddled with arrows. And just past them—

At first, Yvlon nearly missed him. He was sitting against a wall, partially covered by the corpse of a Face-Eater Moth. He was so still that she mistook him for another corpse among the dead monsters surrounding him. Only when Bird began to sing did she spot him.

No birds in the ground, no birds in the rain. No birds, no flying, only pain. Pain, pain, fly away. Come again another day. No birds underground, no flying here. Only Bird and pain and singing and—oh, hello Miss Yvlon.”

Bird was lying against the wall, covered by the Face-Eater Moth. His new bow sat beside him, propped up against a wall. A small hunting knife was in Bird’s hand and he had armed himself with three sharp rocks in his other three hands. He looked up at Yvlon as she stared at him.

Bird?

“That is me. Hello.”

Bird waved the knife-holding hand at Yvlon. He sounded cheerful, but there was a tension to his voice that Yvlon had never heard before. Bird shifted.

“I am trapped. I thought you were a monster coming to kill me. I cannot move. Can you help me move?”

Yvlon nodded. She turned and saw the adventurers were staring. Revi pointed dumbly at the Antinium.

“Is that Bird?

“Hello.”

“How did he get here?

“I walked in.”

“How—never mind that! Someone give me a hand!”

The adventurers crowded around Bird. Yvlon bent down and heaved with the others. The Face-Eater Moth was surprisingly difficult to lift. It was sodden with blood. When they got it off Bird, they found he really couldn’t move. His left leg was partially crushed. Dried green blood and pieces of his carapace lay around on the ground.

“Ow. Ow. I am much ouch.”

Bird spoke cheerfully, but the way he jerked when Yvlon reached for his leg made it clear how much pain he was in. The woman bent.

“I have a healing potion. Hold still, Bird.”

“Oh. That feels very nice. Thank you, Miss Yvlon.”

Bird relaxed as she poured the healing potion onto his leg. He tried to get up, but still couldn’t. Yvlon caught him.

“Steady. What are you doing down here, Bird?”

He cocked his head at her.

“I am looking for Mrsha, of course. She was taken by the Raskghar. So I went after her. I did not find her. I found many monsters, though. Hello Mister Halrac.”

He waved at Halrac. The [Scout] was staring around at the carnage.

“You did this, Bird?”

The Antinium nodded.

“I had my bow. It is a very good bow because it killed everything. But I ran out of arrows. So I used my knife.”

He waved the knife. Yvlon stared at the Face-Eater Moth corpse. It looked like Bird had hacked its head apart with the knife. She looked at Bird.

“But why? Bird, this is so dangerous!”

Bevussa made a sound. Yvlon turned her head and the Garuda stared pointedly at Yvlon. Bird stared at her.

“Ooh. Pretty.”

Bird!

“What? Oh. I did it because Mrsha is missing and it is a bad thing. And I did a bad thing, so I had to do a good thing to make up for it. And because everyone else went.”

His simple explanation confused Yvlon, but Halrac seemed to understand it. The [Scout] knelt and looked at Bird.

“You did this because you wanted to make amends?”

Bird looked up at Halrac. He nodded slowly.

“I am very sorry, Mister Halrac. I did not find Mrsha, but I tried. Did I do bad?”

He quivered. Halrac paused.

“No. Not at all. You did a—a good thing, Bird.”

“Oh. That is very good. I am happy.”

Bird relaxed. Halrac straightened. He looked at Bird and then turned to Bevussa. He looked around and blinked a few times. For the first time, a bit of sanity seemed to enter his vision. Halrac shook his head.

“We’re pulling out for the day. Let’s go. Revi—have your summons carry Bird.”

“At last.”

Bevussa sighed in relief. Yvlon looked at Halrac. She wanted to argue, but when she stared at Bird, she realized how insane this was. They were way too far in the dungeon. The other Gold-ranks were at the entrance. And if there really were hundreds or thousands of Raskghar ahead—

“We’ll get you up. Can you walk, Bird?”

“…Maybe?”

Bird stood up with the help of two adventurers. He hobbled a bit.

“I can walk. Yes, this is good. I will not die like everyone. That would make Erin very sad and I would not like to make her sad again. All the others died and she cried, you know.”

He looked brightly around at the adventurers. Yvlon frowned, but it was Ksmvr who opened his mandibles.

“What do you mean, ‘everyone’, Bird?”

The Antinium Worker tilted his head.

“Everyone, former Prognugator Ksmvr. They are over there. Everyone died. Or most of everyone. I did not see Revalantor Klbkch die, but many others did.”

He pointed down the corridor. The adventurers gazed into the darkness. They looked at each other. Yvlon walked forwards carefully, and then her breath caught. She stared at the first shape lying on the ground, another smashed against the wall like a—an insect, and the dead Crypt Lord. And then she saw more shapes, lying still, motionless. She whispered as the other adventurers came forwards and gasped.

“Antinium.”

They lay where they had fallen. Broken, some in pieces, others melted or scorched or…the Antinium had died hard. None of them had less than a dozen wounds on their bodies and the monsters that lay around them were a testament to the battle that had taken place.

No, not a battle. A war had gone on in the dungeon. And by the looks of it, the Antinium had lost. Or at least, they’d paid the price.

Hallway after hallway was filled with Antinium corpses. Usually it wasn’t more than a handful, but there were places in which a trap had wiped out dozens. And as the adventurers moved forwards, the numbers of the dead Soldiers and Workers kept increasing.

“There have to be at least a thousand dead Antinium here. At least!”

Bevussa had no skin or scales that could turn pale, but her feathers all fluffed out as she stared at the dead Antinium in shock and horror. Bird reached out and tried to touch her feathers, but the Garuda was too agitated. She whirled and turned to Keldrass and Ylawes.

“This is—the Antinium must have attacked the dungeon at the same time we did. Did they send their entire Hive down here?”

Halrac shook his head grimly.

“There are thousands of Antinium in a Hive. This was just a wave. But it was destroyed. And look—they met Raskghar as well.”

Over a hundred Raskghar were dead in one corridor, and three times as many Soldiers and Workers. It looked like they’d slaughtered each other in the narrow space. Halrac inspected one dead Raskghar and rose, shaking his head.

“We should report this when we return. And…make plans. If the dungeon can handle a thousand Soldiers, if the Raskghar can—we can’t find Ceria or the Gnolls today. We’re heading back.”

No one argued with him. Nevertheless, Yvlon couldn’t help but stare back at the dead Antinium. She gripped her sword’s hilt helplessly. Halrac was right. And yet—

“We’re so close. We must be.”

No one answered her. Yvlon walked back through the dungeon. She felt as though Ceria were just around the corridor. But there was nothing she could do. She walked back, head hung low. All they’d done, all they’d accomplished—it hadn’t been enough. Adventurers, Pisces, the Antinium…the dungeon had swallowed all their efforts.

They’d failed.

 

—-

 

“You see? Do you see?”

Calruz laughed as he stood over his war table. It was a slab of stone and the crude parchment and drawings he’d made were a mockery of the detailed plans Ceria remembered him poring over before. But there was something familiar about it. Something close to what she remembered the Minotaur being. She stood by his side, her ears drooping, quiet. Defeated.

The Minotaur turned towards her, his eyes alight with triumph. He had overseen the invasion of both the Antinium and adventurers, moving most of his Raskghar out of the way, sending kill teams to take out vulnerable groups like the Halfseekers. Their failure had sent him into a rage, but now he was triumphant.

“Thousands of Antinium! Gold-rank teams—even undead led by that [Necromancer]! All failed to come close to my outermost camps! And by tomorrow we’ll have repositioned. Send the order to the forward camps! I want them moving by nightfall! Baskel!

He barked an order at the Raskghar who growled and loped off. Ceria watched it go. Calruz looked at her, grinning through his yellow teeth.

“You see? They’ll never make it this far into the dungeon. It assails them at every turn. It hunts them. It…thinks.”

“I see that. But why doesn’t it hunt you?”

Calruz paused.

“Because I—I know it. No. I’m alone. Yes, that’s what it is. You and I are a small group. We don’t attract attention. And the Raskghar are part of the dungeon. But adventurers? They disturb it. So do the Antinium. The dungeon resists them. But my warriors will be able to conquer it. I told you, Ceria.”

“You did.”

Calruz didn’t notice the half-Elf’s tone. He grinned elatedly.

“You and I have work to do. Tonight, we will assail a part of the dungeon. I’ve considered how to use your [Ice Walls] to the best advantage. We’ll begin our work and then—the adventurers will be months reaching us, if they even manage to clear out enough space to get here. And by that time we’ll have penetrated the heart of the dungeon. We’ll come out covered in treasure and glory!”

The Minotaur paced back and forth, talking excitedly. He didn’t seem to care how many Raskghar had died to the adventurers, or how many Goblins had perished as the monsters had fled the adventurer’s approach and clashed with his warriors. Ceria saw the Raskghar pacing in the background behind Calruz, eying the Gnolls, their Chieftain. Her. The Raskghar who’d performed the ritual was sitting among the largest Raskghar, clearly above the rest. She stared at Ceria. The half-Elf met her gaze and then looked at Calruz.

“I think…you might be making a mistake, Calruz. Everything might not go your way.”

“Nonsense.”

The Minotaur’s face twisted into a scowl. He stared at his map, his eyes too wide.

“They’ll never reach here. Never. My plans are flawless. No foreign presence can enter the dungeon. Only I…only I have the Skill. Everything else is hunted. Except for you. You will be part of my tribe. Yes, that’s how it is. That is how it will be. Nothing is wrong. You are incorrect, Ceria.”

“Whatever you say, Calruz.”

The Minotaur looked up sharply. Ceria looked away. He grunted and rolled up his maps.

“Come. We have work to do.”

 

—-

 

In some respects, Calruz was correct. The dungeon was aware, in some sense of the word. And he was right that it hunted. Or things in it hunted. All foreign presences were accounted for. They were…of notice. Not Calruz, but others. Including Ceria.

But what the Minotaur hadn’t accounted for, what he hadn’t thought of was that the dungeon was in some ways, stupid. It only looked at the base nature of things and didn’t account for exceptions. To the dungeon, a Human was a Human. A half-Elf was a half-Elf and a Selphid was a Selphid, dead body or not.

And a Goblin was a Goblin. After all, what was the difference? The adventurers retreated from the dungeon, battered, exhausted. Not beaten, but stalemated. The Antinium survivors returned to their Hive. Pisces left the dungeon unconscious, slipping into dreams where Ceria’s corpse stood in front of him, grinning and asking if this was what he had wanted all along. But one group remained.

On the same day, the Redfang Warriors descended into the dungeon. They had a far, far different experience than the adventurers.

 


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5.41

At dawn, the Gold-rank adventurers entered the dungeon in grim silence, dropping beneath the water into the shadowy halls where monsters flooded forwards, resisting them step by step. Later that day, Yvlon would awaken and together with Pisces, Ksmvr, and six other Silver-rank teams, enter the dungeon. The adventurers would go forwards bringing spell and sword to cut their way through the dungeon and search for both the missing Gnolls and Ceria.

They would all fail. However, at the same time, another expedition took place. It began in Celum, with a young woman banging on the door to the smithy of the best [Blacksmith] in the city. She was accompanied by a nervous Drake, who peered at the sky—still dark since it was just past dawn.

“Hey Erin, it’s really early. Don’t you think we should wait a bit? Maybe until it’s a bit lighter, I mean? I know I wouldn’t like to get up this early, and uh, we are trying to buy from this Human, right?”

Erin turned to Drassi. The [Innkeeper] wasn’t smiling. She looked worried. Tired. Stressed would be too calm a word for her current mood.

“This is the best [Blacksmith] in the city.”

Drassi hesitated.

“According to Octavia and Wesle, yes. Although you did wake both of them up, so they might have said that just to get you to go away.”

“Right. But they said that. And this is the right spot.”

“Right.”

“Okay then.”

Erin turned and began kicking on the door.

Open up! I know you’re in there! I can see the candle you’re holding!

She began shouting, and Drassi winced as she saw lights appearing and someone throwing open their windows. The Human began shouting obscenities which Erin ignored. Drassi was less comfortable. She was a Drake in a Human city and while they weren’t at war with the Humans right now, their species had a history. You heard things about Humans. Most of which weren’t true, granted, but…

“Alright, alright! Stop shouting!”

At last someone yanked open the door. The best [Blacksmith] in all of Celum turned out to be a man with arms like melons. In that his muscles were huge, not that his skin was jaundiced. He glared at Erin, one fist clenched, the other holding a candle lamp.

“You’ve got some nerve! My shop opens in the day. If you’re here about a broken pot or something, I’ll call the Watch—”

“I’m here to buy weapons. Hey, move back. I want into the shop.”

Erin put her hand out and to the big man’s surprise, pushed him backwards. He stumbled back and Erin marched into the shop.

“You’re the best [Blacksmith] in Celum, right?”

“I told you, we’re not—”

“Are you? Or do we have to go to your competitor? Jelaqua told me she needed quality steel for her flails. And I’m not buying from anyone but the best. I could have gone to Pallass, but my door can’t handle the magic.”

The burly Human blinked a few times. He opened his mouth, and Drassi could see him trying to process Erin’s sentence. But he got the important bits. Pallass, someone named Jelaqua, flails, and something about magic doors.

“You’re that [Innkeeper], aren’t you? The one everyone’s been talking about? I heard you were a loon who fired hardworking folk and ruined Miss Agnes’ business. And that your inn’s the only place where the Players of Celum perform. Is that true? I’ve been meaning to see Hamlet again, only I heard your inn was closed because of how poor the food and service was.”

“Who told you that?”

Drassi peered at the Human. She loved good gossip, and this sounded malicious. Scandalous, even! Erin was looking around the shop. The [Blacksmith] had a forge, but his best pieces were hanging on the walls. They looked like good steel, although Drassi wasn’t nearly as good at judging such things as Selys was.

She was friends with Selys. Well, friends was a simple word. If Drassi had to explain it to someone who’d never met her before—and she loved to explain things and talk about the latest rumors, that was practically what she lived for, you know—she would have told her audience all about how she and Selys shared a lot of the same friends and grew up in the same neighborhood.

Of course, they’d grown up and Selys had gotten a nice job in the Adventurer’s Guild thanks to her grandmother, and Drassi had bounced from job to job. She’d been fired each time—not for ineptitude! Certainly not. But she talked a lot, and that was a problem when she sometimes forgot to take orders or wait tables. So when Selys had told her about her Human friend who was looking for a [Barmaid], Drassi had been desperate enough to take the job.

And what a good thing it was that she’d taken the job! Erin was fun to work with and let Drassi talk all the time. And there was always gossip-worthy material at her inn. Which mattered a lot to Drassi because she had the [Gossip] class. Yes, really. Most people thought she was lying, but Drassi never lied. Lies ruined juicy gossip and Drassi was a connoisseur of chat.

And yes, she talked a bit too much, but she knew how to keep her mouth shut. Anyways that was enough about her. The Drake peered at the Human expectantly. Where had this obviously false rumor about Erin’s inn come from?

The [Blacksmith] shrugged.

“One of the [Innkeepers] told a customer of mine that. Apparently uh, her inn had huge rats. Food so foul no one could keep it down. Any of that true?”

“Um…no. Erin’s got a big bee in her inn, but her food is amazing. Really, I eat it all the time. And she’s got a packed inn most nights because the Players of Celum are putting on wonderful performances! I mean just great. Sounds like someone’s been lying to you, friend.”

Drassi shook her head and tsked. The Human man frowned.

“You think so?”

He seemed to forget he was speaking to Drassi, a Drake, just past dawn in the middle of his shop as Erin was poking around his swords and pulling them off the racks. Drassi smiled like an old friend.

“I know so. In fact, I bet I know who started that rumor. An [Innkeeper], you said? Was your friend eating at the Drunken Swordsman or Blazehound last night?”

“Yes. Yes he was! He was in The Drunken Swordsman last night. How did you know?”

The Drake smiled triumphantly as the [Blacksmith] gaped at her. She was a [Gossip]. A high-level one, in fact. Being a Level 17 [Gossip] wasn’t bad, especially since most people had never heard of the class. And she had Skills. She wasn’t actively using them now, but [Time to Chat] and [Trusted Voice] meant she could almost always slip in a word edgewise when she wanted to.

“Timbor Parithad’s the [Innkeeper] who runs that inn, isn’t he? He had a run-in with my boss—Erin, right there. She kicked him out of her inn. They were having a dispute over two [Barmaids] she hired—from Miss Agnes’ inn. Do you see the picture I’m drawing? Anyways, those two Humans—uh, I mean, [Barmaids]—were just awful. Let me clear the facts for you. Hey, do you have a place to sit? ”

The [Blacksmith], whose name was Joiah Kellisman, didn’t quite know how it happened. First he’d been at his door, ready to knock senseless whomever was making that racket. The next thing he knew, he’d been nodding as Drassi told him about how awful Maran and Safry had been and agreeing that Erin’s inn—which he’d never visited—really was unique. Over a cup of tea, no less. He jumped when Erin dumped five swords onto his counter.

“I’m done. Hey, how much are these?”

Joiah looked around. He saw the young woman waving one of his best swords—which had been pride of place hanging above his counter—at him. She had four more of his best blades.

“Hey! Hold on, those aren’t for sale!”

“Why not?”

The [Blacksmith] looked around, realized he had a cup of tea in his hands, and put it on the table. Drassi sipped from hers as Joiah tried to regain some kind of mental balance.

“You can’t just come in here and buy my weapons! Why did I open—if you want to talk blades, I can forge you a few or sell you some of my other swords, but this is far too early! It’s not even light out!”

Erin crossed her arms.

“I’m in a hurry. These are your best blades, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. They look like good steel. And Jelaqua needs at least two flails. You can make those, right. Two-handed flails? Steel heads? Sharp and pointy?”

Joiah paused. For the first time the name Erin mentioned rang a bell.

“Hold on. Jelaqua? As in Jelaqua Ivirith? The Gold-rank adventurer? She wants a flail?”

“Two. And I want swords. And Jelaqua happens to stay at my inn. There wouldn’t be a discount on these swords, would there? I’ve got the gold to pay for it all.”

Erin had a hefty bag of gold. She opened it as she put it on the counter. Joiah looked from her to Drassi.

“I don’t have flails in the shop, but I could make a pair—but these are my best blades!”

“And I’m sure Jelaqua wants your best flails. If she shops here. Which she will if I tell her how awesome the swords I just bought were.”

Erin pointedly nudged the tip of a sword on the counter and cut herself. She swore. Joiah stared at her. The young woman in front of him looked harried. He would have said distressed, but she looked ready to hit something rather than cry. And she clearly didn’t know swords, because she’d cut herself on one of his sharp blades.

“Jelaqua Ivirith of the Halfseekers stays at your inn. And she’ll buy from me on your say so.”

“That’s right. Well, I’d suggest it, but I bet she’ll buy here. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

Joiah opened his mouth to say how stupid that claim was. He nearly had the words out when Drassi leaned forwards, clasping her tea with both claws.

“It’s true! Jelaqua’s been staying at Erin’s inn since before I started working there. And she listens to Erin. I’m sure she’ll be by. In fact, I guarantee it. Erin wouldn’t lie. And I never do.”

Joiah looked at Drassi. The Drake gave him a toothy smile. He looked at Erin. He looked at the bag of gold. He pointed at Erin.

“Let me get some sheathes. And in the name of the Five Families, don’t hold that sword like that! You’ll split your head right open!”

 

—-

 

“One down. The bow’s next.”

Ten minutes later, Erin had a bundle of swords in her arms. She handed two to Drassi, who lifted them and found they were very light. She’d always expected swords to be heavy, but apparently a good sword would never weigh over five pounds at most. She’d learned that from Joiah during their talk. She liked meeting new people.

“That was a lot of money you gave him. But he’ll probably earn even more from having a Gold-rank adventurer commission those flails. Jelaqua is going to go to his shop, isn’t she, Erin? I don’t lie to people. I told you that, right?”

“You did. And Jelaqua will. Good job, Drassi.”

Erin began striding down the street. The sun was still rising, but Erin moved so fast that Drassi had to jog to keep up.

“Thanks. Wait, what did I do?”

“You convinced that guy that I was telling the truth. Selys told me you were good with words.”

Drassi smiled.

“Well, I am a [Gossip]. Did I tell you how I got my class?”

“No. And you’re not telling it now.”

“Aw. Hey—why are we running around Celum before dawn anyways? What are these swords for?”

Erin turned her head.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll run and tell Selys exactly what I told you.”

Drassi hesitated.

“…No I won’t. Okay, yes I will. Darn, I can’t lie. How did you know that?”

Erin stared at a street sign and turned left, marching rapidly across the cobblestones which weren’t soaked with rain. As they would be in Liscor where it was raining at this moment.

“I saw you and Selys talking. You’re here to keep an eye on me, aren’t you? That’s also why Imissi’s staying the night at the inn, isn’t it? To make sure Lyonette doesn’t do anything crazy.”

“Um. Yes.”

Drassi cursed a bit inside. Then again, her volunteering to stay the night at Erin’s inn had been fairly obvious. She glanced at Erin.

“You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you? Because I promised Selys I’d stop you.”

Erin turned her head back. Her eyes were very serious. They’d lost her normal humor ever since Mrsha had been missing.

“If I did, could you stop me?”

The Drake nearly choked on her tongue. Her tail curled up anxiously, but Erin had already turned away.

“Come on. We need a bow and arrows.”

 

—-

 

A flotilla of boats rowed quickly across the lake that surrounded the city of Liscor. Gold-rank adventurers dropped into the water, watched by Zevara and the [Guardsmen] on the walls. At the same time, another boat rowed east. It was not crewed by typical adventurers. Nor was it headed towards the rift. Rather, it was moving steadily across the basin of water. Heading towards the edge, in fact.

During the rainy season in Liscor, travel was practically impossible. An assault with most armies was almost certainly unfeasible. It was one of the things that made Liscor so hard to assail. Consequently, only Couriers or the truly desperate would contemplate finding a boat and rowing across the entirety of the waters to reach the other side. But the journey was possible. Just not pleasant.

Hollowstone Deceivers, or as they were known to Erin, Rock Crabs, hunted in the rainy season. They were four times as deadly when they could hide underneath the water and ambush unsuspecting fish or people from beneath their shells. Other fish had also entered the ecosystem—Lurkersnatch Fish, the octopus-like fish who sported thick, black skin and had tentacles strong enough to crush heads. The obnoxious Quillfish who could put an eye out and cause damage in large numbers. Walker Carp, Bloat Bursters, Erin’s nemesis, the toothy and aggressive Flatfish…

Of course, a lot of the fish weren’t dangerous at all. But the ones that were made things tricky. So even Liscor’s best [Fishers] liked to stay within view of the walls. But one group had already crossed the lake by boat, braved the treacherous waters to reach the land and the road that headed north to Esthelm.

Only, they hadn’t gone down that road. Yes, if they had kept going, they would have gone north, crossing into drier terrain and out of the rain. Esthelm would have been the first city they spotted until they fully entered Human lands, where cities such as Celum, Remendia, and Ocre were spread out. And if they’d gone further still, they would have passed countless other Human settlements, perhaps even passed by Invrisil, headed a bit north and to the west and encountered a small village named Riverfarm and seen thousands of Goblins running for their lives.

But they hadn’t done that. The group had stopped, barely a few miles away from Liscor, in fact. They’d travelled along the mountain pass, looking for the cleft in the rock they’d known was there. And they’d found it.

It was a gap in the rock. A natural fissure that had opened up at some point. Subsequent centuries and erosion had turned it into a cave. It was fairly large as caves went, and quite defensible. But a few factors made it unique.

The first was the population of Dropclaw Bats that had made the cave their home. These bats were large and fearsome. For bats. They were a danger to the casual explorer. The second thing was the hastily-built wall of stones and dirt on the far wall of the cave. If someone were to knock in the wall, they would find themselves in a room full of smashed statues. In a dungeon, in fact. In the dungeon.

The group of Goblins knew all this. They had never been in this cave. Not the five Redfang Warriors, or the dozens of Cave Goblins who meekly followed them. But Goblins were social creatures. In their way, they were more social than Humans or practically any other species.

The Redfangs had never been in this cave, the cave that Rags and her tribe had found ages ago when they’d seen Toren running out of the dungeon and made one exploration attempt into the dungeon before closing the hole up. The very same cave that Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers had found when exploring the dungeon, right before they’d encountered the Shield Spider nest.

But as luck would have it, Rags’ tribe had encountered the Redfang tribe and once Garen had submitted to Rags, his Goblins and Rags’ had gossiped. As Goblins do. And if there was one thing Goblins talked about, it was about bolt-holes and places to hide from Humans.

Naturally the Redfangs knew about the cave. And when Erin had asked for a place for the Cave Goblins to go, they had immediately thought of it. So they had taken a few boats left outside the inn, herded the Cave Goblins into them, and made the journey across the waters to the cave. They’d marched in, made short work of the Dropclaw bats stupid enough to attack them, and begun setting up a camp.

This was Plan G. Erin had hit on it with their help after meeting Pebblesnatch. She’d realized the dangers of having so many Cave Goblins around—not to mention the likely response that would come from both Liscor and the adventurers. So she’d asked the Redfangs for help, since her basement wasn’t big enough. And here they were.

Headscratcher, Shorthilt, and Badarrow walked about the cave, checking the walls by tapping on them with their stone weapons (and Shorthilt’s prized iron sword) for faults. They’d already known about the sealed-off entrance to the dungeon, but they wanted to be sure this camp was secure.

Next, Badarrow began chasing the rest of the Dropclaw Bats out with precise shots that felled each bat. Shorthilt went to work on the entrance to the cave, designing a way to block it off in a hurry if there was danger—from the inside or out. And Headscratcher went looking for wood. He ended up giving up on finding branches and just knocked down a small tree.

As each of the Hobs walked around, they were followed by a group of Cave Goblins. The smaller, greyer Goblins stared in awe at the Hob’s backs. They followed hesitantly, at first running each time one of the Redfangs looked around. But within an hour they were helping the Hobs with their tasks, piling up rocks with Shorthilt, gathering the dead Dropclaw bats that Badarrow shot, and picking up sticks as Headscratcher tried to figure out how to drag an entire tree back to the cave.

It had to be said that the Redfang Warriors knew what they were about. True, they were inept trackers, but securing a camp and setting up basic defenses was something every Redfang knew about. The High Passes had made them tough—compared to their home, Liscor was a land of milk and honey. Quite literally, when Erin handed both to them in a hot mug.

The cave wasn’t as nice as her inn. But it was defensible and there were resources around to fortify it and set up all the essentials. Badarrow looked up and threw a rock at Headscratcher when the Hob returned, dragging a young tree in with all the Cave Goblins. The [Archer] made Headscratcher take it outside and denude the tree of all the leaves and then chop it up with his stone axe. They had to dry the wood first. The cave had no ventilation, so smoke would rapidly become an issue. Badarrow made all this clear with a few rude and pointed gestures.

Shamefaced, Headscratcher got to work. His stone axe looted from the Raskghar was not meant for chopping, and he ended up splitting the tree, more from the force of his blows than the sharpness of his axe. By the time he was halfway done, his handle was slightly fractured. Headscratcher groaned, knowing it was probably no longer good as a weapon. He wandered back inside the cave and hopefully pointed at Shorthilt’s sword. It was very sharp and would chop up the tree.

Shorthilt grabbed his sword and kicked at Headscratcher. His body language and expression told Headscratcher that he could have Shorthilt’s sword…never. Shorthilt’s possessiveness of good blades and his care for his weapon was why he alone had a sword still—all the other Hobs had damaged their weapons and had to find replacements.

Glumly, Headscratcher walked back outside and saw the Cave Goblins breaking branches off the tree and ferrying them inside. That made him brighten up a bit. He kept forgetting he was a Hob now!

Hobs had privileges. Or maybe the right way to think about it was that Hobs were leaders while regular Goblins were followers. There were exceptions, like Redscar, Garen’s second-in-command, but in general, Hobs bossed around regular Goblins. Their job was to boss, which meant they had to work less.

All Headscratcher had to do was show the Cave Goblins how to break up the log by hammering a sharp rock into it and cracking the wood and they were on the job. He had to lend a hand with the heavier parts that required his strength, but he found himself enjoying standing around with his arms folded while the Cave Goblins industriously swarmed over the tree and disassembled it.

Soon, the Redfang Goblins had a supply of firewood ready to dry out around a fire, a rockslide trap that could seal the cave off, and dead Dropclaw bats. The three of them squatted around, grinning at each other. Now this felt like the good old days. No inn, no fancy beds or food. No Erin, just living on what they could scavenge.

After a few minutes, their smiles faded. Badarrow grunted and fished a sharp stone out that had impaled itself in his butt. Headscratcher looked at the dead Dropclaw bats, which weren’t cooked, were still leaking a bit of blood, and were most definitely not marinated. Shorthilt eyed the ground, which some Cave Goblins were laying grass and bits of brush on to make a bed.

This did feel like the good old days. And it turned out that the good old days weren’t that good. Headscratcher recalled his soft bed—his personal bed—and his feather pillow. Badarrow’s stomach reminded him of manicotti and a cold drink of ale. Shorthilt stared at the dried firewood and tried to remember how to make a fire. The Hobs looked at each other. It was a good thing that this wasn’t all of Plan G.

 

—-

 

The second boat that travelled across the waters, heading east towards the water’s edge moved a lot faster than the first group of boats had. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater rowed furiously. They knew where they were headed—they’d gone with the others to begin with, and had come back to report on the progress to Erin’s inn. Now they were rowing as fast as they could.

Bad things had happened. Very bad things. Rabbiteater didn’t have the vocabulary to express how bad it was. Numbtongue did, and he shouted expletives. Mrsha was gone! Ceria was kidnapped! The Raskghar were being led by a Minotaur who was also an adventurer! They’d attacked the inn! Erin was crying!

The two Hobs made the boat fly across the water, ignoring the attention they attracted. They had no time for it. They practically crashed the boat into the grass and leapt to shore. They saw Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Headscratcher were there to greet them with the rest of the Cave Goblins.

Has food? Blankets?

Headscratcher pointed hopefully at the boat. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue stared at him and then remembered. That was why they’d gone to Erin’s inn. Plan G had been to provision the Redfangs and Cave Goblins in their new home. The Cave Goblins swarmed over the boats, exclaiming in awe at the bags of flour and salt and potatoes and hauling them up and hurrying towards the cave with them.

Good food. Eat much.

Badarrow and Shorthilt crowded around the provisions. Shorthilt shook his head glumly.

No Erin cook. Bad taste.

Badarrow nodded reluctantly. He put a finger into one of the bags of flour and licked his finger and grimaced. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater exchanged glances. They waved their hands for everyone’s attention. The three other Hobs glanced at Numbtongue as the Hob drew in a huge breath. Then Numbtongue screamed.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!

All the Goblins stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Numbtongue took in another breath. He screamed again. It was the best summary he could think of. He drew in air for a third scream and Rabbiteater clapped a hand over his mouth. He waved his hands, wide-eyed, and the other three Hobs realized something was very wrong. They ran back towards the cave. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue led the way after pausing to grab something strange from the boat. A large, wide plank of wood. They didn’t waste time once they got to the cave. Numbtongue summed up the situation in a few terse sentences as Rabbiteater gestured and provided context.

“Raskghar attacked during the day! They’re smart during daytime too! They attacked the inn—took Mrsha. And attacked the adventurers in the dungeon! Ceria—the half-Elf with bone hand—is gone. And the Raskghar are being led by a Minotaur! A former adventurer. He is Chieftain. Erin cried.”

The other Hobs gaped at him. They asked questions, demanded to know more details. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater recounted all they had witnessed and finally dragged in the Cave Goblin who’d been passed out in their boat. The terrified Cave Goblin was still unconscious from his interrogation by the adventurers.

As dawn changed to morning, the convivial attitude shared by the Redfang Hobs was no more. A mood of great tension had descended over the cave. The Cave Goblins watched as Rabbiteater paced back and forth. Headscratcher was punching one of the walls, shaking with frustration and rage. Shorthilt was sharpening his blade. Badarrow was checking his arrows. Headscratcher whirled as Numbtongue grabbed him to stop him from breaking his hands on the rock wall. Numbtongue stared—Headscratcher had shattered the stone with his bare fists.

We go!

Headscratcher turned and roared the words. He drew his cracked stone axe. Shorthilt and Badarrow leapt to their feet. There was no hesitation. Erin had asked them. She had asked them to find Mrsha. As adventurers. As Goblins! There was no question they would go. Headscratcher strode towards the wall that separated the cave from the dungeon and began to kick it down. Numbtongue shouted.

“Wait!”

Headscratcher did not want to wait. Rabbiteater pulled him back. The Hob turned with a snarl, but Rabbiteater swirled his magic cloak and  caught Headscratcher’s punch in the water. His water cloak made the other Cave Goblins gasp in awe, but Headscratcher just yanked his arm out and glared at Rabbiteater.

Rabbiteater raised one placating hand. He hurried over to the flat plank of wood and leaned it against the cave wall. He fished in his pockets and pulled something out. Headscratcher frowned. Did Rabbiteater have a…doorknob?

Yes he did. Rabbiteater stuck the doorknob into the piece of wood, hammering it in with one solid blow. The doorknob stuck into the wood, functionally useless, but completing the rough look. Rabbiteater turned and pointed at Numbtongue. The other Hob pulled something out of his pocket and threw it at Rabbiteater. The Goblin slapped it to the door. It was a stone. A mana stone, glowing bright red. Rabbiteater nodded. He threw open the door—

And stared at the blank wall of the cave. The other Redfang warriors stared at the door. Rabbiteater faltered, closed the door, opened it, and closed it again. He scratched his head.

“Not time yet.”

Numbtongue grunted. He sat down on the ground and began to pluck at something. His guitar, crudely mended. Headscratcher wavered. He pointed at the door. Numbtongue nodded. The guitar sang. Jolts of electricity flared to life on the strings. Headscratcher gaped. Numbtongue played a riff. Sparks of lightning shot from his guitar, grounding themselves on the cave floor. The Hobs stared.

“[Electric Chords]. We wait.”

The [Bard] began to play. His guitar sang like no other guitar could. It did not, in fact, sound like an electric guitar from Erin’s world. Numbtongue had heard Erin singing songs from her world, but none of them had been rock or featured an electric guitar. No, his guitar sounded like he was playing chords out of thunder. He strummed and the air crackled and snapped.

Lightning flashed between his strings. It didn’t seem to bother Numbtongue, but when an entranced Shorthilt reached out to touch the guitar he shouted in pain and drew his hand back. Numbtongue grinned as Shorthilt threw dirt at him. But the grin vanished. His fingers plucked restlessly over his strings. The music the guitar made was urgent, quick. The other Goblins listened, their hearts beating faster for the music.

Music. Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Rabbiteater looked at each other. They glanced at Headscratcher, who was massaging his scraped knuckles and staring blankly at the door and Numbtongue who was making music. Both had new classes. Both were…well, beyond the other three Redfangs. Beyond most of the Redfang tribe, in fact.

They had unique classes. [Berserker] and [Bard]. The Hobs had heard of [Berserkers], mainly from Garen and they could appreciate how dangerous and how impressive that class was. But a [Bard]? They couldn’t think of any Goblin, any Goblin that had ever had that class. It made the two special.

There were Hobs in the Redfang Tribe. But just based on his new class, Headscratcher would have been an elite among elites. As for Numbtongue—well, Shorthilt wasn’t sure about [Bard] as a combat class. But after staring at the electricity shooting from the guitar, the Hob concluded that Numbtongue was as close to a [Shaman] as the Redfang Tribe had ever had. That made him…

Incredible. Inspiring. The Hobs were ecstatic for their friends. And jealous. They’d all felt the pulling, the sense of standing on the edge of something. All three wished they’d gotten a class like that. But not yet.

Maybe not ever if they went into the dungeon. That went undiscussed, but it was there. The Hobs remembered the fallen. This seemed like another suicide mission. One they would take on willingly, but still. They looked at each other and nodded. Then they glanced at the Cave Goblins.

Over sixty sat in the cave, staring at the Hobs. They shifted uneasily as the Redfangs looked at them. But their eyes never left the five. The Cave Goblins had never seen Hobs before. They had forgotten there could even be Hobs. They had accepted the Raskghar as their masters—worse, as their tribe. They followed a Minotaur as their Chieftain. They were not-Goblin. But at the same time, they were still Goblins. So the Redfangs sat a bit taller. To show the Cave Goblins what a true Goblin looked like.

The door opened when the sun had cleared the mountain tops. The sky lightened and the pouring rain grew lighter. And an inn appeared in the open doorway. The crude door that Rabbiteater had built revealed a room filled with dim light from the fireplace. And a young woman. The Cave Goblins cried out in fear and flinched as Erin strode through the door. Behind her came Drassi, clutching a pair of swords. The Drake flinched when she saw all the Goblins lined up.

“Oh, Ancestors. What is this place? Erin, this is getting a bit crazy!”

The Hobs scrambled to their feet. Numbtongue looked up from his guitar and leapt to his feet. Erin looked around. She took in the pile of firewood, the cave, the wall to the dungeon, the Cave Goblins, the dead Dropclaw Bats, and the Redfang Warriors. She nodded.

“Numbtongue told me you were set up. Did he tell you the rest?”

“Yes.”

Numbtongue stood. All the Hobs stared at what Erin was carrying. She held three swords in addition to the two Drassi bore. And she had an unstrung bow hung over one shoulder. Erin shifted.

“Someone take this off me. Badarrow, this bow’s for you.”

The Hobs looked at each other. Badarrow pointed to himself, stunned. Erin nodded.

“It’s yours. The rest of you, check out the swords. Let me know if it’s good. I got it from the best [Blacksmith] in Celum. Go on.”

She shifted to let Badarrow cautiously take the recurve bow off her shoulder. The Hob stared at the bow, running his fingers down the oiled wood. He flexed the bow, his usually dour expression now one of complete surprise.

Headscratcher stared at the sheathed blades. The leather sheathe was plain, but when he unsheathed the blade—he nearly dropped the sword as he saw steel glinting at him. The Hob drew the sword, mouth open wide. The other Redfangs did the same.

Five steel swords flashed in the cave. Shorthilt stared at his blade. Tears sprang into his eyes. He looked at the worn, lovingly cared for sword at his waist and slowly took it off. He looked at Erin. She stared at him, the tiniest glimmer of a smile on her face. Her eyes were very serious, but her voice lightened a bit.

“Do you like it?”

The Hob hesitated. Then he hugged her. Erin yelped—Shorthilt’s grip was strong—but then the other Redfangs crowded around her. They didn’t quite dare to hug her, but they patted her on the head and shoulders. Rabbiteater patted Erin on the chest by accident and got a light slap.

“Enough!”

Erin stopped the moment after a few seconds. She smiled wearily. Sadly. At once, the Hobs remembered what was wrong and straightened. Erin pointed to the swords.

“That’s my investment. That’s my fee. I’m asking you as adventurers, as Goblins…find Mrsha. Find Ceria. Go into the dungeon. The Raskghar have both. The Cave Goblins have to know where they are.”

“They said—”

Numbtongue began. Erin cut him off.

“I know, the camp moves. But they have to have an idea, right? At the very least, they know where traps are. Get them to help you. We were planning on rescuing the Cave Goblins—as many as we could anyways. Well, I’m amending Plan G. Find Mrsha and Ceria first. Bring them back. And if you find the camp and Calruz—he’s the Minotaur—”

Erin hesitated. She looked from face to face.

“—Try not to kill him. But do what you have to. Bring them back. Please.”

She bowed her head. The Redfangs reached out. They grabbed Erin by the shoulder, on her arms. She looked up. The Hobs smiled. Erin wiped her eyes.

“Thank you. I know what I’m asking. I won’t send you in unprepared. Drassi! Bring the crate in.”

The Drake jumped. She hurried into the inn, conscious of all eyes on her. It was very strange. The Silver-rank adventurers in the inn and Lyonette hadn’t noticed where the door was connected to. Why should they? People went through to Liscor and Celum and even Pallass all the time. But if they’d come over, they would have seen the ranks of Goblins. Drassi almost shouted at them. Almost.

There was a small crate of glowing potions on the nearest table. Drassi grabbed it and hurried back through the open door, conscious of all the Goblin eyes on her. She offered it to Headscratcher, who blinked at the potions.

“Stamina potions, a Tripvine bag…but mainly healing potions. Octavia’s best. That’s all I can afford. There’s two for each of you. Is it enough?”

Erin looked anxious. The Redfang Warriors lifted the bottles, sniffing at the cork stoppers. They glanced at each other and nodded.

“Enough. More than enough. We will do it. We will go.”

Numbtongue spoke for the others. Headscratcher sheathed his sword. Badarrow strung his new bow, casting his old one aside. Shorthilt placed his iron sword on the ground, stroking the handle once before buckling his new sword to his belt. Rabbiteater’s magical cloak swirled around him as he squared his shoulders. Erin looked at them.

“Be careful. Just go in and try to track down the Raskghar. Don’t fight if you don’t have to. Don’t die. Please.”

The Hobs nodded. They turned and Headscratcher barked an order. The Cave Goblins jumped. Three of them approached out of the mass. The rest looked unhappy.

“We keep rest here. They stay or run. We go with three. Smaller. Faster.”

Numbtongue told Erin. She hesitated. That wasn’t Plan G, and the Redfangs knew it. But they had no choice. They had to go in as one group. The Cave Goblins would probably flee, but it wasn’t as if this cave mattered. And Erin’s inn had adventurers in it. The Raskghar had already attacked it.

“Fine. I’ll try to keep them here. You go.”

The Hobs paused. They looked at Erin. She gestured at the Cave Goblins. Numbtongue opened his mouth to protest, but looked at Erin and closed his mouth. He strapped the guitar to his back and nodded.

“We go!”

He turned. The Redfangs marched to the wall connecting to the dungeon. They paused, running their hands down the packed dirt and stones. Months ago, Rags’ tribe had created this very wall. Now, five Hobs stood in the same spot. Headscratcher closed his eyes, and then he drew back his fist. He punched the wall, cracking the dirt. The other Redfangs broke down the wall, kicking aside rocks, pulling the weak masonry apart. Then they stepped into the room with the crushed remains of the statues and the corpses of countless Shield Spiders. They stared around as the Cave Goblins inspected the room and jabbered to each other. Then one of the Cave Goblins pointed and the Hobs followed. They disappeared.

Erin stood behind as the Cave Goblins shifted uneasily. Drassi looked around, her heart thundering as the little Cave Goblins stared at both her and Erin. But the [Innkeeper] only had eyes for the Hobs. She stood there until the last of their footfalls had vanished. She whispered a prayer.

“Good luck.”

 

—-

 

At first they were eight. Five Hobs, three Cave Goblins. The Redfang warriors strode ahead, following the three Cave Goblins who glanced around nervously, their postures wary. But the Hobs were calm. Unnaturally so. They were afraid, but they felt the same icy cool sweep over them that sometimes occurred in the moments right before a life or death battle.

This reminded them of the old days. And by that, they meant four months ago, when they’d been part of the Redfang Tribe back in the High Passes. Back when everything had been simple and there was only death or life and Garen knew what to do.

Of course, simple didn’t mean easy. Back then, the Redfang Tribe had fought against groups of monsters as dangerous as the Raskghar. To maintain their position at the base of the mountain range, they’d often clashed with Eater Goats, Gargoyles, feral Carn Wolves—and those were just the monsters who roamed the lower altitudes.

Normally they’d want at least a hundred more Redfangs at their back and at least a dozen more Hobs. Carn Wolves would be nice, too, even in the confines of the dungeon. None of the five Goblins present had been [Riders], but they deeply respected the massive rust-red wolves and their ability to fight. Plus, Carn Wolves made for lovely pillows at night.

However, all they had were the five of them. The Hobs knew they couldn’t assault the dungeon head-on. They were a strike team, with a clear mission. Track down the Raskghar, get Mrsha and Ceria, and escape. They had few distinct advantages. A few healing potions, steel swords. Numbtongue’s guitar. Headscratcher and Numbtongue’s new class. Rabbiteater’s cloak. And the bell.

The Hobs hadn’t taken the cursed necklace for fear of what it might do. But they did have the bell of pain, for what it was worth. Yes, ringing it caused unbelievable agony to everyone in earshot. But…well, that could be a good thing. And in the dungeon, the Redfangs needed every edge they could get. Badarrow had possession of the bell and he had a plan for it.

Five Hobs versus a dungeon’s worth of monsters and traps. It wasn’t good, but it did feel a bit normal. Headscratcher pointed at the Cave Goblins.

Where Raskghar?

Move tribe! Move tribe not know where! Go find?

The Cave Goblin squeaked nervously. Headscratcher nodded. The Goblin scurried forwards and conferred with his two fellows, glancing at the Hobs nervously. At least the Redfangs had guides. The Cave Goblins were in awe of the Hobs. And even if they had forgotten much of Goblin culture, a bit of their heritage was asserting itself. The Cave Goblins were naturally predisposed to obey the Hobs over the Raskghar. So long as the Hobs remained within eyesight, at least.

“You know where we are?”

Numbtongue looked around the dungeon sharply. They were standing in a room full of crushed statues. The Hobs had heard Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers talking and they knew this room had been where all the statues had come to life. And beyond that—

The Hobs stopped when they saw the wall. It had been made a lot stronger than the wall that connected cave to dungeon. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers had bricked up the wall and covered the rest with a quick drying cement mixture they’d purchased from an [Alchemist]. They’d meant it to seal off the Shield Spider nest and the undamaged wall told the Hobs they’d succeeded. Unfortunately, it appeared as though the Cave Goblins hadn’t expected the wall. They stared at it and one of the Cave Goblins kicked the wall and then pointed.

New wall. Must go through. Big Goblins break?

She stared hopefully at the Redfangs. The Hobs exchanged a glance. For the first time they wondered if the Cave Goblins might try to get them killed. That seemed incredible—Goblins surely wouldn’t do that to other Goblins! At least, not unless their [Chieftains] ordered them to do battle. But maybe these Goblins were still obeying this Calruz? The Redfangs huddled up. The Cave Goblins tried to join the huddle but were waved back.

Is trap?

Headscratcher looked at Numbtongue. The Hob grimaced.

“Maybe. I’ll ask cunning questions.”

The Redfangs nodded. Numbtongue turned. He put on his most friendly smile and pointed to the wall.

“What’s behind that wall?”

The Cave Goblins scratched their heads and conferred. One answered for the others.

Big long fall death room. And hidden death monster room. And secret down-down room. Is good passage if not die. We show?

“Hidden death room?”

Numbtongue looked wary. The Goblins nodded.

Invisible bad-bad things inside. Invisible monsters.

Again, the Hobs looked at each other. This time they were worried. Invisible Shield Spiders? That sounded even worse. Numbtongue frowned and the Cave Goblins cringed.

“Bad route! Find us another one?”

The Cave Goblins looked panicked.

Cannot! Behind is many-room traps. Unescape death! Trick death! Cannot go. This way only way!

“Lies!”

Numbtongue raised a fist, hoping it were true. The Cave Goblins cowered, shielding their heads. Numbtongue hesitated, and Rabbiteater grabbed his arm. He signaled that he wanted to take over. Numbtongue nodded and Rabbiteater crouched. Of all the Hobs, he was best at making people smile. He gave the Cave Goblins a very friendly smile and they stopped shielding themselves.

Only way? Through death-invisible room?

They nodded. Rabbiteater pointed.

What in there? Invisible monsters? Big crawly spiders?

They paused, then shook their heads. The Cave Goblins frowned.

Only invisible. No spiders. Big empty room. Long drop. And invisible monsters. And secret passage.

Rabbiteater frowned. He looked back at the others. That didn’t seem like the room the adventurers had described. He frowned, but in the end he nodded.

We go.

It wasn’t like they had any choice. The Redfang Warriors glanced at each other, and then looked at the wall. They had to break a gap. Headscratcher lifted his shiny new sword and Shorthilt smacked him. He made it very plain that damaging the wonderful swords that Erin had given them would not be tolerated. Instead, he grabbed a broken piece of statue and began bashing it on the wall. The other Redfangs did likewise and the three Cave Goblins joined in.

The wall was sturdy, but it had been made rapidly and as a stopgap. It would fool a Shield Spider into thinking there was nothing but wall there, but a determined Goblin could scrape away the mortar and pull the bricks out. Which is what the Hobs did. They opened a hole in the wall large enough to squeeze through and found a blank, empty room on the other side.

A very large, suspiciously clean room, perfectly circular and without any doors on the other side. The Hobs stared at it as the Cave Goblins squeezed through the gap. One beckoned.

IS good! Follow! No step further than here!

He pointed to the ground. The Redfangs exchanged a wary glance and pushed through the gap one at a time. They swore as the bricks scraped their shoulders and Badarrow kicked the wall in a bit more so he could get his bow through without banging it. When the Hobs were on the other side they stood at the very edge of the room. The Cave Goblins motioned for extreme caution as they showed the Redfangs what to do.

Walk here. Grab edge—put feet into here. See?

One of the Cave Goblins showed Headscratcher a set of tiny grooves worked into the wall, practically invisible. Headscratcher saw the Cave Goblins latch onto the wall with practiced ease. He understood. You could use the grooves as handholds to get across the room. But—Headscratcher’s brow wrinkled—why couldn’t you just walk to the other side?

No walk! Bad fall death! Bad, bad! Do like this!

The three Cave Goblins exhorted the Redfangs to follow their lead. They were very serious, and the Redfangs listened to the tone in their voices. They obediently clung to the walls and began to slowly edge around the room. It was no real challenge. The grooves were easy handholds if you knew they were there, and Headscratcher had grown up climbing the High Passes. He wondered what all this was about. Was this really the spider room the adventurers had found? If so—

The Hobs and Cave Goblins were halfway around the edge of the room when the floor vanished. The Hobs gasped as one and held on tighter to the grooves as the floor disappeared and revealed the drop of a lifetime. A mile-deep chamber lay below them. And filling the room, clinging to thick webs and tending to the thousands, millions of eggs, were—

Shield Spiders. Headscratcher’s heart caught in his chest as he clung to the handholds and looked down at a Shield Spider as large as Erin’s inn. His arms froze and his fingers desperately held onto the handholds as he imagined letting go and falling, falling, until he landed in one of the webs and the spider swarmed all over him.

Is normal! Come, come!

One of the Cave Goblins smiled at him. Headscratcher turned his head and gaped at it. The Cave Goblin pointed down as it clung to its handhold.

See? Empty room! Very long fall. Invisible monsters below.

It looked up and gave Headscratcher a big smile, practically radiating its eagerness to please. Headscratcher gaped at the Cave Goblin and then pointed, realized what he was doing, swore,  and grabbed the handhold for dear life.

Lying! Shield Spiders below!

The Cave Goblin’s eyes went wide with horror. It looked around wildly.

Where? Cannot see!

Headscratcher and the other Hobs gaped at the Cave Goblin. The three Cave Goblins looked around wildly, not seeming to see the tens of thousands of Shield Spiders nested below. Headscratcher pointed at the largest one, a giant brood queen who still bore marks of Typhenous’ comet spell.

That one! Big one! Right there?

Nothing there!

The Cave Goblins stared at Headscratcher and shook their heads. He opened his mouth, and saw the Shield Spider look up. Instantly, all the Hobs fell still. The Cave Goblins hissed.

Too much talk! Hurry! Invisible monsters attack if make sound or have smell-food!

They began climbing rapidly around the edge of the room. The Hobs saw several of the Shield Spiders stirring. A few crawled upwards idly, as if looking for what had made the sound. But incredibly, they seemed as oblivious to the Goblins as the Goblins were of them. Headscratcher saw a Shield Spider look right at him. His body tensed, but the Shield Spider didn’t react.

He was invisible. And as the Hobs shakily followed the cheerful Cave Goblins, they realized that had to be what was happening. Neither group could see the other. They could hear—but not see. Smell too, probably. One of the Cave Goblins reached the far end of the room, exactly opposite the hole in the wall. He tapped at a stone and then pulled it out.

The wall next to him swung out and the Hobs saw to their immense relief that a stone stairway lead down. The Cave Goblin climbed into the stairwell and helped his friends join him. Headscratcher’s fingers hurt, but he dared not loosen his death-grip for one second until he could swing himself onto the stairwell. Then he hugged the stairs until Numbtongue hissed at him to move.

All five Hobs found themselves on the stairwell in the end. They were covered in sweat and breathing hard, compared to the Cave Goblins who looked as relaxed as they had been in the cave. More relaxed in fact. This was their home. The Cave Goblins grinned at the Hobs.

Long drop not scary! Only bad if fall—or have hand pain!

The Hobs glared at the Cave Goblins. Numbtongue pointed.

“That is a Shield Spider nest! Invisible to you—not to us! We see monsters!”

The Cave Goblins went round-eyed. They stared at the Hobs. The Cave Goblins looked at each other and murmured in awe.

Special Hob power?

“No!”

The Hobs chorused as one. Then they paused. Probably not? A bit of uncertainty ran through their group. Did Hobs have the power to see things normal Goblins couldn’t? That might explain why they were always grumpy.

No. Badarrow shook his head and reminded the others that the adventurers had seen the same thing. It was only the Cave Goblins who were blind. The Hobs nodded. This was a puzzle, but at least it meant that they had an advantage of sorts. Not that it had bothered the Cave Goblins—they knew there was danger there, just not what kind.

We go down?

Rabbiteater pointed at the Cave Goblins. They nodded.

All down! Into many-tunnels. Long way down. But good secret entrance! Not even Raskghar use! Is good?

He looked to Rabbiteater for approval and reached out to touch Rabbiteater’s water cloak. The Hob smiled and let the Goblin do it.

Is good. You lead.

The Cave Goblin smiled.

Good! One last thing! Fun thing to do! Watch!

Excitedly, he went to the other Goblins. One of them looked around and handed the Cave Goblin a stone that had broken off from the wall. The Cave Goblin showed it to Rabbiteater. The Hob frowned. The Cave Goblin pointed to the nest of Shield Spiders. The Hobs stared at the rock, the Cave Goblin’s excited expression. All of them lunged for the Cave Goblin, but too late. He hurled the stone into the nest of Shield Spiders.

The stone fell for several long seconds. The Hobs waited, heard a distant impact, and then an unholy chittering from a million mandibles. The Cave Goblins danced about, laughing, and then ran down the stairwell. The Hobs stared back down into the cave. A hundred thousand Shield Spiders raced upwards, searching for whatever had disturbed their nest. The Hobs stared down in transfixed horror, and then fled after the Cave Goblins.

 

—-

 

There were no more trials as bad as the Shield Spider nest. After the Hobs had descended the mile of stairs, they stumbled out into the dungeon proper. A long tunnel lay out before them, this one filled with brightly colored tiles. The Cave Goblins, who’d been thoroughly chastened by the angry Hobs, looked around warily, and then pointed.

Follow steps! No step wrong one or boom!

They waved their hands then danced out onto the tiles, choosing their next step seemingly at random. There was no pattern to their steps, but the Hobs followed the Cave Goblins precisely. That was the first corridor down. After that, the Hobs found themselves standing in an intersection between four tunnels. A fountain of water sprayed upwards, the sides bearing faded engravings in the marble. The Hobs stayed far away from the fountain, but the Cave Goblins rushed forwards. They laughed at the Hobs.

No trap! Just water! Drink!

They offered some to the Hobs. However, the Hobgoblins refused to drink. They were in battle mode and water would slow them down. Plus, if there was one thing Liscor didn’t lack at the moment, it was drinking water.

“Where are the Raskghar? Do you know?”

Numbtongue asked the Cave  Goblin the same question the adventures had. The Cave Goblins shook their heads.

Chieftain move camp! Always move. But know where camp was yesterday! And maybe where camp might be. Check many spots. If Goblin lost, must check. Probably die.

The Hobs nodded grimly. That was what they’d expected. Headscratcher checked his sword. It was sharp. And it gleamed. He ran his finger down the blade and cut himself. Headscratcher admired his reflection in the blade and then found some dirt. He began to scrub it into the mirror polish and the other Hobs did the same. Dirty swords looked less wonderful, but they wouldn’t reflect light nearly so well. He nodded to the Cave Goblins.

You take us to Raskghar. Keep silent if see. We want to see Chieftain. And Gnolls. And uh, pointy-eared Human with bone hand.

The Cave Goblins nodded eagerly. They set off, taking the tunnel across from them. The Hobs followed, spreading out into a formation. Headscratcher and Shorthilt in front, Badarrow in the middle, and Numbtongue and Rabbiteater in the rear. They looked in every direction for monsters, trusting the Cave Goblins to look for traps.

They found the first monster band twenty paces in. The Hobs froze. The Cave Goblins kept moving. The giant maggot oozed forwards. Headscratcher hissed.

Stop! Monster!

The Cave Goblins froze in terror. The maggot raised its front. It was three times as big as Headscratcher and the trail it left looked caustic, some kind of rust-orange ooze. Headscratcher urgently motioned the Cave Goblins back.

Monster? Where?

There!

Headscratcher pointed. The Cave Goblins stared blankly at the maggot. They couldn’t see it. They could see the trail it left.

More invisible monsters? Hobs see? Lucky! Walk through dungeon is sudden-death sometimes!

The Cave Goblins stared at the Hobs in awe. The Redfangs looked at each other. They stared at the maggot. It could clearly hear, but either it was blind or it couldn’t see the Goblins either. Any of them. The Goblins stared as it oozed past them and made way. The maggot navigated past them. Badarrow raised his bow, but Headscratcher shook his head. Slowly, the Goblins moved on.

They encountered a pair of Children next. The two little white monsters didn’t look like the children of Humans or Drakes when no one was around. They bared their teeth and sniffed the air as the Goblins sidled past them, but again, didn’t seem to see the Goblins. The group of eight Goblins marched around a corridor and ran into a Face-Eater Moth eating something dead.

This time, both groups saw each other. The Cave Goblins screamed and the Redfangs charged with a roar. The Face-Eater Moth reared up and Badarrow shot it through the mouth. Shorthilt whirled his blade and cut off two legs. Rabbiteater stabbed into the moth’s abdomen together with Numbtongue. Headscratcher roared and gave into the rage. When the rage veil of mist cleared from his eyes he was standing over the dead moth. Someone—him—had ripped its head clean off.

Headscratcher looked around. The other Goblins were standing far back, staring at him. The Cave Goblins’ mouths were open. Headscratcher stood up and realized he had blood all over him. The moth’s, not his. Numbtongue frowned.

“[Berserker]. Too much crazy. Don’t do that unless it’s important.”

Headscratcher nodded. He stared at the moth’s corpse.

What did I…do?

Numbtongue eyed him.

“You ripped its head off. After stabbing it many times. And then you hit the dead body for a minute.”

He pointed to Headscratcher’s hands. The Hob looked down and saw gore on his hands. He bent and wiped his hands on the dead moth. Then he straightened.

We saw that. And little Goblins saw.

The other Redfangs nodded. They looked at the Cave Goblins who nodded furiously. They’d all seen it. Headscratcher frowned and stayed true to his name by scratching his head. Curious. One of the little Cave Goblins glanced around.

Noise is bad-bad! More things come. Invisible and others. We go?

The Hobs nodded. They vacated the spot as fast as they could. True to the Cave Goblin’s words, they passed a group of monsters already scenting the violence. The maggot and two of its friends. They didn’t see the Cave Goblins. Nor did the next group of monsters. Or the next.

The Hobs quickly realized there was something to the invisible monsters theory. It wasn’t that all the monsters were invisible to each other. There were times when the Hobs and Cave Goblins clearly saw monsters. In those moments they would retreat or, if it came to it, fought. But at least sixty percent of the monsters were mutually invisible to each other.

That didn’t mean they weren’t aware of their presence. The Hobs saw an incredible battle between a group of Shield Spiders and a Face-Eater Moth that had run into each other. Both sides clawed the air and lunged at each other—clearly not able to see the others, but aware that something was attacking them. In the end, both groups retreated, warily lashing out at the air. And from the way the Cave Goblins moved—slowly, one of them waving a stick ahead of the others—they were also aware of the danger.

But why were they invisible? The Hobs had no answers. They understood why they were invisible with the Goblins, though. They were all Goblins. True, the Cave Goblins weren’t Hobs, but they were all the same species. Apparently that counted. And it meant the Hobs could do what the adventurers could not.

At the same time the Gold-ranks were pulling out of the dungeon, the Hobs were traversing tunnel after tunnel. Thanks to the Cave Goblins, they knew where most of the traps were, and the Goblins were very careful not to go down tunnels they didn’t know like the back of their claws.

The Hobs stared at a tunnel made of earth where strange flowers grew out of the ceiling and ground, a bright, almost antiseptic room full of white tiles that the Cave Goblins refused to go near, and through empty rooms and others which had clearly been designed for some purpose before they had been destroyed.

It was these rooms the Cave Goblins led the Hobs to, again and again. The dungeon was vast, but over the countless years since it had been built, some of the trap rooms had lost their lethality. Other rooms had never been trapped at all, and it was there that the Raskghar, Cave Goblins, and other monsters made their lairs. Unfortunately, none of the rooms the Cave Goblins checked were where the Raskghar had made their camps.

There were signs of their passage. In one large room which was slanted at steep, almost thirty-degree slant, the Goblins saw the remains of camp fires and bone fragments. And poo. They sniffed at the dried excrement and wrinkled their noses, but it was too old to offer any clues. The Cave Goblins led them on, pointing out dangerous places, places that the Raskghar had tried to rob of treasure and failed again and again, safe spots—

The Redfangs tried to memorize all the spots, but even their memories began to fail. Despite themselves, they were impressed. The Cave Goblins might not have many Goblin qualities, but they had adapted for life in the dungeon by memorizing all the dangers around them. And they were legion. It was easy to see that the Cave Goblins and Raskghar could live in the dungeon by preying on weaker monsters and avoiding the strong ones—with a bit of luck that they didn’t run into invisible monsters—but if there was one thing they weren’t prepared for, it was the adventurers.

The Goblins heard the sounds of battle as they approached the dungeon’s water entrance. The thump of impacts, shouts, ringing steel—and then a roar of crackling fire all broke the silence of the dungeon. The Hobs winced every time they heard a shout. Not for their sakes, but because they clearly saw what the effect the noise had.

The monsters heard the sound. And like Face-Eater Moths drawn to an unbitten face, they swarmed towards the adventurer’s locations, searching for prey. The Hobs saw roving monster packs streaming down the corridors, sometimes running into each other and doing battle, but often running into adventurers first.

The dungeon was a huge ecosystem. And the adventurers, as a totally foreign presence had managed to unite all the monsters against them. The Hobs on the other hand were largely unnoticed. And eventually that paid off for them. They encountered the first Raskghar group two hours into their hunt.

Stop!

Badarrow hissed at the others. The Goblins flattened themselves against the walls and Shorthilt peeked around the corridor. He saw a group of four Raskghar following six Cave Goblins. This group was heading down a corridor, and by the looks of things, they were hunting for food. The Raskghar were making four of the Cave Goblins carry a dead rat-thing twice as large as a fox, and two more Goblins were scouting the way with sticks. It looked like the Raskghar were using the Goblins as guides.

Avoid?

Rabbiteater’s cloak swirled as he knelt with the others. Shorthilt scratched his jaw, thinking. There were only four Raskghar and the Cave Goblins might know where their camp was. He looked at Headscratcher. The Hob bared his teeth as he stared at the Raskghar. The bestial creatures were striding along, at ease.

They growled at each other, grinning, perhaps communicating in their language. They weren’t carrying the dead rat-thing, though the Cave Goblins were staggering under the weight. One of the scouts slowed as it inspected a tile and the Raskghar kicked it savagely. The Cave Goblin scuttled forwards, keening softly. Headscratcher’s heart beat harder in his chest. He bared his teeth and saw the other Redfangs were doing the same.

The ambush was textbook. Or it would be if the Goblins used textbooks. The Raskghar were moving behind the Cave Goblins, relaxed, sniffing the air but not worried. They weren’t near the distant fighting with the adventurers. They did pause as they rounded an intersection and one of them raised a hand. The Raskghar in front sniffed the air as it picked up a foreign scent, but then it relaxed. It smelled only Goblins. It sauntered forwards, bow in hand, and then saw something flash.

Badarrow’s arrow struck it in the head. The Raskghar dropped. The other three Raskghar jerked backwards. They saw a group of four Goblins charge them. Only, they weren’t normal Goblins. These ones were tall, muscled, and they had sw—

The Raskghar never had a chance. The Redfangs ran them through in moments, sending the bestial creatures tumbling to the ground. The superior intelligence, speed, and strength of the Raskghar didn’t matter to the Hobs with surprise on their side. The harder trick was keeping the Cave Goblins from fleeing in every direction.

The little Goblins panicked and screamed when they saw the unfamiliar Hobs kill their masters. They would have fled, but the three smaller Cave Goblins called out and reassured the terrified six other Goblins that the Hobs were, in fact, Goblins. And best of all, they didn’t hit or kill Cave Goblins for fun!

It took a few minutes for the Redfangs to explain what they wanted. The wary Cave Goblins shook their heads when they were asked for the main camp. To the Redfang’s dismay, they learned that this particular group had come from one of the smaller camps of Raskghar. They hadn’t been to the main camp. But they did know where their camp was. The Redfangs brightened and immediately told the Cave Goblins to lead them there.

Then they were fourteen. The Redfangs hurried down the tunnel, following the route the Raskghar had intended to take. The rat-thing lay abandoned with the Raskghar corpses. After a while it got up and began to eat the Raskghar, but by that time the Cave Goblins and Hobs were gone. They turned left, went straight, went through two rooms, and then saw the camp.

There were two dozen Raskghar here. Instantly, Badarrow drew back and signaled that there was no way the Redfangs would be able to take the camp. Headscratcher and the others nodded, but they stopped to stare at the Raskghar camp from the shadows. If they couldn’t fight, they could at least know their enemy. What they saw made their blood boil.

This camp of Raskghar was small. Barely more than an outpost. But despite having only two dozen Raskghar, there were at least fifty Goblins assigned to the camp. That made sense; the Redfangs had speculated that there had to be countless Goblins in the dungeon. But these Goblins—

Oh, it was cruel. The Raskghar were lounging about, secure in their camp which was being watched by Cave Goblin sentries. For fun, they’d tied up a small Cave Goblin and were taking turns throwing rocks at it. They aimed at its head and groin as it screamed and flinched. The Raskghar threw the stones with bone-breaking force. And worse—Shorthilt pointed to a limp body and the other Hobs drew in breath.

They were eating the Cave Goblins. A half-consumed corpse lay at the Raskghar’s feet. The beasts laughed and battered the dying Cave Goblin with stones. They beckoned and another Cave Goblin came forwards dully. The Redfangs waited for the Goblin to run or fight, but it let the Raskghar tie it to another stick.

Slaves. The Hobs had heard of the word, but they had thought it was a Human thing. They could never have imagined something like this. The Cave Goblins weren’t just defeated. They seemed to believe the Raskghar were their version of—of Hobs. They leapt to obey the Raskghar and cringed as the beast-people ordered them about. But what a travesty. A Hobgoblin would never do something like this. The Redfangs knew it. Never. If a Hob had done this in their tribe, Garen would have cut his head off. If Grunter had ever been like this—

Two dozen Raskghar. And the camp definitely contained no Gnolls. There was no point in assaulting it. It was far too dangerous. The Redfangs had a mission. A sacred one, entrusted to them by Erin herself. They couldn’t risk their lives. And yet—they stared as the second Cave Goblin flinched and the Raskghar began hurling stones at him.

Headscratcher felt a hand on his shoulder. Badarrow was gripping him, telling him with his eyes what had to be done. Headscratcher bit his lip so hard he felt his teeth meeting, but he nodded. He turned—and the Cave Goblins were staring at them.

Nine of them. They stood together, looking at the Hobs. Looking at the Redfang Warriors, and at the Raskghar. Looking between the two. There was no judgment in their eyes. They were Goblins. They understood how Goblins thought. But when they looked at the Hobs, there was hope in the depths of their gaze. They looked at the Hobs, giants, a new kind of Goblin. A Goblin who did not fear the Raskghar. Who spoke of Goblins leading Goblins. Who claimed a tribe, spoke a name.

Redfang.

Headscratcher looked at Numbtongue. Numbtongue closed his eyes and lifted his guitar. He checked it and glanced at Badarrow. The Hob reached for the bell. Shorthilt grimaced, but only for a second. He lifted his sword. The Hobs looked at each other, and then at Rabbiteater.

The Cave Goblins stared at Rabbiteater. Blood had fallen on his cloak from an earlier skirmish, and now it swirled, liquid crimson hanging from his shoulders. Rabbiteater straightened. He looked around, and then turned to the Raskghar. The cloak swirled around him as he looked at his fellows. They nodded.

Rabbiteater smiled. He turned to the watching Cave Goblins and gave them a thumbs-up. Then, as the other Hobs moved back, he strode forwards.

 

—-

 

The Raskghar were enjoying their target practice game. It was unclear whether they enjoyed hearing the Goblin scream or the challenge of placing their shots more. They didn’t pay attention to the smell of more Goblins in the air. Yes, they smelled different, but Goblins were Goblins. They were relaxed, indolent, confident that they were unchallengeable while the moon gave them power.

They heard the guitar scream and whirled. They didn’t see the origin of the music, but they saw the Hob. He stood in the light, a crimson cloak swirling around his shoulders. The Cave Goblins scurrying about the room turned and stared.

Rabbiteater drew his sword and stuck a pose. He grinned as the guitar sang. Two dozen Raskghar stared at him. Rabbiteater beckoned with his sword. In his other hand he grabbed his cloak and whirled it. The Raskghar stared at him and then scrambled for their weapons. They grabbed them and rose, laughing, and saw the second Goblin appear over Rabbiteater’s shoulder.

Badarrow lifted the cursed bell and carefully took aim. He’d tied the bell to the tip of his arrow. The arrow sagged, but the Goblin was more concerned with keeping it from ringing. He drew the arrow back and gripped the bell’s clapper tightly before letting it fly.

The Raskghar dodged as the arrow flew towards them. The curve was bad and the bell weighed it down. It landed harmlessly and clanged off the ground.

The sound screamed through the air. The Cave Goblins screamed and fell to the ground, writhing, their ears bleeding. The effect on the Raskghar was even worse. They howled and half dropped their weapons. The other half screamed and tried to charge. Rabbiteater pointed his sword. He charged as Headscratcher and Shorthilt roared and sprinted out of the darkness.

Redfang!

The three howled as they charged, three versus twenty six. From his position behind them, Badarrow loosed arrows as fast as he could draw them. Raskghar fell, arrows sprouting from their eyes and throats.

The Cave Goblins scrambled up. Ears still bleeding, they fled backwards. They were supposed to defend their masters, but these strange attackers looked just like them! They saw Headscratcher charge the largest Raskghar. It was shaking its head, but it had recovered from the bell. It roared as Headscratcher lunged at it. The Hob’s blade pierced the monster’s shoulder, but the Rasgkhar knocked Headscratcher’s arm aside with a stone club. It brought the club down and Headscratcher caught the not-Gnoll’s arm.

The Hob’s arms trembled as the bestial warrior bore down on him. It was taller than Headscratcher by a head and larger too. The Cave Goblins cringed, expecting the Hob to buckle. The Raskghar was biting at him as it tried to crush him. The Goblins saw Headscratcher’s legs buckle, then the Goblin’s eyes flamed a deeper red. He howled and the Raskghar’s club began to move back. Alarmed, the monster tried to pivot. Headscratcher turned, and, with one hand, threw the Raskghar across the room.

Over three hundred pounds of Raskghar went flying. It crashed into the cooking fire and screamed. Headscratcher turned and brought his sword down on another warrior, splitting its head open. Next to him, Shorthilt’s sword flashed. He chopped at a Raskghar who tried to block with a buckler, his sword went through the enemy’s shield and the bewildered Raskghar stared at the bloody stain in his chest. Shorthilt turned and slashed. His blade was sharp. The Cave Goblins watched as he dueled two Raskghar at once, seamlessly shifting between attacking and parrying attacks.

It was four. No, five. Every eye turned as the Goblin playing the guitar strode into the room. Numbtongue’s guitar crackled with lightning as he played. The music was fierce and the sound of it made the air crack. Numbtongue’s voice was loud as he sang.

 

Goblins walk, here, beneath this sorry rock!

Redfang warriors all, to serve an [Innkeeper]’s call!

You monsters who hunt, we fear you not.

We are here, and we died long ago.

This dungeon is a fine death, this trap in which you are caught—

Will be your end. Now fight! You craven vermin.

Rot.

 

The sound was more than just music. It seemed to inspire. Headscratcher, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater moved faster, struck harder. The Raskghar hated the sound. Two charged Numbtongue. Shorthilt whirled and called a warning. Numbtongue hadn’t unsheathed his blade! The Hob turned to face the two of the not-Gnolls. He shifted his grip, grabbed the guitar in both hands and swung.

Lightning flashed. The Cave Goblins shielded their eyes and cried out. There was a musical twang and one of the Raskghar stumbled back, crying out. Its fur was singed and Numbtongue assailed the second with his guitar as the strings flashed with lightning. The Goblins watched, open-mouthed, as Numbtongue charged with a scream, guitar in one hand, sword in the other.

Five Hobs fought. Badarrow kept shooting as the dazed Raskghar struggled to surround the Hobs. Headscratcher and Shorthilt joined Numbtongue and fought with backs to each other. But it was Rabbiteater who attracted every eye. He leapt onto a makeshift table, blood cloak flying around him and hacked at the bestial warriors as they tried to drag him down. His magical cloak absorbed their furious blows, the blood splashing in the eyes of those who struck the liquid cloth. Rabbiteater shouted as he fought.

Redfang!

The cry was taken up by the other Goblins. They howled the word, and Numbtongue struck his guitar, thumping out a beat.

Redfang!

The Raskghar tried to swarm the Goblins. But they were deafened, and the Hobs fought together, using the terrain against the Raskghar. And there was the music. The beat of Numbtongue’s improvised drum echoed through the room. And while it gave the Redfangs heart, to the Raskghar it was discordant sound, distracting, disconcerting. Numbtongue howled.

“Redfang! Fight! A Goblin’s pride! A warrior’s right! Redfang! Redfang!

Goblin!

Headscratcher roared. He cleaved a Raskghar’s arm from the body and roared. A Raskghar seized him—he broke its grip and head-butted the Raskghar until its face was a bloody mess.

Shorthilt’s blade was never sharper. He swung the steel and cut through bone and wood as if it were cloth. He whirled and saw another of Badarrow’s arrows take down another Raskghar. None of them had come close to the [Archer]—he coolly drew another arrow and loosed it, downing a charging Raskghar with an arrow to the groin.

Rabbiteater swirled his cloak, his bloody sword spattering blood. He whirled for enemies on his left, looked for them on his right, and then turned all the way around. It was a moment before the thunder in his ears cleared and he realized all the Raskghar were down.

They’d won. The Cave Goblins stared at the five Goblins as they stood, bloodied, injured, but victorious. They stared at the fallen Raskghar, some still gasping for life. The Raskghar, at the height of their power during the full moons. But the Hobs were triumphant. One raised his sword, the red cloak hanging from his shoulders. The [Archer] walked forwards and the five looked around.

In that moment, they looked like giants to the Cave Goblins. Taller than anything. Stronger than anything. Beautiful and wonderful. Undefeatable.

Heroes. Goblin heroes. The Cave Goblins crept forwards, staring up at the Hobs. They flinched fearfully as the Goblin in the crimson cape turned, but his smile was warm. The Goblins flocked to him, stepping over the dying Raskghar.

And then there were dozens.

 

—-

 

Above, in the cave. Erin stared around. The sixty-odd Cave Goblins stared at her. She looked from face to face and recognized one.

“Pebblesnatch, right?”

The little Goblin jumped and tried to hide behind the others, who immediately abandoned her. She stared at Erin, clearly wary. Erin wondered why the Redfangs hadn’t taken her with them. Maybe because she was too young? Or she didn’t know the way as well as the others?

It was hard to tell how old any of the Goblins were. They were all small. Although, Erin noted that some were clearly more adult than Rags. She stared from face to face and felt—conflicted.

“The Redfang Warriors—the Hobs—are going into the dungeon. To fight the Raskghar. They’ll be back. You don’t go anywhere, understand?”

The Cave Goblin stared at Erin. She detected not a flicker of comprehension in their eyes. Not a bit of trust, either. Erin’s jaw clenched. She realized she was making fists at her side. She unclenched her hands—with effort.

It was hard. Very hard. Erin had preached understanding the Goblins, but the memory of finding Lyonette lying on the floor and shouting for Mrsha was fresh in her mind. And Ceria—she knew the Goblins weren’t the ones who’d ordered the kidnapping. That was Calruz. How could he?

But the Cave Goblins were part of it. And yet, they were slaves. Tools for the Raskghar. Erin knew that, but right now wasn’t the time her brain wanted to be reasonable. She was angry. She’d put all her hopes in the Redfang Warriors and the Gold-rank adventurers finding Mrsha and Ceria. But all these Goblins—

“Drassi.”

The Drake jumped. She was staring at the Goblins, wringing her claws together. Erin looked at her.

“Uh—yes Erin? What are we supposed to do? I mean, with them?”

Erin studied the Goblins. Having them run away would be a decidedly bad thing. She gritted her teeth and thought.

“I guess we’ve got to keep them here.”

The Goblins shifted uneasily at that. Drassi looked uneasy too.

“Keep them here? How?”

“I don’t know. Feed them? Make them sit around until the Hobs get back? I’ll think of something. I need you to go into Liscor. Or Celum. Grab more food. This is a lot of Goblins and I gave the Redfangs almost all of our ingredients. We’ll have adventurers in the inn tonight—I need to cook.”

The Drake hesitated.

“But Selys said—”

She wavered as Erin looked at her. The [Innkeeper] folded her arms.

“I’m not going into the dungeon. You saw what my crazy plan was.  I’ll be right here. Keeping an eye on the Goblins. But I need you to get food. Lyonette’s in no condition. And I am paying you.”

“Yeah, but—”

Drassi’s mouth shut as Erin stared pointedly at her. She looked around, but there was nothing for it.

“Right. I can go shopping. Uh, I’ll take coin out of the money stash. Okay?”

“Yup.”

The Drake backed away towards the door. The Goblins were staring at her and Erin. Drassi knew that Erin was friendly to the Goblins, but seeing so many still made her…nervous. Even after hearing Erin’s chess analogy.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to get someone to um, come through? Like a Silver-rank? Or a team, maybe?”

“Then they will run. Go on. I’ll be here.”

Erin practically shoved Drassi out the door. She waited until the magical door had deactivated, leaving only the stone cave wall behind. Then Erin looked around.

The Cave Goblins stared at her. Erin folded her arms. She glanced around the cave, wrinkled her nose at the dead Dropclaw Bats, and then walked over to the entrance to the cave. She stood in front of it, and eyed the Goblins.

“Well? Your move.”

The Goblins looked at each other. They shifted. Some began edging for the entrance to the dungeon. Instantly, Erin strode towards them. They froze and then ran out of the way.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re staying here. Here! Understand?”

Erin raised a threatening fist. The Goblins flinched back, but a few began to glance surreptitiously at one another behind Erin’s back. They were all feeling the same thing.

Certainty was gone. The reassuring presence of the Hobs had vanished, leaving the Cave Goblins aware of how alone they were. And how furious the Raskghar would be if they found them. Suddenly, all that had happened, being taken prisoner, and then following the Hobs—felt like madness. What were they doing? They had to return to their tribe. Their Chieftain would kill them if they didn’t return. They looked at each other, hearts suddenly pounding, and stared at the Human. A Human female. An enemy.

Erin was breathing hard. She was trying not to be angry, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the Goblins’ fault! But this lot had been part of the attack on her inn! They’d helped the Raskghar! How could they? How could—

Something made a gurgling sound. Erin looked around sharply. Which Goblin had made that sound? She couldn’t tell. She could sense the Goblins moving around her. Not in response to her, but in a coordinated fashion. Erin felt a tingle on the back of her neck and turned. A Goblin was staring at her. She heard an alarm sound in her head.

[Dangersense]. Suddenly, Erin didn’t feel so safe. She glanced towards the door and realized she’d made a mistake. Drassi had closed the door! Of course she had—she’d gone to Celum or Liscor and she had to change destinations. Erin was cut off until she got back.

Well, that was fine. Erin’s teeth gritted together. Her anger was like a red hot piece of metal in her chest. If the Goblins wanted to play rough, she could be a big angry Hob too. She kept turning, making the Goblins scatter. But they were moving deliberately now. And she couldn’t keep an eye on all of them—

Erin heard a sound. A louder gurgle. She looked around, dropped her guard for an instant. One of the Goblins jumped forwards, a small, rusted knife in hand. She turned around and clocked him so fast the Goblin was still shouting as he tumbled over into an unconscious heap. The other Goblins leapt back and Erin whirled, fists raised.

“Anyone else?”

The Goblins backed up, hands raised. But they stared at her. Erin glared from face to face. She wanted to hit them. Of course she did! Was it easy being nice to people all the time? No! Did she sometimes think that Goblins were dangerous? Of course! She waited for the next attack. Next time she’d use [Minotaur Punch], teach them a lesson. Next time—

One of the Goblins moved. Erin whirled.

“[Minotaur—]”

Pebblesnatch froze and cowered. She dropped her outstretched hand and dropped into a ball on the ground, covering her head. Erin stopped her fist. She stared at the Goblin. Pebblesnatch quaked on the ground, clearly ready to be hit. She’d dropped something.

A potato. She’d been offering it to Erin. The [Innkeeper] stared at her. Then at the potato. She heard the same sound and realized what it was.

Her stomach. It was growling as loud as Erin had ever heard. She looked down and realized she hadn’t eaten in…well, at least nine hours. She stared at Pebblesnatch and realized she was hungry. And tired. And stressed. And afraid. And—

And Pebblesnatch was shivering. Shaking. She looked up at Erin, fear in her eyes. Fear from Erin. But at the same time, there was something else. Trust. Maybe the Goblin understood that Erin had been the one who saved her. Maybe she’d just seen Erin talking with the Hobs and associated the two. But something had made her reach out and offer Erin a potato.

The young woman stared down at the Goblin. Pebblesnatch was very small. And very skinny. She couldn’t have been eating anything good in the dungeon. And the Hobs had been just as thin when she’d first met them. She’d fed them feasts and they were only now looking properly healthy. And here she was, beating the Goblins up. Just like a good adventurer.

Or Raskghar.

Suddenly, Erin felt like a fool. She looked down at Pebblesnatch. The little Goblin looked up fearfully at her. She cowered as Erin knelt.

“No, don’t be scared. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—look, I’m not going to hit you. I thought you were going to stab me. Thank you for the potato. I’d eat it, but it’s raw, see?”

Pebblesnatch looked up with wide eyes. She saw Erin kneel, and then a smile appeared on Erin’s face. The Cave Goblins stopped tensing and paused. They’d never seen a Human smile at them before. Most hadn’t seen Humans until now, except as skeletons, really. They saw Erin Solstice bend down and offer her hands to Pebblesnatch. The Goblin crept closer, and then squeaked as Erin lifted her up. She froze in terror, but Erin only smiled.

“You’re light. And you’re just a kid. I’m not going to hurt you. And I like potatoes. Do you?”

The Goblin stared at Erin. She didn’t answer, but her stomach did. Erin heard a rumble and laughed. Again, the Goblins froze. But this time in curiosity.

“You’re hungry too! I bet you didn’t have any food. I was sending breakfast with Numbtongue and Rabbiteater until—why don’t we fix that? If I eat something I’m sure I won’t feel like hitting everything.”

She turned and paused.

“Ah, damn. The door’s gone. Well…poop.”

Erin looked around, frowning. Then she stared at the firewood piled up. The Cave Goblins had neatly arranged her supplies next to the firewood that Headscratcher had obtained. It bothered her a bit that they’d piled up the Dropclaw Bats as rations as well—right next to the salt—but it struck her with an idea. She stared down at Pebblesnatch, who was experimentally feeling Erin’s arms.

“Hey, can you make a fire? I suck at making fires. But I’m a great cook. What say you and I make something?”

The Goblin stared at Erin. She didn’t respond, but this time she hopped out of Erin’s arms. She scampered over to the wood pile and selected a log. Then some dry bark, a few dried leaves—and then she ran over to another Goblin. She argued with the Goblin as Erin watched, and then came back with a rock. She showed it to Erin.

“Ooh. Is that flint? Mind starting a fire?”

Erin smiled as Pebblesnatch nodded eagerly. She watched the Goblin run over to the fire and begin smacking the rocks and creating sparks. Erin still felt—well, she felt shaky and irritable with hunger, but now she knew that was part of what she was feeling. And with that knowledge came a bit of clarity. Erin looked around, pricked again by her [Dangersense].

The Goblins were still spaced out around the cave. And a group of them had been sneaking up on Erin’s back. Several had sharp rocks and rusty weapons in their claws. Erin looked at them and they guiltily hid them behind their backs.

“Try to stab me and I’ll hit you. Don’t stab me and I’ll feed you. Okay? Give me ten—five minutes.”

The Goblins hesitated. But Erin was suddenly confident, and her confidence made them rethink rushing her. The unconscious Goblin at Erin’s feet also added a bit of uncertainty to the mix. They drew back as Erin walked over to the fire.

“Close.”

Erin muttered to herself, feeling her skin prickle. She kept a smile on her face, but she watched her back. The Goblins still might try and get her. They were—well, they weren’t saints. They were people. And people attacked when they thought they were in danger. If she’d struck Pebblesnatch or began banging heads together, they might have swarmed her.

A crackle and light caught Erin’s eye. Pebblesnatch had started the fire! The Goblin pushed twigs and dried pieces of wood towards the blaze and soon she had a fire going. Erin nodded approvingly as Pebblesnatch looked up.

“My turn. Pass me that pan, would you? And the oil? And the salt. And a knife. Watch this. You’re going to be impressed.”

The Cave Goblins watched as Pebblesnatch ran about, doing what Erin said. She had a way about her. An aura that made them hesitate. Slowly, more and more put down their rocks. When they saw what Erin was doing, even more laid down their weapons.

She was making food. First, Erin peeled the potato. She let Pebblesnatch greedily eat the skin, and then flicked thin slices of potato into the pan. She poured oil onto the cast-iron surface, a generous amount, and then held the pan over the fire. Erin added salt, again, a good pinch, and soon had the oil bubbling and spattering. Pebblesnatch scrambled back, yelping as hot oil got on her cheek.

“Watch out! Hot stuff! Hey, I need a fork!”

Erin flipped a potato slice. The sizzle as it landed made all the Goblins look up and realize how hungry they were. Erin looked around.

“Forks and a plate. Well?”

There was a moment, just a moment in which they contemplated rushing Erin. The orders of their Chieftain, the authority of the Raskghar still had sway over them. Two tried it. Erin flicked hot oil into their eyes and the screaming Goblins writhed on the ground.

“Hope that didn’t blind you. But I am not playing games. Never mess with a chef and hot oil. Plates! Forks! My potatoes are already crispy!”

Goblins rushed to do her bidding. Erin slid the fried potatoes onto a plate. She bit one slice and nodded.

“Oily. Salty! I wouldn’t serve this at my inn, but it tastes great here. Here, have some.”

She offered one to Pebblesnatch. The Goblin took it, nearly dropped the hot slice, and bit into it. Her eyes went round.

It was possible the Cave Goblins had never learned to fry food. Cook, yes, but oil was probably rare in the dungeon where the only place they could extract it was from dead things. And Erin bet that Raskghar and Cave Goblins ate their food raw. The Goblins crowded around her plate, snatching at the fried potatoes. Soon it was gone. The others groaned and fought the ones who were eating.

“Stop that! I’ll make more!”

The Goblins stared at Erin in awe. She smiled.

“I brought a bag full of potatoes. There’s food for all. And if you’re nice, I’ll feed you all. No one will go hungry here, understand? If you’re good. I won’t hurt you if you don’t try to hurt me. And I have more food. We can make bread—and I’ve got veggies! I bet we can even make something out of those disgusting bats. I make a great fried bee, after all.”

The Cave Goblins looked at Erin in awe. She took a potato that Pebblesnatch eagerly brought her and expertly peeled it.

“Food. Is good. Food makes people feel better. I can’t save Mrsha or Ceria. I can’t fight Raskghar. But I bet I can feed you. And I just bet you’ll stay for that. What do you say?”

Erin smiled. She tossed the potatoes into the pan and the smell filled the cave. She gestured, and Pebblesnatch brought over some veggies and a bit of dried meat. Erin tossed it all together and stirred the pan with her fork.

“There’s more pans and more food. And hey, we have more wood over there. I bet we can make three fires at once and not smoke ourselves out. Or cook outside. Wait—it’s raining. Nevermind. Hey, you. Want to learn how to cook a stir fry?”

She offered the pan to a female Goblin. The Goblin jerked back, but then, slowly, took the pan. Erin helped her lift it.

“That’s right. Not too hot. Say, can we make a little stove to hold the pan? And I’ll show you how to bread fish. I think I saw a dead one lying over there. Are you with me?”

Erin Solstice looked around. Her smile was expectant. Her voice was soothing. The Cave Goblins couldn’t remember hearing a voice like that in…they looked at each other.  They looked at Erin and thought. They thought about how the Hobs had clustered around her, waited for her. They looked at her hands, at the three groaning Goblins.

Strong. A leader. And then the Cave Goblins closed their eyes. They smelled something new. Something alien to the dungeon and the blood. They looked around the cave. At the magic door. Her magic. And then they looked at each other.

The Cave Goblins didn’t speak. Goblins didn’t usually need to speak. But they broke into groups. Some went to build more fires. Others grabbed pans, a few more cooking knives. A few disappeared into the dungeon. The rest followed Erin, watching. Learning. And perhaps—trusting.

 

—-

 

Drassi hurried into Erin’s inn, closed the door, and began fiddling with it. She nearly dropped the mana stone for Liscor.

“Hurry, hurry! Oh no, Selys is going to be so mad at me. But Erin will be fine. Yes? Yes! She told me she once scared away a bear by screaming at it. That’s got to work on Goblins, right?”

The Drake was so preoccupied with the door that she barely noticed the commotion in the inn behind her. Vuliel Drae was arguing with the remaining Silver-rank adventurers.

“What were we supposed to do? It was just our team! And did you see those skeleton things?”

“Never mind that! We didn’t do what they wanted! They’re all going into the dungeon! The Gold-ranks are going to kick our tails so far up our butts that—”

“Drassi.”

The Drake jumped. She looked around and saw Lyonette.

“Oh, hey Lyonette. Are you—”

Drassi bit her tongue. Anyone could see that Lyonette was not okay. The [Barmaid] looked like she hadn’t slept. She looked closer to undead than alive and tears had reddened her eyes. Lyonette stared at the door.

“What’s the red stone?”

Drassi’s claw closed guiltily over the mana stone.

“That? Uh, that’s—”

“Erin’s doing something, isn’t she? With the Goblins? I saw you leave this morning.”

Lyonette stared piercingly at Drassi. Her red eyes focused a bit. Drassi hesitated.

“Well—”

“Will it bring back Mrsha?”

Lyonette’s tone was urgent. Drassi hesitated. She never lied. Not even when it might help. Because truth was more powerful than lies. If you couldn’t believe in truth, what was the point? She shook her head.

“I don’t know. But I think it will help if anything can. Erin’s sent the Redfangs into the dungeon. They’re going to try and find Mrsha too.”

“Good.”

That was all Lyonette said. She swayed on her feet and then stared. Drassi was fumbling with the green stone for Liscor.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to Liscor. Erin wants food. She gave most of her ingredients to the Goblins, you see. I was going to go shopping—”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, no. You should stay. I don’t think Erin would want you to leave the inn—”

Drassi glanced at another Drake who was watching Lyonette. Imissi was trying to wait tables and keep an eye on the [Barmaid]. Lyonette glared.

“I’m going.”

“But—”

“I’m going. You don’t know what to buy, anyways.”

That was true. Drassi had planned on peeking her head into Erin’s kitchen, but she never cooked so she had no idea what was needed. Helplessly, she threw up her claws.

“Okay, but we go and come back quick, alright? Erin’s waiting! Imissi! I‘m going with Lyonette! It’s okay! I think!”

The two went through the door to Liscor. It was wet. It was raining. Lyonette strode forwards, purposeful, Drassi lamely trying to make conversation.

“So…do you think you’ll sleep?”

“No.”

“I uh, I’m really—”

“Don’t.”

“Right.”

Even [Gossips] knew when to shut up. Drassi glanced about. Liscor was quiet. Of course it was. No one could be out and about, much less cheerful after the second Raskghar attack. She expected everyone would be indoors, especially the Gnolls. But to her surprise, that wasn’t the case. There was a gathering down Market Street. A large gathering.

An unhappy gathering. Gnolls and Drakes were gathered around, visibly upset. Some looked as red-eyed and as lost as Lyonette. Nearly eighty Gnolls had been kidnapped. And while Liscor was home to tens of thousands, Gnolls were a tight-knit community. Everyone was someone’s friend or relative. And the Drakes were no less worried. Their loved ones had died to the Raskghar.

Given all the strife, it wasn’t hard to see what was happening. The crowd stood in the rain, some under awnings, listening to a few loudmouths speak. Drassi didn’t like it. She was a [Gossip], but it had to be said, a principled one. She was no agitator and she recognized a bad rumor mill when she saw it. Her heart sank even further when she saw who was speaking at the center of the group, standing on his stall.

“—And the Watch said they would keep us safe! They said it after the moth attack and then after the Raskghar attacked us the first time! But did they? Where were they when the Raskghar were slaughtering us in the streets!?”

Lism, the Drake [Shopkeeper] who was one of the most vocal anti-Human Drakes in the city shouted at the crowd. He wasn’t getting wild cheers, but the silence and the fact that no one was telling him to shut up was ominous. Lism pointed around the crowd.

“They failed us! You lost a loved one, Miss? Didn’t you? And you—err, no? What about you? Yes? Yes! Hah! The army came back and we’re still dying! Why? Because those Human-lovers are in charge! This all started when the Humans came! Mark my words—if we’d kicked out those damn adventurers, none of this would have happened!”

His angry shouting attracted some nods. Drassi frowned. This was bad. Lism had the crowd on his side. It wasn’t hard to see why. People were angry, afraid—and there wasn’t anyone speaking out against him. Drassi could see Krshia, who could normally blow the wind out of Lism’s sails any day of the week, standing at her stall, head bowed. Lism went on.

“The worst of them all is that Human! You know the one I’m talking about! Not only does she employ undead, she lets Goblins—the same Goblins who joined the Raskghar, mark you—work at her inn! How do we know she’s not responsible for this? Maybe it was some of her Goblins who told the Raskghar where and when to strike!”

“That’s not true!”

Lism turned and nearly fell off his wet stall. Lyonette strode forwards, face pale. She pointed a trembling finger at Lism.

“Don’t lie! Erin would never do that! She protected the city! She warned you all about the second Raskghar attack! If she hadn’t—”

“Oh yes? I see one of her workers is here! Aren’t you the same Human who destroyed half of Market Street? You stole from our shops! How dare you come to the city?”

Lism sneered down at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] couldn’t go paler, but she bit her lip. Lism pointed down at her, clearly happy to have a visible target.

“Sure, people say the [Innkeeper] helped, but did she really? Ask yourselves that! Why have all these problems started after she appeared? Maybe she’s not so helpful after all. Maybe she’s a Human spy. I heard that she met with Magnolia Reinhart. That Reinhart. What kind of [Innkeeper] meets with Human nobility? Why do we let her stay outside the city, anyways? Maybe we should do something about it.”

“Maybe you should shut up, Lism. Maybe that would be for the best, no?”

Krshia spoke up at last. Her voice was flat as she stared at Lism. The Drake locked gazes with Krshia.

“You’re friends with her, Silverfang. Afraid you’ll be tarred with her crimes?”

The Gnoll rumbled. Some of the Gnolls in the crowd growled, but far too few. Drassi would have normally expected every Gnoll to jump to Krshia’s defense. That they didn’t was bad, and Lism knew it. He folded his arms.

“Why is that Human here? Why are any of these Humans here? No—let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Why are those damn Goblins here? They’re enemies! Monsters! They killed Zel Shivertail!

He’d been saving that for his trump card. The rumble that ran through the crowd was angry. Lism smiled. He opened his mouth to fan the flames. Lyonette looked around helplessly, and Krshia hunched over her stall, clearly searching for something to refute Lism.

And it was at this point that Drassi stood up. She couldn’t help it. She was a mediocre [Barmaid], a chatterbox, and yes, she spent too much money. But all that aside, she was a [Gossip] and Erin’s friend and employee. And if ever there was a moment for her, it was this.

“Excuse me? Excuse me! I’d like to say a few words!”

Every head turned at Drassi’s bright voice. She stood up on an empty stall. Lism blinked.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Drassi waved at the crowd. She liked being the center of attention.

“I just want to clarify a few details! Hello Krshia. Lism. Is that you, Miss Fairfaw? Mister Zeil, what are you doing in the rain? Hello Tellis, oh, and you’ve brought your daughters with you!”

The Drake called names out in the crowd. The Gnolls and Drakes looked up at her. Drassi smiled. Lism was clearly unhappy about sharing the same head height.

“Get down from there! I’m trying to tell the people about the threat to our city! This is no place for one of that Human’s cronies to—”

“Excuse me, I’d just like to clarify a few details.”

Drassi interrupted Lism with years of practice. She smiled around and raised her voice, speaking as if she were chatting with each of the people here one-on-one.

“Point of fact. Erin did warn Olesm and Zevara about the second Raskghar attack. If she hadn’t, they would have taken the walls. I heard Olesm say that myself. In fact, I was there when she tried to raise the alarm. And she does employ Hobs at her inn. Hobs, not Cave Goblins. They helped fight the Raskghar off. In fact, they captured some of the Cave Goblins and made them talk. Without them, we wouldn’t know half of the things about the dungeon we know right now.”

“That’s—don’t confuse the issue! Those Goblins are a menace!”

Lism turned red as the audience stared at Drassi. The Drake calmly shook her head.

“No, they’re not. They’re quite nice, actually. I’ve been around the Goblins countless times and not once have they done anything dangerous. Did you know that one of them can play the guitar? Totally true. And Erin’s working just as hard to fix the problem as anyone else.”

“Ah, you say that, but do you have any proof?”

The [Shopkeeper] glared at Drassi. She sighed.

“How am I supposed to prove that? Wait—I could get Numbtongue to play his guitar, but he’s not here. I don’t have to prove anything, Lism. I’m telling the truth.”

“Hah! As if we’d believe someone hired by the Human—”

“You think I’d lie? Me?

Drassi’s outraged voice made Lism hesitate. Drassi spread her arms.

“I don’t lie! Everyone knows it! I gossip, but I don’t make things up! Isn’t that right?”

The Drakes and Gnolls looked at each other uncertainly. It was true that Krshia was a known figure in the Gnoll community, and Lism was a loudmouth, but in her own way, Drassi was just as well-known. A Drake muttered to his friend.

“That’s true. Drassi never lies.”

A Gnoll nodded.

“Ever. She’s always honest, yes.”

“Wait, but she—”

Lism realized he was losing the crowd. He tried to shout, but Drassi talked over him.

“That’s right! And I’ve been at Erin’s inn! I’ve seen everything and let me tell you—what’s happening is totally different! Let me tell you—wow, where do I begin? Okay, it started with the Raskghar attack—which Erin did not cause! Believe me, folks. I’m bringing you the facts! Just the facts! Okay, and a story. Here’s what really happened.”

She started shouting to the crowd as they turned to listen her, anxious to hear the truth. Lism kept shouting but eventually he was drowned out and someone knocked him off his stall to get him to shut up. Drassi beamed.

A Level 17 [Gossip] had Skills. One of them was [Social Network]. When Drassi had a story to tell, she could pass the information through her friends circle at the speed of rumor, which was probably faster than the speed of light, sound, and passing wind combined. She grinned and winked at Lyonette who was staring at Drassi with amazement in her eyes.

“Get shopping, Lyonette. Oh, and take this mana stone. Erin’s waiting. I’ll be a while. Tell her I’ll consider this overtime.”

 

—-

 

Something was happening. Erin kept cooking food with the other Goblins, teaching them how to cook, really. But every time she looked around there were more Goblins. She didn’t understand it. But then she saw them coming through the dungeon entrance.

First in small groups, and then in a stream. Not because of her—well, not just because of her. The Cave Goblins had entered the dungeon and spread word. Of a group of Hobs—of Goblins who fought Raskghar. And more were in the dungeon, had seen the Redfangs fighting the Raskghar. They followed the band of five, joining the swell of Cave Goblins who flowed after the Redfangs.

The Hobs tried to shoo them away, but it was impossible. They had to abandon their pursuit of the Raskghar for fear of attracting monsters. They made the long journey to the surface, only to find that Erin’s cave was packed.

And then there were hundreds. Erin stared around the heaving cave. Goblins sat on every surface, gobbling from plates while more cooked away on the camp fires. It was hot. So hot that the Shield Spiders who’d crept out of the hole in the dungeon wall had actually decided not to attack. There were eighteen fires blazing in the cave and the dungeon  and a group of Cave Goblins armed with sticks was poking back any smaller Shield Spiders trying to enter.

“Did you find—”

Erin’s face fell when the Redfang Warriors reappeared. They were all wounded, but safe. Still, her heart sank as she saw that Mrsha and Ceria weren’t with them. It was foolish to expect them to be, but she had hoped.

“We’ll go in again. But too many Cave Goblins—can’t go without lots of fighting. We tried to get them to go away, but they followed.”

Numbtongue explained, shamefaced. Erin looked at the Cave Goblins, who were staring at her and the Hobs with open-mouths. Then they filled those mouths with hot food. The Hobs were staring at Erin’s cooking fires with much the same expression.

“I uh, got them to stay. And I don’t know if I can afford to feed you all. We may have to get the Goblins to find food. Can they fish? Are Shield Spiders edible?”

Erin tried to give the Hobs an upbeat smile. But it slipped a bit. She looked down at her feet.

“…Did you find any clues? Anything?”

She didn’t want to make them feel bad. But to her surprise, the Hobs did smile. They motioned and called out. The stream of Goblins entering the cave wavered, and then a group of Cave Goblins pushed forwards. They stared anxiously up at Erin. Numbtongue smiled.

“This group here. We found them. They know where camp with Mrsha and Ceria is. Not where will go, but where it is. Tonight.”

Erin gaped at Numbtongue. He looked slightly pleased, but shook his head.

“Could have tried to get, but it was too hard. Too many Goblins—”

He jumped as Erin hugged him. She laughed in delight as the Goblins stared.

“Never mind that! They know where the camp is?”

The Hob nodded, blushing a bit. Erin tore over to the door. It was connected and Lyonette was staring at the Goblins as she passed them bags of flour. Behind her, the Gold-rank adventurers were sitting around, looking exhausted and unhappy. Erin burst into the room and shouted.

“Hey Halrac! Jelaqua! Everyone! Get over here! Now!

The adventurers looked over. Pisces, slumped over at his table, sat up and stared sharply at Erin. His eyes focused on her and the Goblins and suddenly he was on his feet. The other adventurers who knew Erin gave each other wide-eyed looks and they stood up.

The Cave Goblins backed away. So did the Hobs. Erin turned, beaming, and realized the Cave Goblins were ready to run. The adventurers, the same ones who’d slaughtered both them and the Raskghar, were headed right for them. The Goblins bolted for the dungeon.

“No, please don’t run!”

Erin shouted. The Goblins paused. Erin held up a hand, forcing the adventurers in the inn to slow with her aura. Slowly, she bent down. A little Goblin was poised to run into the Shield Spider nest room.

“No one will hurt you. Not if you don’t try to hurt them. Not when I’m around. Come on. I’ll feed you. And you’ll be safe.”

Erin bent and held out a hand. The little Goblin stared at her. She stared at the Hobs, who were standing around Erin, at the other Cave Goblins, at the lack of Raskghar, and smelled the strange, inviting scents in the air. She stepped forwards. Erin smiled. The Cave Goblin stared at her. Her lips twitched a tiny bit.

Slowly, she reached out and took Erin’s hand.

 

—-

 

A last detail. Sometime after the panic Erin’s news had caused, before the night raid, the Cave Goblins lay in the cave, bloated, fuller than they could ever remember. The Hobgoblins were there too, lying on mattresses dragged in from Erin’s inn. They’d insisted. After all, the Cave Goblins weren’t suddenly tamed from a single feeding by Erin, no matter how good the food had been. They needed Hobs to prevent them from running into the dungeon.

So the Hobs slept. And as they slept, two of them heard voices.
[Warrior Level 24!]

[Warrior → Weapon Expert Class!]

[Skill: Sharper Edge obtained!]

[Skill: Bleed Cuts obtained!]

 

[Archer Level 25!]

[Archer → Sniper Class!]

[Skill: Doubled Range obtained!]

[Skill Change – Keen Eyes → Eagle Eyes!]

[Skill: Eagle Eyes obtained!]

 

Badarrow and Shorthilt shot out of their bedrolls as if someone had kicked them. They looked at each other wildly and threw up their arms. The other Goblins panicked as the Hobs began shouting excitedly, but they soon caught the reason for the Hobs’ rejoicing and clustered around them excitedly.

Rabbiteater sat up as Shorthilt and Badarrow shot to their feet. He looked around hopefully and then shut his eyes and perked up his ears. Rabbitear listened for the sound of his new level. He heard a voice from above, that clarion call in his mind.

 

[Warrior Level 19!]

 

He waited, eyes closed, tense with expectation. After a minute he cracked one eye open. He saw Shorthilt and Badarrow dancing about, the Cave Goblins surrounding them. He listened, but he heard nothing more. Rabbiteater sagged.

Headscratcher patted him on the back. Rabbiteater looked around, grumbled, and rolled over and covered his head with a pillow.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.42

“We have defeated the adventurers. They flee this dungeon, too exhausted to fight longer. The Antinium have retreated. Their dead lie in droves and they have failed to take the dungeon once more. My strategy succeeded, as I knew it would.”

Calruz stood at his war table, staring down at his map of the dungeon. The Minotaur’s arm flexed as he cleared the crude pieces of colored stone from the map. For the last six hours he had been overseeing the Gold-rank adventurer’s counterattack into the dungeon as well as the Antinium incursion. Now, as both sides retreated, he gloated.

“I told you they would never reach the main camp. Not with so many monsters roaming the labyrinth. Not without knowledge of the traps and secret tunnels. I told you, did I not?”

“Yes, Calruz. You did.”

The Minotaur glanced triumphantly down and to the side. The half-Elf standing next to his war table stared silently at the map. Ceria’s ears were drooping, and her voice was quiet.

She felt crushed. The half-Elf [Cryomancer] looked at Calruz’s map and tried to guess how many turns and junctions, traps, and secret doors lay between the main Raskghar camp and the surface. Too many to count. She tried to plot a course from the dungeon’s entrance to where Calruz had said they were and failed. Nor did she have time to study the map—Calruz folded the grimy parchment and tucked it into his belt pouch possessively.

“I told you. And we have won. But we will not rest on our horns. Not yet. The outsiders are just a nuisance. You and I have much to do, Springwalker. The Horns of Hammerad will conquer the dungeon yet.”

“Right.”

Calruz glared down at Ceria. She stood a bit straighter.

“I mean, yes Captain.”

He grunted in approval. Ceria turned her head, but she couldn’t help but stand to attention. It was that or risk Calruz’s wrath and—her gaze turned towards the Gnoll prisoners in their cages—she had seen what that resulted in.

The Raskghar camp. The prisoners. Calruz. Ceria had barely been awake a day and it still felt like a bad dream. Seeing Calruz turn and shout something to the Raskghar in their own language was unreal enough. But seeing the warriors hurry forwards and the others stand to attention?

Madness. That was what flickered in Calruz’s eyes every time he looked at Ceria. When he’d ordered teams of his Raskghar to try and kill Jelaqua’s team and ambush the others—she’d tried to argue with him. But he’d ignored her. Worse, he’d threatened to sacrifice more Gnolls if she kept arguing.

So she’d stayed silent. Now, Ceria’s gaze travelled across the cavern while Calruz barked commands in the Raskghar’s foreign tongue. The Raskghar camp was as primitive as she’d expected. Cook pots, butchering areas where monsters were cut apart, sleeping quarters that were really just soft hides or piles of bedding—it resembled a Gnoll tribe’s camp.

Save for the prisoners. The shackled Gnolls sitting in cages were one thing that caught Ceria’s eye. She stared at the little white Gnoll sitting in her cage and looked away. Focus. She had to focus.

The other main difference was the Cave Goblins. They scurried about. For every Raskghar there were ten Cave Goblins, tending to fires, bringing food to the Raskghar, maintaining weapons, butchering—and there were hundreds of Raskghar. Thousands. In this camp alone, Ceria guessed there were at least two thousand Raskghar, almost all of them warriors. All of them were larger than the average Gnoll, stronger. And during the period when both moons were full, they were all incredibly intelligent.

She saw it in a myriad of little ways. A Raskghar puzzling over a locked crate, a group of Raskghar finding a deck of cards in an adventurer’s pack and figuring out how to play a game with them, one more disassembling and reassembling a crossbow. As Ceria watched, the Raskghar with the crate improvised a lock pick and successfully opened the wooden chest. It reached inside, pulled out a strange, decorated cup made of red and white ceramic and stared at it.

“Well?”

Ceria turned. Calruz stared down at her, a smile on his broad face. He grinned at her, revealing damaged teeth. The Minotaur gestured around the camp.

“What do you think of my warriors? My tribe?”

“They’re…powerful.”

Ceria didn’t know what to say. Her answer seemed to satisfy Calruz. And it was true, the Raskghar were the most dangerous fighting force Ceria had laid eyes on. Even the assembled adventurers from Pallass couldn’t compare in sheer numbers or brutality to the Raskghar. Despite their lack of Skills and their inability to gain classes, the Raskghar were deadly. And worst of them all—

There she was. Ceria stared at one of the Raskghar, crouching at the center of the group that was playing with the deck of cards. On first glance, the Raskghar with the dark grey-brown pelt wasn’t too noticeable. She was female—she wore a crude breast band and loincloth—but was otherwise naked save for the stone axe at her side. But what made her stand out from the other Raskghar was her height and the way she moved.

She was one of the tallest Raskghar present. And that made her nearly as big as Calruz, a huge creature of bone and muscle and flesh. But more than that—this Raskghar looked around and Ceria saw her eyes shining with intelligence. Where the other Raskghar were cunning, intelligent by the light of the moon, this Raskghar seemed even more awake. She saw and questioned. She saw and understood.

She was the one who had performed the ritual. Ceria didn’t know what it was—blood magic, or something else, but she had seen that female kill the Gnoll on the Raskghar’s altar. She had drunk his blood and grown larger, smarter. Now she sat at the center of the others and the Raskghar around her deferred to her slightest motion or growl instantly. She looked up and Ceria saw her eyes flick towards her. The half-Elf turned away, and then wondered why.

Why was she being so meek? She glanced around, suddenly upset with herself. Here she was, surrounded by monsters, and she was acting like a shrinking violet, a coward! She was an adventurer! She was a [Mage]! She could throw ice from her hands and she was the Captain of the Horns of Hammerad. Not Calruz. She turned to the Minotaur—

And saw he was looking at her. Ceria’s ears, which had perked up, immediately lowered. Calruz stared at Ceria and then snorted.

“What is that fool doing?”

He turned his head. Ceria looked as well. The Raskghar who’d opened the chest had decided to pour himself a drink from the cup. Intelligent he might have been, but wise he was not. As soon as he put water in the cup, it began to hiss. A thick, black gas began to emanate from the cup and the Raskghar howled in fear as it clung to his fur. As Ceria watched in horror, it began melting into his fur, growing on him.

Dorak! Keel dorak!

Calruz bellowed an order as he pointed. Ceria saw the Raskghar try to throw the cup away but he failed. The other Raskghar sprang to their feet. They ran towards the stricken Raskghar holding the cup as it continued to pour black smoke. They hesitated, reluctant to touch the stuff. Calruz charged forwards.

“Do not touch it! Grab spears! Nets! Drag it away if the cup continues to activate!”

Raskghar bounded across the camp, doing what Calruz had ordered. Ceria saw the female Raskghar standing far back as the others formed a circle with the Minotaur. They were braced, ready to act if the cup continued to emit the terrible black gas, but it did not. After it had spewed enough to engulf the Raskghar it stopped. Ceria could see a black mass where the Raskghar had been. It twitched and shook, as if the Raskghar inside was trying to break free. And then the movement stopped.

“No one touch the cup. Bring no liquid near it. Cave Goblins—remove this thing.”

Calruz stared at the black substance and the newly-formed statue sitting in his camp. Ceria saw Cave Goblins hurry forwards with nets, very cautiously approaching the dead Raskghar and cup. The half-Elf blinked.

“Was that normal?

She stared at the Raskghar. None of the others in the camp seemed too unduly worried about the death of their friend. They walked back to their places, looking unconcerned as they sheathed their weapons. Calruz stomped back towards Ceria.

Now. Ceria drew breath to ask Calruz what the hell that had been about, and wilted as he stared at her. The Minotaur snorted angrily as he walked back to the war table. He had a holster at his back. He was strapping a single-edged axe into place with his one arm, grunting with irritation as he tried to maneuver it into place.

The axe was clearly magical—it looked like it was made of some kind of false gold metal and the edge was bright green. It shone of magic in Ceria’s sight, though she couldn’t guess what kind. The Minotaur finally got the axe sheathed and glared at Ceria.

“That fool. I tell the Raskghar not to activate any magical artifacts, but they are harder to control during the full moon. Their intelligence makes them arrogant. I must keep them busy or they engage in idiocy like that!”

“I see.”

Ceria nodded meekly. Calruz eyed her.

“Another reason you are here. Do you know what that black gas was? Or the cup?”

“No, Calruz. I’m sorry. I’ve never seen an effect like that—it looks like some kind of gas spell, but I have no idea what kind of damage it does. The cup probably converts liquid into the gas.”

The Minotaur nodded.

“That was my thought. Very well. Don’t bother inspecting the cup—I won’t risk you on it.”

“Right.”

The Minotaur nodded and turned away. Ceria sighed with relief. Then she straightened. Why the hell—

Something was very wrong. Ceria stared at Calruz. Her brows crossed. He was busy with his map again. He glanced at her and she felt a pang of fear run straight through her. Not just fear—an overwhelming urge to obey. Ceria felt her ears begin to lower and grabbed them with her hands. Calruz stared at her oddly, and then looked back down at his map.

Only when he’d looked away did the oppressive feeling vanish. And finally, Ceria began to figure out what was going on.

A Skill. He was using a Skill on her. Or maybe he wasn’t using it intentionally—he might just have one. But that was the only reason why she could explain why she hadn’t yet tried to make a break for it or fought back harder. Calruz had broken her will by sacrificing the Gnoll. He’d won the contest of leadership and now he was making her follow along like a good subordinate.

That pissed Ceria off. She glared at Calruz. It was easier to do when the Minotaur wasn’t looking at her.

“It’s been nearly a day since I woke up and all you’ve been doing is sending orders to Raskghar in other camps. If you’re done trying to kill my friends and the Antinium, do you mind telling me what you’re actually doing in the dungeon?”

Calruz glanced up. Ceria felt her confidence drain away, no matter how hard she tried to hold onto it. Unwillingly, she opened her mouth again.

“Uh, please?”

The former captain of the Horns of Hammerad stared blankly at Ceria. She waited for him to rage or snap at her, but instead, he grunted softly.

“You never used to say please for anything. I quite like the change.”

“Yeah, well—”

Ceria searched for words and didn’t find any. Calruz shook his head slightly.

“The reprisal from the adventurers and the Antinium assault needed to be addressed. Now I am certain they will not threaten my camps, it is time to go back to business. Conquering the dungeon. But first, the night’s work. Come.”

He turned. Ceria found her feet moving automatically to keep up. She tried to fight it, but only succeeded in keeping the tiniest bit of demand in her voice. She had to remember to walk with her back straight.

“What’re you doing now, Calruz? Clue me in. You went to all this trouble to grab me, after all.”

The Minotaur nodded absently. He grunted, and then growled and waved at a Raskghar sitting around a fire. The beast-woman looked up and Calruz repeated the word.

Menz. We’re moving camp. You will come with me. My warriors will scout the way while the rest of the tribe moves behind us.”

The Raskghar looked unhappy, but she sprang to her feet. The Cave Goblin tending to the stew pot turned and scrambled away. Ceria saw the little Goblin repeating the word to the other Raskghar, who stood up, some growling. One swiped at the Cave Goblin and knocked it to the ground as it got up.

“Strike the camp! Scouts, check the tunnels! We move to Rally Point B! B!

Calruz roared at the Raskghar. Several Raskghar turned and loped towards the exit on the far wall. The Minotaur nodded at Ceria.

“It is easy to command them during the full moon. At other times, the savages can barely remember letters. Come, we’ll move ahead.”

“Just like that?”

Ceria stared at the camp. There were supplies, equipment, and the Gnoll prisoners remaining behind, but the Raskghar were already moving in one huge mass towards the exits. Calruz nodded.

“The Goblins will follow. The Raskghar go to clear the way of monsters. Don’t worry about the prisoners. They will be brought as soon as the scouts report back.”

Another group of Raskghar was busy with the cages. They opened the cages, grabbed the Gnolls, and effortlessly hoisted them onto their shoulders. Any resistance was beaten away and the Gnolls were carried out of the room. Ceria stared at the Cave Goblins.

“There are so many.”

The Minotaur looked up and grunted as the Cave Goblins set to work. Rather than carry the cages, it looked like they were breaking them down into component parts to be reassembled at their destination. He shook his head dismissively.

“Scum. They’re expendable. But useful in that they can perform menial tasks. Or slow down other monsters. The Raskghar have ruled over this Goblin tribe for centuries. Give them orders if you need to. But they’re largely useless.”

He turned.

“Time to go. Follow close and don’t step away from the route the Raskghar take. Come.”

He strode out of the domed room. Ceria followed him. The Minotaur joined a group of armed Raskghar—at least a hundred strong—and they began marching down one of the corridors. The Raskghar in front took a relatively straight path, but every now and then they would walk to one side to avoid what must have been traps. In one spot they paused and deliberately hopped over a patch of the dungeon. Ceria and Calruz imitated them with the rest of the Raskghar. Calruz called out orders as he marched, exhorting the Raskghar around him.

“Faster! Faster! I want to be at the camp in an hour’s time!”

The Raskghar silently adjusted their pace, moving even faster. Ceria puffed as she jogged alongside Calruz.

“An hour? How big is the dungeon?”

“Large enough to dwarf Liscor many times over. And hold hundreds of thousands of monsters. We are headed towards another sector of the dungeon. The labyrinth we stand in has four exits, save for the dungeon rift, all at the outermost corners. They lead up through vast monster nests to a series of trapped corridors. However, closer to the center the monsters and traps grow more numerous. We head to one of the corners now; it will be far from the adventurers and safer.”

“Okay.”

Ceria’s mind spun as Calruz casually dropped that knowledge on her. Four exits? And a nest of monsters? Was that the Shield Spider nest that Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers had found? If so, it meant that the dungeon was a gauntlet of gauntlets—adventurers would have to detrap the random network of trap tunnels, risk activating an entire nest of monsters, and only then find themselves on the outermost corners of the labyrinth and have to work their way towards the center.

Valuable knowledge. On the other hand…Ceria glanced up at Calruz. The Minotaur’s stare was fixed on the dungeon ahead of him as he jogged with the axe on his back. Ceria coughed, glanced up at Calruz, and spoke loudly.

“So, yeah, I’m good. I’ve been working out. Lost my hand, but the bone’s still there. I ate these fish flakes that Erin made yesterday. How’s your day been?”

For a second Calruz didn’t respond. His fixed glare ahead of him wavered, and then he glanced down at Ceria.

“What?”

“Oh, just asking how you’ve been. You know. As one does. Anything happen? Meet anyone fun down here? It’s been what, six months since we talked? Read any books?”

Calruz snorted. He glared at Ceria.

“Are you mocking me?”

The half-Elf halted. The Raskghar behind her streamed around her as Calruz slowed to a stop as well. Ceria glared up at Calruz.

“No. Yes! Don’t you find this weird? At all? One second I’m exploring the dungeon, the next I find out you’re alive and leading Raskghar? How did that happen? Tree rot, Calruz! We thought you were dead!

Her voice echoed. Calruz clapped a hand over Ceria’s mouth.

“Be silent!”

She hesitated, and then nodded. Calruz blinked a few times and drew back his hand. He scratched at his head. He looked confused.

“I didn’t tell you? How I survived?”

“No.”

The Minotaur’s eyes flickered and he scuffed the ground uncertainly with one foot. He shook his head.

“I’ve dreamed so long of what I would say when I met you and the others again that I…I must have forgotten. Come. We’re falling behind.”

He started moving again. Ceria followed Calruz, and thought for a moment that he’d forgotten again. But then the Minotaur spoke.

“After the ambush—no, after I lost my arm, I fled. There were Ghouls biting me, zombies clinging to me—I had to get away. I couldn’t think. I ran.”

“I know. I saw you disappearing down one of the tunnels.”

“Yes. I should have run back, but—the pain made me stop thinking. I just ran. I must have run into a trap, because I charged right into a room and the floor vanished. I fell. The undead fell with me. Hah, that was what saved me. If I hadn’t landed on a zombie I would have broken my neck. As it was, I was barely alive. But no undead followed me into the hole. I think I’d lost too much blood at that point so I passed out. I must have drunk a healing potion because I didn’t die in my sleep.”

Ceria nodded. That made sense. Pisces had shown her the hole Calruz spoke about—the chute that connected Liscor’s crypt to the dungeon. She remembered the room as well—it had been filled with piles of bones. Raskghar bones.

“The place you fell into—what was it?”

Calruz shuddered.

“A graveyard. Not the same as the crypt above. This one was a Raskghar graveyard, where they interred the bones of their dead. Not that I knew that. When I awoke in the darkness and saw the bones around me I panicked. Only after I’d smashed a dozen piles did I realize they weren’t undead. And then I realized I was lost. I tried to climb back up, but the hole was impossible to scale even if I had rope and tools. So I started exploring.”

“Alone?”

Ceria tried to imagine it. Gold-rank adventurers could barely handle some of the traps in the dungeon. Calruz had survived it by himself? He was a [Warrior], not a [Rogue]! But the Minotaur was shaking his head.

“No. I must have made my presence known to the Raskghar. They came to investigate their graveyard and found me. A group of six attacked me not fifteen paces out of the room. I tried to fight them, but my arm—and my axe was badly damaged. I killed one, wounded another, before they subdued me.”

He spoke the words almost shamefaced. But Ceria looked up sharply.

“You took on six Raskghar and killed one after losing your arm? With your crappy battleaxe?”

Calruz’s steps faltered.

“It was a fine piece of metal.”

“There was more iron in that thing than steel. You bashed it on so many monster’s heads I’m surprised it didn’t snap when you sneezed. But go on.”

The Minotaur turned and Ceria flinched, thinking he would glare at her. But instead he almost smiled.

“Well, I must have impressed the Raskghar because they took me captive rather than kill me. They dragged me across the dungeon to their camp. It wasn’t nearly as large as this camp—barely eighty or more Raskghar. They threw me in a cage. I think they wanted to know how I’d gotten into the dungeon. Perhaps they intended to interrogate me during the full moons. Either way, they never got the chance.”

“How so? Don’t tell me—”

“I broke out that night and tried to kill them all.”

Calruz snorted proudly. Ceria sighed.

“Of course you did. And they didn’t kill you because?”

“Because they admired my warrior’s spirit and my force of will.”

Calruz stared ahead as Ceria shot him a disbelieving look. She kept staring and after a few seconds, the Minotaur sighed.

“Fine. I managed to kill two of the largest Raskghar as they slept. It turned out one of them was the Chieftain, so the Raskghar decided they needed to vote after they recaptured me. I picked up on their dialogue, tried communicating with them. I convinced them to let me go and they made me their new Chieftain.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that.”

Ceria thought about the odds of that happening. She looked at Calruz.

Bullshit.

The Minotaur grinned. It was the first real smile Ceria had seen on his face.

“Well, it didn’t go that smoothly. But essentially that was what happened. There may have been a few other details. Such as a Raskghar female who was attracted to my stunning physique.”

“You’re kidding me.”

He looked offended.

“Why is that so hard to believe? Anyways, the Raskghar soon realized that I was the leader they needed. I was an adventurer. Wounded, but more powerful than they were with my Skills. Moreover, I knew about tactics, strategy. And the nature of dungeons and monsters. And most of all, I wasn’t one of them. Unlike the Raskghar, my intellect does not wane with the moon’s passing.”

“Still, that’s incredible that they’d make you Chieftain.”

“And as I said, it was my force of will that won them over. The Raskghar knew I was their better. So I trained the tribe, gathered the others together. I forged the Raskghar into better fighters, gave them discipline, organization. I began conquering the dungeon sector by sector until the adventurers started appearing. Then I sent my Raskghar above to acquire Gnolls to make them yet stronger. That was when I found you.”

Ceria’s smile faded. Everything until that last part had sounded—well, worthy of a legend, really. But it was Calruz casually mentioning his raids on the adventurers that bothered her.

“Calruz, that’s incredible. Really. But when the adventurers started appearing, why didn’t you try and contact them? Why not get out of the dungeon?”

The Minotaur looked surprised.

“Why should I? I was perfectly placed to conquer the dungeon at that point. I admit, part of me wished to return to the surface, but when I saw the first adventurers striding into the dungeon that I had sacrificed so much for—trying to rob my—our team of our success—”

His breathing became heavier. Calruz’s eyes began to turn red.

“At that point—at that time—”

You’d already gone insane. Ceria stared up at Calruz. Her eyes stung a bit. She tried to imagine it. Months of solitude in the dungeon, with only the Raskghar. Eating dead monsters, wondering if anyone had made it. Losing his arm. It was enough. Ceria didn’t have to make excuses. Calruz had fought as well as anyone else had. He had been honorable, brave. Her captain. He’d just broken, that was all. She didn’t blame him. But how she wished it hadn’t turned into this.

The madness was in Calruz’s voice. His reddening eyes and disjointed sentences added to the unease Ceria felt. She saw the Raskghar ahead of them moving a bit faster. They’d probably seen this a hundred times before. Calruz turned to Ceria, the light of insanity in his gaze—and then it vanished. He stared at Ceria.

“And then I found you. I was overjoyed to learn you were alive, Ceria. Truly.”

His voice was soft. Genuine. Ceria stared up at Calruz. She faltered and nearly stopped. The Minotaur slowed as well. He looked away.

“I knew you had to be alive. I knew it. My team wouldn’t fall so easily. I don’t understand—the others are dead? You’re sure? They’re not in hiding?”

It was the third time he’d asked. Ceria felt her heart twist. What must it have been like, not knowing? All these months?

“I’m sure, Calruz.”

The Minotaur quickened his pace, still not looking at Ceria.

“You’re absolutely sure? You could be wrong. I survived.”

Ceria wished there were some doubt. She kept her voice low, trying not to remember and failing.

“I saw them die, Calruz. Gerial saved me. Skinner got him. Hunt, Corr, Sostrom…they all died. I buried them.”

“I see.”

The Minotaur did not look at Ceria. He paced ahead of her, using his longer legs to move ahead. Ceria stared at his back. She nearly, nearly missed his arm come up. He might have been wiping sweat from his forehead. Or tears from his eyes.

The two marched through the dungeon for fourteen minutes, following the Raskghar. Ceria jogged after the Minotaur and Raskghar, cursing them and their longer legs. The Raskghar loped effortlessly through the dungeon and Calruz looked like he could run at that pace forever. On the other hand, Ceria enjoyed not running a lot more than running and as such, her legs were already hurting.

It was surprising, but Ceria began feeling sweat running down her back. Not from fear or tension—but from the blistering pace Calruz set. Without having to worry about traps or monsters, the Raskghar could move fast through the dungeon and Ceria found herself struggling to keep up.

“Hold up, Calruz. I need a break.”

The half-Elf called out and slowed. She felt at her belt and was relieved to find her water flask was still there. She twisted off the cap and drank sparingly, so as not to overwhelm her thirsty body. Calruz slowed. He grunted in surprise when he saw the water bottle.

“You’ve provisions? The Raskghar have food and water of their own.”

Ceria had seen the Raskghar’s thick water skins, made of some kind of monster hide. Or perhaps Raskghar hide. She shook her head, shaking her water bottle. It was completely full.

“I’ve got water. Should have drunk it before—I’ve got healing potions and mana potions too. We were prepared for the dungeon, you know.”

“Apparently.”

Calruz hesitated, then held out a hand. Silently, Ceria passed him the water flask. Calruz drank, tilting the flask up and pouring it down his throat. He knew she hated other people’s lips touching her water flask. Ceria glared at Calruz and then kicked him.

“Oi. Don’t drink all my water.”

The Minotaur stopped. He stared down at Ceria and fury crossed his face. For a second. Then he blinked.

“I forgot you used to do that. That hurts, you know.”

Ceria found her heart beating rapidly. She’d kicked Calruz reflexively, not even thinking about it. She didn’t feel as…subdued around Calruz. Why was that? Because he wasn’t ordering her around? She managed a shaky grin.

“What’s the point of doing it if it doesn’t hurt?”

Calruz eyed her. Then he handed back her water flask, two-thirds empty. Ceria scowled and drank another mouthful before tightening the lid. Calruz gave her a few seconds and then gestured. They set off again. After a moment, he spoke.

“Tell me about them. This new team you assembled in my name.”

“In your name? I thought we agreed that the team was our idea. Gerial, yours, and mine. We started it together.”

Calruz’ right eye twitched.

“But I was the one who came up with the Horns of Hammerad as the name.”

“So? Doesn’t mean you own it.”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn’t.”

Ceria grinned, enjoying the back and forth. That was like normal. What she wasn’t prepared for was for Calruz to whirl and grab her with his arm. He lifted her into the air by her robes to eye-level. The Minotaur snarled at Ceria.

“The Horns of Hammerad was my idea! Mine!

Madness again. Ceria held very still, staring into Calruz’s eyes with her wide ones. His expression of rage lasted a heartbeat longer, and then he blinked. He dropped Ceria.

“I—I’m sorry.”

He took a step back from Ceria, caught himself, and turned. Ceria adjusted her robes. After a long minute, the two kept moving. Calruz wavered several times, and then spoke as if nothing had happened.

“Who did you recruit?”

“Um. Pisces and Ksmvr. He’s an Antinium—the Prognugator that replaced Klbkch. And Yvlon.”

Calruz looked shocked. And offended.

“The [Necromancer]? And an Antinium? That was your pick? Byres I can understand, but them?”

Ceria bristled.

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of candidates. It was a spur of the moment thing! Besides, they’ve proved themselves. Look, I wouldn’t have even reformed the team. You know, all the other teams and adventurers refused to even speak to me when I returned to the Adventurer’s Guild? I still haven’t gone to the guild in Celum—I was ready to quit adventuring. So was Yvlon. We had no money, no leads…but then Olesm found this map. Of Albez.”

Calruz looked shocked. He half-twisted to look at Ceria and nearly ran into a wall.

Albez? A map? You don’t mean just an outline, do you?”

“I mean a genuine set of blueprints. With secret rooms outlined and everything.”

The Minotaur gaped. Ceria had to explain the entire story from the start. She told Calruz how she’d led the other three into Albez and found treasure in the very spot where he and she explored many times with little to no success. The Minotaur was agog and insisted on hearing about each of the items they’d recovered and then the ones Ryoka had brought back. He paused when Ceria mentioned how Ryoka had exchanged one of the artifacts.

“Ryoka. Is she well? Did she complete her task in the Blood Fields? I…regret the way we parted. I thought of her when I was down here.”

“She’s…okay. I saw her again.”

“Where. When?”

“Well…okay, she lost some fingers—it happened during the winter. That Gnoll I told you about? It happened like this. Remember the Frost Faeries?”

It was another story, summarized for the sake of time and Ceria’s breath. She jogged with Calruz, giving him her perspective on what had happened with Ryoka, until the Runner had vanished after the disastrous battle with Regrika Blackpaw—whoever she’d been. The Minotaur was equally curious about that. When Ceria was done he shook his head.

“You worry too much. She will return. I told you. She has spirit. This would not stop her. She will return when she is ready. But it is good she is well. A false Named Adventurer. I wish I could have seen that. All that passed above…”

He paused, although his body kept jogging ahead. After a second, Calruz looked back at Ceria. His face was suddenly worried.

“I never asked. But the dead. The fallen. Gerial and the others. We arranged for pay in case of their deaths, but we never envisioned everyone falling. Were you able to give something to the families of our team? Did we…?”

His voice was anxious. Ceria remembered when they’d first started their team. Calruz had insisted on making a name themselves. The Horns would be associated with honor as well as strength in battle. And he was a Minotaur. She nodded, trying to keep her voice as reassuring as possible.

“Yvlon took care of it. Liscor confiscated most of our gear, but we had the money reserves of each team. And I think she might have asked her family to cover some of the debts. She never said so, but I think she did. We paid everyone what we could. We made arrangements.”

Calruz nodded absently.

“We did. We did. And Byres took care of it? I should have expected no less. She was always honorable. She was—”

He shuddered. Ceria reached out, but Calruz moved away. The Minotaur moved ahead of Ceria. She saw his shoulders trembling. All that had happened while he’d been down here. After a second, Calruz raised his voice.

“Let’s go. I want to be relocated within the hour.”

He picked up the pace. Ceria stared at his back. He was in there. Part of him. She reached out—and then lowered her hand. She stared at it. Her skeletal hand didn’t sweat. It was…she flexed it and knew it moved, but she couldn’t feel it. Not anymore.

Both of them had changed. So Ceria let Calruz guide her onwards in silence.

 

—-

 

The rest of the march to the Raskghar’s new camp was quiet. Ceria found her legs burning by the end of it. When she finally entered the chamber that was the new camp—a strange room with two sets of staircases running up the sides of the very long, very tall chamber and ending in a raised platform where broken fragments indicated something had once stood—she had to immediately sit down.

“Dead gods, do you do that every day?”

“Every night. You’ve grown soft, Springwalker.”

Calruz didn’t sit. Hundreds of the Raskghar had already made it ahead of him. Some had taken fights getting here—they’d cleared the way ahead of Ceria and Calruz as well. The Minotaur had them tending their wounds and then setting guards on the two entrances to the room.

“The platform had an entrance at the back. I never allow the Raskghar to camp in a room with only one exit. Scouts, report! Have the other camps moved to the auxiliary rally points?”

The half-Elf shook her head as Calruz made the Raskghar tell him the progress of the other Raskghar camps. Minotaurs loved their military formations. In this case it made sense; the Raskghar were too many to cram into one room and that was dangerous. So Calruz had a number of permanent and semi-permanent camps that smaller groups of Raskghar inhabited.

Normally they were safe staging grounds to attack from, but apparently something was wrong. Ceria’s head rose as Calruz began talking to one of the Raskghar. The Minotaur spoke in the common tongue, but he listened to the Raskghar growl his report in the bestial language they shared.

“How many? All? And you found—you’re sure? Are you sure? Very well, abandon it.”

He turned as Ceria got up, her legs telling her to sit in no uncertain terms. The half-Elf massaged her calves.

“Trouble?”

“One of the smaller Raskghar camps was wiped out. Thirty of my Raskghar were found dead. A patrol in the tunnels and the base camp. Slaughtered where they stood.”

“By what?”

Calruz glanced at the Raskghar scouts.

“They don’t know. Which is unusual. There were a number of foreign scents, but nothing stronger than that. They could smell no other creatures. Only the blood of Raskghar and Goblins.”

Only Raskghar and Goblins. Ceria froze for a second as she worked her fingers into her thigh muscles. She glanced up casually.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. The Raskghar were killed with blades. Well, most of them. It could have been a patrol of enchanted armor. Or perhaps…something else.”

“Like…?”

Ceria wasn’t sure if anyone had told Calruz about Erin’s Hobs. Her mind raced. Had she…? No, they hadn’t come up. And she hadn’t seen a single Hob among all the Cave Goblins, not one. Calruz frowned and shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know. But my concern isn’t exactly what it was. I’ve abandoned the camp. Things like this happen. Even the largest camps can be attacked.”

“Even this camp?”

Incredulous, Ceria looked around the camp where hundreds of Raskghar were continuing to pour in. Calruz nodded.

“There are things in the dungeon that can take on a thousand Raskghar and win. Large nests—luckily no Crelers. But the four great nests are death to awaken. Well, three nests. One is empty.”

“One is? What are the other three? One’s a Face-Eater Moth nest and the other one’s Shield Spiders, right?”

“Correct. The last is fungus. Just fungus. Some of it moves, the rest is stationary. It’s sealed off. Good thing too. If it had a chance to spread, it would be deadly. Half the spores the Raskghar showed me are toxic. Some explode. Others…”

Calruz shook his head. Ceria paused.

“And the last one? Why’s one empty?”

The Minotaur hesitated.

“Something killed off whatever was inside. All of it.”

He let that sink in, and then turned.

“The camp’s being set up. I’ve a mind to replenish our water supplies before doing anything else. How much water do you have?”

Ceria held up her empty water flask and shook it. Calruz nodded.

“With me, then. We’ll gather water and return. It won’t be more than twenty minutes.”

He turned and called. Forty Raskghar loped over. Ceria frowned as she looked around. A bit of hope blossomed in her chest.

“Water? From where? The surface? Are we that near to the dungeon entrance?”

Her hopes were dashed as Calruz shook his head.

“No. There are multiple natural springs in the dungeon that provide clean water. We’ll go to one of them. You didn’t think the dungeon had no water supply for so many monsters, did you?”

“I hadn’t actually thought about it.”

Calruz snorted. He began striding away with the Raskghar. Ceria hurried after him.

“Oh come on. I’m not an expert at dungeons. You’re the Minotaur. I should have known you’d be an expert on labyrinths.”

“That is a stereotype of my people.”

“A true one, though, right? Didn’t you say there was a labyrinth in your homeland? A famous one?”

“…Come on. We’re wasting time.”

 

—-

 

The water flowed up from below. From some deep underground sea of water, apparently. The pool was so dark and deep that Ceria could barely see more than fifty feet down, even when she hurled a [Light] orb into the water. According to Calruz, the Raskghar had tried to explore the depths but never succeeded.

“They fish from this one. There are fish, apparently. Sometimes they’re a threat. It also means anything entering the water might not exit. So don’t get too close to the edge.”

“Got it.”

Ceria felt almost relaxed around Calruz. Not around the Raskghar, but she felt like he was a lot more…well, a lot more like himself now. She watched as the Raskghar filled the huge water skins with water, keeping an eye out for danger. If it was like this, if she took out the parts where they attacked Liscor and sacrificed Gnolls, she could admire Calruz. What if she could convince him not to sacrifice the Gnolls? Could she bring him back like that? Surely not. But if—

The room with the pool of water was a sloping basin with four entrances. The Raskghar clustered around their entrance, watching the other four. The first monster crawled into the room so slowly that Ceria didn’t notice them at first. Then she looked up and froze.

A group of huge bugs had entered the room. They had long, serrated legs and wings. Their bodies were armored plates of chitin and they had huge green eyes. On the tops of their bodies. On the bottom half they were maggots. The insects were half-emerged from their bodies, going through some kind of slow transformation. They were disgusting, to put it mildly.

And the Raskghar hadn’t raised the alarm. Ceria eyed them, but the not-Gnolls were working away without a care in the world. The insects must not have been dangerous, then. Ceria relaxed—until she saw one of the insect staring her way.

“Um. Calruz.”

The Minotaur was overseeing the water collection, impatiently. He glanced up at Ceria.

“What? We’ll be done soon.”

“Right. But about those things.”

Ceria waved her hand at the insects. Calruz glanced in the direction of the maggot-insects and frowned.

“What things?”

“Them. The Raskghar don’t seem bothered and I guess you’re not. But are you sure they’re safe? One of them’s looking at me.”

The insect-maggot was indeed staring at Ceria. But it seemed to decide the water was more pressing. The maggot half of its body oozed forwards and it bent its insect-body to drink. Ceria saw more ooze into the room, some looking exactly like giant maggots that were longer and wider across than she was. Others looked like they’d nearly completed their transformation and they looked like they’d be fast and deadly once their legs were done.

“What things?”

Calruz stared blankly at the space Ceria was looking at. She glared at him.

“Those—”

Then she realized the Minotaur wasn’t seeing the monsters at all. His gaze flashed past the group of monsters without even pausing. Ceria halted.

“Calruz. There are a group of fourteen insect-maggot things at the pool’s edge, across from us. Do you see them?”

The Minotaur froze. He tensed, and then grabbed his axe. He uttered a low growl that made all the Raskghar freeze. They instantly abandoned the water skins and reached for their weapons. Ceria went wide-eyed as Calruz backed up.

“Invisible monsters.”

“Invisible? But I see them.”

“I see nothing. But this is a known phenomenon. There are invisible monsters in the dungeon. A large number of them. If you can see them—where are they exactly?”

Ceria eyed the monsters. They were drinking from the water’s edge, but some had begun moving around the pool. She had a sinking feeling that they were coming over because of her.

“Nine are at the water’s edge. Five more are coming around. Three on the left, two on the right.”

Calruz stared.

“Yes. I can see the water moving. Okay. Quarr. Dret! Yalk.

He pointed. The Raskghar split up. Half went left, the other half went right. Calruz motioned Ceria forwards. He signaled at her with his hands. She pointed. The Raskghar advanced slowly, tense, until they were less than ten feet away from the maggot-monsters. Then Ceria pointed and Calruz straightened.

Charge!

The Raskghar howled and leapt forwards. The insect-maggots reacted immediately rearing up and casting about. They seemed surprised! They stared at Ceria until she shot an [Ice Spike] into one’s head and then began to lurch towards her, ignoring the Raskghar. But the beast people knew they were there, and began cutting the monsters apart.

They couldn’t see, but it didn’t matter. The Raskghar used the tips of their weapons as guides. When they encountered a monster, they immediately struck and leapt back. They howled as they fought in groups, surrounding their enemies, attacking from all sides.

Attack!

Calruz and Ceria took on the group on the water’s edge. Ceria shot an [Ice Spike] at another maggot-insect and watched blood spurt around the spike as it lodged in the creature’s side. But the monster was tough. It reared up and scythed at her, making her duck back.

“[Ice Wall]!”

A wall of ice blocked the creature from leaping at her. The ice cracked, but held. Ceria aimed with her wand and two fingers and fired three [Ice Spikes] simultaneously. The monster lurched backwards, but it was still alive. It was tough!

“Ceria!”

Calruz bellowed. He had his axe out and was scything through the air, trying to find the monster. He looked at her. Ceria shouted.

“Left!”

The maggot was oozing past Calruz. The Minotaur turned. The tip of his axe cut into the monster and it jerked in surprise. Calruz instantly brought his axe up.

[Hammer Blow!]

Ceria brought up another wall of ice just in time. The thump of the blow was less than she’d expected—because Calruz’s axe head sheared so perfectly through the insect. It split in half and the two pieces fell apart. Calruz grunted in satisfaction. He yanked his axe head up—it had split the floor of the dungeon—and then swung it at the monster’s corpse.

“[Gore Splash].”

The corpse exploded. Ceria saw a rain of body parts and blood fly across the room. She tried not to throw up. But the Skill Calruz had used was more than just decorative.

The blood covered the monsters and Raskghar alike. Suddenly, both sides could see each other because Ceria saw the movements of both the Raskghar and insects change. The insects realized they were outnumbered and tried to run. The Raskghar advanced and cut and hacked them apart.

When the battle was over, the spring of water was dark with yellow blood and body parts. The Raskghar didn’t seem to care. They bent and lapped from the water, washing the few wounds they’d picked up. Calruz wrinkled his nose. He smashed his axe on the wall and the Raskghar looked up.

Boil the water! Savages! I told you, boil it first!”

He yanked one of the Raskghar back. Ceria, staring at the water, decided she wasn’t thirsty after all. She stepped back as the Raskghar filled their water skins with the bloody water and took a few deep breaths.

“Dead gods. What was that about?”

“I told you. Invisible monsters. They are a plague. But it seems you can see them. Incredible. This is a huge advantage.”

Calruz leaned on his axe, looking pleased. Ceria glanced at him.

“Say what? I have no idea why I could see those things and you couldn’t.”

“Why not? It must be your heritage as a half-Elf. You must be able to see through the [Invisibility] spells.”

The half-Elf frowned, doubting very much that was the case.

“I’ve never seen Pisces when he’s been invisible.”

“Well, maybe it’s a lesser invisibility spell.”

“A lesser invisibility spell? That would be [Chameleon Skin] or something like that. And I wouldn’t be able to see through that either. I told you, Calruz. Half-Elves resist enchantments placed on us. We don’t get magical eyes. That’s Gazers you’re thinking about.”

The Minotaur frowned as he cleaned his axe head in the water.

“Huh. But you clearly have some ability the Raskghar and I don’t. I’ve fought invisible monsters before. I never saw one.”

I’ve never seen an invisible monster in the dungeon.”

“True.”

Ceria opened her mouth and flushed.

“Wait, I meant—I mean, my team haven’t even encountered one! Neither have any of the other adventurers, as far as I know.”

Calruz shook his head.

“You must have been lucky. They’re everywhere. They attack on sound—or if you run into them. It’s one of the reasons why an active guard has to be maintained on the camps at all times.”

“Wait, so there are lots of invisible monsters. But those insect-things didn’t spot you at all. They were only looking at me.”

That had been curious. Ceria frowned. So did Calruz. He glanced at the dead insects. Ceria did too.

“You can see them?”

“When they’re dead. These things are…ah, the changing maggots. They’re deadly when they reach maturity. But they seldom do in the dungeon. I’ve seen non-invisible groups of this kind of monster, come to think of it. The monsters that are invisible can be anything. Shield Spiders, Flesh Worms, Stone Starers…anything.”

“Wait, Shield Spiders? And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“No. Maybe it’s an enchantment. Some room in the dungeon. Maybe it’s a curse.”

“Or maybe something’s up.”

Ceria’s mind raced as she stared at the insects. She looked at one and realized it was still alive. The Raskghar jumped as it oozed over and grabbed their weapons. The insect-creature flailed weakly with one of its remaining legs. Ceria held up a hand as Calruz turned with his axe.

“Hold on, I think I might know of a way to test this.”

 

—-

 

The Raskghar were blind to the invisible monsters, but they weren’t stupid. They could hear and smell and touch the creatures, and so when Calruz and Ceria and the water-gathering expedition returned, the Raskghar were already ready. Dozens of Raskghar aimed bows at the entrance and several Raskghar holding magical artifacts were standing at the ready—until they saw the Raskghar and Calruz. They stopped, sniffing the air, confused.

“Move aside. We have a monster.”

Calruz ordered the Raskghar. They made way, staring at the invisible, bloodied thing in the air. To them it must have looked like some strange ripple in the light, perhaps only visible through the bloodstains and the way the Raskghar held it. But Ceria could see the injured maggot-insect quite clearly.

It was nearly dead. The Raskghar would have happily beaten it the rest of the way to death, but as Ceria had pointed out to Calruz, the monster had to be alive for this to work. The instant it died, the corpse would be visible to everyone. But in life—

“There. Do you see it?”

Ceria approached the Gnolls for the first time. They recoiled as Calruz and the other Raskghar approached. Several stared with hatred and hostility at Ceria, but the rest glanced over her shoulder and gasped.

“Monster!”

They cried out in horror. The other Gnolls stared wildly at the thing the Raskghar held.

“What is it? Invisible?”

“No—it’s some kind of maggot and insect! Can you not see it?”

Astonished, the Gnolls looked at each other. Half—and Ceria noted it was the ones in the cages who’d arrived first—stared wide-eyed at the invisible monster. The rest could see it clearly.

“There. You see?”

Ceria turned to Calruz. The Minotaur snorted incredulously.

“They see it. But how?”

“I don’t know. But it’s not just me. There’s something different to the Gnolls in those cages, the ones who can’t see. Something’s happened to them. But what?”

“I will find out. You—dispose of that thing. And you—”

Calruz took one of the Raskghar to one side as the warriors happily dropped the dying maggot and kicked it to death. The Cave Goblins scurried forwards with butchering knives and Ceria’s stomach roiled as she imagined eating the thing. She glanced at the Gnolls in cages.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to get you out.”

They stared at her, confused, angry. Ceria looked for Mrsha and saw her huddled in her cage. The poor little Gnoll couldn’t move, shackled as she was. One of the Gnolls edged up to the side of his cage and spoke urgently to Ceria.

“How do you know that monster? That Minotaur. Why is he doing this?”

Ceria wavered. She bent and whispered urgently.

“He’s my former team captain. He was lost on the expedition to Liscor’s crypt. He…took command of the Raskghar. He’s…lost it.”

The Gnolls’ ears quivered. The Gnoll in the cage stared at Ceria.

“Can you make him let us go?”

“I can try. What was that ritual?”

The Gnoll lowered her voice.

“Something dark. Something evil. We do not know. A [Shaman] from one of the plains tribes might. Get us out of here before it happens again.”

“I’ll—”

“Ceria!”

The half-Elf straightened. The Gnoll edged back as Calruz marched towards her. The Minotaur was smiling. He ignored the Gnolls completely and beckoned her over.

“We know the difference now. The Gnolls have been fed. But those Gnolls have been watered as well.”

“Watered?”

Ceria stared at Calruz. He nodded, triumphant and furious.

“Water. There’s something in the water! It has to be that. The Raskghar can’t think of anything else that separates the two and they’re certain those Gnolls drank water while the others were waiting for our expedition to return.”

The half-Elf blinked in surprise. Water? It sounded so insane, but it made sense. She wavered.

“We were just at the pool—do you think—”

“Naturally. Faugh! It’s just like these damned dungeon creators to put something in the water! Or enchant it! And that’s what’s kept this dungeon populated; the monsters don’t fight if they can’t see each other! And I’ve been drinking the stuff!”

The Minotaur cursed, paced past Ceria, and whirled.

“This is good to know. From now on, I will drink only rationed water. As will you.”

He turned and beckoned Ceria over to a pile of equipment, mostly untouched. It was all gear that the Raskghar couldn’t use or had no interest in. Calruz pawed through it and came up with a few flasks. He opened the cap, sniffed, poured some clear liquid out, and nodded.

“This was taken from dead adventurers. They should have—hrr. Yes. Water flasks. The Raskghar prefer their hide bags. Here.”

He tossed one at Ceria. She tried it cautiously, and found the water flask held only stale water. Ceria grimaced as she drank a bit.

“What about the Gnolls?”

“What about them? They can drink the dungeon’s water. If I had more supplies, I’d make some of the Raskghar drink clean water, but we’ll have to be the only ones who can see. I hope the effects on me will wear off soon.”

Calruz shook his head, drinking deeply. Ceria hesitated.

“About the Gnolls—”

She quailed as Calruz stared at her. Then she straightened.

“Look, Calruz. If you let a few go—”

“No.”

And that was it. Ceria tried to speak, but Calruz’s Skill crushed her voice. The Minotaur glared at her, and then tossed his head. He sprayed a bit of water at Ceria and looked around.

“This has all been useful. But that is not the reason why I need you. Warriors! Assemble five companies! We fight in the city!”

Ceria kept her head bowed until Calruz turned away. Then she could move and think. She followed Calruz, conscious of the Gnoll’s eyes on her back.

“The city? You don’t mean Liscor?”

The Minotaur turned and grinned.

“Oh no. You haven’t seen it yet, have you? Follow me. Your adventurers, the Antinium—they’ve only entered the dungeon. But there’s a final part of the dungeon yet to be uncovered. The city. And beyond it—the end. Come and see.”

 

—-

 

The city lay at the heart of the dungeon. The path to it was long, crossing through rooms with traps, past monsters both visible and invisible to the Raskghar. But Calruz had set up his camps so that he and his warriors—nearly four hundred Raskghar—could move from safe space to safe space. They marched fast, but it was still hours before they reached it.

The city in the dungeon. Calruz paused at a staircase. Ceria stared up it. A huge pair of double doors waited above. They were closed. And writing was etched into the wall above it. The letters glowed faintly. They looked like the same words that had been written on the crypt’s walls. She couldn’t translate them without using a time-consuming spell, but they made her afraid.

“Calruz. What is this?”

The Minotaur turned. He stood at the head of the ranks of Raskghar. They were armed with stone weapons, most of them. A few had coveted blades made of steel or iron. Calruz hadn’t taken any of the Raskghar with artifacts. The Minotaur gestured up towards the doors. His eyes were wide with excitement. Madness or anticipation, Ceria couldn’t tell.

“This is the gateway. There are eight. Eight places where the labyrinth ends. Places where you can enter the heart of the dungeon. All of this?”

He gestured around at the stone corridors, the winding passages he and the Raskghar had traversed.

“This is the labyrinth. But it is not all of the dungeon. There is a center. But no Raskghar has ever come close to it. The city is the last protection before the heart of the dungeon. It is a world unlike this closed space. But dangerous. Do you wish to see it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Ceria regretted her flippant answer. The Minotaur glared at her and she felt herself shrinking. The Raskghar waited impatiently, glancing between her and Calruz.

“Yes, Calruz. I do want to see it. But those doors—the words. They’re like Skinner’s warning.”

The Minotaur glanced up. His good hand tightened on the haft of his axe.

“I know. And they are not without reason. But this place makes sense. It is safer than the dungeon in some ways. Now. Open the doors. Ikeld! Advance!”

The first rank of Raskghar ascended the stairs. They hauled on the metal doors and heaved them open. Ceria saw red light, almost blinding in the dungeon’s darkness. She saw the Raskghar stream through one rank, then a horde of bodies. Calruz beckoned. Ceria was afraid. For once she didn’t curse the Skill that made her run after Calruz. She climbed the stairs, charged through the door—

And looked up. A ceiling greeted her. Only, it was a ceiling two, maybe three hundred feet above her. Ceria gaped. Red lichen hung from the rocky ceiling overhead, gently glowing. It provided a bright, almost too-bright crimson glow that illuminated the entire cavern. Only, it wasn’t a cavern.

It was like stepping out of the dungeon and into a castle. Or a palace. Or—Ceria’s breath caught as she saw the tunnel open wider, wider—

A city.

The rocky floor opened out past the metal doors. The ground became flat. For a few hundred feet there was only rock and dirt. And then a pair of walls rose. The rock was reddish, tinted by the light from above. Red lichen grew on the stones, but the walls were largely intact. They weren’t tall—not by the standards of Drake cities, barely thirty feet high. But they stretched around the city.

The city in the dungeon. Ceria could see it past the walls. Tall buildings made of crumbling stone, roofed houses, and, as she stepped forwards wonderingly, she could see how vast the city was. The Raskghar streamed towards the walls, barking warily at each other. There was an open gate meant to allow hundreds of people in every second. Ceria jumped and whirled as Calruz came up behind her. The Minotaur stared towards the city, a fierce light in his eyes.

“You see it? This is the true nature of the dungeon. The city in the dungeon.”

“I can’t believe it. This is the center of the dungeon? People? A city?”

The Minotaur shook his head.

“No people. Just the city. And the death lurking here.”

“Death?”

Ceria looked around. The open space between the city’s walls and the metal door was empty. Disturbingly empty, in fact. Ceria felt her skin crawl as she realized how vacant the city seemed. Where were all the monsters? Calruz nodded towards the Raskghar.

“They’re securing the entrance. Follow me.”

He set a quick pace after the Raskghar. They were waiting at the gates. Calruz jogged towards them, speaking over his shoulder.

“This was once a place where people dwelt. Now it is infested. What is not infested is guarded by the enchanted suits of armor. An entire legion patrols constantly and occasionally sends smaller raiding parties out into the labyrinth.”

“The enchanted armor?”

Ceria blinked at Calruz. She’d seen and fought the metal suits of armor. They were the one oddity in a dungeon full of organic monsters. Calruz nodded.

“They have guarded this dungeon for ages, according to the Raskghar.”

“But how could they still be around? Those things break. If they’re fighting monsters or getting damaged—”

“I imagine there were hundreds of thousands of them. Or tens of thousands at the least.”

Tens of—do you have any idea how much that would cost?”

“Yes.”

Calruz turned calmly. He was too calm. The city’s gates loomed over Ceria, red, the bricks covered in lichen. The half-elf stared around, panicked for the first time. The city was too quiet. This entire room, this cavernous place was too vast! She was being watched. She could feel it.

“It makes sense, Ceria. For a city of this size, and given that they could build a dungeon of this quality, it makes sense they would have a force that strong. Look at this city.”

Calruz pointed up at the walls high above his head. He pointed through the gates. Ceria could see a broken street, red, and broken houses waiting for her. Some had caved in. Many were intact. They all seemed empty. But something was in there. Her skin crawled.

“This city, these walls and the houses—it is bigger than Celum. Bigger than Liscor as well. Imagine how many souls lived here.”

“It must be the size of a Walled City.”

“Close.”

“And the people?”

Ceria took a step forwards and then retreated. She looked at the Raskghar. They weren’t at ease like Calruz. They were tensed, scanning the streets, the houses, the windows. The ceiling. They knew something was there. The Minotaur grinned.

“Everything’s dead. As I said. What is not dead are the infested. They’ll come soon. They know we’re here. We’ll move around the edge of the city. We can’t stay in one place. If we do, we’ll be overrun.”

“By what?”

Calruz didn’t answer. He turned.

“Move forwards! Take that street! Shields in front! Archers, ready!”

The Raskghar moved as one. They were alert, superhumanly quick and intelligent. But they were afraid. Ceria saw it in the tense way they reacted to Calruz’s order and saw the wariness on the Minotaur’s face. They made her afraid as well. She was braced, waiting for anything. She did not have to wait long.

It leapt out of one of the house’s windows. It screamed. The Raskghar froze and the archers loosed arrows. The thing staggered as arrows clattered off the wall behind it and several pierced its flesh. The arrows feathered it. A spike of ice burst out of its face. It staggered and then screamed again, around the [Ice Spike]. Then it charged the Raskghar.

It was a person. Or it had been. Like the lichen, like the walls and street, the thing was red. But a fleshy red. Its skin was too smooth, and it had—holes in its body. More of the others, the infested, came at the first’s call. They charged the Raskghar, ignoring the arrows that pierced their bodies. They charged when filled with arrows. They moved when their heads were off, swinging wildly. Even when they were chopped into pieces they moved for a while, until their limbs ceased.

It looked like something had eaten part of them away. That was the first thing Ceria noticed after she’d stopped screaming. The fleshy creatures, the infested poured out of the houses where they’d been hidden, climbing, falling off the roofs and running at the Raskghar. They were fearless, which was good. Because the Raskghar hacked them apart.

The not-Gnolls were intelligent, stronger due to the full moons. They tore the infested apart with their claws, attacked and dodged with incredible agility and precision. They could have killed any regular group of soldiers with ease. They struggled against the infested.

It wasn’t that the infested were tough. On the contrary, they were just flesh. They moved fast, but only as fast as a normal Human could sprint. The thing was that they had no limits. They sprinted, fought, and screamed without getting tired or winded. And they were incredibly hard to kill. A Raskghar split one of the infested’s head open and it grabbed the Raskghar, clawing at it, trying to bite through the Raskghar’s fur before the furred warrior bashed it into the ground again and again.

They had teeth. And claws. And tails. Ceria whirled, blasting every one of the red creatures she could see with [Ice Spikes]. She heard a roar and saw Calruz swing his axe, cutting through three infested at once.

[Ice Wall]! Guard our left! Raskghar, advance with me!

He shouted at Ceria. His voice cut through the panic in her body. She turned and raised a wall of ice, cutting off an alleyway to the left. The infested slammed into it and began to try and climb the walls. But the delay allowed the Raskghar to press forwards. Calruz led them in a bloody charge and his axe sliced the infested apart. They didn’t even try to dodge his powerful blows. They ran forwards and died. But Calruz was advancing too far.

“Calruz!”

Ceria screamed a warning. But the Minotaur didn’t listen. The Raskghar around him fell back. Ceria shot [Ice Spikes] towards the infested, but they were surrounding Calruz. What were the Raskghar doing? They were going to let him—

The Minotaur raised his axe. The green head on the golden metal shone bright. Ceria saw the edge grow, turning transparent, until it was three times larger than the axe head. Calruz turned and cut. At least thirty infested fell as the magical edge of the axe sliced through them like butter. The magical axe swung, and Calruz cleared the space around him with effortless swings.

“Incredible.”

He had an artifact. Ceria burned with awe at the weapon. That was a weapon worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer! Maybe even a Named Rank one! But then she heard the infested scream. She turned and shot [Ice Spikes], bringing them down as Calruz cut them down by the dozen. But there were more of them. More and more and more—

“Ceria! Springwalker!”

Ceria jerked. She raised her skeletal hand and wand, but Calruz knocked her arms aside. He grabbed her.

“It’s over.”

Ceria looked at Calruz. Then she looked around. How much time had passed? Hours? Minutes? Seconds? The ground was covered in blood. Red bits of squirming flesh lay everywhere. The Raskghar were tending to their wounded. And the dead. At least thirty Raskghar had fallen, but they’d killed hundreds of the infested. Ceria looked around. She had blood on her robes and her hand was shaking uncontrollably.

“What—what—”

“Those were the guardians of the city. Along with the enchanted armor. We have a moment’s reprieve. More will come. Breathe. Look at me. Breathe.”

Calruz’s orders made Ceria look up. She remembered to inhale, and felt the world stabilize. A bit. But her shaking didn’t stop.

“That was worse than Ghouls. Way worse than Ghouls or zombies! They don’t scream! That was worse than Crelers—no, just as bad! What the hell are they? What in the name of trees…”

She trailed off. Calruz grunted. He turned.

“You didn’t see? Come.”

He grabbed her and towed her over to one of the corpses. It wasn’t moving, but Ceria stayed well back, expecting it to. Calruz bent down.

“This one’s dead. But see—”

He grabbed it, ignoring the blood, and twisted the torso. He’d cut this thing in half, which let Ceria get a good look at the infested for the first time. She saw a protruding jaw, a humanoid body. Shiny red skin—claws on the hands and legs—a long serpentine tail.

“It looks familiar. But what…?”

Ceria stared at the infested. Its shape was so hauntingly similar to something she knew. But her mind resisted her understanding. It was only when Calruz opened its mouth and showed her the teeth that she realized what it was. Ceria bent over and vomited. She’d eaten very little, but she threw it up anyways. She stared down at the dead infested in horror.

Sharp teeth. A reptile’s teeth. Only, it was important not to ever say that in front of one of them because they’d punch you. A long serpentine tail. Claws and sometimes wings, the relics of their distant ancestors. The infested had all of these. What it didn’t have were scales.

It was a Drake. Skinned. Flesh had grown over its body, and it had holes in parts of its stomach, its legs, arms, as if something had eaten it. But it was a Drake. Ceria looked around. Suddenly, all of the infested looked the same.

Drakes. This was a Drake city. And the infested—

She bent to throw up again. She thought she hadn’t anything left to give, but her body surprised her. Ceria choked on her bile and vomit. Then she felt a hand on the back of her neck.

“Easy. Drink.”

Calruz offered her his water flask. Ceria washed her mouth. When she looked up at him, she spoke two words.

“What happened?”

Even Calruz looked mildly unwell. The Raskghar were staying far away from the infested, warily watching their surroundings. The Minotaur shook his head.

“I don’t know. At a guess, these were Skinner’s victims. Or perhaps they were the creators of the dungeon who fell prey to it themselves. Or perhaps there was something…else. You see, I have not found any records of the dungeon. Nothing I can read. But the Raskghar understand something of the writings on the walls. Ancient Drake. And they found something. We’ll visit it before we leave.”

He took the water flask. Ceria was about to tell Calruz she wanted to leave the city now and burn everything down. But then she heard a scream. It was far off, but it was joined by hundreds more. Her blood ran cold.

“More infested. We have to go. Follow me. Warriors! We cut towards the monument! Move!”

Calruz turned. The Raskghar ran with him. Ceria did too. The infested came, leaping from rooftops, appearing in alleyways, out of windows. This time Ceria blasted them with all the magic she knew. She cast [Fireball] and destroyed a group of them. She didn’t feel guilt, not in the slightest. Destroying these poor Drakes would be the ultimate mercy.

“Onwards! Don’t fall behind! If we are surrounded, we die!”

Calruz roared as he cut a path ahead. The Raskghar were falling—but only a few with each attack. They were too large and tough to go down to the infested, especially since the infested had nothing but tooth and claw. Things got trickier when they ran into the first patrol of enchanted armor.

Twenty of them!

“Take the infested! I’ll cut them down! Warriors, on me!”

The Minotaur bull rushed the first suit of armor. When he swung his axe, it bit into the animated metal knight’s chest plate. Calruz threw the animated armor to the ground and battered it with his axe as the Raskghar did likewise. The enchanted armor took longer to kill, but the Raskghar were up to the challenge. The real problem for Ceria and the other Raskghar was holding off the infested. After that battle, Calruz called a break.

“We’ve taken twenty percent casualties. And killed at least a thousand infested. Not bad. Your spells turn the tide.”

“I can’t keep casting spells. Even with mana potions.”

Ceria wiped sweat from her brow. Calruz nodded.

“I’m no fool. But we are nearly at our destination. Come, I want you to see this.”

He led Ceria down a wide street. There was a large plaza, reminiscent of Liscor’s central square. But in the center of this one—Ceria halted. Something had been erected in the center of the square, at the heart of a spiral of red tiles. A large monolith. And something had been carved onto the top of it.

Heads. Three, to be exact. Each one was grotesque. Each one was horrific. But it was the one facing Ceria that made her knees shake. She began to tremble uncontrollably until Calruz grabbed her. He held her.

“Steady. Steady.”

Ceria looked up at the stone face. It was stone. And the creature was dead. But to look at it was to remember. Skinner stared down at Ceria, his flesh mask grinning at her through empty eye sockets.

“Calruz. What is this?”

“A warning. The Raskghar found this when they explored the city. Long ago. The markings on the monolith are hard to read, but they uncovered a few words. It warns that this dungeon is protected by the…the Mother. The Mother of Graves.”

“The boss of the dungeon?”

“Exactly. The Raskghar have never seen her, but they read the rest of the monolith. It tells of three guardians of the crypts who serve her. Three. You know one.”

“Skinner.”

He stared down at her. Ceria remembered him reaching down, grabbing Gerial. Tearing—Calruz hugged her tightly to his chest.

“He is dead. You told me. If he was not, I would kill him. Calm, Ceria, calm.”

She clung to him. Ceria wrenched her eyes away from Skinner.

“The other two.”

The other two heads were facing outwards. Ceria saw a strange, headless torso with two gaping sockets. And another—a long, angular head and wide, wide eyes and a tongue that hung with apparently no mouth. She stared up at them in horror. Calruz looked grimly up at the two heads.

“Skinner. Snatcher. Stalker. They protect the dungeon in the name of the Mother of Graves. This city is their legacy, I think. They were…venerated by the people here. Until something changed. Now the city is a grave of the infested. But they remain.”

“Dead gods. Dead gods. Two more? Two more?

Ceria shook, but clung to Calruz. His chest rumbled as he spoke.

“One more. And the Raskghar know it. I have seen him before. Snatcher.”

“Where?”

“The labyrinth. That is his home. The Raskghar call him—it—Facestealer. He is dangerous. Deadly. They have been unable to kill him. I have tried, but to no avail.”

That was the thing the Redfang Goblins mentioned. It had to be. Ceria looked around, terrified.

“Is he—do you think he’s—”

Calruz shook his head.

“No. He doesn’t enter the city. There’s nothing for him here. The infested and enchanted suits of armor don’t interest him, I think. He takes heads. And I know that the guardian of this place is gone.”

“How?”

For the first time, Calruz laughed. Ceria stared up at him in shock. The Minotaur shook his head. He pointed to the base of the monolith.

“Look.”

It took Ceria several heart pounding seconds to understand what he meant. At first, it looked like nothing was there. Just the spiral pattern of tiles. Only when she realized that the spiral was wrong, that the tiles didn’t match up, did she realize there was something there.

“What is—”

“Come. There isn’t any danger.”

Calruz led Ceria forwards. She walked hesitantly, and then stopped.

Something was curled around the base of the monolith. Something large. It was so large in fact, that Ceria had to halt ten feet away or touch the body. But she could barely see it. It was camouflaged so perfectly against the tiles that even when Calruz reached down and touched it, she could barely tell it was there. Calruz pointed at the silent shape.

“Behold. Stalker.”

Ceria scrambled back. She raised her wand, and then froze as she made out the final, crucial detail of the body. Stalker was curled around the monolith, a vast shape, hidden from view. But she could make out enough the more she looked to realize something important. Stalker was dead.

Something had torn its head off. And as Calruz looked at Ceria, she figured it out.

“Facestealer?”

He nodded.

“I don’t know what happened. Perhaps they turned on each other. But at some point, Snatcher killed Stalker. And now it lurks in the labyrinth, preying on all those it encounters. Of the three, I think it is the most deadly. Skinner was fear. But Snatch is paralysis. You cannot approach it without falling to the ground. Helpless. And its body can resist enchanted arrows. It collects heads. Puts them on sticks.”

Ceria stared at Calruz, aghast. Snatcher sounded like something right out of nightmares. Even adventurer’s horror stories didn’t come close. She looked at the Raskghar. They were keeping well clear of the monolith.

“How did the Raskghar survive down here with it all this time?”

“They breed faster than it can kill. And there are many monsters with heads for Snatcher to take.”

Calruz’s lip twisted. He turned, then turned back and kicked Stalker’s body. Ceria shuddered as the near-invisible body moved. The Minotaur looked at her challenging.

“Do you fear it, even in death?”

The half-Elf nearly said ‘yes’, but then she recovered a bit.

“I fear whatever’s on your foot now. Haven’t you heard of monsters with acid for skin, you rookie? Poke it with a stick if you have to show off.”

Calruz bared his teeth at Ceria. She tried to smile, and then whirled. Another scream. Calruz grunted.

“We’re out of time. We’ll reach a higher vantage point so I can show you the end. Then we leave. Raskghar!”

He led them out of the plaza. Ceria ran with him, almost relieved to be fighting. The infested were real, but she didn’t want to stand near the monolith. Or think about Snatcher.

They paused one final time on the walls of the city. The infested were coming in a huge wave. Calruz ordered the Raskghar to fight for a few precious seconds and pointed.

“There! You see it!”

Ceria squinted past the streets full of infested rushing at her. She saw the rooftops of houses, tall buildings, and then—blackness. She blinked.

“Is that a…hole?”

“Yes! Move!”

Calruz roared and the Raskghar fell back. He and Ceria raced down the walls as the infested pursued them. They raced towards the metal doors in full retreat, pausing only to cut down the nearest infested twice. When they reached the doors, Calruz shouted. The last Raskghar leapt through, crashing down the stairs while two slammed the metal doors shut.

They’d trapped two Raskghar. The beast people were too slow. Ceria heard them howling in fear and pounding on the doors. Then she heard screams. She backed away as the Raskghar braced themselves. The Raskghar fought until the end, and then there was tearing. Silence.

The Raskghar and Calruz stared at the door. Then the Minotaur nodded. The Raskghar backed away and began tending to their wounds. Ceria wasn’t sure that was safe.

“If they open the doors—”

“They won’t. We’ve fought the infested before. The armor patrols will pursue, but the infested won’t. They go a little ways into the dungeon at most, but then they retreat. And close the doors. I told you, they guard the dungeon.”

He turned his back on the doors. Ceria looked at them uneasily, but the Raskghar were already moving. They headed back towards their camp. Their numbers had been depleted, but they’d eradicated thousands of the infested. Which was part of Calruz’s plan.

“The infested don’t regenerate. They survive terrible injuries, but their numbers are finite. They’re too deadly a foe to face without a vast force—you saw how close we came even with your help. And they react to larger forces entering the city, especially if they stay longer. If I take a thousand Raskghar, ten thousand infested attack. But a small force like this can do great damage, especially on the full moon.”

“How many times have you done this?”

Calruz grinned, his yellowed teeth flashing.

“Many times. And there are less of the infested than before. The Raskghar would never dream of this kind of battle—there’s nothing for them in there. They won’t eat the infested. Even the Cave Goblins won’t. But I see the advantages of a city that can be fortified. And you saw it.”

“A hole. In the center of the city. What was that?”

“I’ve only seen it up close once. It’s a vast hole. It goes down…I can’t say how far. But it’s wide. Half a mile across if I’m a judge. I’m certain that the infested guard it—they cluster around it most of the time which is why they don’t react to us at the edge of the city at first. And in that hole is the center of the dungeon. The Mother of Graves and the dungeon’s treasure, if it exists, lies down there.”

Ceria shivered. The sound of it! She had no idea the dungeon was this large! But to hear Calruz say it like that—

“You’re this close?”

“With the Raskghar, I am. I just need to clear out the infested so we can descend. And as I’ve said, it’s doable.”

Ceria nodded. Her mind was racing in the absence of fear or danger. She looked back at the distant metal doors as an adventurer.

“It’s a war of attrition. If you don’t lose any Raskghar to the infested, or if you kill more than you lose—”

“I win. The infested don’t come back. There are no traps. It is just a battle against them. A fight. An honest one!”

The Minotaur brandished his axe. He’d cut down hundreds of infested himself. He was faster than he had been before the crypt. Stronger too, despite his missing arm. Ceria stared at Calruz. The numb shock in her body faded a bit. Something like amusement tickled her fancy. She felt her lips quirk into a smile.

“Congratulations, Calruz. You’ve finally found a dungeon made just for you.”

The Minotaur blinked.

“I have, haven’t I?”

The two of them looked back at the doors. Calruz whispered.

“It’s right there. I could run forwards and fall into that pit. But I don’t know what lurks beneath. I’m certain that is the heart of the dungeon. And I have been clearing the infested skirmish after skirmish. There are so many of them. And the enchanted armor. But once they’re gone, the city is open. And I will be the one to throw a rope down into that abyss and descend.”

“The dungeon. This one’s so much bigger than we ever imagined. We thought it might be big. We were prepared for multiple levels. Eight floors, even. But I never imagined…”

Calruz nodded. He and Ceria stood together. The Minotaur clenched his hand.

“This dungeon is on another scale entirely. I’ve seen the old dungeons near First Landing, the ones already conquered. Even the magic dungeons don’t come close to this. This—this is on the level of the dungeon Niers Astoragon conquered before he founded the Forgotten Wing Company. This is a dungeon worthy of a Named Adventurer—no, one that makes a Named Adventurer. And vengeance dungeon or not, I’m certain they would have hidden their greatest treasure with this boss monster. The Mother of Graves. The Raskghar have plundered the city and the dungeon and come away with artifacts worthy of any Gold-rank adventurer. This axe alone would make me Gold-rank.”

He pointed to his axe. Ceria stared at it. She remembered how it had grown and thought of the other Raskghar that had magical artifacts. The one with the invisible bow, the warded armor…and she’d seen more Raskghar with similar weapons.

“You have an army. And they know the dungeon.”

“Precisely. I could take ten Gold-rank teams and perhaps not do as much. There are thousands of Raskghar and Cave Goblins. This was just a trial of your abilities. With the awakened Raskghar, the ones who perform the ritual, and with Cave Goblins, we could eliminate the infested within a month. And then—”

And then that abyss awaited. Ceria’s heart pounded in her chest. Anticipation, excitement, fear, dread—it all mixed together. It was a rush, the indescribable feeling of being alive that made her keep adventuring despite it all. She looked up at Calruz, unable to stand still. She saw the same burning passion in his eyes.

This was an adventure! This was a challenge! Ceria grinned at Calruz. They could do it! They could really do it! She reached out—

And then she’d remembered what he’d done. Her smile vanished. Ceria let her arm drop. Calruz saw Ceria’s expression change. His softened expression hardened and he turned.

“Follow.”

 

—-

 

Mrsha the Great and Terrible sat in her cage. She felt the cold, hard, painful shackles on her paws. She saw the cage, the bars of wood and hide. She smelled the fear in the air, the blood. She saw the Raskghar pacing back and forth, some training with weapons, others bullying the Cave Goblins. She looked at the other cages full of Gnolls and saw the fear in their eyes, the terror.

Mrsha peed a little. She couldn’t help it. There were no bathrooms here and the Raskghar didn’t let the Gnolls out. She shifted uncomfortably, but she couldn’t help it. She’d already done the very bad in the corner of her cage, and she knew the other Gnolls had done the same by the smell.

That didn’t bother her. It might have bothered Erin or Lyonette or Selys, but when you were a Gnoll, you could smell the outhouse even when you weren’t sitting in it. So long as there were other smells, it wasn’t too bad. Actually, it was sort of interesting because if you were really good, you could tell who ate what and who’d pooed last. Mrsha had a great nose.

…But this wasn’t the time for that. Mrsha could smell the fear on the air, a sharp, urgent smell. That made her feel very scared. It came from the Gnolls. And the Cave Goblins. The Raskghar didn’t smell of fear. They smelled of death and blood. Mrsha didn’t like them. She wasn’t afraid—but she peed a bit more when one of them looked at her.

The Gnolls were talking. That was all that had happened. Mrsha didn’t know how long she’d been down here, not exactly, but she remembered waking up. And then being very scared and trying to get loose, and then she’d seen Ceria and thought everything would be well! But it hadn’t. The bad Minotaur had pointed at the cages and then—and then—

And then the horrible thing had happened. Mrsha still remembered the Gnoll screaming as the Raskghar tore out his heart. She shook wildly and tried to breathe. Don’t think about it. Don’t think. Something had happened, and then Mrsha had been too scared to sleep. But she must have, because the next thing she remembered was a bunch of Cave Goblins lifting her cage and the Raskghar grabbing Gnolls and dragging them through the dungeon.

That had been scary too. But almost fun. Almost. And then the Raskghar had come to this new room, which smelled like they’d been here before. Ceria had come back with a horrible monster that the Raskghar killed and talked about ‘invisible monsters’. She’d said a lot of things, but none of it made sense to Mrsha. Why wasn’t she saving everyone? She was an adventurer. But there were a lot of Raskghar. And the Minotaur was very scary.

And now the Gnolls were talking. They’d been silent ever since the first time they’d woken up. The beating from the Raskghar had broken bones. And after the ritual they’d been terrified. But even that terror couldn’t make them sit in silence forever. Now they were growling softly to each other, talking almost inaudibly.

That was necessary, Mrsha knew. If the Gnolls made anything approaching loud sounds, one of the Raskghar would strike the cages or throw something at the prisoners. Anything after that would earn a savage beating. But since Gnoll ears and Raskghar ears were equally good, the Gnolls could still have a quiet conversation without alerting their captors. And since Mrsha’s ears were even better than normal Gnoll ears, she could hear too. She was young. Plus, she was a tribal Gnoll, not a silly city Gnoll like Miss Krshia and the others. She heard everything clearly.

It was the old Gnoll, the one who’d called her ‘Doombringer’ who was speaking. He was the oldest of the Gnolls held captive, or nearly. And he was the most important. The others deferred to him. His name was Elirr. He spoke, a bruise puffing up one eye as the others, adults, a few children, turned to him.

“In the past, it was said that we were enemies of the Raskghar. It was said that in the time underneath the earth, they broke away from our kind. That they became beasts, unthinking, and hunted us. We thought it was for sport, but the old legends were incomplete. It is clear they performed these rituals and gained…strength from them.”

Some of the other Gnolls nodded. The children tried to hug the adults, but they were shackled. It was very painful. Mrsha had seen the adults try to break the metal shackles, but they had been taken from dead [Guardspeople] and the metal was sturdy. The Raskghar had the keys.

“But how?”

One of the Gnolls whined softly. She was afraid. The Gnolls around her growled softly and her whine lowered before it could disturb the Raskghar. Elirr shook his head.

“It may be a thing of classes and Skills. Or not. The Book of Levels does not mention such things. But I know there is magic of blood, yes. And worse things. Things Gnolls have forbidden as the worst of deeds. Perhaps the Raskghar found such secrets in the darkness. All we can hope is that Ceria Springwalker convinces this Minotaur to release us.”

“How? You saw her. She bows to him. She submits! And he is mad. Clearly mad!”

“Hush. I know. But she is our only chance. You heard what he said. The Gold-rank adventurers cannot reach us. And we have moved camps. Even the Antinium could not best this dungeon. What other chance is there?”

The other Gnolls fell silent. They were afraid. Mrsha could smell it on them. On Elirr, for all he tried to project authority. That was the problem with Gnolls. They could smell your fear, so how could you lead them?

By showing them fear is conquerable. By being brave despite fear. That is what inspires.

Mrsha heard the voice in her head. For a second she couldn’t place it. And then she remembered. Urksh had said that. He had been a good [Chieftain]. Better than Elirr. Better than Krshia. She missed him so much. She cried when she thought of him, but she didn’t cry now. She had to be brave.

But then one of the Gnolls looked at her. Mrsha flinched. It was the female Gnoll, the one who’d whined. She stared at Mrsha and raised her voice.

“What about her? This is all her fault!”

She pointed. The Gnolls looked as one. Mrsha flinched. The brown eyes staring at her found her white fur. And she heard the murmurs.

“Cursed one.”

“White fur.”

“Doombringer.”

One of the Gnolls, a young male, glared at Mrsha. He bared his teeth and she shrank against the far wall of her cell.

“She did this. She brought this disaster upon our people! We should have killed her when Brunkr came! We should never have let her in the city, driven her away! Look what has happened!”

“Vakk, enough.”

Elirr raised his voice. Not to denounce Vakk, but to calm him so the Raskghar didn’t come over. One was looking their way, and the Gnolls had seen how the Raskghar liked to torment the Cave Goblins when they were bored. Vakk lowered his voice, but his growl was still menacing as he stared at Mrsha.

“She is cursed! Just like the legends say! I did not believe it, but look at the misfortune that has struck Liscor! Honored Krshia’s shop—the Face-Eater Moths, the Goblin Lord—”

“Not all that is her fault.”

Another Gnoll spoke up. Mrsha’s ears perked up hopefully, but the Gnoll did not look at her. Vakk growled.

“Too much has happened since she came! Too much! Brunkr warned us. He told us to kill her. We should have listened. He was raised in the Silverfang tribe! He knew the truth!”

“But he changed his mind. And Honored Krshia told us he was wrong.”

“Yes. And look what happened to Brunkr. He was killed by a traitor. And Krshia lost her shop. She nearly lost our great contribution to the meeting of tribes!”

“We gained something of greater value—”

“Enough!”

Elirr’s sharp voice was a whisper, but it quieted the other Gnolls. He looked towards Mrsha and shook his head.

“I do not know enough of the old legends. Yes, rumor says the cursed white fur is the death of tribes, but is it the cause? Krshia did not think so. And I do not know. That it is a sign I will not argue. But perhaps this doom was inevitable and the child was a herald of it. I do not think she caused it.”

“But would her death stop it? And why do the Raskghar value her?”

The other Gnolls went silent. Mrsha trembled. She wanted to cry. But Mrsha the Brave wouldn’t cry.

“Even if she were to die, we would be here.”

Vakk slumped against the side of his cage. The Gnolls looked at each other, despairing. But then Vakk raised his head. He looked at Mrsha, his eyes burning.

“But if she is disaster, let it not be for just us. Doombringer, bring doom on the Raskghar.”

He rose. Elirr tried to grab him, but Vakk twisted away. He stood clumsily, his paws were shackled, but he fell forwards and grabbed the bars of the cage. He stared at Mrsha. And now his voice was loud.

“Do it. Let it be an end to all of us! Gnolls, the cursed Raskghar! Bring death, Doombringer! Use your power and destroy these ancient monsters! Do it!

He shouted at Mrsha. The Raskghar turned. One of them shouted something. Vakk didn’t listen. He pounded on the cage.

“Don’t just sit there! Do something! Anything!”

“Vakk! Enough! She is a child!”

Elirr barked at the Gnoll. He managed to get up. He grabbed the young Gnoll, but Vakk threw him off. He began to howl, in desperation. Some of the other Gnolls took it up.

“Quiet!”

The older Gnoll ordered desperately, but it was too late. The Raskghar howled in return. They bounded to the cages and opened them. The Gnolls stopped howling as the Raskghar entered and began beating them. Vakk got the worst of it. By the time the Raskghar left, his face was a bloody mess. The Gnolls lay, moaning, weeping. Mrsha hadn’t been touched. She saw them stare at her and heard the same whisper.

“Doombringer.”

Mrsha wished she could tear her fur off her body. She wished she could speak. It wasn’t her fault! She wanted to scream it. But a part of her wondered if it was. And was afraid.

There was no more talk after that. The Gnolls huddled together. The children clung to the adults. One was so young he tried to nurse. The female Gnoll in the cage with him wasn’t pregnant, but she let him try. Mrsha sat, listening to it all. Then she smelled it. Her head turned a good few seconds before the others looked up. The Raskghar sprang to their feet.

Ceria was back. So was Calruz. The Raskghar with him returned, wounded, smelling of—of other things. Sweat. Death. Blood. And something else. A new place. The Minotaur smelled triumphant. Mrsha hid in her cell as he walked into the camp, laughing, in a good mood.

She didn’t trust it. His mood, that was. The Minotaur—his name was Calruz?—scared her. Mrsha could smell his good nature, see it on his face. But she knew it would change in the blink of an eye.

Bad mood. Good mood. Mrsha wanted to scrub her nose each time he passed. There was something wrong about the Minotaur. Something that made her hair stand on end. Sometimes he would be normal. He would speak to Ceria like a person and act like an adult, like a Chieftain and make the Raskghar scurry around efficiently. But then his scent would change.

It was the faintest of things. Something Mrsha could smell and know, but not focus on. It was so faint, so infinitesimal a change that even her keen nose could barely detect it. But she knew it had happened because then Calruz would go crazy.

The other Gnolls couldn’t smell what Mrsha did. The adults had weaker noses and the children were city Gnolls. They didn’t have the practice Mrsha had growing up, smelling squirrels and rodents beneath the earth, or scenting rain in the air.

Not even the Raskghar could smell it. Mrsha could. So she stayed back from Calruz, wondering when his mood would change and the smell would become terrible. He scared her. But the Raskghar scared her more.

“Chieftain.”

One of them came forwards. She was large. Her eyes shone. The Gnolls froze when she passed them. Mrsha thought her heart would explode or stop. She was the one. She had performed the ritual.

She was an awakened Raskghar. That was what they had called themselves. The Raskghar bowed to Calruz, pretending to be subservient, but the Gnolls and other Raskghar watched her. She was different. Special. She was like Krshia. A leader of the pack.

Gnolls were matriarchal. Usually. They respected good leadership over tradition, which is why Urksh had been a leader and why they looked to Elirr now. But the Raskghar were very traditional. And she had performed the ritual.

“I am stronger, Chieftain. Stronger. Smarter. Faster. I hunger for battle. I will be your greatest warrior. I already speak language. And I offer you this.”

The Raskghar had gone hunting. She presented Calruz with the head of something. The other Raskghar who’d gone with her had to drag it forwards. It was huge. The Minotaur inhaled sharply. He moved to one side and Mrsha saw—her hair stood on end.

“A Face-Eater Moth. Tree rot. That’s—is that from a mother?”

The head was nearly as tall as Ceria. It had come from one of the giant Face-Eater Moths, one of the ones who’d crawled out of the dungeon. Mrsha stared at the female Raskghar. She had killed that? By herself?

“You slew it by yourself?”

“Leading sixteen others. Yes, Chieftain. And I located a treasure site. One that may be opened. I puzzled over the solution. I would show you. But I am one. More rituals will mean more awakened Raskghar. More of us.”

She drew closer, touching Calruz. Mrsha knew she was flirting. The Minotaur growled and pushed her back. But then his gaze turned to the Gnolls. And Mrsha was afraid.

“Calruz, you can’t. You don’t need more Raskghar. You need…hostages. We fought in the city just fine. But the Gold-rank adventurers will keep coming so long as the Gnolls are here. If you let them go, or you could strike a deal. Negotiate for items. Potions.”

Ceria’s voice was high-pitched, desperate. She hovered around Calruz, looking afraid. Smaller. The Minotaur glanced at her.

“That is true. But I told you not to argue with me.”

“I’m just—”

Calruz brushed her off. He strode towards the cages. The Gnolls looked up at him. Calruz looked from face to face.

“Who leads you?”

“I do.”

Elirr sat up. He was bleeding from a cut on his mouth in addition to his black eye. Calruz frowned.

“Why were the Gnolls beaten?”

“They began howling. They had to be silenced.”

“Hmf.”

Calruz stared at Elirr. The Gnoll met his gaze, but Mrsha saw his hands clenching. He wavered, and he looked away. Calruz snorted. Elirr spoke hoarsely.

“You are making a mistake. We are citizens of Liscor. The Watch will not rest until we are freed. Nor will the adventurers. And the Drake cities know of the dungeon. You will never be safe if we are killed.”

“Are you trying to threaten me?”

There was a dangerous note in the Minotaur’s voice. Elirr tried to look at him, but the Minotaur was too scary. Mrsha tried to cover her eyes and peek at the same time.

“No. No. But I ask—we beg you for mercy. We will pay any ransom.”

“My goal is the dungeon’s treasure itself. No one city could afford what I seek to find. As for mercy—I have promised Ceria to let some of you go if she obeys me. I keep my word.”

Elirr looked up hopefully. Instantly, the female Raskghar protested.

“Chieftain. The Gnolls are needed. For ritual.”

“Not all of them.”

“All! We must have them. You must—”

“Must?”

Calruz spun. His hand shot out. He was fast. The female Raskghar tried to dodge, but Calruz’s hand was at her throat. She struggled—and then stopped as his hand tightened on her windpipe. The other Raskghar stirred. Mrsha was glad to see they were afraid, even if it was of Calruz. His arm flexed as he drew the female Raskghar closer.

“You speak as if you were Chieftain. But you are not. You are weaker than I am, even with the ritual. Or do you challenge me?”

“No, Chieftain.”

The female Raskghar lowered her ears and head. She submitted and hunched, lowering herself as he let her go. Calruz turned.

“So. My order stands. Not all of the Gnolls will be sacrificed. How many depends on Ceria. I have a mind to spare whomever she picks. And the white one.”

“No. Not that one! She is special!”

Another Raskghar protested in a guttural voice. Quick as a flash, Calruz turned. He backhanded the Raskghar so hard that the beast man lost a tooth. A spray of blood flew—the Raskghar fell.

Silence!

There was. Calruz looked at Mrsha. She tried to back into a corner of her cell and landed on her poo as he bent down.

“You. Ceria tells me that Ryoka knows you. And Erin. Why are you special?”

Mrsha quivered. Calruz glared at her. His eyes turned red.

“Answer me!”

She opened her mouth desperately, tried to point at it. The Minotaur grew angrier. He opened his mouth and his hand cracked as it dug into the top of her cage.

“Calruz, stop!”

To Mrsha’s relief, Ceria pushed forwards. She grabbed the Minotaur. Though she couldn’t pull him back, she spoke urgently and quickly.

“She’s mute. She can’t speak.”

“Mute?”

The Minotaur straightened. He looked suspiciously at Mrsha. Ceria nodded.

“She’s been mute since birth. Ryoka befriended her, like I told you. Her fur’s white—that’s probably why the Raskghar think she’s special. But she doesn’t have any powers.”

“I see. Do you think she’s special?”

Calruz glanced at the female Raskghar. Her eyes turned towards Mrsha. The little Gnoll cub flinched.

“Oh yes, Chieftain. White fur is special.”

“Why?”

The Raskghar hesitated. She looked uncertain.

“We…do not know. But we feel it. We know it. Here.”

She pointed to her chest. Calruz grunted. He looked at Elirr.

“You. Do you know why the Raskghar think she’s special? What does white fur mean among Gnolls?”

Elirr hesitated. The old Gnoll glanced at Mrsha and at Calruz. He opened his mouth. The Minotaur cut him off.

“If you lie, I will sacrifice half of the Gnolls here.”

The Gnoll bowed his head. Mrsha stared at him in terror.

“She is cursed. According to the legends of my tribe, those with white fur appear after disaster. Or before it. They may cause disaster or warn of it, but disaster comes either way. They are shunned. I thought it legend myself, but…”

Elirr glanced despairingly at Mrsha and said no more. Calruz straightened.

“So. There is some truth to these legends.”

“It’s all superstition. Come on, Calruz. You don’t believe in that. And Mrsha matters to Erin. To Ryoka.”

“Ryoka.”

The Minotaur paused. A wistful expression passed over his face. He looked at Ceria, at Mrsha, and shook his head.

“I will…deliberate. I will make my decision later. Tonight, before we eat. I will not hear any more arguments.”

“I—”

Ceria opened her mouth. Calruz turned and she froze. He turned away and strode towards the curtain that had been set up at the far end of the room. He disappeared behind it. The other Raskghar backed away too, staring at Mrsha and the Gnolls. That left just Ceria. The half-Elf hesitated, and then bent down.

“It’ll be alright, Mrsha. I’ll figure something out. You’ll be okay. You…and the others.”

She tried to smile. Mrsha stared at her with wide eyes. She might have been young, but even Mrsha knew that Ceria was lying.

That was what adults did. They lied. But Mrsha clung to the lie. She sat in her cage as the Raskghar got back to work. A Cave Goblin scurried by. He picked up the Raskghar’s tooth and checked Mrsha’s cage for damage. Then he brought food for the Gnolls with the other Cave Goblins.

It was monster meat. Cooked over a fire, but monster. Mrsha knew it was part of the maggot. She heard the Gnolls crying out in disgust, but that was all the food that was offered. The water tasted of blood. Mrsha tried to eat and drink, but her stomach roiled. She bit the meat, gagged, and curled up.

She missed Erin’s cooking. She missed Lyonette and Apista and hot food! Mrsha did not cry. She would not cry. She waited until the Cave Goblin took the food away and then as more time passed. And then she heard arguing.

“Chieftain! Please! Gnolls are important. Must use in ritual. Must—”

There was a crack and a howl of agony. Calruz appeared, striking a Raskghar with his fist. The warrior—not the awakened one, another female—retreated. The Minotaur battered her to the ground and kicked her repeatedly.

“I will not be argued with! The Gnolls are mine! Mine! I am the Chieftain! I give the orders. There will be no sacrifices! Not now! And if I demand it, not ever! I will release some of them. Parlay. I want potions. And equipment!”

“You could get fresh water. Maybe a way to remove the blindness curse?”

Ceria hovered around Calruz, looking visibly delighted. The Minotaur turned and nodded.

“Yes. That’s right. We could do that! I could release the Gnolls, order the adventurers to halt the incursions into the dungeon in exchange for a few—or even assault the city. Yes.”

Mrsha sat up hopefully. Her tail began to wag. The Gnolls looked at each other in disbelief as Calruz strode over to the cages. He looked down at Elirr.

“You. If I send a message with your people, will Liscor hear it?”

“Yes. I swear it. We will bear any message you send.”

Elirr looked hopefully at Ceria, who was nodding. The Raskghar were unhappy. They growled, but as soon as Calruz turned they went still. They were more afraid of him than anything. Even the ritual couldn’t make them rebel. Mrsha felt hope.

“We will send one…no, two tomorrow. Two, yes. The Cave Goblins can escort them to the entrance. Make sure they make it to the surface. Or let the Gold-rank adventurers find them. They will make it clear that I am in charge and—and present them a list of my demands.”

“I can help with that. I’ll write the letter, add in whatever details you want. This is the right move, Calruz.”

Ceria smiled, clearly flattering the Minotaur. He stood straighter.

“Of course. I need penmanship. And paper! The Raskghar barely have parchment—I—I should address the Council. And the Gold-ranks. I’m…I should be—”

Mrsha smelled the confusion and madness in him. The Minotaur touched a hand to his head. But for once the madness was working against the Raskghar. He turned to Ceria.

“What should I do? You know them best. What is the best way to convince them of my sincerity?”

He trusted her. Mrsha could smell that too. Ceria smiled.

“Let’s find paper first. Do you have a quill and ink?”

“Yes. You there—bring me—”

The Minotaur strode away. The Gnolls glanced at each other, their eyes perking up. Freedom! Hope was a dizzying rush in Mrsha’s chest. She saw the Raskghar glancing at each other in frustration. The Cave Goblins scurried around, not paying attention to anything.

Ceria and Calruz stood together, talking over the details of his ransom note. The Gnolls and Mrsha listened, hearing Ceria manage Calruz’s madness and his twists of mood. He trusted her, ignoring the Raskghar, lashing out at them when they tried to whine. Mrsha was happy. Even though her belly rumbled loudly and her butt smelled like poo, she felt safer.

Freedom! Maybe she would be one of the Gnolls chosen to leave tomorrow? Probably not. But Erin would do everything to get her back. And so would Lyonette. And Jelaqua, and Halrac, and Selys…

It was hard to tell when it was night in the dungeon. Especially since the Raskghar and Cave Goblins worked in shifts at all hours. But the Gnolls, accustomed to the day and night cycle, felt themselves tiring and began to drift off. Mrsha found herself yawning despite all the excitement in her. She tried to be more comfortable in her cell with the painful shackles—which might come off soon—and saw that most of the Raskghar were getting ready to sleep. Ceria slept in a separate spot behind some curtains, and Calruz went to his bed too.

The room quieted. Mrsha began drifting off, although she kept waking up every time a Cave Goblin pattered by. She turned, shifting a rock out of the way and smelled poo and pee. She turned onto her side the other way and sighed. She felt her thoughts haze—

And then she heard a howl. It was loud, echoing, a note of pure terror from the Raskghar. Instantly, Mrsha shot up. She saw the Gnolls and Raskghar wake immediately and the Raskghar grab weapons. Mrsha saw them look around, trying to place the call, and then felt a whumph.

It wasn’t a loud sound, but a deep one. It went through the ground of the dungeon, through Mrsha’s bones. It was the sound of some incredible impact or explosion. Mrsha’s ears rang and she saw the Raskghar running in a haze of silence. She saw them howling at each other, using sign, language, pointing, rushing past her. Then she saw Calruz emerge, axe in his one hand. Ceria ran out, wand at the ready. He pointed and roared.

A bit of hearing returned. Mrsha heard confused voices.

“—where—ready—did you—attack!”

Calruz pointed. The Raskghar moved, howling. Ceria backed up as Calruz turned on her. She raised her flesh and skeletal hands, her eyes wide. Mrsha tried to hear. It was one voice out of all the shouts and now, the distant sounds of fighting. Calruz was bellowing.

“Did you do this? Was this your plan?

“No! I don’t even know what’s going on! What’s happening? Who’s attacking?”

“The adventurers! They’re attacking! They’ve found the camp! They found their way here! Without alerting my sentries! How? How?

“I don’t know! I don’t! Calruz—”

He raised his axe. Ceria raised her hands, frost shimmering in the air between them. Calruz paused for one terrible moment and whirled.

“Defend the camp! Begin retreating! Send the Goblins forward! You! Grab the prisoners! Take them away! Now!”

He roared and the Raskghar moved. They sprang forwards, hundreds of them, running towards the fighting. So many. Mrsha had seen the adventurers. There weren’t enough! And then she saw the Raskghar running towards the cages. The Gnolls tried to fight, but the Raskghar clubbed them and lifted the prisoners onto their shoulders. They ran towards the other side of the room, out the exit the adventurers were not besieging.

“Calruz! Stop! This is a mistake! Don’t! Try to negotiate! Please—”

Ceria tried to grab Calruz’s arm, but he turned. His eyes were red. Fury burned in them. And madness. He struck Ceria with the handle of his axe and she fell. Calruz pointed and roared and charged out of Mrsha’s view. The white Gnoll sat in her cell, wide-eyed. She saw the Raskghar coming towards her and tried to back away. But she couldn’t. And as the Raskghar lifted her cell, she heard Ceria whisper. A single sound amid it all.

“No. Please—”

It was a heartbroken voice. A pained one. It sounded to Mrsha like desperation, shock, incredulity and sadness and grief. It sounded like failure.

It sounded like despair.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.43

The Cave Goblins fled as the adventurers attacked. The tunnels and passages of the dungeon echoed with shouts and screams and the reverberations of battle. Fire lit up one passage and the Cave Goblins heard Raskghar scream. They ran as the Gold-rank adventurers pressed in, fighting the Raskghar as they poured out of their lair by the hundreds.

Some of the Goblins fought. They ran alongside their masters, bearing the crudest of weapons or fighting unarmed. They died with the rest as [Fireballs] blew them apart, or a shining comet made of light blasted forwards, eradicating everything in its path. At best, their loyalty was not rewarded; the Raskghar used the Goblins as shields, letting the adventurers cut them down while they skirmished with the Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, and other species.

So most of the Goblins ran. They had been warned. And while their subservient relationship with the Raskghar might have made them fight in other times, it did not now. Because a rumor had begun running through the Cave Goblins in the dungeon. A rumor from others of a place where there was food and no pain. Safety, from the whims of the Raskghar and monsters alike.

Of course, even that wouldn’t have made the Cave Goblins leave normally. The Raskghar would just hunt them down. But there was something else. Talk of masters who were better than the Raskghar. A word, long forgotten, that made something in Cave Goblins pause.

Hobgoblin.

Many ran. Some stayed. Others would return, finding their way to the Raskghar camp where it resettled. It wasn’t of concern to the Raskghar. Or the adventurers, so long as the Goblins weren’t in their way. They warred in the dungeon, fighting to reach the Gnolls held captive.

They failed again.

 

—-

 

At first it was simple. Textbook. The adventurers moved forwards in stealth, following the painstaking route they’d been given. Traps had been clearly marked out, and the monsters they ran across were silenced by advanced teams like Griffon Hunt. They were aware the Raskghar camp had two entrances and had divided themselves into two groups. The first would strike hard while the other would use spells and traps to keep the Raskghar from retreating. It was at the crucial juncture when they were moving into place for the attack that they were sighted.

Dragons damn it!

One of the Gnolls cursed as the Gold-ranks in position for the frontal assault heard a Raskghar howl. It was pure panic and it had come from one of the tunnels adjacent to the one they were waiting in. They heard the thump of a spell and saw a fireball explode ahead of them.

“We said to let the other teams get in position. There’s been no signal!”

“Too late! Someone was spotted! Go, go, go! Get the prisoners! Stick to the plan!”

The Gold-ranks ran forwards, abandoning the concealment of spells and shadows. They charged towards the entrance of the Raskghar camp; a passage which would allow six Raskghar to enter abreast if they squeezed together. The Raskghar were already pouring out.

Flamewardens! Blast them clear!

The first volley of flames made half the adventurers near the doors duck back. Dozens of Raskghar burned and the ones behind fled or fell to the ground, screaming. But hundreds more were running forwards. And by this time they’d closed with the adventurers in front.

Halrac and his team were part of the group fighting at the front of the camp. So were the Silver Swords. The Halfseekers had joined the team circling the Raskghar camp. From her position at the back of the line with the [Mages], Revi could hear confused shouts. She aimed her wand, trying to find a target in the darkness, but the flashes of light and melee made her hesitate. Her summoned archers had no such problems—they shot unerringly at the Raskghar. But there were too many. And the adventurers were in the wrong position.

“Fall back! Use area of effect spells!”

“No, push forwards! Hit the Raskghar coming out of the camp!”

“There’s too many! We need a better angle! We—incoming!

Revi felt the impact, but a [Mage] had thrown up a shield spell just in time. She saw the air in the dungeon move as a Raskghar with a staff sent a blast of pure air forwards. The impact sent both adventurers and Raskghar flying and knocked others to their knees. Revi shot bolts of her light from her wand, covering the stunned adventurers. And then she saw the Raskghar in armor.

She knew him. The Raskghar’s artifact deployed a barrier of magic which deflected every spell the adventurers sent at it. And behind him were Raskghar armed with other artifacts. An enchanted sword that spat bright energy every time it connected with something. A Raskghar armed with a shield with a mouth that bit, a blood-red dagger that constantly bled from the edge of the blade.

The Gold-ranks found themselves stalled. They tried to press forwards, but only a few had the armor to risk being surrounded by Raskghar on all sides. And even they had to fear the Raskghar with enchanted weapons. More than that, the Raskghar were holding the narrow choke point and the spells and arrows the [Mages] and [Archers] shot at them were being blocked.

And then she appeared. A Raskghar taller and bigger than the others. One who moved quicker, and with a clarity that the other Raskghar lacked, even during the full moon. She leapt forwards and bore a Gold-rank adventurer to the ground. Quick as a flash, she slashed his throat with a glowing yellow blade and leapt back as the adventurers tried to kill her. She disappeared behind her kin, who died as the adventurers roared in outrage. But her presence changed the Raskghar. They howled and surged forwards.

Fall back! Draw them out!

The adventurers moved backwards, holding the Raskghar back as their battle line crumpled. They weren’t losing—the Raskghar were dying by the dozens with every minute while only one adventurer had fallen—but they could not progress. And then Revi heard another howl. The Raskghar looked up and fled.

Not back towards the camp, but down the tunnels, away from the adventurers. In every direction. Some of the adventuring teams went to pursue, but their captains ordered them back. The Gold-ranks pressed into the Raskghar camp, hoping—

But it was too late. The Gnolls and Raskghar were gone. Out the back exit. And it was only minutes later that the second group of Gold-ranks appeared, battered and exhausted and said the obvious.

“We couldn’t stop them. We weren’t in position. Why the hell did you attack before we were ready?”

Jelaqua strode up to Keldrass, her armor still ablaze with magical fire. She looked ready to kill the bigger Drake. Keldrass coughed a bit of smoke and growled.

“We didn’t! One of our teams was seen. Did you see the Gnolls? Which way did they go?”

There was no way of telling. We didn’t even catch a glimpse of the prisoners.

Seborn appeared at Jelaqua’s back. His daggers were bloody and he shook his head.

“They got away.”

“We can chase them—”

“No. We failed.”

The other Gold-rank captains came over. Halrac was the one who uttered that harsh truth. The others looked at him. The former [Soldier]’s face was hard, cold. He gripped his bow with white knuckles.

“We’re too far in. We chase and die. This was our chance and we failed. Got it? We’re pulling out.”

No one argued. Halrac looked around.

“Where’s Pisces?”

“There. Pisces!

A few Silver-rank teams had been allowed to join the group that would have cut the Raskghar off. Pisces appeared, his face white with emotion. He opened his mouth and Halrac cut him off.

“We’re leaving. Get the door ready. Otherwise monsters will be all over our position.”

“But—”

Yvlon and Ksmvr looked shocked. Halrac turned and glared at them.

Now.

Pisces hesitated, but another team was already dragging the plank of wood out from their bag of holding. Typhenous motioned and Pisces produced a glowing white mana stone. He stepped over to the door, which was complete with a handle and placed it on the wood. Pisces opened the door and the adventurers moved forwards.

“Stay behind.”

“I know.”

Pisces stood aside as the adventurers marched through in silence. Their heads hung low. The [Necromancer] looked around the Raskghar’s camp, at the scattered supplies, the embers of fires—all the petty things left behind. But the thing he had come to find, the person, wasn’t there. He stood in the darkness as the last of the adventurers ran through the door, listening to the sounds of many somethings approaching in the darkness. Monsters.

Pisces didn’t care. He beckoned and two Bone Horrors appeared. Their bodies of yellowed bone weren’t even bloodied by combat. He collapsed one into his bag of holding and then motioned. The other stayed behind, the armored bear-thing, a yellow flame burning in its eye socket. Pisces took one last look around and then walked through the doorway.

The door remained open a moment longer, exuding light and warmth in the cold dungeon. Then it closed, leaving the Bone Horror behind. It began smashing the door as it closed, breaking the wood, grinding the mana stone into glowing powder. And then it turned and opened its jaws. Monsters overwhelmed the Bone Horror as it fought. And then there was only silence.

The Raskghar camp lay abandoned. There were no Cave Goblins, no Raskghar, no adventurers. Just monsters who did not see each other as they returned to their lairs.

They’d failed.

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice sat in her inn, her leg jiggling. She was awake, despite the late hour. As if she could have slept. She kept her eyes on her magic door, to which was fixed a white mana stone. The light it shed was pure. Artificial. Or no—since it was magic, it was natural white light. It was still too bright at this time of night. But no force on earth would have made Erin remove the mana stone.

Her heart was pounding. Erin kept glancing at the door, and then at Lyonette and Apista who were sitting next to her, and then at the door every few seconds. She barely paid attention to Pawn and the group of Painted Soldiers sitting to her right. The Antinium were silent, watching the door with Erin. She was tensed, waiting for it to open. When it did, she nearly fell out of her chair and then leapt to her feet.

“Get back, Lyonette! What’s happening? Are you—”

The Antinium surged to their feet. The Soldiers readied themselves—and paused. The adventurers walked through the door slowly, without any of the sounds of combat Erin had been told to expect. She saw one of them—a Garuda with bright green feathers and a pink pattern running down her sides.

Bevussa looked up at Erin and shook her head as she walked forwards. She made way and Erin saw a group of five Drakes walk through the door. They were holding a body whose face was covered with a piece of bloodied cloth.

“Oh no.”

Lyonette was on her feet too. She started for the door, but Erin held her back. Both young women kept staring at the magical door, hoping, praying—but knowing the truth. No Gnolls came through the door. Or Ceria. The last person to walk through was Pisces. He closed the door behind him, plucked the white mana stone off and threw it to the floor. Then he stomped on it, shattering the glowing gemstone into dust.

No one commented on that. The adventurers looked at each other, not quite daring to look at Lyonette’s face. Erin felt like hers was a mask. She stared at the door.

“It’s gone?”

“My Bone Horror broke it. Destroyed the connection. It was then destroyed. By monsters.”

Pisces’ voice rasped. He too looked like a stranger, haggard, distraught. Halrac nodded quietly.

“We couldn’t stay.”

“I know that. But we shouldn’t have come back like this. We had everything this time. Everything! Why did we fail? Who was seen?”

Jelaqua looked around. None of the adventurers answered. The Selphid cursed. Her body was still aflame. She brought her arms down on a table.

Fuck!

The wood splintered. Erin didn’t care. Jelaqua threw the pieces of the table aside and looked around. Her gaze was despairing.

“What do we do now?”

 

—-

 

The Gold-ranks didn’t eat. Some drank enough for five meals, but no one wanted food. They talked, quietly, and then with growing passion. More than one tankard was broken, and more than one table as adventurers pounded on the wood. Jelaqua looked up as a Drake wearing lamellar armor walked over. He had a scratch on his arm, and he had carried a buckler and blade with a curved tip—a falchion during the battle.

“Miss Ivirith. I wanted to apologize. It was our team that messed up the ambush. We were getting in position when we ran across a group of Raskghar scouts. We didn’t get them all in time.”

Jelaqua looked up. The Selphid took in the Drake’s expression and connected him with the body that had been brought through.

“Your team’s…Reldiev Scalers, yeah?”

“That’s correct.”

“I don’t think you need to apologize to me. You lost one of yours to that Raskghar bitch, didn’t you?”

“That’s right. We were trying to get inside the camp. Cassa went too far ahead of the others. I guess that’s two failures. I’m truly sorry about this.”

The Gold-rank Captain’s scales were pale around his face. Almost as pale as Jelaqua’s. The Selphid stood up.

“You don’t have to apologize. Come on. You need some air. Where’s…Cassa?”

The Drake looked around.

“I—in Liscor. We need to prepare her body. Remove the armor. Notify her kin. I should find my team.”

The Selphid laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Not just yet. In fact, you should bring them back here. Liscor’s [Healer] will take care of the body. You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“But I’m her Captain. And she—”

The Drake looked lost. Jelaqua looked around and met Seborn’s eyes. He nodded. Moore was sitting by his side, staring emptily at a table. Jelaqua put an arm around the Drake’s shoulder. He flinched, but the Selphid was gentle.

“Come on. We’ll go together. And then we’ll come back. Or go to your inn. Any inn or tavern, really. You need drinks in you. Forget about the dungeon. I was angry. Has your team ever lost someone before?”

“No—no, we’ve been lucky. Really lucky. I mean, we’ve had wounded, but never this.”

“And your team’s new?”

The Drake nodded.

“We just hit Gold-rank last year.”

“I get it. Come on. Let’s find your team. You need to be there for them. What’s your name, kid?”

“Xess.”

“Come on, Xess—”

She left through the door to Liscor with the Drake. Her departure was noted. When Xess had left, one of the Drakes in Bevussa’s team, Zassil, sat up.

“If they hadn’t screwed up the ambush—”

Fast as a whip, Bevussa turned and slapped him across the back of the head. The captain of the Wings of Pallass hissed at Zassil, forgetting that she wasn’t supposed to be the captain in public.

“Shut up! They just lost one of their own! Show some respect!”

“He is right, though. If we hadn’t been compromised, we could have trapped the Raskghar. Instead, we lost a Gold-rank and they’re gone. Not good. Our one chance of saving our kin is gone. That cannot be ignored, no.”

One of the Gnoll adventurers spoke up. No one could contradict him. But Dawil, sitting and drinking his sixth mug, looked up.

“That’s true. But supposing everything did go according to plan, I’m not sure it would’ve gone the way we planned. We knew there were lots of Raskghar, but the ones with artifacts changed things. Not to mention—did anyone see the special Raskghar? Or was it just me?”

“We saw her. The quick one? The one that got Cassa? She was different. And those Raskghar with artifacts. That’s a Gold-rank threat. If we’d had to cut them down—”

“It’s the ritual. The one Ceria told us about.”

Yvlon spoke up. She looked around at the others. One of the Drakes coughed.

“The ritual? The one that involves sacrificing—”

He paused and glanced at his Gnoll teammate.

“—How could that work?”

“I don’t know. But Ceria said the Raskghar performed a ritual.”

“With your weird message spell. To the [Necromancer].”

All eyes turned towards Pisces. Keldrass frowned at the young man. He was staring blankly at his cupped hands, leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t trust it. Why can’t she use [Message]?”

“She doesn’t know it.”

The [Necromancer] replied absently. Keldrass paused.

“She couldn’t give us detailed information on the camp. Or tell us any important information. We got the location of the camp from Goblins.

“She’s a prisoner. Being watched. The spell is noticeable.”

“Still—what does the ritual do? Why sacrifice Gnolls?”

Pisces looked up at last.

“It makes them stronger. All other aspects are irrelevant. It makes the Raskghar stronger, which is why they desire the Gnolls. Is that simple enough for you, fool? You saw what that one did.”

The Drake flushed and clenched his fist, but he shut his mouth. Pisces looked around at the others. He opened his hands. A flaming butterfly flew upwards.

“She sent me a message.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell—”

“I was decoding it. Shut up. Sit down.”

Keldrass hesitated. Pisces ignored him. He spoke softly, but no one was making any sound.

“She’s still alive. But—she says we ruined everything. I don’t know what that means. She says the Raskghar escaped. That Calruz suspects treachery. Not in so many words. And she says—he ordered the Raskghar to perform the ritual with twenty more of the Gnoll captives.”

He looked up. The Gold-rank adventurers sat, frozen in their chairs. Pisces gazed around the room and found the figure holding a pitcher near the back. He met Lyonette’s eyes.

“Mrsha is safe. For now.”

But twenty more Gnolls were dead. No one spoke for a long minute. Then the other adventurers began to mutter disconsolately.

“Twenty? How many prisoners are left, then? Can we get to them in time?”

“Ancestors, I saw how quick that one moved. Cassa barely saw it leap at her. If we have to fight twenty more of them—”

“We’ve lost the camp, the Raskghar are on alert now, and we lost one of our own. How’re we supposed to beat them?”

“Wait for the full moons to disappear?”

“And risk everyone else being sacrificed?”

“If it’s that or try and fight them like that again, I say yes! There’s no point in risking our lives if we don’t have to.”

“So we let my people die, is that it?”

A Gnoll stood up, glaring at the Drake. The Drake stood too, more than a little drunk.

“I risked my life for your people! But I’m not going to kill myself or my team for nothing!”

“If that’s what your team wants to do, fine. But my team is going back down there tomorrow. We won’t stop, even if we’re going alone. We aren’t cowards.”

The Drake rumbled and his hand reached for the sword hilt at his side.

“I dare you to say that again, you—”

Enough!

The voice was like a cold wind blowing. The adventurers felt a moment of pressure and turned. Erin stood in the center of the room, looking around. She gazed from face to face, angry and helpless at the same time.

“Stop fighting! Stop wasting energy blaming each other! The Raskghar got away. They killed more Gnolls. We’re running out of time. What are you going to do? What’s your plan now?”

The adventurers in her inn looked at Erin. They looked at each other. Some shook their heads. Other just looked away. No one had an answer for Erin. And that in itself was answer enough.

 

—-

 

Twenty. Twenty Gnolls died in the dungeon. Upon an altar of stone that ran red with blood. The other Raskghar held them there, and the chosen Raskghar killed them with the same stone. Tore open their chests. Ate their hearts. And changed.

Vakk was the last. He fought the Raskghar, cursing them, and even managed to draw blood with his claws. But that only seemed to excite the bestial monsters. They dragged him over to the altar.

Mrsha didn’t watch. She hid her face in her side and covered her ears. But she still heard the scream. She would never forget Vakk’s last sounds or the ripping noises, the crack of his bones that came after as long as she lived. And when it was over, twenty one Raskghar stood together.

“Good.”

Calruz stood and nodded, his face triumphant. He stared at the dead Gnolls without any recognition in his eyes. And when he turned, the madness-scent hung from him like clothing. He inspected the twenty one Raskghar. They licked their bloody muzzles, sniffed the air. The other Raskghar looked at them as children did at adults, despite their similar forms. The twenty one awakened bowed to their Chieftain. But their eyes—their eyes glowed as they looked at the Gnolls.

The Minotaur didn’t notice. He was talking to himself, to his tribe, and to the half-conscious form at his feet. Ceria barely moved—he’d beaten her with his arm when she’d fought him.

“This was a triumph. My triumph! I was betrayed, but the adventurers could not defeat me. Not here. Not ever! And so I name you. Twenty one of my elites. You awakened Raskghar. You will all bear artifacts, become my vanguard.”

“Yes, Chieftain. We are honored, Chieftain.”

The female Raskghar spoke for the others. She was first of the twenty one, and they deferred to her. Calruz nodded. He glanced around.

The new Raskghar camp was the old one. The circular room with the partially caved-in roof. The Raskghar couldn’t move that far at night, not with the dungeon stirred up. It didn’t matter either way. The adventurers had not followed.

“A great victory. You—you have done well, Nokha. You will lead the awakened. Tomorrow. But I give you leave tonight. This is a celebration. Celebrate!”

The Minotaur turned. He roared and the Raskghar howled in triumph. They broke up, males and females, seeking each other. Some ate. Others forced the Cave Goblins to entertain them. The awakened Rasgkhar looked with interest at each other, but then they moved as one. Towards the Gnolls in cages.

There were still over forty captive Gnolls left. They shrank in their cages as the awakened Raskghar approached. Their eyes were—too bright. Mrsha backed up until she could feel the bars of her cage pressing into her back. Nokha, the female Raskghar, looked around. She had killed a Gold-rank adventurer. She had smiled as each of the Gnolls was sacrificed. Now she bent and looked at the remaining Gnolls. At Elirr. And at last, at Mrsha. She smiled.

“We are whole.”

The Gnolls shivered. Something about her words filled them with dread. Mrsha tried to hide as the Raskghar stared down at them. Then the awakened turned. They joined the others, growling, asserting their dominance. The lesser Raskghar—for that was what they were—gave way at once. The awakened chose from the lesser, males choosing females, females choosing males. They led them away and then the Raskghar paired up.

It was dark in the room. Blood and pain filled the air. The fires crackled. The Raskghar growled. And then they began to mate.

Urgent thrusting motions, low growls, moving shadows. Mrsha knew what was happening, at least in abstract. She’d grown up in a Gnoll camp after all, and privacy was limited when everyone could hear and smell what you were doing, even inside a tent. She didn’t look at first. Then she peeked. And then she was afraid.

The sounds were urgent. Primal. There weren’t just busy sounds. There were howls of pain and snarls too. The shadows danced. The Raskghar’s orgy filled the night as Mrsha hid in her cage. And she wished, oh how she wished that someone would save her. But no one came. So Mrsha covered her ears and wished Ryoka were here.

 

—-

 

Ceria heard the Raskghar begin to mate. She saw them move into the shadows, but not out of sight. There was little privacy in this room, save for Calruz’s and her ‘private’ quarters. She felt the ground she was lying on. Her head spun. She felt sick.

Twenty. He had made her watch. When Ceria got up, she had a bloody cut on her cheek and her eye was already swelling.

“So. You see the price of treachery.”

Calruz’s voice made Ceria look up. The half-Elf stared up at her former captain. Former. She couldn’t see anything she recognized in him. Not now.

“You monster.”

He hit her. Ceria felt the world go gray. Calruz pulled her up. Her head lolled.

“I warned you. I gave you my trust! And you led the adventurers here.”

His eyes were red. Mad. Ceria tried to make her tongue work.

“I swear, I didn’t. You know that I can’t cast [Message].”

A lie. She’d told Pisces what she could. But it was true in that she hadn’t brought the adventurers here. She would if she could. But she hadn’t. How had they done it? Ceria’s mind was hazy. They had to do it again. Soon. Before—

“You murdered them.”

“I made my Raskghar stronger. I was a fool to listen to you. One of them slew a Gold-rank adventurer. Twenty more of them will be enough to claim the city. Destroy my enemies! Yes. They have been far more loyal to me than you. And now—”

Calruz looked around. The mating frenzy of the Raskghar didn’t seem to disturb him. On the contrary, he seemed excited.

“Look. My tribe multiplies. This is mine. Mine! And you—you are mine too. Traitor or not. You will be mine. I will make you mine.”

He lifted Ceria up. The half-Elf didn’t know what he meant, until she saw Calruz’s private quarters, curtained off by a moldy sheet. And then she looked down. He was aroused.

“No.”

The Minotaur didn’t seem to hear. He stared at Ceria.

“The Raskghar take long to breed. But the next generation of warriors will serve me. I have them training in their camps. Hidden away. But I have not created any heirs.”

“Put me down.”

“I am your Chieftain. This is your duty.”

Ceria couldn’t breathe. Calruz had her by the throat. She forced her hand to open as he walked with her suspended in the air. She forced her skeletal hand open, tried to freeze Calruz’s arm.

“Touch me and I will kill you.”

The Minotaur paused. He looked back at Ceria and his eyes were red. He didn’t have another arm to hit her with, so he brought Ceria close and head-butted her. She went limp.

You do not order me! I give orders! I am your chieftain! Obey!

He roared in her face. Ceria felt spit strike her face. She struggled as he opened his curtains. His ‘bed’ was just a pile of worn blankets. Stained. The Minotaur turned to her, lust in his eyes. Ceria raised her skeletal hand, aimed between his eyes. She had just enough strength for one last retort.

“Ryoka would be so proud.”

Calruz stopped. A bit of sanity flickered in his eyes. He stared at Ceria. She waited, her hand frozen with magic.

The Minotaur cursed. He lifted Ceria and threw her. She flew, striking the ground hard. Her wand bounced out of her belt, rolled into the darkness. Ceria felt a rock cut her through her robes. She lay on the ground as Calruz roared.

You!

A female Raskghar came at his bidding. He disappeared with her behind the curtains and then Ceria heard loud grunting, a rhythmic sound. She dragged herself up.

“You monster.”

Healing potion. She reached for it and treated the bruises at her throat, her eye and the cut on her head. Ceria looked around. The Raskghar moved in the darkness. She couldn’t make out the awakened from the other Raskghar. But it didn’t matter. Ceria looked at the Gnolls in their cages. There were less of them. They stared at her. Ceria looked away.

“I—”

There was nothing she could say. Cave Goblins sat around fires, staring at their masters. They parted for Ceria as she staggered past them, watching her cautiously. Ceria paused at Mrsha’s cage. She stared down at the shackled Gnoll. No one was watching the cages. It would be easy to break the cage. It was flimsy. The Gnolls could do it if they weren’t shackled. But she had no way of removing the metal bindings. And even if they ran…

This time she couldn’t say anything to Mrsha. Ceria just leaned on the cage and covered her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

Then she turned and walked away, conscious of the little Gnoll’s eyes on her back. Ceria went to her private room, trying not to hear or see. Or remember. But she heard the scream. The last Gnoll had cursed her before he died. He had been right to.

Her bedding was worn cloth too. It was actually comfortable somehow—the Cave Goblins had created a nest for Ceria to sleep in. She had no right to it, but Ceria took it anyways.

Ceria lay down and wept as she heard the Raskghar celebrate around her. Her tears ran down her cheeks, salt and water. They dripped onto the ground and ran together, forming a tiny puddle of water. More ran from Ceria’s open water flask and into her hands. Tears and water mixed, freezing, molding a shape out of the air.

A dagger made of ice. She gave it the finest edge she could and made it sharp. Sharper than her broken dagger had been. Sharp enough to cut a Minotaur’s skin. Sharp enough to kill. It would have to be quick.

It was a terrible thing to think of. To kill your own teammate was the ultimate betrayal. But hard as Ceria tried, she couldn’t find any guilt or sadness in her heart. There wasn’t enough left of Calruz anymore. He was a monster. She told herself that as tears ran from her cheeks and froze. And she knew that she wouldn’t ever leave the dungeon. And neither would he.

 

—-

 

It was all falling apart. Erin Solstice woke up the next day and knew that the Gold-rank adventurers had no plan. They had argued long into the night—those that hadn’t left early. But at the end of it, they had nothing solid to go on. Nothing beyond trying to find the Raskghar again.

There were just too many. And they were just too strong while the moons were full. In a day or two the moons would change and the Raskghar would be weak. But by that time, Erin was sure, all the Gnolls would be dead.

Mrsha would be dead.

She had slept in her kitchen. When Erin walked into her common room, she found Lyonette sitting at one of the dirty tables. Dishes were left where they’d been last night, broken on the ground or piled up. The [Barmaid] sat in her chair, Apista in her hands. The Ashfire Bee’s legs had been healed, but it clung to Lyonette’s arm. Even it seemed to know something was wrong.

“Lyonette.”

The young woman didn’t look up at Erin’s voice. She stared ahead blankly. It was just past dawn. The adventurers had been in the inn until midnight. Lyonette might not have slept.

“Lyonette. You have to sleep.”

“They couldn’t do it. Mrsha was right there and they couldn’t save her.”

“Yeah.”

Erin stood next to Lyonette’s chair. She tried to say something in the Gold-rank adventurer’s defense. The Raskghar had been too strong. They’d been unlucky in being spotted too early. It had been dozens of adventurers versus hundreds or thousands of Raskghar. But those were all excuses. Nothing would bring the dead Gnolls back.

“I—I’m going to talk to the Goblins. They have to be able to help.”

“How?”

Erin didn’t know. She looked at Lyonette.

“If—”

She let the word hang in the air. Lyonette looked up, but Erin couldn’t give word to the feelings in her chest. She walked away and went to the door. She looked around, found the red mana stone, and stared at it dully.

It had been such a good plan. The Redfang Hobs had showed her the Cave Goblins that had known where the Raskghar camp was. She’d gotten the adventurers and made the Goblins write down a map so the adventurers could find the camp. They’d agreed to leave the Hobs behind—there was too much risk of unfriendly fire if the adventurers reacted to the Redfang Warriors.

They’d made preparations, calculated a plan of attack. They’d even had an exit strategy. Pisces and Typhenous had gotten their emergency door to work and Erin had set the door to their mana stone. They’d go in, fight their way to the prisoners and get Ceria and Calruz, and exit through the door. Pisces had claimed he could leave an undead to smash the doorway so monsters couldn’t follow. Plus, Erin could always change the door’s connection.

Last night it had seemed so possible. Now, in the light of day, Erin knew better. She opened the door and walked through.

Happy noises greeted her. The Cave Goblins looked up warily as Erin entered, then got back. To cooking. They had eight fires going in the cave, and it sounded like there were more going on in the dungeon too. Hundreds of Goblins sat around in the cave—they’d colonized the room right in front of the Shield Spider nest too, completely at home with the giant spider colony right next to them. And they were cooking.

Fish, mainly. They’d run out of Erin’s supplies as soon as the Cave Goblins had begun pouring out of the dungeon. So Headscratcher had taken Goblins back to the waters outside of Liscor and begun fishing at the edge. The Goblins had dug around for worms and grubs in the mud and after finding and eating a few, had created crude fishing rods. Some just threw the bait into the water and snagged fish with nets. Then they towed them back to the cave and began to cook them.

Erin stared at a fish that had been diced up and was now sizzling in one of the frying pans she’d given the Goblins. It had been deboned, but the guts of the fish and every other part—including the eyes—were in the pan, cooking away. And the Goblins sitting around the fire were chewing the fish bones, crunching them down with satisfaction. As Erin watched, the designated [Cook] reached into a bag and brought out a handful of salt. It sprinkled the salt over the frying fish to the Goblin’s apparent satisfaction. Then it began to divvy the fried fish up.

Every Cave Goblin got a portion. The little children greedily snatched at the fish and then dropped the hot pieces, crying out. The adults were barely more controlled. But they shared. They shared and smiled as they ate, monsters smiling to eat fish with salt. It was a heartwarming sight. But Erin’s heart hurt.

“Where’s Headscratcher? Where’s Numbtongue? The Hobs?”

The Cave Goblins looked up. As one, they pointed towards the entrance of the cave. Erin walked around the little Goblins. They looked up at her, some nervously, but most looking curious. Trusting, even. Erin saw a Cave Goblin wave at her. She stopped and saw it was Pebblesnatch, roasting a dead squirrel. Erin tried to smile and gave up.

“Headscratcher.”

The Redfangs were outside, sparring with a huge audience of Cave Goblins watching them. They looked up and stopped fighting at once. The five Hobs clustered around Erin, looking excited.

“We…win? Adventurers attack?”

Rabbiteater clumsily spoke. Erin stared at him and then shook her head. The Hobs’ smiles vanished. They looked at one another.

“Bad?”

Headscratcher looked at Erin. She nodded.

“Very bad. The Raskghar got away. The adventurers…they lost one of their people. And the Raskghar sacrificed twenty more Gnolls.”

The Goblins looked surprised. Not shocked. They exchanged a glance and then formed a huddle. Erin watched as they urgently signed to each other and then all began smacking Numbtongue on the shoulders. For once, the Hob didn’t need encouragement. He knocked their hands away and looked at Erin.

“We’ll go back in. We will find Raskghar camp. Again.”

Erin blinked.

“You can do that?”

The Hobs looked at each other and then at the Cave Goblins. They nodded decisively.

“We can find. Again. Many Cave Goblins. They know many spots. All we have to do is find other Cave Goblins. We can find. Before tonight! Adventurers try again?”

Numbtongue looked expectantly at Erin. She stared at him, and then felt herself wake up a bit. That was right. They could try again. They had to.

She didn’t know what she’d expected from the Hobgoblins. But this is what she’d needed. Erin nodded.

“If you can find them—I’ll find the others. We have to try again. We have to. Can you locate their camp soon?”

“Will look. Will go now.”

Numbtongue pointed at the others. Headscratcher was already looking around, giving orders in the Goblin tongue. The Cave Goblins scattered. Erin stood a bit straighter.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Don’t get too near the camp. Please be careful. But find them. And I’ll get the Gold-rank adventurers to—to—”

She wavered. Erin’s face fell. To do what exactly? Try the same tactic again? They’d failed the first time. Even assuming they were willing to give it another shot, the Raskghar would be on alert. And now there were twenty one of the special ones. Could they do it?

What other choice did they have? Erin stared at the Hobs, who’d caught her uncertainty. Shorthilt nudged Numbtongue and made a few gestures. Numbtongue made a face and nodded.

“Old plan failed. Adventurers must have new plan. Do they have one?”

“No.”

Numbtongue paused. Erin saw Badarrow grimace behind him and Rabbiteater scratch at one ear. Erin bowed her head. And yet—Mrsha. Ceria. She scrubbed at her face as the Hobs watched her. There had to be something they could do. There had to be.

Could Olesm help? The Gold-ranks hadn’t consulted him, but he was a [Strategist] now. Then again, Erin had never seen how good his strategies were. Could she get Zevara to send her Watch into the dungeon? What about Embria? Ilvriss? No, he’d refused.

There had to be something. But Erin didn’t know what. She wavered, and then looked up.

“Go find the camp. I’ll think of something.”

“You?”

Numbtongue looked incredulous until Rabbiteater kicked him in the shins. The Hob turned, kicked Rabbiteater back, and then nodded uncertainly.

“We go now. You keep the door open. We’ll tell you as soon as we return.”

Erin nodded. Numbtongue’s grasp of English really was close to perfect. The Hob turned. Headscratcher had a group of sixteen Cave Goblins and was waiting. The Hobs filed into the cave. Erin watched them go.

“I’ll think of something. Who else can?”

The Gold-rank adventurers had given up. They had no idea what to do. But there was a chance. Erin walked back into the cave and back into her inn. One of the Cave Goblins peeking through the door jumped and ran when she walked past him. Erin absent-mindedly walked over to a table. Lyonette was still sitting in the same spot.

There was something on this table. A chess board. The ghostly pieces were set up in a game. Erin looked around for the other chess boards, but they must have been placed somewhere else to make room for all her guests. She looked at Lyonette and decided she didn’t care. She stared at the ghostly chess pieces.

She’d been playing a game with her mysterious opponent. She’d stopped ever since Mrsha had been kidnapped, but it had been her custom to spend at least thirty minutes each day playing a game. Now her opponent had been waiting days for her move. Erin stared at the board, which had been a thrilling back-and-forth game between the two. She swept the pieces from the board and began resetting them.

A black and white side stared at her, completely untouched. Erin stared at the pieces and then moved a pawn. She turned the board around and then, without waiting for her mysterious opponent to make a move—if he was even there—she played his side. Knight to F6. Alekhine Defense.

She didn’t know what she was doing. Erin was certain she shouldn’t be playing chess. But she had to think. She had to think. What could she do? What could they do? If they could find the Raskghar camp—but if the adventurers couldn’t win an all-out attack—her hands moved automatically, sending her pawn forwards, playing the black side against the white. There had to be something. Something that would work.

She had to think. The Cave Goblins staring through Erin’s portal door into her inn stared in awe at Erin’s magical chessboard. They began creeping forwards. Watching. Learning. And Erin played against despair. And thought.

 

—-

 

Mrsha dreamed she was in her bed. Just for a moment. But it was a wonderful dream. She dreamed she was lying next to Lyonette, and Apista was lying on her little bed by the windowsill.

It was too early so Mrsha was all curled up, warm, lying next to Lyonette. But soon she’d smell cooking and know it was breakfast. And then she’d run down stairs and sit at the table and Erin would smile at her and tell her what breakfast was, and then Lyonette would come down and tell Mrsha how good she was for washing her paws and setting the table—if Mrsha remembered and—

And then reality seeped into the dream. Mrsha smelled dried urine and feces. She shifted and felt the hard stone beneath her, and her empty stomach. And she opened her eyes and knew she was in the dungeon. In the baddest of places.

Mrsha sat up and remembered where she was. She looked around and saw the Raskghar. They were eating ravenously, satisfied. The Cave Goblins ran about, bringing them food. They’d mated last night and now, content, they were in a good mood. Mrsha wished they would all die horribly. She wished the Frost Faeries would freeze them, or Zel would appear and slash them all to bits.

Not even the Goblins were as bad as the Raskghar. The Goblins were terrible monsters. But the Raskghar were worse. They were like Gnolls, so close that sometimes Mrsha thought she could smell or see something familiar in them. But they did the worst things. They killed Gnolls. Sacrificed them. And then became…

Whole. That was what the female Raskghar had said. And as hard as Mrsha wanted to believe that was a lie, she thought it was true. The awakened Raskghar looked complete. If the ordinary Raskghar were beasts who could think, the Raskghar who had performed the ritual were people wearing the skins of monsters. But not good people. Oh no, not at all.

And now there were twenty one of them. The Gnolls huddled together whenever one of the Raskghar who’d performed the blood ritual passed by. The awakened were each followed by a small cluster of lesser Raskghar. And Mrsha saw that they were standing taller. And she had a horrible feeling of what that meant, too.

Urksh used to say that his position as the tribe’s [Chieftain] was based on two things. Respect and ability. There might have been other Gnolls who were better than him at leading, but part of leading was being trusted. And Urksh had the tribe’s trust in him. But Calruz? The Minotaur?

He had the Raskghar’s fear. And he was strong. That made him their leader, and his ability to think. But when Mrsha looked at the awakened Raskghar, she knew they commanded more than just fear. And they could think. And—she looked at one of them as he glanced around, his gaze full of bright danger. She didn’t think he was afraid of Calruz anymore.

“Monsters.”

One of the Gnolls spoke the word quietly. Mrsha looked at them. Elirr and the other Gnolls from Liscor sat together. They were clearly starving, battered, hungry. But they stared at the Raskghar with as much hate as Mrsha.

One of the Raskghar noticed. The awakened Raskghar, a male with dark grey fur and white stripes, walked over to the cages. The Gnolls drew back as he bent down. He grinned at the Gnolls.

“Prey. You are prey.”

His voice was guttural and his words were awkward. But he spoke! The Gnolls recoiled. The Raskghar bared his teeth, clearly enjoying the reaction. He pointed at Elirr.

“You. Cannot save kin. We kill. We sacrifice. Then we take more. More. More awakened. You first. Then you. Or you.”

He pointed at the other Gnolls, at an older female Gnoll woman, and then at a Gnoll child. The Gnolls clung to each other. The Raskghar laughed. Then he jerked. Too late. The bit of brown struck him squarely in the nose and glance upwards, striking his left eye. He recoiled with a roar and swiped at what was clinging to his face.

Poo. Wet poo. Mrsha took aim with another handful. The Raskghar surrounding the awakened one leapt back, as she threw her poo at them. The one covered in it howled as he tried to scrape it off his face and then got it on his paws. Mrsha raced about her cage, looking for more ammunition, but she hadn’t eaten much so there was no more.

White one!

The Raskghar howled in fury, but not too loudly for fear of waking Calruz, who was still asleep. He clenched his paws as the other Raskghar sidled away from him. And then he heard laughter. Immediately his ears flattened. He turned on the Gnolls with rage. They were laughing. But not just them.

Some of the other Raskghar had seen what had happened. The ones who hadn’t witnessed it could still smell what had gone on. Several of the awakened laughed at the unfortunate poo-covered one. And even the lesser Raskghar couldn’t contain their amusement.

The awakened Raskghar didn’t flush as far as Mrsha could see with all the fur on his body, but he looked furious. He glared at Mrsha in her cage. The Gnoll cub raced around inside, sticking her bottom up at him. For once, Mrsha relished the cage’s bars despite the shackles. She could still throw things with her bound hands! And the Raskghar couldn’t kill her. Not until it was time for her to be sacrificed.

The Raskghar growled deeply in his throat. He took a step towards the cage and a warning bark made him turn. The female Raskghar stared at him and shook her head. The awakened clenched his paws, but he glanced at Calruz’s private quarters and hesitated. Mrsha could see him hesitating. Not yet. Reluctantly he turned away.

Mrsha grinned at his back. She saw the other Gnolls straighten a bit, enjoying this moment of victory. Mrsha smiled widely—and then saw the awakened turn. The Raskghar looked around, growled, and then loped over to something. He came back with a key.

The other Raskghar growled warningly at him. But the awakened Raskghar was too incensed to care. He opened the lock on Mrsha’s cage and reached inside. Mrsha tried to run, but she was too slow. He grabbed her, shackles and all, and then lifted her out. She struggled. The Raskghar growled. He lifted Mrsha up and casually, before any of the other Raskghar could stop him, smacked Mrsha into the ground.

The blow was savage. Mrsha’s head and body hit the ground as hard as the Raskghar could throw her. She felt something crack. Pain. She curled up and heard pounding feet. The female Raskghar and two of the awakened snarled and dragged the one who’d struck her away. He let them do it. The damage was done. Mrsha felt huge paws pick her up and shove her into the cage. It hurt. Her mind flickered on and off. It hurt. It hurt! It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it—

The Gnolls were silent as the Raskghar turned, locking the cage again. Their moment of triumph was gone, replaced by more hate and fear. The Raskghar walked away. The one who’d been struck by poo grinned even after he’d been cuffed hard by the female. He turned, nearly stumbled on a stick lying on the floor, and kicked it back towards Mrsha’s cage with a growl before going to find water to wash himself with. Mrsha didn’t respond. She lay there. It hurt so bad. She just wanted it to stop. All the hurting. All the pain.

It was too much.

 

—-

 

Ceria woke up late. She shouldn’t have gotten a good sleep, not with all that had happened, but her body had decided that her bed in the Raskghar’s camp was decidedly better than some of the sleeping spots she’d had while adventuring. So she got up after Calruz and all the Raskghar. Ceria stumbled out of her curtains and heard a familiar voice.

“Prepare the team. We strike at the nest of Children today. The awakened Raskghar will form the spear of the assault. I want to see how effective you are. Maintain a watch on the camp. I don’t trust the adventurers not to try to attack again. Double patrols!”

Calruz was standing at his impromptu war table, surrounded by the awakened Raskghar. They nodded deferentially to him. The Minotaur turned as Ceria walked towards him. The ice dagger was frozen to Ceria’s back. Literally frozen to her skin. The ice didn’t melt and Ceria knew no one would notice. She ignored the freezing sensation—she was used to worse from studying under Illphres and looked at Calruz.

“You’re attacking a nest?”

The Minotaur grinned at Ceria. He was satisfied from last night. His rage seemed like an afterthought, as did his fury over Ceria’s supposed treachery.

“Yes. I want to test the abilities of the awakened. You will come with me of course. Have you had breakfast?”

“Nope.”

“Collect some, then.”

Ceria walked towards the stew pots. It might have been maggot-insect the Cave Goblins gave her in a bowl, or the chunks of meat could have been some other monster. Or Gnoll. Ceria decided not to eat when she thought of that, though she was ravenous. Instead, she went to the pile of dead adventurer’s belongings and fished around until she found some travel rations that were only a bit moldy. She ate that instead and washed it down with stale water.

A fitting final meal. Ceria stood up and looked around. Her eyes went to the Gnolls in their cages. She wondered if there were anything she could do for them. Probably not. The adventurers would have to do something. If they got there in time.

At least she could save Mrsha. Maybe. Ceria tried to figure out what to do. If she could end things with Calruz—the awakened Raskghar were tough, but none of them were mages. There was a chance. A slim one, but there was no other way. She couldn’t sleep in this camp another night.

The Gnolls were awake. They were staring at Ceria. She didn’t want to meet their eyes, but she felt she owed them something. An explanation. Another apology. But she couldn’t give anything away, not with the Raskghar able to hear everything she said. So Ceria just met their eyes, trying to convey her feelings.

Something was a bit odd. The Gnolls stared at Ceria and then looked as one to Mrsha’s cage. Then they looked back at her. That was clearly a sign. Ceria frowned. She got up and walked over to Mrsha’s cage. The little Gnoll was curled up inside. Ceria glanced at the Gnolls, but they were afraid to speak. She bent down and inspected Mrsha.

Nothing looked wrong. The Gnoll wasn’t moving, though. She was alive, but she was terribly thin. She hadn’t been eating, and no wonder. The other Gnolls must have been worried. Ceria straightened.

“I’ll try to get you rations. The adventurers have some.”

She turned, not seeing the frantic shaking of Erill’s head and the way the Raskghar looked up warily. Ceria was too distracted. She looked at Calruz. It would have to be quick. He was stronger than she was. Tougher and quicker than before, too. She had to get right up close to him, under his guard.

“Finished eating? Then we go. Come!”

Calruz was in a good mood. He downed the last of the meat he’d been eating and stood up. The awakened Raskghar and some of his better-equipped warriors strode out of the room. Ceria followed silently. The ice dagger was still attached to her back, radiating cold. The handle was simple, but the edge was keen. Illphres had taught her how to make ice that strong. But she’d always told Ceria that she expected more.

“Your ice is weak. You can make ice solid now, which is something. But you can’t shape it. You can’t design your structures.”

“Like you do, oh great and powerful master?”

“Exactly. Stop being sarcastic or I’ll freeze your nose off. I’ve shown you how I build my [Ice Walls]. It’s not just one solid mass of ice—that’s inefficient and it can break. I structure it, like an [Architect] would design a wall. But at a miniature level, far too small to see.”

“I can’t sense it.”

“Of course you can’t. You’re an amateur. But one day you will be able to. And then you’ll finally be competent enough to shape your spells rather than relying on set designs. Ice magic can create an infinite variety of shapes. Like my mask. It can be armor, a trap, a disguise…now, cast the spell again. And this time, try to put an edge on that dagger, will you? I’ll slice my bread with this and make you eat whatever I can’t cut.”

The memory made Ceria smile. Just for a moment. She walked with Calruz through the dungeon, passing traps, watching with disinterest as the Raskghar skirmished with a group of invisible monsters she didn’t bother to point out. The sense of smell of the awakened Raskghar was stronger, like everything else about them.

Three. She could at least get three. The female first. One good [Ice Spike] between the eyes—or in an eye—would do it. She raised her skeletal finger. Yes, she could dual-cast with her wand—

Her wand. Ceria felt at her belt. Where was it? A flash of panic ran through her. Her wand was missing! She remembered Calruz throwing her and cursed. She must have dropped it!

“Too late to go back for it now. I do this with one hand, I guess.”

Ceria gritted her teeth. The dagger was all that mattered. What came after—well, maybe she’d get lucky and the Raskghar would declare her their new chieftain like they’d done for Calruz. More likely…

Caught up in her thoughts, Ceria didn’t realize one of the Raskghar had fallen back until a finger tapped her on the shoulder. Absently, Ceria looked sideways and froze.

The female awakened Raskghar, the original one, was walking by her. She’d moved without a sound. Now she loomed over Ceria, a hunched, furry shape with bright eyes peering at her in the darkness. Ceria felt fear seize her. The Raskghar leaned forwards. Her breath was rancid as she spoke.

“What are you?”

“What?”

Ceria fought the urge to step back. The Raskghar moved forwards even closer and sniffed. Ceria stepped back, suddenly sweating. Could she smell the ice dagger on Ceria? It was just ice, but maybe—

The Raskghar didn’t seem to notice Ceria’s concealed weapon. She sniffed again and then spoke a word.

“Half-Elf. Chieftain called you that. Half-Elf. What is Elf? Are there more like you above?”

Her eyes were too intelligent. Ceria gritted her teeth.

“That’s none of your business. You want to know what I am? Go ask Calruz.”

“Don’t want to ask him. I ask you. Tell me. You are Chieftain’s. Also Raskghar’s.”

The female leaned forwards, uttering a growl that ran down Ceria’s spine. She was very big and she showed Ceria her canines. She was trying to assert her dominance. Ceria gritted her teeth.

“Leave me alone.”

She raised her skeletal hand. Not to blast the Raskghar, but to freeze her nose off. The Raskghar caught Ceria’s hand in a flash. Her grip was like steel as Ceria fought. The half-Elf was afraid to try and freeze the female. The awakened Raskghar smiled at her.

“I will not hurt you. You are the Chieftain’s. His.”

She let go. Ceria yanked her hand back.

“Oh yeah? Do all the Raskghar mess with his…people? You seem pretty disloyal to him.”

The female Raskghar made a rumbling sound. Ceria thought it was a laugh. She raised her paws.

“Not disloyal. Only curious. We Raskghar need Chieftain Calruz. The Chieftain is smart. When the moons fall, the Raskghar need him. Who else can think then? Only Chieftain.”

She tilted her head, giving Ceria a toothy grin. Ceria stared at her. In that moment, the half-Elf realized something. Something important.

The Raskghar was lying. Intelligent she might be, but she hadn’t learned to control her expressions or body language yet. There was no need to in Raskghar society. But to Ceria’s eye, she could see the tells in the female Raskghar’s body. She was lying. But what had she said—

Ceria realized she was staring too long. She fumbled for a reply to conceal her realization.

“Oh yeah? Well…he needs me more. I’ll save the Gnolls, the rest of them. You won’t sacrifice any more of them!”

“Hrr. You can try.”

The female grinned at Ceria, clearly thinking little of the half-Elf’s threat. She ran ahead of Ceria, joining the Raskghar moving down the tunnel. Ceria stared at her back, and then swore a blue streak. She caught up to Calruz.

“Calruz.”

“Speak.”

The Minotaur looked perfectly at ease as he strode forwards. Ceria glanced up at him and then nodded as casually as she could to the female loping ahead of them.

“That Raskghar. The first one to perform the…ritual. What’s her name? Do the Raskghar have names?”

“They do. They’re not complete monsters like Goblins. That one? She’s called Nokha. She’s…quite intelligent. For a Raskghar. And a competent warrior. She led the raid on Liscor, which is why I gave her the honor of being first.”

“I see. And you trust her?”

There was a moment of hesitation.

“Of course I do. Why?”

“Oh. No reason.”

Ceria dropped it at that. She saw Calruz glancing from her to Nokha. Soon, they reached the nest of Children.

“Springwalker, stay by my side. Nokha, take your awakened. Show me what you are capable of. We will support you if necessary.”

Nokha grinned. She lifted her enchanted blade and the other awakened raised their enchanted weapons. They moved forwards.

The battle was over quick. The nest of Children, the white-skinned doppelgangers that pretended to be children of other species, had been built into a room with numerous porous openings for them to nest in. At the Raskghar’s intrusion they came out, screaming, and swarmed the awakened.

They died in droves. Ceria watched the awakened tear through them with unmatched brutality. The Raskghar were strong and the awakened were easily the equivalent of a Level 35 [Warrior]. At least. With the enchanted weapons they bore, the Children were no match. By the time they were finished, the last of the Children were fleeing, and the Raskghar stood surrounded by blood and gore.

“Magnificent.”

Calruz looked around approvingly. He kicked one of the white-skinned monsters that was trying to crawl away, its guts hanging from its bisected torso. He studied the nest.

“And so another nest of monsters falls. The Children will no longer trouble us. You awakened have done well. I will consider allowing other Raskghar to perform the ritual tonight.”

“Chieftain is kind. Chieftain is wise.”

Nokha bowed her head humbly. Calruz grunted in satisfaction.

“You may return to the camp first. Springwalker, with me. We’ll search for any treasure these monsters may have kept hidden. Warriors, guard the entrances.”

He beckoned. Ceria stepped into the bloody room. Now was the time. She saw Calruz walking past the dead Children, staring into the small tunnels that had been their homes. The ice dagger came loose from her back with a bit of her skin. The pain and cold chill of the hilt made Ceria feel awake. She hid the blade against her arm as she walked forwards.

“Efficient, these Raskghar. Aren’t they?”

“I am pleased. It was right to perform the ritual. A shame I don’t have more Gnolls. With enough, I could make an army capable of taking the city in a single raid. I haven’t committed all my forces, but I should. There are what, forty four Gnolls remaining? Enough for a strong force.”

“I bet. And what will you do when you run out? Raid Liscor for more Gnolls?”

The Minotaur paused as he bent down.

“Perhaps. The city is well-defended and no doubt on alert. It would be a mistake to try after the full moon wanes. Indeed, I will have to pull back into the dungeon, father away from the rift. Bide my time. But if the awakened hold onto even a shred of their intelligence or strength…”

“They’ll be useful. Yeah, I can see that.”

Ceria’s voice was too calm. She felt like she was discussing tactics with Calruz like in the old days. Humoring him, really. He and Gerial would love to get into this kind of debate over a drink. Ceria didn’t enjoy it, but Calruz loved pretending to be a [Tactician].

“You’ll see. The Raskghar will become even more effective under my command. I will lead the awakened into the city tomorrow and see how many infested we can cull. And next month…yes, perhaps next month we will make enough progress.”

“Exciting.”

The ice dagger was ready. Ceria stared at Calruz’s back. She had one chance. It had to be in the throat. She could imagine him surviving a stab to the liver and she couldn’t get through his ribs. But his throat—she had to break his healing potion too.

“I’ve forgiven you, you know.”

“Oh?”

“For your betrayal. You might have been telling the truth. If not, I could understand.”

Calruz reached into the hole and pulled something out. He brushed at the dirt and other crusted substances and revealed a dented gold chalice. He grunted and fished further inside. Ceria edged around him. His head was too far in the hole.

“Kind of you.”

The Minotaur paused and drew his head halfway out. Ceria tensed—but he was looking at her.

“Don’t mistake me, Springwalker. I don’t think you truly follow me. I know you want to return. But when you’re here, I can’t help but feel reassured. I need you. To help me—think.”

“Really?”

Ceria frowned. This was new. She hid the blade as Calruz nodded. He stared at her. His eyes didn’t look as crazy as normal. In fact, they looked lucid. Ceria wished he were raging. That would make things easier.

“I know I’ve done…terrible things. By any standard. I’m aware of that, you know. I know sacrificing the Gnolls would earn me the headsman above. However, it feels like most days that it doesn’t matter. But I do know it’s wrong. Always.”

The half-Elf wanted to laugh. Now he acknowledged it? Too little, too late. She waited for him to turn his head.

“Then why do it?”

“I must. I must find the heart of the dungeon. There’s no other goal larger in this world.”

“Even if it means sacrificing innocent people? Killing your fellow adventurers?”

Calruz bowed his head.

“Even then. You don’t understand, Ceria. I’m doing this for our team. For the fallen. Gerial, Hunt—I’ll conquer this dungeon in their name. What comes afterwards doesn’t matter. Only the glory of victory matters. Only that.”

Ceria shook her head. She could see the Raskghar standing idly by the entrances to the Children’s nest. Blood ran around her feet. Calruz was covered in grime. He looked mad.

“Do you think you’ll really make them happy? Is this what they would have wanted? Really, Calruz? Are you that stupid?

She expected Calruz to rage. And his brows did draw together. But again, the Minotaur surprised her. He looked down at the golden chalice he’d set on the ground. He reached down and touched it.

“Of course I’m not. I know this won’t bring them back. I can’t give them any of this wealth. But what else do I have, Ceria? What else can I honor them with? What else can I return from the dungeon with, but glory?”

He looked at her. Ceria shook her head. Tears were in her eyes as she tightened her grip on her dagger.

“Glory? Is that all, Calruz? We didn’t need glory. What about honor? Wasn’t that why we made our team? Wasn’t that why we fought?”

“Honor.”

The Minotaur closed his eyes. Ceria hesitated. Her arm tensed—but she couldn’t do it. Calruz opened his eyes and Ceria shifted her posture.

“I don’t have any honor left. I know that. I lost my team. I fell in with monsters. There’s only glory for me. Wretched glory. But they will speak my name for decades for this if nothing else. The Minotaur who lost his team. The failure who became a traitor. But he conquered the dungeon of Liscor. But he did that.”

“Can’t you just leave? Can’t you just go?”

“Death before dishonor. The Horns do not run. I will not retreat. I will not lose. Not again.”

Calruz turned. Ceria blinked the tears out of her eyes.

“I see. That’s like you. I never could get you to change your mind.”

“True! I’d almost forgotten.”

Calruz threw back his head and laughed. Ceria lunged. Her dagger flashed towards Calruz’s throat. He looked back and flung his arm up. Ceria’s dagger went flying. The half-Elf raised her skeletal hand and the Minotaur caught it. He twisted Ceria’s arm and she knelt.

“The Raskghar can smell everything about you, Ceria. They smelled the dagger on your back and told me. I wish that you hadn’t betrayed me a second time. Nokha was right.”

He twisted Ceria’s arm more. She groaned and knew that if he pressed any harder her arm would snap. Calruz’s eyes were calm as he stood over her.

“I understand. But twice is too many times. Once is too many. I need you. And yet, what should I do with a traitor? Break your arm? Too lenient. Cut one off? Perhaps. But I want my teammates at full strength. Should I sacrifice the Gnoll? The white one? Mrsha?”

“No. No, Calruz. Please don’t.”

The Minotaur knelt. He looked at Ceria’s pained face.

“Give me one reason. One reason why I shouldn’t.”

“The Raskghar will betray you. They’re going to soon anyways.”

Ceria gasped around the pain shooting down her arm. She felt the pressure on her joints lessen a fraction. Calruz stared at her.

“Have you any proof of this?”

“The female—Nokha—talked to me. She was asking about half-Elves. But then she talked about you. She said you were essential because you could think when the moon wasn’t full. But she was lying. I saw it, Calruz.”

The Minotaur frowned.

“That’s hardly evidence. You could be making all this up.”

“Would I?”

“I think so. You just tried to kill me.”

Calruz added pressure and Ceria bit back a scream. She could see the Raskghar glancing back and laughing at her. But they couldn’t hear, or so she prayed. She spoke as fast as she could.

“Wait! I’m sure she was lying. I just don’t know why. The awakened performed the ritual, right? Maybe—maybe the ritual does more than just give them strength and intelligence. Maybe it makes them smarter all the time.

Yes, that was it! It was so obvious! Ceria knew she was right the moment she said it. And suddenly Calruz stopped twisting her arm. The Minotaur let go of Ceria and rocked back on his heels.

“Impossible.”

Ceria straightened slowly, wincing. She held still because Calruz was still very close to her. The ice dagger was melting on the floor. Even if she’d had it, Ceria wouldn’t have risked another attack. Calruz was fast.

“Why is it impossible? Did the Raskghar ever tell you what the ritual did? Or did they just say it would make them more powerful? I bet they kept bugging you to kidnap the Gnolls, though.”

“They did. They…were very insistent.”

“And why was that? So they could grow an inch or two and gain more muscle? No. No, they have one big weakness. And that’s that they can’t think. But what would the ritual do? Give them intelligence all the time. And if they have that, they don’t need you, do they?”

Calruz looked shaken. The Minotaur stood up and walked past Ceria. The blood was drying, but the smell was still overpowering.

“No. No. They wouldn’t dare. They would never—I am Chieftain! They need me. My expertise, my strategy—that’s irreplaceable even if they kept their intelligence.”

Ceria massaged her arm. She tried to inject as much sarcasm into her voice was possible.

“So? They’ve been watching you. It’s not like they can’t figure things out. They learned to speak in, what, a day? Think they can’t copy you? And who do you think they want as a ruler? A grumpy Minotaur with one arm or one of their own?”

Calruz glanced at his stump of an arm. Then his eyes hardened. He snorted angrily.

“This is all just conjecture. If they dared—if they tried to challenge me—I’ve killed challengers before. The Raskghar are no match for me.

“Sure you have. But have you fought an awakened Raskghar? With enchanted weapons? I bet you could still win against one. But how about twenty one?”

The Minotaur’s face froze. Ceria bared her teeth. Her arm was a knot of pain, but Calruz’s face was worth it. She could see suspicion and paranoia taking over. Madness.

“They’re planning it. That was what Nokha kept demanding more rituals. Of course! If they keep their powers…and they’re armed. With my artifacts. How could I have been so blind?”

“You need to let go of the Gnolls. The Raskghar will perform as many rituals as they can. Get rid of the awakened. No, just run. Run from the tribe. Go to Liscor. They’ll protect you.”

Calruz was nodding, but he stopped when Ceria suggested running. He growled and shook his head.

“Run? Unacceptable! I won’t run from these usurpers. They want my position? I will kill them. And you will help me. If they are more intelligent, then I only have to wait two more nights to see. And if they do challenge me—I will make an example. Yes. There are twenty one at the moment. Too many. But if I…”

He broke off, thinking, his brows furrowed. Ceria straightened.

“I’ll help you. I don’t want the Gnolls to die. And if I help you, you’ll let them go.”

“I should trust you? After you betrayed me twice?

Calruz glanced at Ceria with a sane, sardonic look in his eyes. She grimaced.

“No, but do you have a better option? Besides, if I kill you, the Gnolls will die. This way I have a chance to save them.”

“True. True…very well. I agree. I’ll spare the Gnolls if you help me defeat these awakened.”

Calruz nodded decisively. Ceria felt a surge of hope in her chest.

“No more Gnoll sacrifices?”

“No more sacrifices. For now.”

The Minotaur straightened. He glanced at the golden chalice and kicked it aside.

“I must return to my tribe. Follow me. You and I have much to discuss about. Where the Raskghar can’t hear us.”

He gestured and Ceria walked after him. The Minotaur called out an order and the Raskghar on duty straightened. They looked surprised, but after Calruz barked, they jogged ahead of him, leaving the two behind. Calruz and Ceria looked at each other warily. Then they began to walk.

She’d been about to kill him. Ceria still felt the cold of the dagger in her hand. But this—this would do. She was relieved, really. She walked behind Calruz as he led her back towards the camp. After a few minutes, the Minotaur looked back at her.

“That was truly an imbecilic plan, by the way. Attacking me with an ice dagger? I have [Thick Skin] now. And you were always pathetic with edged weapons of any kind.”

“I could have cut you with that dagger. One good thrust to the throat and you’d be dead without a healing potion.”

“Perhaps. And what was your plan afterwards? Kill all the awakened Raskghar and my entire tribe by yourself? And how would that save the Gnolls?”

“I—shut up. I was only thinking about you. I was going to improvise.”

“Hmf. This is why Gerial and I never included you in the strategy meetings, you know.”

“Look how disappointed I am.”

The Minotaur grinned and turned ahead. Ceria smiled, just for an instant. She was going mad too. But she couldn’t help but hope. Hope. It had slowed her thrust towards his throat. In the end she was soft. Illphres would have called that her real weakness.

She couldn’t do anything to stop Calruz. But maybe she could buy some time. And maybe, just maybe—Ceria concentrated. She had to focus hard to form the message with her arm aching, but she did it. Her fingers released another little messenger, this one shaped like a flickering firefly.

Raskghar ritual. May make smart all time. Challenge Calruz maybe. Dangerous. I help. Buy time to save Gnolls.

It fluttered upwards and then vanished. Ceria hoped Pisces would see it. They had another day, maybe two before the Raskghar would make their move. Maybe less time. But if they had to die, at least she’d die on Calruz’s side. She wouldn’t run. Not again. There was some comfort in that.

 

—-

 

Pisces saw the bright firefly flicker up as he opened his eyes. He sat up and once and cupped his hand. The firefly flashed shapes and colors at him. The [Necromancer] forced his weary mind to decode the symbols and then threw back his sheets.

Dangerous. I help. Buy time. Ceria had to be insane! But it made sense. Pisces cursed as he realized he should have considered the ramifications of the Raskghar’s ritual from the start. He leapt out of his bed and made for the door, not bothering to dress. He slept in his robes since they couldn’t get dirty or wrinkled.

“Erin! Erin!

Pisces clattered downstairs. As usual, he was late. Yvlon and Ksmvr were already up, but they’d apparently decided not to wake him. They sat in absolute silence, their food practically untouched. Pisces didn’t even see the Halfseekers. The adventurers had given up, or resigned themselves. He felt a flash of anger but quelled it as he looked around.

“Where is Erin?”

“Through the door. She was playing chess in here, but she left.”

Yvlon pointed dully towards the open door. Pisces paused as he saw it was attuned to an unfamiliar place. And were those Goblins sitting around fires? Cooking fires?

The Goblin cave. Of course. He strode towards the door. Yvlon stood up, looking grey in the face.

“Pisces, what’s wrong? What are we going to do?”

Pisces gave Yvlon a strange look.

“Rescue Ceria, of course. I just received another message from her. The Raskghar are intending to revolt against Calruz. She will ally with him—prevent any more Gnolls from being sacrificed in the meantime. We have more time.”

“To do what?”

He didn’t know. But giving up was unacceptable, so Pisces hurried through the doorway. The Goblins looked up in alarm as he strode through. They sprang to their feet and some drew weapons.

Pisces…paused. Only now did he realize that the cave did in fact contain a lot of Goblins. Hundreds, in fact. And he had forgotten both his rapier and his bag of holding containing all his bones in his room this time. He held up his hands.

“I ah, come in peace. I just want to see the [Innkeeper]. Erin Solstice?”

The Goblins stared at him. They did not look friendly. Nor, now that Pisces thought about it, did they look quite so weak. He could easily imagine taking on a hundred Cave Goblins. With preparation. And his rapier and Bone Horrors deployed. But in close quarters? Without weapons?

And then Pisces heard a voice to his great relief.

“Let him through!”

The Cave Goblins looked at each other and parted reluctantly. Pisces saw a familiar shape sitting on the ground, playing on a chess board. Erin didn’t look up as he approached. She had an audience. All the Goblins not eating and a good deal of them that were sat around her, watching as she played a game of chess against herself on the magical chessboard.

It was an impressive display. Pisces saw Erin’s hands moving rapidly and realized she was playing at a level beyond him, hard as that was to admit. He hurried to her side.

“Erin. Ceria contacted me. The Raskghar are intending to revolt. The ritual makes them too intelligent—they don’t need Calruz anymore. She will ally with him. We have time—I doubt he intends to create more Raskghar who could overthrow him. But they might rebel soon and if they succeed, both she and the Gnolls die.”

“Rebelling Raskghar? Got it.”

Erin glanced up from her chessboard at Pisces and then looked down. He stared at her.

Well?

She looked back up.

“Well, what?”

“We have to do something!”

“I agree. But without a plan to beat the Raskghar, we’re still stuck. Ceria’s still in trouble and so are the Gnolls. Do you have a plan for that?”

Pisces did not. But he had never let that stop him before. He sniffed and drew himself up to his full height, his mind racing for answers.

“We failed last time to defeat the Raskghar. But the plan was not wholly unsound. We must try again. If we could track the Raskghar—or the Goblins could find their camp—”

“They’re going to find it.”

“They are?

“That’s what they said. They’ll report back before night if they succeed.”

Pisces wavered. He stared at Erin. Why was she still playing chess here?

“Then—that’s excellent news! We must inform the other adventurers!”

“They won’t go for it.”

“Why ever not?”

“They failed last time. And now there are more super-Raskghar. We need a new plan, Pisces. That’s why I’m thinking on it.”

“By playing chess. In a cave full of Goblins.”

“Yup. Helps me think. What are you doing?”

Pisces was thinking. His mind raced as he stared at Erin. The Goblins could find the Raskghar camp again. Well, that was incredible! If they could launch another attack—he tried to imagine the Gold-rank teams fighting another battle. That was the problem, wasn’t it?

“There must be a way to oust the Raskghar or defeat them without a frontal assault.”

“Yup.”

“Relying on brute force was a mistake. We should have employed a better tactic.”

“Are you going to keep stating the obvious?”

“The Goblins know where the Raskghar camp is?”

“They can find it. And if they can find it, we need to figure out how to get the Gnolls. That’s why I’m here. And you’re distracting me.”

Erin stared at her chess board. Her brow furrowed. She was relentlessly assaulting the white side’s pieces with the black side’s pawns.

“The thing is I’m no [Strategist]. The thing is that chess isn’t like real life. I keep telling people that. I don’t know why it would help level up a [Strategist]. I think the system’s weird like that. Anyways…chess is all about assaulting enemy formations. Trouble is, you can’t ever win or get to the king in one move. You always have to make the enemy open up their formation. Best you can do is win in two moves. But the enemy has to give you that opening. What’s the opening for the Raskghar? Any ideas?”

Pisces had plenty. Most were idiotic. His mind raced as he took a seat next to Erin, nudging aside Cave Goblins. There had to be something. He had considered the problem before, appealed to his new master for help and been flatly rejected. He had tried his own tactics, but he didn’t have the power. Not yet. His Bone Horrors were too weak, and too inefficient. He had the bones of an Archmage but not a third of the mana supply needed to keep such a creation running. But this—

“We have Gold-rank adventurers. Surely they have a spell or a…a Skill that would aid us.”

“If they do, they haven’t used it. Flamewardens have fire breath. Wings of Pallass can fly. Seborn’s nearly invisible…none of this works against the Raskghar’s artifacts and numbers. Typhenous said he poisoned some, but if he did, they went off and died. And he can’t use the really bad stuff without killing Ceria and the Gnolls instead. I thought about trapping the Raskghar in.”

“How?”

Erin gave Pisces a blank look.

“With walls. Duh. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers made the wall in the dungeon there. Pretty strong. It can block all those Shield Spiders from coming out.”

She pointed vaguely at a hole in the wall of the cave. Pisces paused.

“Wait, this cave connects to that part of the dungeon? And the Shield Spider nest—with gargantuan spiders and hundreds of thousands of smaller ones—is right there?”

“Yup. Behind the wall. Actually, there’s a hole in it. The Goblins keep poking the Shield Spiders when they try to come out with sticks. Go look if you’re curious.”

Pisces’ jaw worked for a few moments in silence. Then he decided not to point out the obvious and moved on.

“So your plan would be…?”

“Wall the Raskghar in. Starve them out? If they can make a bunch of walls in secret, the Raskghar are stuck, right? Reinforce the walls with magic…trouble is, I bet they could smash through. And if they couldn’t, it’s a hostage game, right? They’ll eat or kill the Gnolls before giving up. So that’s a bad plan.”

“Perhaps. But the idea has merit.”

The [Necromancer]’s mind was working as hard as it could. He glanced at Erin’s door. It seemed imprudent to connect her inn to a cave filled with Goblins who might be hostile, and the nest of Shield Spiders. He stared at Erin, and then at the door. Then his brows slowly snapped together. In that moment Pisces knew he was a genius. First the Face-Eater Moths, now this? He’d never let Ceria live it down when they rescued her.

“I have it.”

Erin looked up sharply. So did the Cave Goblins. One of them, a Goblin toying with a few pebbles, looked at Pisces. He ignored the Goblins.

“The plan is simple. We need your door, Erin, and a team of adventurers. Multiple teams that will seal off the Raskghar in their lair as you envisioned. But the real plan needs to come from your inn. We will gather every [Mage] in Liscor—every mage in Pallass and Celum if we have to! And we’ll place one of your magic doors in the dungeon. The adventuring teams will carry it there.”

“And do what? Launch another assault? The Raskghar will see it coming, walls or not. They won’t escape, but they could just kill us. If they have time to mount a defense—we only have the adventurers and they’re outnumbered.”

Erin frowned, but Pisces shook his head. He was trembling with his own insight.

“No, there will be no fighting. Yes, an assault is too dangerous with our numbers, especially since the Raskghar will inevitably detect our assault before we can make it into their lair. However, if we were not fighting them—you see, once the adventuring teams have walled off every tunnel around the Raskghar’s camp, we will put the door’s entrance facing the Raskghar camp and submerge the other end of the door in the water.

The Cave Goblins gasped. The [Innkeeper] looked around and her brows slowly rose.

“Hold on. You mean you want to go Noah’s Ark on them.”

“Um. What?”

Erin scratched her head.

“Biblical reference, never mind. You’re saying that you want to drown the Raskghar. Put the door in the water and pour through what, enough to drown them?”

Pisces nodded.

“Flood their camp at least. I don’t intend to drown the Gnolls or Ceria, but the water would certainly inhibit them. And if we blocked off all the corridors—”

“They can’t get out. Okay, so they’re facing drowning. Then what?”

Pisces hadn’t gotten that far. He spoke as he thought.

“We do two things. If they are amenable to negotiation, we retrieve Ceria and the Gnolls. If not—we fight. But on our terms. We can arm the Gold-ranks with equipment that will allow them to outmatch the Raskghar. Ksmvr’s Ring of Waterbreathing. And we have a few experts at underwater combat like Seborn.”

“Yeah, but it’s still one against thousands.”

“Thousands who have no experience fighting underwater, I would imagine. And it is possible to use spells like [Chain Lighting] to devastating effect.”

Erin was nodding. But then she frowned.

“True, true. However, all of this puts the Gnolls and Ceria in a lot of danger.”

“It would still give us an advantage!”

Pisces flushed, not wanting to hear criticism. But Erin was staring at her chess board. She moved a bishop and then raised a few fingers, ticking them off.

“A few problems. One, I don’t know how much capacity my door has to transport all that water, every mage in Liscor or not. Water’s heavy and that’s a lot of volume to fill any camp. Two, I don’t know if the walls will hold. How strong can we make them? Three, the Raskghar might detect the Gold-rank teams that have to get into place anyways. Four, we’re risking Ceria and the Gnolls in a hostage situation.”

These were all good points. Pisces inhaled and tried to figure out what to say in response.

“It’s still better than our current plan, which is nonexistent.”

Erin nodded.

“It is. But it boils down to a fight and the problem is, Pisces, the problem always is that the Raskghar have numbers, position, and hostages. Even a water assault means they’re in position. And they can block those tunnels. Yvlon told me what happened. No. I’m sorry, but your idea won’t work. There are too many moving parts. But I agree we need a surprise attack. My door might help. If we can get one person close…there’s something to that.”

She broke off, frowning. Pisces scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Someone under [Invisibility], perhaps?”

“No good. The Raskghar are used to fighting invisible monsters. They can’t see a lot of them due to something in the dungeon according to the Redfangs. Hold on…invisible monsters. But they can smell. Damn. So what…?”

Erin frowned and smacked her lips. She looked thirsty, so one of the Goblins wandered off and gave her a cup of water. Erin looked up.

“Oh, thanks Pebblesnatch.”

It didn’t surprise Pisces to learn that Erin knew the little Cave Goblin’s name. The Goblin beamed at Erin as the young woman reached for the cup. Then Erin paused.

“Pebblesnatch. Door. Invisible—wait, that part’s stupid. Surprise attack?”

She looked down.

“Chess. Gotta love formations. Hold on. I think I have an idea. Want to hear it?”

Pisces did. He listened as Erin described her idea. His jaw dropped.

“But that plan is terribly risky! If it went wrong—”

“What’ll happen? We get ambushed and die?”

“Yes!”

“Well, it won’t. And it’ll work. The Cave Goblins think it will, right?”

Erin looked at her audience. They exchanged nervous looks. One shrugged, and a lot of them scratched their heads. Pisces was just as dubious.

“Your plan is just as risky as my plan! Erin, you cannot be serious. You’d trust the fates of Ceria and Mrsha—of everyone to—”

He leaned forwards, but Erin wasn’t having it. Her raised finger came up so quickly that it nearly went up Pisces’ nose. He jerked back. Erin stared at him. He had never seen her so serious, so focused.

“It will work, Pisces. It has to. Your plan’s got too many moving parts. It could work, but mine’s got only one moving part and it’s based on something I’m sure about.”

“Which is?”

Erin looked around at the staring Goblins, and then back at Pisces.

“Trust. I might not be a [Strategist]. I’m definitely not a [Mage]. I can’t talk about whether this or that will work, but I do know one thing and that’s people. And chess. Two things. And this? I know I can make this work.”

Pisces opened his mouth to protest and Erin stared at him. Their entire history lay between the two of them. Pisces remembered how they’d met. He’d thought she was just a fool and he had been looking for a meal and some coin. He wondered how he’d come here, squatting in a cave, surrounded by Goblins, plotting to save his friend from the dungeon. And then he realized Erin was right.

“You are sure?”

“I am. Do you think it will work?”

Pisces thought. He ran the numbers in his head, tried to calculate the odds. He was no [Strategist], but no matter how he looked at it, the odds were good. If Erin’s plan worked. If it didn’t—Liscor might fall. Of a certainty, he and she and everyone they knew would be dead. But he didn’t say that.

“I think it will work. If you think—”

“I do.”

Erin stood up. Her eyes blazed. She ignored the chess board, which saw the chess pieces sliding around as her mysterious opponent tried to get her to keep playing the game. The Cave Goblins backed away from Erin and the board. The [Innkeeper]’s eyes blazed with confidence. It made Pisces’ heart leap in his chest.

“Find every Gold-rank you can. Stop them from entering the dungeon and get them back if you can manage it! I need to find Zevara. And Ilvriss. And Embria! And maybe Olesm and Venim if I have time. They’re optional.”

She strode out of the cave and into her inn. Pisces stared around at the Cave Goblins. They’d all heard the plan. Any one of them could destroy it. But somehow, some crazy part of him thought they wouldn’t. Not because they were Goblins or hated the Raskghar. But because of how they stared after Erin with the same look that was in Pisces’ eyes.

Trust. And then Pisces turned and ran after Erin. She had a plan. And despite himself, he had to admit.

It was a good one.

 

—-

 

She couldn’t remember what Urksh said anymore. She couldn’t remember. It hurt too bad. Mrsha lay in her cage. Her body hurt. The Raskghar had broken something when he’d smacked her onto the floor. Or fractured something. Mrsha remembered Gnolls who’d fractured ribs during a bad hunting accident, and how they’d lain around, groaning, until the tribe could find a healing potion.

It hurt. It hurt so bad. But she wouldn’t cry. If she did, the Raskghar won. She wouldn’t let them see her cry.

Mrsha the Very Brave snuffled and tried not to cry. Ryoka wouldn’t cry. Urksh wouldn’t cry. Erin and Lyonette…probably would cry. But they would tell Mrsha it was okay. But she wouldn’t. Because she was brave. Oh, so brave.

It hurt very bad. Very, very bad. Mrsha curled up and tried not to move. She wished Ryoka were here. Then she wished she wasn’t. Because Ryoka would die. And Mrsha would soon die. And so would Erill and everyone else.

No one was coming to save them. No one could help them. The Raskghar would eat her heart. Mrsha knew this. She lay still as she heard the hunting party return. The awakened rejoiced. She could smell them.

Even though Mrsha was hurt, her nose worked perfectly. Better, since she was closing her eyes. She could smell the Raskghar, what they’d eaten, the monster they’d killed, which tunnels they went down, the wood in her cage, which Goblins had touched the hide, the Gnolls in their cages, the bugs crawling on the floor, Ceria—

Ceria? Mrsha’s head rose a bit. She could smell Ceria nearby. It was faint, but the half-Elf’s scent was there. Not just from where she’d been standing, either. She could smell something of Ceria’s. Only, she was still gone. Mrsha could smell that, too.

But what was smelling of Ceria? Mrsha turned her head. It hurt. She nearly curled up again, but curiosity got the better of her. She snuffled around and then found it. There. A little bit of Ceria. What was—

A little stick had rolled up against Mrsha cage. A little stick. A piece of wood, really. Relatively pointy on one end, and wider on the other end, with a handle worn smooth and wrapped with a bit of leather to grasp. A little stick that the Raskghar had paid no attention to and the Cave Goblins had overlooked. But Mrsha recognized it.

It was Ceria’s wand.

The half-Elf had dropped it when Calruz threw her. It had fallen to the ground and it must have been near Mrsha. The Raskghar had kicked it over and so it had rolled up against her cage. A wand. Mrsha’s eyes widened. She reached out and grabbed it.

A wand. And as Mrsha touched the little thing, she felt the magic in it. And she remembered something. She was Mrsha. A small Gnoll cub with white fur. Doombringer of Gnolls. Mrsha of the Stone Spears. Mrsha the Great and Powerful.

Mrsha the [Druid].

And she had a wand. Mrsha waved it and felt her arm and ribs scream at her. But she mastered the pain. Because she had a wand. She had left her wand—Pisces’ wand—in her room. But this? This was as good as his wand. And Mrsha knew she could cast a spell with it. The problem was—and here the Gnoll’s face fell—she only knew two spells.

[Grow Grass]. And [Wild Growth]. Of the spells Mrsha would have taken into the Raskghar camp, it wouldn’t have been those two. And unfortunately, she knew exactly what those spells did.

[Grow Grass]…grew grass. It could be thick or sparse and Mrsha had even managed to create blue grass, much to Lyonette’s befuddlement. But it was just grass. As for [Wild Growth], well, Mrsha could make her grass really tall…but that was about it. She’d tried using it on the faerie flowers and made one bloom in moments, but just that had exhausted Mrsha.

None of these spells were useful. But still, Mrsha held the wand. She had nothing else to cling to. Just the knowledge of her own magic. She knew a spell. And because she could, because it was the only thing she could do that was her choice, she cast it.

[Grow Grass]. Mrsha pointed at the floor of her cell and cast the spell. It was hard. The wooden bottom of the cell was old and dried and dead. But the spell worked. Slowly, a clump of glistening green sprouted up. Mrsha stared at it. It was the one bright flash of color in the dungeon. It was soft when she patted a trembling paw on it. It was…

Useless. But it made her feel better, so she grew more. Mrsha had no fear of being caught. The grass could disappear as soon as she willed it and last for hours if she wanted to. It had no purpose. But she wanted to grow it, even so. The Gnoll ran her wand across the bars of her cage, growing the grass. Then she shifted and felt a chafing. She looked down.

Her paws were still manacled together. Mrsha had nearly forgotten them, but now as she tried to manipulate her wand, she remembered them. The Watch had even made shackles in Mrsha’s size. With them on, she couldn’t move. She certainly couldn’t run. Mrsha scowled. She tried to manipulate her wand to point at the shackles. No good. In the end she stuck the wand in her mouth and pointed the tip at her shackles.

It was a childish fancy. If the shackles are on me, I’ll cover them with grass! Mrsha had no idea that the other Gnolls were staring at her. They’d smelled the grass and seen what she was doing. Their eyes were round and Mrsha poked her shackles. There was no good spot to put her wand’s tip, so Mrsha jammed it into the locking mechanism. Then she tried to grow grass.

It was hard. Ten times harder than dead wood. At least! But Mrsha was angry. She hated her shackles, hated the cell, hated the Raskghar. And she had time and determination. And she knew it could be done. The memory of the spell’s instructions burned in her mind.

Grass springs forth from soil and wood—even stone.

If it could sprout out of stone, why not metal? Metal was just a type of stone, right? It came from the earth. Mrsha gritted her teeth and pushed.

Grow, the earth calls. And remembers.

It wasn’t as if she was trying to make the shackles explode. It was just grass. Mrsha felt sweat roll down her fur. She was lightheaded. Hungry. But she fought. And she pushed magic into her wand and felt something give. A tuft of grass sprouted from the hole in the shackles where the key should be. Mrsha grinned. A bit of grass! Then she had an idea. She cast [Wild Growth]. How big could she make the grass?

That was an easy spell compared to making grass grow in the shackles. She saw the magic work instantly. The blades of grass grew, intertwining, and then stopped. Mrsha frowned. It was stuck in the shackles! She pushed more magic into her spell. Grow! Grow! She stubbornly fed the spell energy as the shackles resisted the growing grass. And then something gave. Mrsha saw the grass expand suddenly. And she heard a sound.

She heard the metal crack. Mrsha jerked in alarm and the shackles fell from her wrists.

She stared. The shackles were lying on the floor in two pieces. The grass had split the fatigued metal, tearing open a seam. Mrsha felt her arms rise. She stared at her paws and her free feet. She stood up slowly. She blinked—and realized she had an audience.

The Gnolls of Liscor stared at Mrsha, their mouths open as wide as could be. Erill gaped at Mrsha. At her wand. He pointed at it.

“[Mage]? But Gnolls cannot cast magic. We cannot learn it!”

No one had ever told Mrsha that. She looked at her wand, flabbergasted. But Erill’s surprise didn’t last long. He looked around wildly and then motioned at Mrsha.

“Sit, child, sit! The Raskghar will see!”

Alarmed, Mrsha sat. The other Gnolls looked at each other and then carefully faced away from Mrsha. Erill edged closer to her. He whispered so low only she could hear.

“Child, can you cast that spell again?”

Mrsha stared at Erill. She stared down at her shackles. Then she nodded very slowly. Erill raised his shackles. Mrsha aimed and the Gnoll flinched.

Really, all he had to worry about was having grass grow from an orifice. That wasn’t the real problem, anyways. The problem was that Mrsha had never cast a spell at range before. She tried it now.

It was hard. Oh, so hard! The wand was slippery with sweat and Mrsha was tired and hungry. But she kept trying. She knew what Erill wanted. But she couldn’t do it. She was about to give up when she heard a whisper.

“Do it. Please. Cast the spell.”

One of the Gnolls was whispering to her. Mrsha stared in shock at the Gnoll. It was the young female who’d hated Mrsha! But the Gnoll was wide-eyed and trembling now. She was afraid. And Mrsha was afraid.

“Please, child. If you have the strength…”

Erill trailed off. He stared at her.

“No Gnoll has cast magic in living memory. Not [Mage] magic. But you have it. Use your gift. Use it.”

“Yes. Use it.”

“Please.”

The whispers came from the others. Mrsha stared at them. They had hated her. Hated and feared her. Blamed her, even. But whatever feelings of anger she had, whatever reservations vanished as she saw a Raskghar pass by, scratching at his groin. There were more important enemies. She took a deep breath and pushed.

And grass sprang from the keyhole in Erill’s shackles. He jerked, but Mrsha aimed past him. At another Gnoll. She pushed. Erill leaned out of the way and the Gnoll shuffled forwards. More grass. More growing.

It was impossible to get all of the Gnolls free. They knew that and as soon as they realized how hard Mrsha was struggling, Erill told her to free one Gnoll in each cage. She grew grass in all of their locks and then cast [Wild Growth] almost as an afterthought. The shackles snapped, making several Raskghar look up. The Gnolls winced, but the Raskghar, after seeing the Gnolls were still in their cages, growled for silence and looked away.

But now the Gnolls were free. And though only one Gnoll in each cage was free, that meant a lot. They slowly straightened, flexing their arms, and then, at Erill’s urgent instructions, pretended to be shackled again. There were eight free and Mrsha was so tired she had to lie back against her cage.

“Rest, child. Rest! Perfom the spell again when you have strength!”

Erill urged her. Mrsha lay back and rested. Soon she had the energy to try again. It wasn’t as if [Grow Grass] was a taxing spell. The difficulty was convincing the metal to make grass. But the cost wasn’t high to Mrsha. Soon, the little cracking sound of Gnoll shackles breaking was background noise. Perhaps only the Cave Goblins noticed, because they glanced over now and then at the Gnolls, looking confused.

Twelve. Then nineteen. Then twenty three. At twenty seven, Mrsha fainted. She woke up hearing the Gnolls urgently calling her name. She sat up and realized she had a nosebleed. And that she was sprawled out. She hastily pretended to be shackled and heard Erill’s voice.

“We cannot make her do any more spells today. Later! Let her rest! We must find her food!”

“But if the Raskghar try to sacrifice more tonight—”

“We will see. But they may not! If they do—if not, we will do it tomorrow. Tomorrow! Let the child rest!”

Erill turned to the others. Mrsha lay back against her cell. She didn’t expect anything else, but then she heard a whisper.

“Thank you.”

“Our thanks.”

“Magic. White one, thank you.”

“Thank you. Mrsha.”

Erill looked at Mrsha. He lowered his head, looking ashamed. That made Mrsha’s tail wag just a bit. She’d forgotten the pain. Forgotten her situation. She had done it! She was saving the Gnolls! Over half were freed. And that just left the cage doors. And the cages weren’t that strong. The Raskghar had built them out of wood and hide—not precious metal. They could escape! If they had time, an opening.

And then Calruz returned. The Minotaur stomped into the Raskghar camp, looking more bad-tempered than usual. He snapped at the Raskghar and sent them scampering. Then he stared at the awakened.

“I have decided not to perform any sacrifices tonight.”

The Raskghar stared at him. They looked at Ceria, who was standing behind Calruz. The Gnolls looked up hopefully. Nokha, the female who seemed to lead the Raskghar, growled questioningly.

“Chieftain, why? Awakened are strong. Serve you. Why stop ritual?”

Calruz grunted.

“I will reward those I deem worthy. In my time. It is my decision.”

“But—”

The Minotaur rounded on Nokha.

“My decision! Or do you question my orders?”

Mrsha, staring out of her cage, wondered if Nokha would. Her ears flattened and the other awakened tensed ever-so-slightly. But then Nokha bowed her head.

“No Chieftain, of course not.”

That was a lie. Mrsha smelled it. And she could see that the Minotaur knew it too. And the Raskghar knew that the Minotaur knew. They glanced at each other and Mrsha felt the unspoken danger in the air as the Raskghar glanced at Ceria. The Gnolls did too and grew very still. All of them were thinking the same thing as Mrsha. Let it not be today. If it was tomorrow, it didn’t matter. The Gnolls would run and they would be safe. If it was tomorrow—

“I want to see your awakened fight. If they perform well, I may, may perform the ritual. But we shall see. Prepare yourselves. We enter the city.”

“The city, Chieftain?”

Nokha clearly didn’t like that. She flicked her gaze to the others uncertainly.

“City is dangerous. City is—”

“These are my orders. Prepare!”

Calruz growled at the Raskghar. The awakened hesitated. One flicked his ear at Nokha. She was staring at Calruz and at Ceria, her eyes narrowed. She didn’t move right away.

“I said, prepare. Are you deaf? Or blind?”

The Minotaur’s eyes started to turn red. He raised his arm and the awakened and all the Raskghar in the room tensed. Mrsha saw Ceria’s eyes go wide. If he struck Nokha—

Goblins, Gnolls, and Raskghar held their breath as Calruz’s fist rose. Nokha was snarling, waiting for the blow to fall. Calruz raised his arm high, looking past Nokha, at the Raskghar behind her. His hand hovered near his head, a fist. Near the handle of his axe. He paused—

And then slowly, lowered his hand. Nokha looked up, surprised. Then she saw the look on Calruz’s face.

Fear. The Minotaur was not furious. The red in his eyes slowly faded. His arm lowered and he stared past Nokha. Past the Raskghar. At an entrance to the camp. At something poking out around the doorway. Slowly, all of the Raskghar turned. And they froze too.

A head stared into the Raskghar camp. A head. On a stick. A little Cave Goblin’s head stared blankly at the assembled Raskghar and Calruz. Mrsha, staring at it, felt her hair stand on end.

“What is that?”

Ceria’s whisper was completely audible throughout the camp. Calruz backed up slowly. He whispered.

“Facestealer. Snatcher.”

The Raskghar backed up as one. Calruz turned. Ceria was opening her mouth. And her hand was raised. He grabbed her, covering her mouth with one arm and yanking her hand away.

“Silence.”

The Minotaur’s voice was a bare whisper. The Raskghar looked at each other and then rushed. Not for the exits, but for the cages. The Gnoll cages. Mrsha saw them rush at her and nearly ran. The Gnolls froze as the Raskghar opened their cages. They looked at Elirr. He shook his head just once before the Raskghar were inside. They didn’t seize the Gnolls, though. Instead, to Mrsha’s bewilderment, the Raskghar immediately covered the Gnoll’s mouths!

To prevent them from making a sound. The Raskghar hadn’t noticed some of the Gnolls were free. They covered the Gnoll’s mouths and pressed their arms into their throats, practically choking the Gnolls so they couldn’t speak. The Raskghar stared at the entrance to the room. Mrsha held very, very still, but none of the Raskghar moved towards her. Why?

Cave Goblins stood together with the Raskghar. They stared at the head on the stick. It was just staring. Eyes blank, mouth a bit open. A Cave Goblins’ head. And then another head appeared. A Raskghar’s head, mounted on another stick. It stared ahead.

No one moved. That seemed to be what the Raskghar wanted. They froze, holding the Gnolls. Stiff as statues. Mrsha didn’t understand what they were afraid of, but she sensed the danger. If they moved, if they made sound, whatever was holding the sticks would come out. And it was terrible, she had no doubt.

A minute passed like that. Then five. A third head joined the other two, another Raskghar, and then a fourth. All the heads looked…fresh. Very fresh. None of the Raskghar or Goblins moved. Calruz held Ceria and they stared at the heads. Waiting for whatever was there to go away.

No one could speak. The Gnolls were being held silent, and the Cave Goblins and Raskghar held deathly still as the heads on the sticks rotated left and right in a grotesque parody of sight. Mrsha, silent, saw the Raskghar beginning to relax. Maybe this was a good sign? One of the awakened, Nokha herself, was holding Erill. She shifted as she relaxed. Her arm jostled Erill’s shackles. And they came apart.

For one second Mrsha thought Nokha wouldn’t notice. Erill scrambled to put the pieces together. The Raskghar shifted, looked down, and froze. She stared at the broken shackles. Then she stared at Erill. The old Gnoll’s eyes were wide. The other Raskghar looked disbelieving, and then they noticed that half the Gnoll’s shackles were undone too. They froze, and then changed their grips. Now the Gnolls were held tight, with no chance of escape.

Mrsha felt despair enter her. She stared helplessly at Erill, who was struggling now, to speak or move. He could do neither. Nokha was snarling, and her grip on Erill was tightening. He looked past her, at Mrsha, desperately. She saw the knowledge in his eyes. Death. Death and doom. They’d tried so hard, she’d tried so hard. But it was all for naught.

It wasn’t fair. Mrsha wanted to cry. She felt tears leaking from her eyes and swiped at them. She wanted to say something. Why was it not fair? But she had no voice. No voice. She stared at the heads on a stick. She wished the monster would come in and devour them all. Then the Raskghar would be dead. She looked at Erill. And then her eyes widened.

None of the Raskghar had bothered with Mrsha. Because they’d heard Ceria. Mrsha was mute. But that was a part truth. A lie. And as Erill stared despairingly at Mrsha, he realized the same thing. Mrsha sat up. She let the shackles fall. They clanged noisily and the Raskghar looked over. They growled in fury and one came towards the cage to stop Mrsha from making a noise. But the Raskghar was more concerned with keeping his eyes on the heads on sticks, which had turned towards the noise.

And Erill was looking at Mrsha. Just looking. She locked eyes with him. Mrsha heard a voice, from Vakk. She heard his cry.

“Let it be an end to all of us! Gnolls, the cursed Raskghar! Bring death, Doombringer! Use your power and destroy these ancient monsters!”

He had told Mrsha to end the Raskghar. As if she had the power to cause this. As if this was her fault. Well, Mrsha had no power. None that she could control. But she did have one thing. And this was right. Let there be an end. To the Raskghar, to their tribe, to all the misery and hate of it all. Mrsha saw Erill nod. So she sat back on her haunches. The Raskghar was fumbling with the lock, cursing quietly. Too late.

Mrsha looked around, at Ceria, at Calruz, at the Gnoll and Raskghar. She sat back. The small Gnoll drew in all the air in the world and held it, her lungs bursting for one second. Then she threw back her head and howled.

The sound was piercing, loud, pure. It was a howl of grief, of rage, of loss. It was a call to battle, of warning. It was the loudest sound in the world and it echoed in the room the Raskghar had called home. The heads on the stick had been retreating, pulling back. But as the howl pierced the silence of the dungeon, it woke monsters from their slumber, attracted the attention of what held the heads on a stick, and the ears of the Hobgoblins walking stealthily down a corridor.

And then the heads on a stick appeared. One by one. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. They popped out past the edge of the door frame and stared. The blank eyes of the dead Goblins and Raskghar looked at Mrsha. Straight at her. And then something came around the edge of the door.

The world went black. Mrsha found herself lying on the ground. She didn’t know what happened, but she couldn’t get up. She was paralyzed. From her angle on the floor she could see Raskghar slumped over, and Cave Goblins. And the Gnolls and Calruz and Ceria too. They all lay on the ground, eyes wide, staring, helpless.

And something walked into the room. It was tall, wide. A torso of brown without a head. Two staring dark sockets. Two huge clawed hands which each held four heads on a stick. And a bloody bag hanging from its arm. The thing had a hide of brown skin, but it looked—wrong. Parts of it looked lumpy, as if it had been bigger. But in places the hide had been burnt away, revealing yellow innards or bone. The thing looked damaged. But that just made it more terrible.

Snatcher entered the Raskghar camp, looking around. Holding the bag of heads. It stared at Mrsha. It walked forwards. The Raskghar lay helpless. The Gnolls lay helpless. Mrsha lay on the ground, her wand inches from her paw. She couldn’t move. Snatcher appeared by her cage. He moved incredibly fast, or she’d passed out for a moment. He bent down and looked at her, two hollow eye sockets. Mrsha bared her teeth. It was all she could do.

And then she heard a voice. It was higher-pitched than normal, desperate, but oh, it was glorious.

“Back away from Mrsha, Snatcher. And look this way.”

Snatcher turned. A piece of ice flew and shattered on its face. The thing didn’t recoil. It stood very still. Ceria, panting, aimed her skeletal hand again. Another [Ice Spike] shot across the room and shattered as it struck Facestealer’s front. Again, the monster didn’t respond. It seemed surprised. It shuffled forwards, and Ceria raised her hand.

Take this!

She shot five [Ice Spikes] at once. The five pieces of ice shot at Facestealer. Four broke on his brown hide. The fifth struck the yellow flesh exposed by his missing skin. And drew blood. Snatcher had no head to turn, so he couldn’t look down at the black blood running from his side. But he clearly felt it. Mrsha felt her arms and paws move. She scrambled up. Snatcher raised its oversized arms and charged Ceria without a word, incredibly fast. She backed up and screamed.

Run!

The Gnolls were getting up. The Raskghar were trying to rise, but they were both equally weak. Mrsha grabbed Ceria’s wand and threw herself against the bars of the cage. Calruz was roaring. Cave Goblins and Raskghar were trying to surround Facestealer. It swung its arms and the Goblins and Raskghar collapsed, paralyzed again. Ceria staggered, but she didn’t fall. She raised her hand and shot another projectile of ice at Facestealer, striking its exposed parts.

“Run!”

And the Gnolls were on their feet. Erill kicked Nokha as he rammed past her. He was out of his cage! More Gnolls were running, trying to drag those with shackles still on with them. Others just ran. The Raskghar were concerned with Facestealer. Mrsha ran about her cage, trying to force the bars open. But she was too weak! She saw the Gnolls running—and then saw a shape run at her.

Erill smashed into her cage. He seized the wooden bars and tore them apart with desperate strength. He reached inside and Mrsha leapt up. The Gnoll grabbed her as Nokha and the other Raskghar rose. The awakened Raskghar pointed at the two.

“Capture!”

“Fight off Snatcher! To me!”

Calruz roared as he tried to charge Facestealer with a body that only half-worked. Erill fled with Mrsha in his arms. Behind him, Nokha and several awakened Raskghar gave chase. Erill panted, his lungs heaving as he tried to run. He dashed out of one of the camp entrances, running down the corridor as fast as he could as the Raskghar pursued. Mrsha clung to him.

They would probably die. They would probably be captured. But for one glorious moment, oh for one second, they were free. Erill looked down at Mrsha. He smiled.

“Doombringer.”

It was the same word. But somehow it meant something different when he said it. Mrsha smiled. And then she howled again. Home. She called for home and the Gnolls howled with her. They were going home.

One way or another.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – Niers

“I can’t believe it. I can’t. Is it a message? A code? Were they just bored? Or—something else?”

“Mm. I don’t know.”

“It has to be something. It can’t just be nothing. I have to know what it means.”

“You agree it means something, don’t you? Foliana? Foliana?

The Squirrel-tribe Beastkin looked up. Foliana, leader of the Forgotten Wing Company, head of one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros, and world-famous assassin known as Three-Color Stalker, looked up. She was eating a plate of spaghetti. In a hot tub.

Foliana was a squirrel. Or rather, a squirrel with decidedly humanoid features but still evidently a squirrel. Just larger. She was of the Beastkin, the furred people of Baleros who resembled animals. Naturally, Foliana was of the Squirrel tribe. Her eyes were remarkable; the pupils were a mix of three distinct colors, bright red-pink, dreamy yellow, and clear green.

The rest of Foliana’s body was bland. In fact, so bland that she was often overlooked when people were standing right next to her. And if Foliana so chose, she could literally turn invisible. She wasn’t invisible now. She was sitting in a hot tub, her fur damp, as steam rose about her. And floating across from her in the water, staring at a miniature chess board upon which spectral chess pieces sat was Niers Astoragon. The Titan.

He was a Fraerling, a race of tiny people. He was also the second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing Company and considered to be one of, if not the greatest [Strategists] living. He floated in the hot tub, staring at the chess pieces that until recently had been moving and playing a game of chess all without his involvement.

“They played for over half a day and then just stopped. Dozens of chess games, all against themselves. At least, I think against themselves. The quality of their play was phenomenal. I can’t imagine they had an opponent of that level.”

“Mhm.”

Foliana slurped spaghetti off her plate. It was floating in a wooden bowl and she had a fork. The spaghetti had an ink-sauce that the Lizardfolk liked on top of it and there was a meatball.

If it seemed extraordinary that Foliana was eating spaghetti despite not having known of Italy or Earth for that matter, it shouldn’t have been. After all, there were only so many ways to make pasta and meatballs were meat…balls. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.

Now, if Foliana had called the dish spaghetti, that would have been a lot of coincidences. But both she and Niers knew the dish as a Dullahan favorite called Damcli Noodles. With meatballs. It was just that anyone from Earth would recognize the dish as spaghetti if they were in the room. Which they weren’t.

It was Foliana’s second bowl of spaghetti too. She slurped up more noodles as Niers stared at the chess board, waiting for his mysterious opponent to make another move. He didn’t seem to mind that Foliana was dripping ink sauce into the hot tub and the occasional noodle. Neither did she. She was eating spaghetti. Muffins were dead. Spaghetti was all.

“I just don’t understand. What do you think?”

Niers looked up hopefully. It was his and Foliana’s custom to have a hot bath after a campaign. They’d just finished a dirty series of skirmishes in one of the swampier regions of Baleros, which made the bath doubly important. Although Baleros was hot and humid, people preferred hot baths. It was a luxury and it provided several useful benefits if you had a bath Balerosian-style.

That meant the water was hot enough to scald, which meant it was hot enough to kill leeches and other parasites. And Baleros had plenty of bugs and objectionable things that liked to infest the body. So Niers and Foliana were bathing, as many did. Naked.

In Foliana’s case there wasn’t much to see due to the fur. There wasn’t much to see in Niers’ case, but that was only because he was tiny. Neither Niers nor Foliana was embarrassed or even conscious of their nudity, but it had been remarked upon. Foliana began to eat her meatball as she replied to Niers.

“I think it’s weird that none of your students want to bathe with us. Mm.”

Niers sighed. But Foliana had answered his question in her own particular way. He shrugged, letting his body sink down a bit more into the water. Fraerlings were natural floaters, given that there really wasn’t much weight for them to sink with.

“They’re nervous. Even my oldest students don’t want to share a hot tub. And I think you scare them.”

“Mm. Not all of them. Some didn’t want to join us because of the naked thing. Why?”

The tiny man shrugged.

“Other continents don’t practice mixed bathing. Or nude bathing. Or bathing at all, for that matter. It depends on the culture, but I don’t think that bathing together is a custom in Izril, Chandrar, or Terandria.”

“Weird.”

“Only to us. I’ve heard of foreigners insisting on wearing clothing into the water.”

“Why?”

Niers grinned, forgetting about the chess board for one moment.

“I think they’re afraid to see each other’s genitals. Especially Terandrians. I met a group of noblemen once who nearly fainted at the idea of seeing each other naked.”

“Why? Are they afraid of seeing something scary?”

“Or being seen, I suspect. The noblewomen were far more relaxed about the idea. They even invited me to join them.”

“Naked?”

“I suspect I was less threatening due to my size. Not that their husbands seemed to think so. Anyways, you won’t get my students to join me. Half are too afraid I’ll ask them a question they can’t answer or you’ll stab them—”

“Why?”

“—And the other half is too embarrassed. A shame; I thought Venaz would join us at least, but Minotaurs are surprisingly prudish. Not about seeing each other nude, but he refused to get in the tub with anyone of the opposite sex.”

“Mm…”

“He’s male.”

“Ah.”

Foliana nodded and slurped from her bowl of noodles. She knew who Venaz was of course. She’d met Niers’ students who attended his [Strategist] academy. And she had a very clear image of the Minotaur in her head. But the fact that he was big, muscular, and had a deep voice hadn’t helped her that much. He could have been a flat-chested female Minotaur. You never knew.

Niers realized he’d gotten sidetracked. He scowled and paddled over to his chessboard, which had floated away from him in the hot water.

“Enough about bathing. Back to the game. What do you think? About that.”

“I think it’s weird that your chessboard floats in the water. Mhm.”

The Fraerling glared up at his old friend, but with resignation. Foliana had an odd way of thinking. It was circular and she bounced from idea to idea and was surprisingly stubborn about changing lines of thought.

“Why? It’s a practical thing, to have a floating chessboard. Especially if I want to play while bathing. Like now.”

“But everything you have floats.”

That was true. Almost all of Niers’ possessions that were in any way valuable floated. His map case, his bag of holding, even his sword’s handle was made of highly buoyant wood that would allow it to float in the water. Niers grimaced.

“I’ve told you this before. Fraerlings like to make things that float. It rains in Baleros, if you hadn’t noticed. And if you’ve lost your sword or something valuable, the last thing you want to do is dive into a freshwater sea eight feet deep and try to retrieve it while fish and frogs try to swallow you whole.”

“Mm. So you don’t like ponds.”

“I’m six inches tall. Of course I don’t like ponds! Now will you tell me what you think about the game?”

“…This game?”

Niers splashed water at Foliana. She lifted her spaghetti bowl and kept eating, undeterred. After a few seconds, Niers began talking half to himself and half to Foliana.

“You don’t understand it. But you don’t play chess. I do. Dead gods, people think I invented the game. But this? Look at this!”

He waved a trembling hand at the chess board. Foliana looked into her bowl. It was empty. And the water was cooling. She decided she was done with her bath. She got out as Niers talked.

“My opponent—he—she—it—played twenty six games. All master-class games! At speed! Against themselves! Are they trying to tell me I’m not on their level? Or—was this a demonstration? Are there two players of that quality in this world? Selphid’s tits, tell me there are.”

Foliana paused in toweling herself off.

“Selphids have tits?”

Niers sighed. He rubbed at his face. He had grey and black hair and a sharp beard. And an irked expression. He looked up and glared.

“Selphids don’t have tits, Foliana. You know that. You’ve heard the expression before.”

“Mm. Yes. But how do you know that?”

Foliana waited, but she only heard a sigh.

“Pass me a towel, would you?”

The Squirrel-woman delicately picked up a tiny piece of fabric and passed it to Niers as he climbed out of the tub. She lifted his chess board up and set it on a table before doing the same to Niers. He industriously dried himself—his towel was spelled to absorb moisture and made of the highest-quality cotton grown on Baleros.

Foliana was using a much cheaper towel. She’d probably acquired it from someone else’s bathroom in the citadel. The former palace turned into living quarters for the Forgotten Wing company was their home when not on campaign.

“Selphids look like blobs. You know that. They don’t have tits. And yes, I’ve seen that first-hand.”

“Lewd. Mm. What would the children say?”

“They’re the ones that taught me that expression.”

Niers looked around for some clothes and walked across his table towards them. He walked past his bed, personal belongings, and a small library of books which had all been arranged on the table Foliana was sitting at. Eating a third bowl of spaghetti. This one was flavored with pieces of seaweed and a pink, sweet glaze sauce to cut the saltiness.

“So your mysterious opponent played a lot of games.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Foliana saw Niers glance at his chess board as he came back, throwing on a pair of leggings and hose.

“And now someone else has a hold of it. An idiot, by the looks of things.”

Someone was moving the magical chess pieces. Only, they weren’t playing a game with them. Many pairs of hands were piling up the chess pieces on top of each other. Niers sighed.

“Someone else has the chess board. Damn! But who?”

They were making a tower out of the magical chess pieces. It had to be children. Niers stared glumly at the board as the tower fell over and then was quickly reassembled. He shook his head. Foliana looked interested for the first time.

“Looks like fun. Can I help?”

“No.”

“Mm.”

The Squirrel Beastkin didn’t look too disappointed. Because she already had a normal-sized chessboard and was piling up the chess pieces to make her own tower. Niers eyed it balefully but let it go. For now.

“I just don’t know what they were doing. They had to know I’d see what was happening. Right? Or they’d do this with another chess board. Unless they’re too poor to—no, they’d have sold the magical chessboard. This is a message. It must be. But what? It could be a code, but it was too fast for me to decipher. Or just a display of abilities? Maybe…”

Foliana paused in piling up a rook on top of her very tall tower of chess pieces.

“Mm. You should stop.”

“Stop? Stop what?”

“Pacing. And acting lovesick.”

She looked at Niers. He was indeed pacing around the magical chessboard, which was tiny compared to the duplicate he’d had made and sent across the world to his mysterious opponent. Niers stopped pacing.

“I’m not lovesick.”

“Yes you are. This is bad. Worse than the time you travelled to Terandria. Remember?”

Niers gritted his teeth and colored.

“I’d rather not.”

“It was when you thought there was a [Lady]. Mm. Who was a strategic genius. Remember?”

“Yes. Please stop talking.”

“And it turned out it was the Lord of the Dance instead?”

The Titan turned beet red and shouted.

“How was I supposed to know it was him? He never mentioned his name! And the stationary he sent me was perfumed!

“Mhm. You were lovesick then too. You had flowers.”

Niers Astoragon had made his enemies weep. He’d broken armies with nothing more than a quill and ink and a bit of bark to write on. He’d defeated one of the King of Destruction’s Seven and fought other Great Companies. But only Foliana could make him cover his eyes in sheer embarrassment.

“It was a mistake. And this isn’t the same.”

“Really?”

For a second Niers contemplated going over to kick Foliana’s bowl of spaghetti into her lap. He looked up sharply and saw Foliana’s tri-color stare looking right back. That was the last thing many people saw. And Niers’ anger slowly subsided. Because Foliana didn’t look like she was making a joke.

“Go on.”

The Squirrel-woman nodded. She slurped down a noodle and balanced a pawn at the top of her tower, which was several times Niers’ height. The magical chessboard’s tower kept falling over due to poor structural design.

“You used to play chess with your mysterious mage friend from Wistram. You were lovesick. Or obsessed. Mm. Close enough.”

Niers scowled darkly.

“I stopped that.”

“Yes. After you found out it was half the mages in Wistram working together to play you.”

“It was fairly obvious after all the gossip started. Mages can’t keep their mouths shut. What’s your point?”

“You could have kept going. But you stopped. Because it wasn’t one person.”

“No. It wasn’t. I thought it was Archmage Feor. He played the first few games, but he’s not at my level. Not without using predictive magics and boosting his mind, I think. It could have been another of the Archmages…so what?”

“You’re lonely.”

Foliana’s words made Niers pause. Then he shook his head.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m not, Foliana. I live in a citadel filled with people. I meet people all the time.”

“Subordinates. Other people. Not [Strategists]. Doesn’t matter. You’re lonely. No one you meet is as good as you.”

“At chess? That’s not—”

“At anything you do.”

Niers fell silent. He stroked his beard silently, and Foliana went on. Her eyes were focused as she stared at Niers around the chess tower.

“You’re lonely. You want to meet someone like you. But you never have. And you’re afraid to meet this person or find out who they are. In case you’re disappointed.”

The Titan scowled. That was the problem with Foliana. She was vague one second, and then focused the next. Rather like how she operated in everything, actually.

“What are you, my personal [Healer]?”

“Nope.”

Niers sighed. He paced away from the chessboard and came back after a moment. He spread his arms, looking up at Foliana seriously.

“I’m fine. I have students. I have a career. We built this company—I don’t want for excitement.”

“But you’re lonely.”

“Yes, damn it! Will you stop saying that? What does it matter? You don’t seem lonely and I know you don’t have anyone in your life!”

Foliana blinked at Niers.

“It matters because you’re you. You like people. You need people. I don’t. Someday I’ll retire. Go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. Cottage in the jungle perhaps. Be alone. I don’t need people. You do.”

Niers grumbled. He flushed, kicked the chess board and upset a lot of Cave Goblins across the world, and then gave in.

“Fine. So what if I’m lonely? I have my opponent. I can find out who they are. I just choose not to. I don’t want to be spoiled. I want to have this and not have it ruined. Is that too much?”

He pointed to the chess board. The chess pieces were righting themselves on the board, which had flipped back over. Foliana shrugged.

“Not too much. But stop complaining.”

She began eating again and Niers realized he’d been talking to her all throughout their bath, and before that. And he’d brought up his mysterious chess opponent…well, a lot of times. He’d probably talked for at least three hours this time.

“Very well. I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

“And I will be able to play more games soon, you know. I had a new board and pieces commissioned. It took a while, but this new ‘Go’ game should be delivered to them soon.”

Foliana scratched her head. The game of ‘Go’ was sweeping across Baleros, in no small part thanks to Niers, whose love of the game had put a spotlight on it. It had even received attention from those who followed such things in other continents, although Olesm’s name had not been connected to the game. Niers had been inaccurately credited with creating the game. Again. And this time it wasn’t even his fault.

“It’ll take a while for it to arrive. But I’d bet half my fortune that it was my opponent who taught the game to this Olesm Swifttail to begin with. It’s too much of a coincidence. I know they’re in Liscor, or thereabouts.”

Foliana tilted her head.

“Why will it take a while to arrive? You hired a Courier.”

“Yes. But I had to prepare several fake boards, send a bunch of duplicate messages, you know how it goes.”

“Paranoid.”

“Not at all. I am being watched and this would attract a lot of attention. It’s a sensible precaution.”

“And fun.”

The Fraerling smiled.

“Immensely. I enjoy watching all the [Spies] and [Informants] scurry about and reveal themselves. And spreading gossip. I have a mind to send one of the Go boards to the King of Destruction. Although that might be too politically dangerous.”

“Mm. Send it to the woman with flowers.”

“Reinhart? She’d make it a talking point or use it against me somehow. Some people are too dangerous to play games around. Maybe I’ll send it to the Wistram mages. With itching powder.”

“Okay. And you’re not going to find out what the chess games mean? Or who your opponent is in Liscor?”

Niers hesitated. He visibly struggled with himself, and then scowled at the magical chess board.

“No. Not yet. But Liscor is on my watch list for other reasons. Here. Stop eating those noodles and look at this.”

Niers gestured to Foliana. Then he eyed the tower of chess pieces she’d built. He walked over and kicked the support rook out of place. The entire tower of chess pieces crashed down around him. Niers leapt out of the way as a pawn narrowly missed his head. The Fraerling breathed out shakily.

“Jungle rot.”

“That wasn’t very smart. You’re supposed to be smart.”

“Are you coming or not?”

Niers stomped over to his collection of maps. They were quite large and not Fraerling-sized, which was to say Foliana-sized. That was because [Cartographers] willing to illustrate a tiny piece of parchment with a needle were rare and because Niers didn’t mind the larger maps. He could walk over them and inspect them from every angle. The three-dimensional ones that were magical were even more fun.

A map of Izril was laid out on the table. Niers walked onto it and began pointing out details to Foliana. He had a number of pieces on the map. Pins and little flags with notes written on them. Small notes for Foliana, which meant big lists of details all in Niers’ neat handwriting.

“You know they have a Goblin Lord over there. And that there was that attack on Liscor from the dungeon. Well, I have news about the Goblin Lord and the dungeon.”

“Dungeon first. What’s new? Another attack?”

The Titan nodded.

“Something like that. I haven’t received another letter from that [Tactician] in Liscor. Olesm Swifttail, I think. Neither have my students. And reports are spotty—the Walled Cities are keeping a tight grip on things—but it sounds like something’s happening over there.”

“Monsters?”

Niers nodded. He walked across the mountain range that was the High Passes and stared down at Liscor.

“I’d bet my hats on it. A Gold-rank dungeon next to a city’s a recipe for disaster. And this one’s a vengeance dungeon by all accounts. I wish I could see it—”

“Go find your opponent while you’re at it.”

Niers ignored that. He studied the map and shook his head.

“It can’t be good. Especially since I heard a group of Gold-rank adventurers travelled from Pallass to Liscor via that door we saw. Amazing thing. That’s a useful treasure.”

“We have teleporter mages.”

“And that’s a powerful artifact that can do far more than just teleport, Foliana. I’d pay—no, never mind. I’d never get it back here without it being stolen, Couriers or no. That poor [Innkeeper] will lose it soon, if not to Wistram then to someone else raiding her inn for it. Where was I? The dungeon. Something’s going on. It could be like the one we found, you know.”

He looked up meaningfully at Foliana. She paused for the first time.

“If it is, they’re dead.”

“Probably. I just wonder how my opponent—no, forget it. Don’t poke me with that fork. The second bit of news that I can speculate on is this: the Goblin Lord’s been defeated.”

“Really? I didn’t hear that.”

Foliana didn’t pay attention to worldwide news. She relied on Niers to tell her everything, which was a wise move because Niers had a network of information that spanned the world. The Fraerling nodded.

“The reports are that Lord Tyrion Veltras—he’s one of the foremost [Lords] of Izril, one of the Five Families—assembled a massive army of Humans and assaulted them at a mountain. Here. And apparently he hired the Kingslayer’s team to help him defeat the Goblins. They chased the Great Chieftain and Goblin Lord out of the mountain and are pursuing them.”

“Oh. I did hear about that. One of your students was telling the others something like that.”

Niers smiled, for a moment becoming a proud teacher.

“Really? What did they say? I’d be interested in knowing who—and how good their analysis is.”

“Mm. It was the Lizardgirl. Nervous.”

“Umina?”

“Mm.”

“Good child. What did she say?”

Foliana tilted her head side to side as she thought.

“Goblin Lord’s on the run. Lost a big battle. Apparently the Human [Lord] is very good. At…fighting? Leading? Strategy?”

The Fraerling snorted. Trust Foliana not to remember nuance. He’d go ask Umina about her thoughts later. Make her paranoid about what he knew that she knew.

“With Elia Arcsinger demoralizing the Goblins and an army larger than theirs at his back? He’d better win every battle. That’s not skill, Foliana. That’s just good preparation. Mind you, he hasn’t engaged them yet. He’s running them away from their fortress. And that’s curious because I know the man.”

“During the Second Antinium War?”

“Yes. I met him briefly—he was younger—but I’ve been to a few gatherings. Always on Izril. He never travels. And I know reports of the man.”

“Does he like Damcli Noodles?”

Niers looked up.

“No. And I don’t think he has a favorite food. I didn’t care for him. He’s everything I don’t like about Humans. Well, about every species that has men like that, really. But he is a good leader. He can choose when to fight and he hasn’t engaged yet. There are a few reasons why that could be.”

Niers studied the map. He traced the speculative arrows he’d drawn leading away from the mountain and eyed the nearby cities. Invrisil, a section of the map he’d planted a big flag next to and written ‘Emperor?’ on in huge letters. Then he snapped his fingers and grinned.

“Ah. I see what he might be doing.”

“Fast. Sure?”

Foliana spoke around a mouthful of noodles. Niers nodded.

“It’s a good strategy. If it’s what I think he’s doing. I’d say it’s clever, too. It might work. And if it does…well, we might get some work in Izril if things go really poorly. Or well. Otherwise, we won’t be bothered. I doubt his enemies will notice it before it’s too late.”

“But you did. In seventeen seconds. Why?”

The Titan sighed.

“Because everyone’s an idiot? Or because I’ve seen this before. A variation, anyways. I keep telling my students that part of good strategy is just experience. Everyone tries the same little tricks without realizing they’re doing the exact same things over and over again. Depressing, really. And people wonder why I drink.”

“Because you’re an alcoholic?”

The Fraerling raised a finger.

“If the world was filled with an unlimited supply of any alcohol you wanted for a few silver coins, what would you do? There’s a reason why most Fraerlings who visit the city develop bad habits. You big people make things far too cheap for us.”

“Okay. What’s Veltras’s plan?”

Niers hesitated. He stroked his chin and wavered.

“I have a theory. But I’d rather not share it. Hold on. Let me write this down.”

He searched around and came back with a quill and ink. Foliana watched him scribble on a piece of paper, writing large so she could see it. Then Niers bent down and folded the paper. He handed it up to Foliana.

“You can open that in, oh, ten day’s time or so. And if I’m right…hey, stop that!”

Foliana was already opening the paper. She ignored Niers throwing his ink pot at her and read. She nodded, her tail moving a bit with interest.

“Hmm. Oh, makes sense. Hmm. Obvious when you think about it. This is good.”

“It was supposed to be a secret! I could be wrong, you know!”

Niers fumed. Foliana shrugged.

“Don’t think so. Sounds right.”

“Well, give it back. It’s no use now. I shouldn’t have written it down without warding it anyways. You could be scryed.”

“Good joke.”

“Even you could be. Come on.”

Niers held up his hands, but Foliana hesitated. She looked at the paper and then smiled slightly.

“Won’t. I’m going to show all your students so they’ll be really impressed. They’ll keep the secret, mhm. But be impressed.”

What? Absolutely not! Give that back Foliana, right now!”

The Fraerling leapt surprisingly high, but Foliana stepped back from the table and that was that. She retreated to Niers’ door.

“Going to show them now. Bye.”

She faded from view. But Niers knew she was there and he saw his door open. He roared in fury.

Dead gods damn it, Foliana! Give that back!”

She made no reply. She was moving and Niers had known Foliana for so long that he could vaguely guess where she was. And where she was going. He leapt from his table, landing lightly on the ground and raced after Foliana. For a small person his voice was very loud.

“Get back here! I could be wrong! This is my reputation on the line! Foliana! [Rapid Advance]!”

He charged after Foliana. She ran through the citadel, and Niers’ students and his subordinates and staff were treated to the Titan running after his commander through the hallways, furiously shouting at her. But Foliana didn’t slow. She ran on, smiling. And despite Niers’ escalating threats, he was smiling too. They were, after all, friends. So Foliana ran and Niers chased.

She was still naked.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.44

They ran. The Gnolls of Liscor fled the Raskghar camp as Snatcher fought the Raskghar. Mrsha could hear Ceria shouting, hear the screams and snarls. But it was the howl that filled her. The Gnolls howled as they ran into the tunnels, fleeing. Some of the Raskghar gave chase, but the Gnolls ran. They ran into monsters, into traps, dead ends. Fleeing, howling, dying.

Free. Mrsha felt Elirr gasping, heard his lungs struggling as he ran with her in his arms. The Gnoll ran down a corridor. Neither he nor Mrsha knew where they were going. Neither one cared. She was a child, a cub from a plains tribe and he was a City Gnoll, far older. She had white fur. His was dark grey. But it didn’t matter. Right here, right now, they were both Gnolls. Mrsha howled and heard Elirr howl as well. The other Gnolls howled, sounding their locations.

Danger ahead. The Gnoll who cried out howled her death. Elirr hesitated and then ran left, down another tunnel. More Gnolls howled, calling out. The Raskghar were chasing them! And Mrsha heard the sounds of pursuit behind her.

They couldn’t catch her. Better that she be eaten by a monster than be caught and sacrificed. Better to step on a trap. Better—Mrsha held her wand tightly. She didn’t want to die. But at least she wouldn’t be alone. That was a terrible thing.

“Where—”

Elirr’s voice was cracked. He stopped as he came to another intersection. He and Mrsha stared ahead. Three passageways, one leading up, the other two going left and right. Something moved in the right passageway. Elirr ran left. Behind him there was a howl. But it wasn’t a Raskghar. Mrsha moved, shifting her head. She saw a shape bounding towards them, recognized the scent, the form.

Nokha. First of the awakened. Elirr gasped as Mrsha grabbed him tighter. He turned his head and ran faster. It wasn’t just Nokha—three other Raskghar were following. And by the sounds of it, at least a dozen more Raskghar were behind them. So many! They were all coming for her, Mrsha knew.

“I can’t—”

Elirr’s lungs strained as he stumbled. He ran down a corridor, leapt over a patch of dungeon that smelled of fire to Mrsha, and then froze. Something was coming down the tunnel. Elirr hesitated—

A howl rang out ahead of them. Elirr and Mrsha looked and saw a group of Gnolls. They froze when they saw the two.

“We grew lost! That way. Is it—”

Run! The Raskghar follow!”

Elirr bellowed. The Gnolls whirled. There were at least sixteen of them. A few of the younger ones howled a warning; the rest just ran. And the Raskghar slowly caught up.

They were healthy, strong. The Gnolls had been confined for days and starved. Without the head start, the Gnolls would have already been caught. But it was only a matter of time.

Nokha was fastest. She bounded towards Elirr and Mrsha, snarling. The Gnolls howled and then one fell back. He was younger, and smelled of glue. A [Fletcher]? Mrsha saw him look back, and then brace himself.

Run!

He howled as he charged Nokha and the Raskghar. The other Gnolls howled as he bought them time. Mrsha saw the young Gnoll charge the Raskghar, swinging a fist. Nokha leapt and bore him to the ground. She subdued him with two brutal blows and the other Raskghar hauled the Gnoll up. Quick as a flash, the Raskghar were chasing again.

Seconds. The Gnolls looked back and at each other. They might have been City Gnolls, but some had grown up outside of Liscor. They could tell how fast the Raskghar were moving.

“Keep moving!”

Elirr’s voice was strained. His heart was beating too fast. Mrsha could feel his chest heaving. The other Gnolls ran. They heard howls around them. The surviving Gnolls were congregating towards them. But fewer howls. The Raskghar chased. Mrsha stared back at Nokha. The female Raskghar bared her teeth. She was looking at Mrsha.

We are whole.

Even if she died, let it not be like that. Mrsha struggled. Elirr growled at her to keep still, but Mrsha had her wand out. She waved it. Grass shot up, a twisting little catch of grass. A snare, like the ones the Stone Spears tribe had used. She saw Nokha’s eyes widen. The snare caught the Raskghar’s foot—and she surged forwards. The grass was strong, but the Raskghar was stronger. She ran on, on all fours now.

Monsters ahead!

A Gnoll called out in despair. Mrsha felt Elirr’s breath catch. She smelled it too. A foreign scent ahead. Blood. But something familiar. The Gnolls hesitated.

“Let it be monsters, then! Run! Run! Better them than the Raskghar!”

One of the Gnolls shouted. They ran ahead. Mrsha saw a confusing sight ahead of them. It looked like dozens of monsters! Other Gnolls were howling panic and danger in ahead of them. But suddenly the notes changed. Mrsha heard the tone of the howl change. One of the howls echoed back to her.

Friend! And then Mrsha identified the scent. She saw one of the monsters look at her. It was tall. It had red eyes, a sword. Green skin. And it—he, was Headscratcher. The Hobgoblin looked up as he and the five Redfang Warriors led a group of at least a forty Cave Goblins. Several of the other Gnolls were wavering.

The Gnolls around Elirr froze when they saw the Goblins. But one of the Hobs—Numbtongue, threw up his hand before they could flee.

“Wait! Friends! Wandering Inn! Come!”

That was enough for the Gnolls. They ran past the Goblins, some nearly collapsing with relief. Elirr coughed and wheezed at Numbtongue.

“Behind us! Raskghar!”

“Run.”

The Hobs pointed. The Cave Goblins were already fleeing, screaming in terror. The Gnolls joined the rush. Mrsha saw the Hobs holding their ground. They stood in a line. Headscratcher. Rabbiteater. Shorthilt. Badarrow. Numbtongue. They looked…different.

Taller. Rabbiteater had a red cloak which swirled around his shoulders. It wasn’t cloth. It looked like liquid. And it smelled like blood. The Raskghar paused as they saw the Hobs.

“We have to—”

Elirr stumbled. Mrsha heard a Gnoll cry out in alarm, and then felt herself slipping. Elirr half-collapsed as another adult caught him. His face was twisted with pain.

“Too much! Someone help me!”

The Gnoll cried out and another younger Gnoll came. They helped Elirr, urging him to keep running. He moved mechanically—he’d pushed himself too hard to sprint while carrying Mrsha. The Gnoll tried to limp after the Gnolls, but they were moving too fast! The Cave Goblins were running ahead of them, and she couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth—

“The child!”

Someone shouted. Mrsha felt a pair of paws scoop her up. Another Gnoll grabbed Mrsha and they fled once more. Mrsha twisted. She saw the Hobs eying the Raskghar. The two sides froze. Five Hobs. Four Raskghar, including Nokha. Then thirteen. Then seventeen.

“They can’t hold them.”

One of the Gnolls gasped. She looked back as the Hobs spread out. Numbtongue had a guitar in his hand. His claws struck lightning. Badarrow loosed an arrow. Rabbiteater whirled his cloak as the Raskghar hesitated. They outnumbered the Hobs, but they were—nervous. They had never seen Hobgoblins before. Nokha growled, sniffing at the Redfang Warriors. She glanced at Mrsha and tensed.

Shorthilt’s sword shone. Headscratcher pointed.

Redfang!

The Hobs charged. The Raskghar didn’t expect that. The sounds of battle echoed behind Mrsha. She heard snarls of pain, a Goblin’s voice raised in song. The Gnolls ran.

“Where?”

“Follow—the Goblins!”

The Gnolls fled onwards. Mrsha could hear the Hobs fighting. They were standing back-to-back, trying to block the corridor. But there were so many Raskghar. She saw Headscratcher roaring. He smashed into a Raskghar, picked up the huge beast and threw the Raskghar into the other warriors. Then he turned and Nokha leapt. She slammed into Headscratcher. And she had a sword too.

The Hob was strong. He punched Nokha, making her reel back. He slashed left-right, but she was quick too. She parried the blows, their swords ringing. She moved like lightning. As Headscratcher cut down with a two-handed slash she stepped back. Her sword traced an arc. She slashed open Headscratcher’s side.

Blood flew. Mrsha heard Numbtongue cry out. Headscratcher stumbled. Blood ran from his side. He looked at the gaping wound. Then he bared his teeth. Nokha was grinning in triumph when Headscratcher’s blade cut her across the chest. She leapt back. Headscratcher advanced, screaming fury. His eyes blazed as he turned, cutting at the Raskghar who stepped back. They stared at him. Headscratcher didn’t seem to notice the blood. He whirled, stumbled—then fell. The other four Hobs closed around them.

Redfang.

This time the shout sounded different. Mrsha, held in the Gnoll’s arms as the Hobs grew more and more distant, saw them standing around Headscratcher. Rabbiteater had a potion in his hands as the other three tried to keep the Raskghar at bay. But there were so many. And Nokha had cut Shorthilt.

“Keep running.”

Erill had seen it too. He shook himself free of the other two Gnolls, ran on his own two feet. Mrsha kept staring. The Hobs were falling back. But now it was only a matter of time. They were going to die. To buy them time.

Goblins. Monsters. But they had done it for the Gnolls. Mrsha remembered what Erin had said. She stared at Headscratcher as he pushed himself up. They were running now, trying to retreat. The Raskghar pursued them.

It was no good. Mrsha looked around in despair. The Raskghar would cut the Hobs down, and then catch up. They still didn’t have enough time.

Time. Mrsha stared at the Redfang Warriors. Then she looked at the Gnoll carrying her. The female Gnoll was panting with effort. Mrsha closed her eyes. Then she moved her injured legs. She leapt.

 

—-

 

So this was it. Shorthilt parried Nokha’s glowing sword as it curved towards his neck. Because he had to. The Raskghar was too fast to let him dodge. But the cost—the Hob grunted as the impact nearly knocked the blade out of his grip. He saw the enchanted blade the awakened Raskghar carried bite into his steel sword. He cursed, stepped back.

Back.

Someone grabbed him. Shorthilt stepped back as Rabbiteater threw his cloak around them. Nokha’s sword lanced into the blood cloak, slowing slightly. The blade hissed and steam erupted from where she’d struck the cloak. The Raskghar backed up, eying the cloak as Shorthilt and Rabbiteater stumbled backwards. The other Raskghar advanced, keeping their shields up as Badarrow loosed another arrow.

Too many. The Raskghar were overwhelming. There were…fourteen of them now. A fair fight if the Hobs had the high ground or the advantage of surprise. Or the bell. But they had closed too quickly. And the female—

Shorthilt locked eyes with Nokha. She grinned at him, her blade making her eyes shine in the darkness. He straightened, and Rabbiteater patted his shoulder. For a second, the Hobs locked eyes and nodded at each other.

Five of them stood in a line. Headscratcher, barely able to stand. Rabbiteater, crimson cloak held up as a shield. Shorthilt and Numbtongue, guarding Badarrow. They waited as the Raskghar advanced slowly. Another minute. One more minute. Then the Gnolls might make it. Then they could escape. Shorthilt hoped they would. Then they could tell Erin—

For a second the Hob allowed himself to close his eyes. They snapped open as he heard something. A howl. It was high and echoing. It came from the side. He glanced back behind him with the Raskghar. And saw her.

Mrsha sat behind them. The White Gnoll sat on her haunches, staring at the Hobs. The Raskghar. Both sides paused when they saw her. Nokha’s eyes locked onto the white Gnoll. Mrsha stared at Headscratcher, at Rabbiteater, at the Hobs. Then she threw her head back and howled. The sound was mournful, long. Shorthilt had never heard Mrsha make a sound like that. He had never known she could.

Mrsha got onto all fours. She ran with something in her mouth. Her wand. She limped at first, and then ran. She dashed past the Hobs, past the Raskghar. Both tried to grab for her. But Mrsha was too quick. She leapt and dove, as if she were playing in the inn. She ran past the Raskghar and down the corridor, then left. The Raskghar turned. They stared at the Hobs, and then Nokha barked an order. They turned and ran after Mrsha.

Stop them!

Headscratcher bellowed. The Hobs advanced, but several Raskghar turned. They held the Hobs back as Nokha and eight of the Raskghar fled. And the Hobs could hear more howls. Raskghar. They were coming.

“Retreat! Back! Back!

Numbtongue was the one who said it. He grabbed Shorthilt as the Hob tried to cut past a Raskghar with a shield. Shorthilt hesitated. But Numbtongue was right. He turned, cursing in Goblin, and grabbed Rabbiteater. The three had to pull Headscratcher back despite his weakness. The Hob cursed and screamed at the Raskghar, who weren’t advancing. The beast-people stared as the Hobs began to fall back.

Alive. But more than one Hob wept tears of frustration. They stared back as they began to run, following the Cave Goblins and Gnolls. They heard a voice in the dungeon. A howl. It was desperate, tired. It came from a white Gnoll who ran as the Raskghar pursued her. Trying to buy the others time to flee. The howl echoed in the Redfang Warrior’s ears. A note of warning. Exhaustion.

But not despair. And the Gnolls paused. They looked back and howled. Dozens of voices echoed through the dungeon. They listened. The Hobs listened as they ran. They waited for an answer. But they never heard it. So they bowed their heads and ran. This time there were no pursuers.

 

—-

 

She had looked into Skinner’s eyes. She had known fear then. Ceria Springwalker had fled from him as her friends died around her. She still remembered the terror. The helpless paralysis. The despair. Now she looked at another monster just as terrible. Perhaps worse.

Snatcher. Facestealer. One of the guardians of Liscor’s dungeon. His claws were long. He carried a bloody bag of heads on sticks. He had no head. Or eyes that Ceria could see. His eye sockets were hollowed pits. And if Skinner was fear, he was helplessness. As he moved into the Raskghar camp, Ceria fell. She heard the Raskghar and Cave Goblins falling around her like puppets with their strings cut. They lay on the ground as Facestealer walked forwards.

Slowly. Carefully. The giant monster walked around Cave Goblins and Raskghar alike. Ceria didn’t understand what was happening at first. She felt like something had sapped her of strength. She tried to move—and couldn’t.

Spell. It had to be. Ceria could see Snatcher moving. He was heading towards the Gnoll cages at the back of the camp. Towards the Gnoll who’d howled. Towards Mrsha.

Gh—

Ceria’s lips barely moved. She tried to get up. Her arms shook on the ground. But they barely moved! What was it? She hadn’t seen the monster cast a spell. Was it an aura? Not a spell?

No. Ceria could feel something restricting her body. Something—it was magic. It had to be. She knew that because she could move. All of the others, Raskghar, Cave Goblins, Calruz, Gnolls—they were all still as corpses. But Ceria could see her arms tensing slightly as she tried to move.

Half-Elf. Descendants of magic. Ceria pushed mana into her arms. She saw ice begin to form at her fingertips, and then frost race down her arm. Not again. Not this time. She felt her arms move. She called more magic to her.

The ground froze. The ice spread around Ceria’s hands. She drew on everything she had as Facestealer walked as if he was taking a stroll. She felt her ring—the Everfreeze Ring emitting cold on her finger. She pulled from it.

And the ice grew. It pushed her hands up. Ceria shook as she stood. But she did stand. And the ice covered her legs, locking them in place. Ceria turned. She lifted her arm.

Facestealer was peering at Mrsha. It was a monster to inspire nightmares. But Ceria had already faced her nightmares in Liscor’s crypt. This time—she raised her voice.

“Back away from Mrsha, Snatcher. And look this way.”

Facestealer turned. Ceria fired an [Ice Spike]. Straight between its hollowed eye sockets. The javelin of ice flew straight as an arrow. It hit Facestealer’s head. And broke.

Ceria wavered. Then she raised her skeletal hand and loosed another [Ice Spike]. It struck Snatcher in the center of his chest. Again, it broke without leaving so much as a scratch.

Snatcher didn’t react. He stared at her. He seemed almost confused, as if he couldn’t believe Ceria was attacking him. The half-Elf panted with the effort of keeping her arm raised. She concentrated. She had to stop him! How? How—

His body was dark brown. Hide of some kind. But it looked lumpy. And in parts, the hide was missing, revealing a yellow interior. Bone? Or skin? Ceria focused on that. She shifted her aim as Snatcher began to shuffle towards her casually.

“Take this!”

This time she fired five [Ice Spikes], one from each finger. It was a bad shot. Four of her [Ice Spikes] missed her target, striking Facestealer’s body harmlessly. But the last hit one of the yellow patches on his body. The tip of her spear of ice struck and dug in ever so slightly. Ceria saw black liquid run from the wound. And like that, the paralysis inhibiting her vanished.

And Facestealer paused. He had no neck so he couldn’t look down. But Ceria felt a wave of terrible fury coming from it. It looked at her. Then Snatcher raised its oversized arms and charged Ceria without a word, incredibly fast. She backed up and screamed.

Run!

She saw the Gnolls stirring in their cages. Ceria raised her hand but Snatcher was fast. It swung at her and Ceria dove. She felt something pass over her head. She rolled, conjured a wall of ice. Before it had finished rising something smashed straight through it. Ceria scrambled back.

“Run!”

Snatcher stood over her. It swung one arm and Ceria saw it pass inches from her face. She raised a trembling hand, and then someone smashed into Facestealer from the side. Calruz. The Minotaur could barely stand. He hit Snatcher with a roar, not having bothered to draw his axe. Snatcher held still as the Minotaur struck him, at least three hundred pounds of weight behind his charge.

Snatcher’s body didn’t move so much as a centimeter. Calruz bounced off and stumbled back. He stared at Snatcher and the headless monster stared back. Calruz backed up, fumbling for his axe.

“Fight off Snatcher! To me!”

The other Raskghar and Cave Goblins were rising, some half-collapsing. Facestealer turned around as if surveying the situation. It swung its arms and Ceria felt her body deaden. Half of the camp fell back again, limp. But the effect was weaker.

Surround it!

Calruz bellowed. He had his axe in his hand. He raised it and shakily slashed at Facestealer. The blow was slow, weak. The axe head bounced off of Facestealer’s front. It stared at Calruz and then turned. Back to Ceria.

“[Ice Wall]! [Ice Wall]!

Ceria pointed and formed a double-layered wall of ice, at least five feet thick. Snatcher walked forwards. He paused at the wall and drew his torso-head back. He brought it forwards and smashed through the wall. Then he swung at Ceria.

This time she couldn’t dodge. Ceria jumped backwards as the claw came hurtling towards her. She felt the impact—something compressed her side and then—and then she was weightless. Ceria gaped, half-turned as she felt herself flying—

And then she struck the ceiling of the Raskghar’s camp. And fell. Twenty feet. Ceria landed on the ground and heard something scream. She’d landed on something. A Raskghar. She would have screamed too, but pain overwhelmed every part of her.

She felt something moving under her. Ceria gaped, and then reached for a healing potion. She had to—had to—

The bottle smashed as she squeezed it tight. She ignored the glass biting into her hand, let it pour over her body. Her torn flesh began to knit. She felt the pain lessening. Then she managed to scream.

Another potion. Ceria had two. She grabbed the other and drank it. Her bones were cracking. She rolled as the Raskghar screamed and pushed her off. Ceria stood—and saw chaos.

The Raskghar and Cave Goblins surrounded Snatcher. It was turning, slashing with its claws. Every time it did, Raskghar and Cave Goblins died. One swipe sent three Raskghar flying and caved in another’s head. Facestealer grabbed—and three Cave Goblins were headless. And the weapons of the Raskghar and Cave Goblins did nothing to it! They bounced off Snatcher’s hide. And as it turned, some of them collapsed.

Paralysis. Ceria couldn’t feel it from here. She pointed her finger shakily at Snatcher, saw Calruz bellowing.

Keep it in place! Archers! Fire! Enchanted weapons, to the front!

Raskghar tried to obey him. Ceria saw them shooting arrows, but half of them were too weak to move. The arrows landed short of their target or struck the Raskghar and Cave Goblins around Facestealer. He turned and swept his hand. Six Raskghar and Cave Goblins died, bodies broken like twigs. He turned—

And another [Ice Spike] struck him on his yellowed weak spot. Snatcher didn’t react, but he turned. Ceria pointed at him, trembling.

Calruz! Back me up!

“Protect Ceria! Form a shield wall!”

The Minotaur rushed forwards. The Raskghar and Goblins tried to block Snatcher’s advance. He walked through them, swinging his arms, slaughtering them. Ceria aimed for his yellowed flesh, but this time the monster blocked the [Ice Spike]. She was backing up when an arrow struck Snatcher from behind, striking his yellowed flesh.

The monster turned. A group of Raskghar with bows was taking aim at him from the far wall. They were shaky, but far enough from him that they could use their arms. They loosed a hail of arrows which bounced off his skin. But a few struck his exposed flesh. Facestealer began striding towards them, and then turned as Ceria landed another shot from behind. He turned towards her, and the Raskghar shot again.

Turn, shoot, turn, shoot. Ceria almost wanted to laugh. But it would have been hysterical laughter—Snatcher was almost comical in how he moved! He went after whomever had wounded him last! Then her laughter caught in her throat as he turned and beheaded a Raskghar. He stared at the shocked face and carefully opened his sack. Ignoring both her spells and the Raskghar’s arrows, he put the head in the sack. Then he turned around. He seemed to realize he was being struck. He turned to Ceria and she felt a chill. Facestealer stared at her for ten long seconds as Raskghar and Cave Goblins battered him from all sides. Then he turned.

Raskghar collapsed around him. Facesnatcher strode towards one of the entrances. He stopped there, turned, stared at Ceria, and then vanished into the darkness. He left a trail of black liquid. It might have been blood.

And then it was over. Ceria stared at the empty spot where Snatcher had been. She was waiting for him to reappear, but he didn’t. She realized that the Raskghar camp was completely still. All the Raskghar and Cave Goblins were staring at the same spot.

“Was…was that it?”

The Raskghar and Cave Goblins jumped and stared at Ceria. She couldn’t take her eyes off that spot. He’d just left. As if he hadn’t felt like being here. And he’d stared at her. As if memorizing her face. She shuddered, then heard Calruz’s voice.

“Raskghar—Raskghar, seal that entrance! Tend to the wounded. Someone—open the supply of healing potions. Double—no, triple the sentries!”

His voice roused the Raskghar. They began to move shakily. Calruz turned. His eyes widened.

“Where did the Gnolls go?”

Ceria whirled. She’d almost forgotten! She saw the Gnoll cages had been forced open. The Gnolls were gone!

Some of them. A few were lying on the ground, pinned by Raskghar. Most were still in shackles. But many of the Gnolls had removed their shackles! And Mrsha! She’d gotten away too! Ceria dared to hope. But then she saw Calruz striding towards her.

Liar!

The Minotaur looked as shaken as Ceria, but that didn’t stop him from seizing the front of her robes. Ceria held still as Calruz roared at her. The Minotaur pointed furiously towards the cages.

“You told me she was mute!

“She is!”

She howled!

“She can do that! She can’t speak!”

Liar! Traitor! You deceived me!

Calruz roared in Ceria’s face, covering her with spittle. His grip tightened and Ceria braced herself.

“I didn’t know that thing was going to appear! I told you the truth, Calruz! Mrsha can only howl. Or make sounds. She can’t speak!”

“That’s not what mute means!”

“Yes it is! Don’t yell at me because you don’t know the meaning of the word!”

Calruz’s eyes were wide and furious. They were turning red—but then he paused. A curious, affronted look replaced the enraged expression on his face.

“I know the meaning of the word mute. It means unable to make sounds. You are incorrect, Ceria.”

“No, it doesn’t. It means ‘unable to speak’. There’s a big difference, you giant idiot.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read it in a book. Okay, Pisces read it in a book and told me.”

The Minotaur and half-Elf stared at each other. The exchange was furious, tense. But familiar. After a second, Calruz let go of Ceria slowly. They stared at each other. Ceria was breathing hard. She pointed at the splatter of black liquid where Facestealer had been.

“That wasn’t my fault. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. That was Snatcher, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He sometimes approaches Raskghar camps. They can usually deceive him into leaving by pretending to be statues. Usually.”

“I didn’t know. And I didn’t lie to you. Knowingly.”

Calruz hesitated.

“That is…true.”

“I could have run. I saved your life.”

The Minotaur paused. He looked at Ceria and nodded slowly.

“Yes. You did.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Calruz turned. He looked around his camp and exhaled. Slowly.

“The Gnolls fled. They’ll die in the dungeon. You there! Send a team to retrieve them!”

He pointed at a Raskghar who looked confused. The Raskghar growled. Calruz frowned.

“Already? Who? Nokha? She abandoned the camp when—”

The Raskghar backed up as Calruz snorted in anger. Ceria stared at him anxiously.

“Well? Did the Gnolls escape?”

“Nokha led a team after them the instant they fled. She will not let them run.”

Ceria prayed he was wrong. Calruz stomped away. She saw him begin organizing his camp, directing the Cave Goblins and Raskghar to physically seal the entrance that Snatcher had left by. The mood in the camp was tense, afraid. And angry. The Raskghar forced the remaining Gnolls, barely twenty now, back into the cages, beating them as if to punish them for Mrsha.

“Calruz! Stop them!”

The Minotaur looked over and shouted a word in the Raskghar’s language. The beast-people turned away sullenly and the Gnolls lay in the cages. Ceria expected them to be devastated by the failed escape attempt, but to her surprise—and the Raskghar’s—she heard laughter. The Raskghar turned, disbelieving, as one of the Gnolls sat up.

“You…are cursed.”

The female Gnoll had a bloody lip and her eye looked…wrong, as if it weren’t moving properly. Still, she grinned at the Raskghar as they snarled at her. She lifted her shackled hands, pointed. At Mrsha’s empty cage.

“You captured her. But she is your doom. White fur. Doombringer. You are doomed! Your tribe will end! That is fate! She brought it on you! Mrsha, the child of omens! You—”

A Raskghar bounded over and kicked the Gnoll in the chest. She curled up, choking, until Calruz himself threw the Raskghar back. Then both Gnolls and Raskghar were silent.

It was nearly twenty minutes before Nokha’s team returned. When they did, the Raskghar howled and gathered anxiously at the entrance to their camp, hearing them coming. Ceria ran forwards, heart beating in fear. She heard Calruz roar, saw the Raskghar make grudging way for him—

And then she saw Mrsha. The Gnoll cub was hanging limp in Nokha’s arm. She still held Ceria’s wand. The awakened Raskghar looked displeased. She growled as she walked into the camp. She had Mrsha, and the Raskghar behind her looked wounded. Had they fought monsters? Or had the Gnolls managed to fight them off? Where were the others?

“Is that the only one you managed to catch?”

Calruz’s voice was disbelieving. He strode towards Nokha, hand opening and closing as she slung Mrsha into one of the Gnoll cages with the others. Nokha turned. Her expression was furious.

“Others fled! This one ran other way! We caught! Would have caught others, but strange monsters stopped us! Goblins but not Goblins!”

“What? What? You were stopped? By who?”

Ceria listened with disbelief and bated breath as Nokha described their encounter with the Redfang Hobs. When Calruz realized what Nokha had to be describing he snorted dismissively.

“Fool! Those are Hobs! They are Goblin.”

“No! Goblins are small! Not large! They do not fight Raskghar! They obey!”

Nokha lashed out at the nearest Cave Goblin scurrying around her in fury. The Goblins shrank back as the Raskghar growled at them. Calruz shook his head.

“Hobgoblins are standard aboveground. This must have been a group that wandered into the dungeon. Somehow. They’re intelligent. Good fighters, for scum. You should have overwhelmed the five!”

“They were strong. And little white one ran other way. So we chased.”

Nokha’s ears flattened in displeasure. Calruz snorted. He cast his eyes towards the eastern entrance to the camp and Ceria saw more Raskghar dragging or carrying limp Gnolls.

“One Gnoll versus dozens? Think, fool! At least the others caught more than a single Gnoll child.”

“This one is special. White fur. Cast magic! Will sacrifice now. Get others later.”

The awakened Raskghar bared her teeth as she pointed at Mrsha. The other Gnolls were shielding her from sight protectively. Calruz’s eyes narrowed.

“That is not your decision. I am Chieftain and I say if we sacrifice any Gnoll! Understand?”

He locked eyes with Nokha. The air grew tense again and the Raskghar around Nokha grew still. The eighteen awakened Raskghar stared at her. Three had died to Snatcher. Nokha glanced around, her expression savage. Then she seemed to note the dead Raskghar and Goblins. Snatcher had barely fought save to defend himself and still a score of corpses lay on the ground. She glanced at Calruz and inclined her head ever so slightly.

“Yes.”

There was no ‘Chieftain’, or any other sign of acknowledgment. Nokha turned and stalked towards the Raskghar who weren’t working. Calruz stared at her back. His hand clenched in anger and his brows drew together, but he seemed to think twice about calling her back. He turned to look at Ceria.

“Use a potion if you need to. And find one for your belt.”

He stomped off to shout at the Cave Goblins and Raskghar laboring at the entrance. Ceria watched him go and then looked around. The air in the camp was tense. Snatcher’s attack might not have been Calruz’s fault, but the Raskghar were shaken. And they were already chafing at his restrictions. They kept staring at the remaining Gnolls. And the awakened Raskghar, led by Nokha?

They were looking at Calruz. Not fearfully, but with a calculating look in their gazes that made Ceria shiver. She stared at the remaining Gnolls in cages and at Calruz. The Minotaur looked around. He could sense it too. He adjusted the axe strapped to his back and stood taller.

Get to work!

The Raskghar obeyed. But it was only a matter of time. Ceria was certain now. She looked around, and then backed up to the cages. The Gnolls looked up at Ceria.

“Is she…?”

“Hurt. But not critically.”

“I’ll get you a healing potion. For all of you. If I can.”

The Gnolls nodded. Ceria hesitated, and then bent. Pretending to inspect Mrsha, she concentrated. A little fiery bug crawled out from her hands. It fluttered upwards, vanished, carrying a message for Pisces.

 

Gnolls escaped. Mrsha here. Raskghar rebel soon. Hurry.

 

The Gnolls stared at the fiery bug as it disappeared. They looked at Ceria. She gave them a slight nod and straightened. None of the Goblins and Raskghar around her had noticed. But then she turned and saw one of them staring at her.

Nokha. The Raskghar had snuck up on her from the side! She stared at the Gnolls and Ceria. At Ceria’s hands.

She’d seen the spell! Ceria felt a chill of fear, but the Raskghar didn’t immediately shout what Ceria had done. Instead, she locked gazes with Ceria and smiled. The half-Elf met her gaze. She glanced at Calruz’s back. She gave Nokha a frozen smile.

“Just try it.”

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice paced back and forth in her inn. She had a plan. It was a good one, or at least, it was simple. The best plans were simple. Except that they weren’t in chess. Chess was an ever-moving game of attack and defense and opportunity. You had to think a hundred moves ahead of your opponent. That was why computers were so good. But her plan had only one moving part. She couldn’t adjust it. It worked or it wouldn’t.

It would work. But first, Erin had to know where the Raskghar camp was. And for that, the Redfang Warriors had to return. It had been four hours. The magic door to the Goblin’s cave was open. Only a few people were in Erin’s inn. Pisces had gone out with Yvlon and Ksmvr to bring back the Gold-rank adventurers. Erin hoped she wouldn’t have to tell them her plan wouldn’t work today.

“Lyonette, have you eaten anything today?”

“No.”

“You should.”

“Okay.”

The [Princess] sat at a table and didn’t move. Erin looked at her. Lyonette stared past Erin. Apista buzzed around her anxiously.

“Have you fed Apista?”

Lyonette blinked. She looked at the Ashfire Bee and a bit of life entered her eyes.

“No. I—”

She half got up and had to put her hands on the table. Erin looked around.

“Drassi.”

“On it! I’ll get honey for Apista, and what do you want, Lyonette?”

The young woman hesitated. She sat back down.

“I don’t want—”

“Water and a bit of meat and cheese, maybe. Crackers? Yeah, crackers and meat and cheese. Just have a few bites, Lyonette.”

Erin tried to encourage the young woman. She frowned and tried to remember if she’d had breakfast. Maybe not? Well, she was in better shape than Lyonette. Erin stared back towards the Goblin cave. Then she heard a shout from outside her inn and whirled.

Erin! Get out here!

That was Yvlon’s voice! Erin hesitated, grabbed the knife and one of Octavia’s potions she’d put on the table and raced outside. The rain pounded her face. She blinked, nearly cut herself as she went to wipe her face, and then saw the boats. The Gold-rank adventurers had returned! And they had brought—

Headscratcher! Rabbiteater!

Two of the Hobs looked up. Headscratcher tried to rise, but Rabbiteater forced him down. The boat rocked as he leapt out of it and began swimming to shore. The adventurers rowed towards Erin’s inn. But another group was heading straight for Liscor. And in them—

“They found the Gnolls! There was an escape! Erin, we need stamina potions!”

What?

Erin stared in disbelief. Yes, some of the boats had Gnolls in them! They huddled together, staring around. The Gold-ranks were escorting them to Liscor and a cry went up from the walls. Erin saw more boats headed her way. The Horns and Halfseekers rowing boats with Gnolls in them. And Cave Goblins. And the Redfangs. Erin stared at all of the Gnolls, looking for a flash of white. But there wasn’t any.

“Mrsha? Where’s Mrsha?”

The adventurers looked at each other. Yvlon stood up in her boat.

“They think she’s captured. Erin! We need stamina potions! Now!

For a second the [Innkeeper] wavered, but then she realized Yvlon was right. She turned and ran into her inn as Rabbiteater ran up the slope.

Drassi get me all our stamina potions! Some of the Gnolls are back!”

“What?”

The Drake turned. Lyonette shot up, knocking her plate of food aside.

“Is Mrsha—”

“Potions! Now!”

Erin met word with action. She grabbed her crate of potions and ran out with it. The adventurers were still rowing towards her boat.

Catch!

Erin threw a potion through the air. The glowing potion flew straight at Pisces who ducked. Yvlon fielded the bottle and yanked the cork out. Erin didn’t know why they needed stamina potions, but when she saw the Gnolls lying weakly in the boats she understood. The adventurers had enough healing potions to cover them, but they hadn’t brought many stamina potions. And the Gnolls looked half-dead.

“Get them in here! Drassi, get me food! Lyonette—”

The young woman ran past Erin. She splashed into the water.

“Mrsha! Is she okay? Where is she?”

The Gnolls in the boat were rousing themselves. Some looked at Lyonette and shook their heads, but one, an older, grey-haired Gnoll with red stripes, spoke weakly.

“She ran back. She distracted the Raskghar. To save us. She freed us too. She is alive, we think. But maybe—”

Lyonette stared in horror at the Gnoll. The adventurers ran their boats aground and leapt out. They helped the Gnolls out as Erin saw the people on Liscor’s walls trying to do the same for the Gnolls there.

In the end, all the boats had to come to Erin’s inn. The Gnolls had exhausted the last of their energy fleeing from the Raskghar and now, in safety, could barely move even with the stamina potions. Erin changed the door from her cave to Liscor and had to step back as the Watch and Gnoll families flooded into her inn. She opened her pantry and soon the Gnolls were eating small portions.

“Not too much. You’ll injure yourselves. Eat only small bits. And we must check you for broken bones and other injuries. The healing potions will not heal everything. They may make some things worse, but the adventurers have taken care not to heal wounds incorrectly.”

A Drake [Healer] was cautioning the Gnolls as they sat at Erin’s tables. They ate slowly, some surrounded by their loved ones. Many were in tears as they ate simple foods. A few spoke to Zevara and the others, recounting what they’d seen and heard.

“It was the child who saved us. She used a—a—”

Erill glanced at the Drakes and hesitated.

“She used her voice! The Raskghar thought her mute, but she howled and brought the monster down on them. We fled in the confusion, but Mrsha, she ran back when it became clear the Hobs would fall. She bought us all time to flee.”

“Mrsha. Oh, Mrsha.”

Lyonette buried her head in her hands, weeping. Erin stared at the Hobs. They were intact, although Headscratcher was still weak. They all looked like they’d healed wounds recently. None of them could meet her eyes.

“You say these awakened Raskghar were smarter? And stronger?”

“They were leaders among the others. Terrifying. The ritual—it must be stopped. And the Minotaur is insane. I saw him beat the half-Elf when she tried to stop him. But I think—I think neither will be alive much longer. The awakened are too intelligent. They will dispose of both if they are not stopped.”

The Horns and other adventurers exchanged uneasy looks. Zevara just nodded. Another Gnoll spoke up.

“We remember where they’ve gone. But I am sure—the Raskghar keep their camps watched. And there are so many. They will surely move their camp tonight.”

“And if we attack them, they’ll just fight us off. We don’t have enough bodies!”

Keldrass pounded a scaly fist into his other clawed hand. Zevara glanced at him and shook her head.

“The fact that any of you were able to escape is a miracle. Mister Elirr, I know you and the others must be exhausted. But if you’ll speak to our [Strategist], I’d be deeply grateful. Rest assured we’ll try to save the others if at all possible.”

Again, she glanced at the Gold-rank adventurers who looked away. Some of them shook their heads. Elirr bowed his.

“We owe Mrsha a debt we cannot repay. To think we blamed her—and the Goblins! They saved us.”

“Yes. Them.”

Zevara met Erin’s gaze. She shook her head.

“We’ll get a full accounting of this later. For now, let’s bring you back to the city. The Council will want your statements and then we’ll issue an announcement. Solstice, we’ll settle the costs later. Is that fine?”

“What? Yes. Go on.”

Erin nodded. She was talking with Numbtongue. The Hob’s head was bowed.

“We tried. But there were many. And the female one—”

“I understand. You weren’t supposed to fight them. It’s okay, Numbtongue.”

The Hob looked up wretchedly.

“But Mrsha—”

Erin grabbed the Hob’s shoulder, squeezing hard.

“We still have a chance. Did you find the Raskghar camp?”

“Yes. But it is…what is the word? Fortified. The adventurers will not take it. And there are many Raskghar.”

“I know. But you know where it is, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then come with me. Drassi! Change the door as soon as I’m through. Then let us back when everyone’s in Liscor!”

Erin pushed past the crowd and headed to her magic door. She slapped the red mana stone on, opened the door, and strode through. She heard an exclamation behind her and an oath from Zevara and slammed the door. She looked around.

“Pebblesnatch! Where’s Pebblesnatch?”

The Cave Goblins looked up. They stared at Numbtongue and raced over. Erin looked around wildly and saw a familiar face. Pebblesnatch and a bunch of smaller Goblins looked up from Erin’s magic chessboard. They’d constructed a very tall tower out of the ghostly chess pieces. They scrambled back guiltily as Erin marched over.

“It’s okay. Pebblesnatch, I need your help. Will you listen? Numbtongue, can you translate?”

The Hob nodded. The Cave Goblins could understand Erin well enough, probably thanks to Calruz, but the Hob translated with word and gesture so Erin was certain that Pebblesnatch understood every word she said. She crouched next to the Cave Goblin.

“The Raskghar are bad. They kidnapped Gnolls. And they’re mean to you and the other Cave Goblins. The adventurers have been fighting them. So have the Redfangs. But the Raskghar have some of my friends. Two people very important to me. I want them back.”

Pebblesnatch stared up at Erin with round eyes. She glanced at Numbtongue and at Erin. She nodded hesitantly, but then gave Erin a Goblin shrug. Numbtongue didn’t have to translate. Erin smiled ruefully.

“Yeah, that’s bad, but what can you do about it? Well, there is something. The Redfangs found the Raskghar camp. And I have a plan to get back my friends. But I need your help. It might be dangerous, but not too much. And it will save my friends. Will you do it, Pebblesnatch?”

The small Goblin looked alarmed. She looked at Numbtongue. The Hob stared at Erin. The young woman looked from Numbtongue to Pebblesnatch.

“I won’t ask her to steal a key or anything. It’s very safe. So long as you can get her there. Can you?”

“We can.”

Numbtongue nodded at once. Pebblesnatch began to quiver. She looked at Erin and the [Innkeeper] could tell that Pebblesnatch was afraid to see a Raskghar again. Erin reached out and touched Pebblesnatch’s hands.

“I know it must be terrifying. But you’re the only one I can ask. The Hobs can’t do it. And you—well, your name is actually important. Pebblesnatch. It’s part of how I came up with my plan, actually.”

All the Goblins looked astonished at that. Pebblesnatch touched her chest. Erin nodded.

“It’s true. And I know this is a lot. I know it’s scary. But I need your help. You’re the only one who can do it. So will you?”

The small Goblin stared up at Erin. She hesitated. She looked at Numbtongue and the Hob nodded. But the Cave Goblin was still afraid. She met Erin’s eyes. The young woman stared into hers.

“Please?”

Pebblesnatch wavered. Then, slowly, she nodded. Erin smiled.

“Thank you. It’s very simple. All you have to do is take these—and do exactly what I say.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. Pebblesnatch’s eyes went round and the other Cave Goblins gasped. Numbtongue stared at Erin, and his eyes lit up in sudden comprehension.

“Ah. Good plan.”

Erin turned and smiled at him.

“I know, right? I thought of it myself. Now, I need Pebblesnatch to go now, but we need to time this exactly right. So here’s what we’re going to do…”

 

—-

 

“Keep all the camps on alert. Snatcher may strike at them. I want the watches doubled, but no patrols. They’re dead if they run into him. Go!”

Calruz was giving commands like normal. The Raskghar he was addressing bowed its head and moved with speed. Like normal. But the mood in the camp was on edge.

It was strange for Ceria to think of ‘normal’ and ‘not normal’ after only having been in the Raskghar camp a few days. But she could tell that the Raskghar were growing discontent.  Calruz would have called it insubordinate. Ceria just thought they were finally confident enough not to need him any longer. And the source of that confidence were the awakened.

They were intelligent. They would keep being intelligent when the moons fell. Of that Ceria and Calruz were now sure. The other Raskghar seemed nervous about the absence of the full moon, only one more day away. But the awakened? They moved about without fear, followed by a pack of lesser Raskghar who ran to fulfill their every whim. And Nokha led them all.

It was like two tribes, now, really. Calruz strode about, giving orders, but the awakened did the same. And while they moved when he looked at them and told them what to do, there was an air of…expectancy. As if they were waiting to strike.

But they kept watching Calruz for now. Because he was still important. Ceria saw Nokha listening, pretending to be listening at attention as Calruz dealt with an issue that had reared its head in one of the smaller camps.

“How many sick? And what are the symptoms?”

The Raskghar growled. Calruz frowned and made Nokha translate.

“Hotness. Shaking. Throwing up. Blood in…leavings. And lumps. Yellow pus.”

Nokha gestured and Ceria made a face. Calruz wrinkled his bull’s nose.

“And the cause? Did they not cook their food again? What monsters did they eat?”

“No, Chieftain. They say it was adventurers. A few Raskghar were wounded by…arrows? And spells. They thought it minor, but the wounds grew worse. Now many are sick.”

Calruz cursed. He looked at Ceria.

“Poison.”

“Or plague.”

Ceria felt a bit sick. She knew some adventurers used those tactics, but it was cruel, even against Raskghar. And dangerous. She’d heard stories of adventurers who’d used poison against rats and killed thousands in major cities, or spread disease for hundreds of miles by accident. The Adventurer’s Guild was very strict about that sort of thing. Calruz frowned.

“Quarantine the camp. That means no one goes in or out. Not Cave Goblins, not Raskghar. No one touches the sick. Burn the bodies.”

The Raskghar didn’t like that. They tried to argue until Calruz cuffed the scout across the face. He glanced at Ceria as the Raskghar whined and Nokha barked at him sharply.

“Anything else, Springwalker?”

Ceria had to think.

“No healing potions. That can help with some diseases, but it might spread the plague faster. And…wash with hot water? There’s not much we can do without seeing what it is. And I’m not going to inspect it in person.”

The Minotaur nodded grimly.

“True. If we had an [Alchemist] or [Healer], we might try something. But we don’t. Quarantine the camp. Do as Ceria says. The surviving Raskghar and Cave Goblins will remain in place for…”

He glanced at Ceria. She shrugged.

“Four days after getting better? And don’t bring them here.”

Calruz nodded.

“Four days. They’ll patrol with healthy Raskghar or Cave Goblins to make sure they’re well.”

The Raskghar whined unhappily, but Nokha snapped and he went. Calruz growled under his breath.

“Adventurers. Damn them. I need to make sure they haven’t infected any other camps. Where are my other scouts?”

He looked around and stomped towards some Raskghar who were eating by a fire. Ceria and Nokha were left. The half-Elf eyed the Raskghar. The awakened smiled.

“You know things about adventuring. Like Chieftain.”

“Yup. More than you do.”

Ceria smiled and Nokha bared her teeth.

“True. We need Chieftain. He is smart. Knows much.”

“Even if he won’t let you kill the Gnolls? Even if you’re smart when the moon isn’t full?”

Ceria saw Nokha’s grin waver. The Raskghar looked concerned. She glanced swiftly at Calruz and back at Ceria. The half-Elf kept her smiling mask up.

That’s right. We know.

But far from being nervous, Nokha instead just smiled again.

“Yes. We still need. Someone who knows what we do not. Very important. Chieftain is valuable. Important. But won’t let us sacrifice Gnolls. Too bad.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to live with it. Unless you want to take his place? But oh wait, then you don’t have Calruz. Shame about that, especially if you run into something like infected Raskghar, huh?”

The half-Elf smiled mockingly. Nokha nodded. She drew closer suddenly.

“Yes. Very bad. If Chieftain was only one. Good thing we have two.”

She grabbed Ceria’s arm suddenly. The half-Elf tensed. She raised a fist, but too slow. Nokha leaned forwards—

And licked Ceria.

The action was so surprising that Ceria forgot to hit Nokha. She spluttered and tried to back up, but Nokha licked her across her face. Her tongue was rough and wet. Ceria twisted out of her grip. She wiped at her face.

“What in the name of tree crap was—”

She backed up and saw Nokha smiling at her. The Raskghar stood back, smiling. Ceria stared at her, and then remembered something about animals. They liked to mark their territory, didn’t they? Was that—

“Unacceptable!”

Calruz had seen the entire thing. He stormed over and Nokha backed up. The Minotaur snarled at her, much like a Raskghar himself and she backed up.

“Forgiveness, Chieftain.”

“Back to your work!”

Calruz roared at her. His fist clenched, but Nokha moved out of range before he could strike. She sauntered back to the other Raskghar, who had of course been watching. Ceria scrubbed at the saliva, blushing. That had felt like more than just a challenge against Calruz. It had been an attack on multiple levels. She was his companion, and that had felt like an oddly sexual jab from Nokha against Calruz as well. She glanced sideways at Calruz to see what he thought.

The Minotaur was clearly furious. He stared at Ceria, clenching his hand, and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Why did she do that?”

“She was telling me that she only needed one of us for our knowledge. She’s not afraid of you, Calruz.”

The Minotaur breathed heavily.

“No. She’s growing bolder. I should crush her. But if I do, the Raskghar might revolt. I need her to challenge me. That is their custom. This is—provocation. The next time she does that, blast her with magic.”

“I was going to, but she’s quick!”

“Do it faster next time. This is an affront on my honor. On my reputation! I have to make a reply, demonstrate—”

Calruz broke off, muttering to himself. Ceria eyed him and sidled away a step.

“Lick me and I’ll punch you.”

The Minotaur glanced at Ceria. Then he snorted. Ceria laughed and Calruz joined in. The Raskghar looked back at them, and Nokha’s smile vanished for a moment in annoyed confusion. The two adventurers laughed louder, and Ceria felt a bit of madness herself take over. Every day it felt like the old Calruz again. And not. Here they were, fighting to keep him Chieftain of a Raskghar camp. And being licked! She laughed and laughed.

And knew it would be over soon.

 

—-

 

Evening fell on Liscor. Not that you could tell in the rain. Relc Grasstongue grumbled as he stood on the walls.

“When’s it going to stop? Next week? The week after next? It should end soon, right? It has to! There’s not enough water in the sky for all this. And why do I have to stand guard duty right now? For the sixth straight day? I wanna patrol, but no…I’m too high-level to patrol in a nice warm tavern for an hour or two. Captain Z makes me stand here because I’m the highest-level [Guardsman] in the city. Which is true. I’m awesome. But still.”

His griping went unheard by the other [Guardspeople] who were actually patrolling the walls. It was a slippery, wet beat and Relc was standing beneath a temporary awning out of the rain. Occasionally one of them would shoot him a dirty glance or make a comment, but they generally left Relc alone. Because if a monster or Raskghar attacked, he’d be the first one into the fight and everyone knew it.

Still, that didn’t meant they had to stand near him. Relc stood alone, leaning on the battlements and yawning while scratching his tail until a pair of crisp footfalls made him look around. He blinked and waved as a Drake with red scales marched towards him. Wing Commander Embria’s armor was polished and she walked swiftly with her enchanted spear in hand. A helmet was on her head and her posture was perfect. Relc waved at her as he leaned on his spear and the wall.

“Hey kid. What’s up?”

Embria stopped in front of Relc. She turned to face him and stared down at Relc, which was a trick since he was taller than she was. Her voice was cold.

“Senior Guardsman Relc.”

“What?”

Senior Guardsman Relc.

A note in Embria’s voice made Relc pause. Embria stared at him without a trace of affection.

“We are on duty. You will address me by my rank.”

The Drake paused. He looked at Embria and then straightened and gave her a grudging salute. He looked past her head as he spoke.

“Yes. Wing Commander Embria.”

His voice was hurt. Embria colored, making her red scales turn a darker shade. She nodded and Relc went back to leaning on the battlements, not looking at her. Embria looked around quickly and hissed.

“Stand up straight! You’re on duty!”

Relc looked back at Embria, clearly upset. His tail swept the wet stones beneath his feet as he replied.

“I’m not in the army anymore. The Watch doesn’t make us keep perfect posture except when we’re talking to Captain Z.”

Embria hissed at her father, keeping an eye out for passing [Guardsman] or her [Soldiers]. A few had been assigned to man the walls at regular intervals.

“You’re a former [Sergeant]! You should remember how to stand at least!”

“My former commander never made me stand at attention. He was cool.”

Relc folded his arms, looking peeved. Embria hesitated.

“Wing Commander Weillmet? He’s dead.”

“What? No.”

The big Drake froze. He stared at Embria.

“When?”

The Wing Commander had to think. She shook her head.

“About a year ago. During a holding action at Shivering Straits. His flank was exposed—a division from Oteslia’s Second Infantry overwhelmed his position.”

“Damn. I didn’t know.”

Relc turned away. He stared at the water surrounding Liscor in silence. Embria stared at his back. Her tail moved restlessly.

“You didn’t hear? The army sends back regular reports—”

“I don’t read them. Too many names I recognize and a lot I don’t. Plus, it’s always about where we’re fighting next, who’s paying us. It’s always the same stuff.”

“I’m…sorry. Wing Commander Weillmet was a good officer. I served with him for a few months. He taught me a few spear techniques.”

“Yeah. He always was good with the spear. Nearly as good as I was, but he was a better leader than a soldier. Man…so why are you up here, Wing Commander?”

Embria colored again. She stepped up and stood next to Relc. After a moment she relaxed her posture a tiny bit.

“I…wanted to talk with you.”

“You can find me at my home. I’m on duty. Can’t casually chat and all that.”

“You’ve been pulling double shifts all week.”

“That’s Captain Z’s fault, not mine. I just follow orders.”

Embria bit her tongue. She stared at Relc’s side. The Drake was staring into the waters, his expression bleak. After a moment, Embria went on.

“It’s about the Human.”

“Erin?”

“Yes. I have…questions. You know I’m here for more than just defense of the city, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Making sure we’re not getting eaten by the Antinium, prodding the Council in the tails, all that. How’s that going?”

Embria ignored the question.

“One of the things I was instructed to look into were the Antinium. I know what you think—but they’re acting oddly. And the other Hives have been…irregular of late. When Xrn, the Small Queen was sighted in Liscor, the High Command was alarmed.”

“Oh, so that’s why they sent you? Not because of the Goblin Lord running about?”

“It was one of their concerns. Father, you know this is an issue. And the Small Queen and the Slayer—”

“Klbkch.”

“—They both went to her inn. The Human’s.”

“Erin’s. They have names, you know.”

“Why?”

Relc paused. He stared across Liscor’s lake and then responded slowly.

“Well, you know, back in the old days, I guess people were tired of saying ‘hey you’, all the time. So they invented this thing called names, and most people—”

Embria stomped on Relc’s tail. He bit back a shout and whirled. She glared at him.

“Don’t evade the question!”

“I don’t know, okay? Erin’s special! Klb likes her and that blue Antinium likes her too, I guess! She plays chess with Workers!”

“But why? Why do you and everyone else listen to her?”

Embria raked her claws across the spines on the back of her neck, clearly frustrated. She gripped her spear and twirled it.

“Every time something happens, not only does Watch Captain Zevara listen to her, but Wall Lord Ilvriss—a Wall Lord—listens to her! And your [Strategist]! And everyone else! They listen to her opinion even when she says the most idiotic things! And apparently Zel Shivertail himself stayed at her inn! Why?”

“Because she’s Erin.”

This time Relc pulled his tail out of the way of Embria’s foot. He cradled it protectively as she stared at him.

“I don’t know, kid. All I know is that Erin has something. But I have no idea what that is. She likes Goblins, she plays a mean game of chess apparently…and she’s just different. But I can’t say why. I just go to her inn because I like the food. And because she called me a Dragon.”

The Wing Commander snorted and turned away. Relc stared at her back for a while, and then let go of his tail. It curled up a bit, and then he sidled a bit closer to her. He leaned on the battlements.

“You know, I think it’s because people like her. They didn’t at first, but Erin grows on you. Like a mushroom.”

“And what? They don’t like me? Is that why I have to request to join every planning session and why Watch Captain Zevara keeps forgetting to notify me of important events?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Embria clenched her claws into fists.

“I came here to defend Liscor!”

“Too late. And the army’s never here. And you came in the wrong way, kid. You strode in and expected to take command. That’s not how it works.”

Embria sagged. She leaned on the battlements, looking dispirited.

“I know. I just—I’m trying to do my job, Dad. Why is it so hard?

Relc eyed Embria in alarm. His tail hesitated, and then nearly went over to touch Embria’s. At the last moment it stopped. He cleared his throat and looked around uncertainly.

“I think it’s because people don’t know you. But I’m sure they’d like you. I mean, you’re my kid. So why don’t we go and say hi to some people? Get your face out there? Buy some people some drinks?”

The young female Drake stared into the lake. Then she turned her head.

“That was your best idea?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

The two stood there for a while. Then Embria raised her head. She turned it and stared. Relc looked around as well. Both Drakes heard a loud, familiar voice.

“Yeah, I know it’s off limits! I need to speak with whoever’s up there! Is it Captain Zevara? No? Where is she? Okay, who’s up there? I know it’s someone important? Olesm? Embria? Okay, well then let me talk to her! Excuse me! Excuse me!

They saw Erin push her way up the steps. The Gnoll [Guardsman] tried to stop her, but not very hard. He stepped to one side as Erin spotted Embria and Relc.

“Great! You’re on my list! Hi, Embria right?”

What are you doing up here?

Embria barked at Erin. The young woman paused. Embria grabbed her spear and pointed it at Erin.

“Are you insane? We are under martial law! Access to the ramparts is forbidden! I could execute you here and now!”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I need to talk to you. Now.”

To the female Drake’s shock, Erin reached out and pushed the spearhead away from her chest. She advanced and Embria stared at her.

“I’ve got a plan. Relc, can you tell Zevara I need to speak with her? And Klbkch! I definitely need Klbkch. Get them to meet me in the inn in like, five minutes. Be there or be square. Got it?”

Relc covered a laugh as Embria spluttered.

“You can’t just order a Watch Captain—I’m a Wing Commander! What are you talking about? A plan?”

“That’s right. And you should be there. Bring a few [Captains] so they can listen if you want. I’m getting Ilvriss and Olesm now. Relc?”

“On it! Is this plan going to be awesome?”

“So awesome. Or we die.”

Erin gave Relc a thumbs up. He grinned. Erin turned to go, but Embria’s spear shot out.

“Hold it.”

Both Erin and Relc looked at Embria. The Wing Commander looked beyond peeved. She stared at Erin, anger written all over her face.

“This is insane! Da—Senior Guardsman Relc, get back to your post! You, Human. Why should we listen to you or follow your orders?”

“Why?”

“That’s right. You’re no [Leader]. You run an inn! What gives you the right to order anyone about?”

Erin gave Embria the blankest look the Drake had ever seen on someone who wasn’t a corpse. She thought for a second, and then shrugged.

“You don’t have to follow my orders. I just thought you’d want to be part of my plan. I don’t need you. I could use your help, but you need me more than I need you. So…see you maybe?”

The Wing Commander gaped at Erin. The young woman went to push aside her spear, but it didn’t budge. Relc coughed. He lifted the spear up and Erin ducked under it.

“Five minutes! Or ten! I can’t run that fast. All the Gold-ranks are going to be there! I’ll tell everyone my plan, then we have to hurry and get ready! Find Zevara and Klbkch!”

She ran down the battlements. The Gnoll [Guardsman] stared at Embria and then decided he needed to follow Erin. Relc and his daughter stood together. Embria looked at Relc. He grinned.

“See that? That’s why. You coming?”

 

—-

 

“Yes, I don’t think Pallass can commit any more adventurers. It’s not a question of cost—they’re not willing to empty their city and they’ve sent two thirds of their Gold-ranks to Liscor already. They do have a Named Adventurer, but they can’t force him to comply. Yes, I’ve tried to approach him directly. But I’m banned from entering the city as you know—”

Ilvriss was speaking into his personal scrying orb to someone in Salazsar. He and Olesm sat in the meeting room usually used by the Council in their infrequent meetings. Now it was a war room complete with a map of the dungeon. Olesm was poring over the transcripts of the Gnoll prisoner’s accounts of the dungeon. He was trying to piece together an image of the Raskghar camps. And he was succeeding, much to his chagrin.

“Too many Raskghar. If we fill the corridors like this and this—we can’t complete the encirclement. But without more adventurers, we can’t hold these positions. Especially against the awakened. If they can beat a Hob—what’s Headscratcher’s level?”

Olesm was muttering to himself as he did calculations. Each time he studied the numbers of the Raskghar his heart sank. Just too many to take on with all the Gold-ranks. If they were defending it was doable. But the objective was to free prisoners and the Raskghar could run or encircle the Gold-ranks. They had to do something other than a full-scale assault. Use subterfuge. Unfortunately, even the best Gold-ranks like Seborn had flatly refused to try and infiltrate the Raskghar camp.

“We must do something. Some of the Gnolls are free, but the rest will be sacrificed. Can you hire a Courier to send an artifact—yes, it’s worth the risk! No, the Heartflame Breastplate can’t solve this issue! The Selphid wearing it can fight a hundred Raskghar in it, and there are thousands in the dungeon! I don’t care about the cost! Give me a solution! Salazsar has—”

Ilvriss was arguing passionately with his fellow Salaszarian Wall Lords and Ladies. He had really committed all he could to the dungeon. Olesm had to admire that. But his fellow nobility from Salazsar were removed from Liscor’s situation. Ilvriss had been talking with them for the last hour and gotten nowhere. But Olesm had hopes. If he could get Salaszar to send some of their elites or adventurers of their own—or just one of the artifacts that the Walled Cities held in their vaults, maybe—

Hey! Let me in!

The Wall Lord glanced up with Olesm.  They both heard the shout from below. Olesm closed his eyes. He recognized that voice.

“Hey Ilvriss! Hey! I know you’re up there! Your guards won’t let me in! Move aside! I need to talk with you!”

Olesm looked at Ilvriss. The Drake covered the scrying orb with one claw and motioned him towards the window. The [Strategist] looked outside. Sure enough, there was Erin. A pair of Drakes were trying to usher her away, but she was shouting up at the windows.

“I have a plan! I need you to come to my inn! Now! It’s about the Gnolls!”

Ilvriss paused. He looked at Olesm. The [Strategist] gave him a weak grin and shrug, but part of him stirred. Erin couldn’t have a plan. He had no plan and he was a [Strategist] now! But she played chess. And it was Erin…

“Hold on. I need to address this. Stay near the orb. We haven’t finished our discussion.”

Ilvriss snapped into the scrying orb and placed it on the table. He stalked over to the window and unlatched it. He shouted down at Erin as the two Drakes began to haul her back.

“Hold! Solstice, what are you talking about?”

Erin fought free of the Drakes and waved her arms up at Ilvriss.

“I have a plan! It involves you and Olesm and Zevara and Embria! They’re all coming to my inn! I think!”

Ilvriss glanced swiftly at Olesm. The [Strategist] whispered.

“I haven’t heard anything from Captain Zevara. But Erin probably talked to her just before this.”

The Wall Lord nodded. He called down at Erin.

“You can’t have a plan.”

“What? Why not?”

Ilvriss glared at Erin.

“There is no way you can resolve this situation. I’m sorry, but there isn’t. Not in this case. The Raskghar are a threat, not a stain on your inn’s floors you can wipe away. This is not something you can make a difference with, Solstice.”

“I can with your help! Believe me!”

“She is quite good at strategy, Wall Lord.”

Ilvriss glanced at Olesm with irritation.

“Good at strategy doesn’t change facts, Swifttail! There are thousands of Raskghar! We’ve been racking our brains trying to figure out how to assist the Gold-ranks. What can she do that we can’t?”

“Hey! I heard that!”

In the streets, Erin raised a fist and shook it at Ilvriss. The volume of her shouting rose.

“You think I can’t help? I can’t fight, but I can think! And my plan needs you, Ilvriss! It needs you, and Klbkch, and Zevara—it needs everyone! Only I can pull it off. Because I’m me!

The Drakes hesitated. Olesm stared down at Erin. He put down his papers and grabbed an ink pot, some fresh parchment and a quill. Ilvriss stared at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to her inn.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Stay here. Swifttail! I command you!”

Ilvriss reached out. Olesm turned. He had a hand on the doorknob.

“Apologies, Wall Lord, but I believe Erin.”

“But she’s just—”

“Erin. She killed Skinner. And I believe she’s the best chess player in this world. Better than Niers Astoragon. She saved me from Liscor’s crypt. I’m going.”

Olesm threw the door open. He disappeared out it. Ilvriss turned back to the window. He stared down at Erin as Olesm hurried past her.

“You can’t do anything. If you could—what can you do that we cannot?”

The young woman stared up at him. Her voice echoed from the houses. The rain fell, but Erin shouted over the roar.

I am Erin Solstice! I’m the craziest Human you know! And I have a plan! I can save the Gnolls! I can save Ceria! I can save Mrsha! Look me in the eye and tell me I can’t!

She met Ilvriss’ gaze. The Wall Lord stared down at her. Then he turned. He strode down the steps and out the door. He folded his arms as he met Erin in the rain.

“Let’s hear it.”

She grinned. Erin was wet and sweaty. She was dirty from falling once. But her eyes were alight. And Ilvriss dared to hope.

“I’ll give you the cliff notes as we run to the inn. Come on!”

She ran with Ilvriss following her and cursing at his adjutants to keep up. By the time they got to the inn, Relc, Klbkch, Zevara, and Embria were there. So was Pisces, Yvlon, Klbkch, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Silver Swords, and every Gold-rank captain. They stared as Erin ran inside. She turned to face them.

“I have a plan. It’s very simple. Ready? Here it is.”

She spoke. They listened for five minutes. Then they argued, and then agreed. Zevara, Embria, Ilvriss, and Klbkch raced out of the inn. The Gold-rank Captains were hot on her heels. They ran into the city. Erin stood in her suddenly empty inn. She turned and looked at those remaining. Lyonette was staring at Erin with hope. Olesm was smacking himself on the forehead. Relc just grinned. Erin smiled at them all.

“Let’s do this thing. Come on, we need to get ready. Get those tables out of the way! Move, move, move! Time is running out!”

 

—-

 

It was early nightfall when the Raskghar finished restoring order to their camp. The dead Raskghar and Goblins were removed or processed into food. Two of the exits were fortified, sealed off in case Snatcher returned. Calruz had the Raskghar on high-alert. And the Cave Goblins were busy at work.

It always amazed Ceria how many there were. And how subservient they were. The Raskghar seemed to have a limitless supply of bodies—Cave Goblins were always moving in and out of the camp, bringing water, supplies from other spots, or fixing stuff up. Perfoming tasks the Raskghar wouldn’t. She saw a group of Goblins butchering a dead Raskghar, carefully removing the bones to be placed with the dead. And another group was constructing mobile barricades.

“We might be able to drag them into place if Snatcher returns. Or block the adventurers. We have a supply of metal and wood—but it’s limited. We have more metal than wood, actually. The Goblins occasionally go above to forage for wood, but Liscor is limited in that as well. Hide works best for most structures.”

Calruz grimaced as he pointed out the old and often moldy wood the Cave Goblins were lugging into place. They had crude nails and hammer and were creating metal sheets. Ceria saw the Raskghar supervising the task. They didn’t do any of the work themselves, but they made the Goblins work faster with calculated blows. She saw one small Goblin flinch as a Raskghar swung at her. She redoubled her pace, bringing nails to the Goblins making a large sheet of metal that could be used to block the tunnel entrance.

“It won’t stop Snatcher. You saw how strong he was.”

“Not if he fights. But you saw him. It. That thing only looked for heads. And it barely paid any notice to anything else, even when it was being attacked.”

“Because we did nothing to it! If it wanted to, I bet it could kill half your camp by itself. And you want to move locations with it hanging about?”

Calruz snorted.

“Of course. The adventurers could have our location. We move again! We’ll take care on the trip, that’s all.”

He glanced around. Ceria folded her arms. The other Raksghar looked at each other. Some shook their heads. Nokha and a few of the awakened growled. She prefuctorily dipped her head.

“Dangerous, Chieftain. Would be better if we had more awakened. Stronger.”

“No. We keep the Gnolls as prisoners. Under watch. And I’ll question the small one now. I want to know how they got out.”

Nokha growled.

“Little white one used magic.”

“Impossible. Gnolls can’t—”

Ceria began to object, then remembered what Calvaron had told her once. She bit her lip and stared at Mrsha. Calruz raised his eyebrows.

“They can’t use magic, correct?”

Before Ceria could reply, Nokha jumped in.

“Can. This one is special. White fur. Must sacrifice. Tonight!”

“I said no.”

Calruz bared his teeth. Nokha’s hackles rose. She looked at her companions. Ceria saw the other Raskghar look up. The Goblins froze as they dragged the sheet of metal towards one of the walls, ready to be shoved into position. There were five entrances to the Raskghar camp. Two had been sealed, and now three metal barricades were in place. The Cave Goblins crept around them, reinforcing the solid slabs of metal. Watching the Raskghar.

They could sense it too. Calruz stared at Nokha.

“Are you questioning your Chieftain?”

The awakened Raskghar hesitated. She looked at the others and then looked back.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Calruz’s voice was calm, but a dangerous light had entered his eyes. Ceria looked from Nokha to the other Raskghar and backed up a step. They moved back as well. Calruz stood taller. He was still bigger than Nokha, but she was huge. The one-armed Minotaur and awakened Raskghar faced each other. Their voices grew louder. Now everyone was listening.

“I am in command. And I say that the ritual is performed when I desire. I will reward those I see fit.”

“When? Ritual makes Raskghar powerful now. And white one is special. Raskghar will sacrifice her. Grow even stronger. I will sacrifice her.”

Nokha licked her lips. Calruz stared down at her.

“You? And what would you do with all that power?”

“Lead Raskghar better. Grow. Sacrifice. Grow. Hunt more Gnolls. Grow. That is the purpose of the Raskghar.”

“Your purpose is what I decide it is.”

Calruz’s voice was cold. His eyes glinted as he looked around. The other Raskghar were silent, but they were watching Nokha. The Minotaur reached behind his back. He drew his axe and Nokha backed up a step. Calruz looked around, his axe’s head glowing in the faint light.

“I am your Chieftain. I, and no one else! You do not tell me what the Raskghar’s purpose is! I am in command! If you go against me, you are challenging me! My authority! Are you doing that Nokha? Because if it is a challenge, there is only one answer.”

He held his axe up. Nokha bared her teeth.

“You are weak. Chieftain. You are soft! You do not understand Raskghar. You are weak. One armed. And you trust her.

She pointed at Ceria. The half-Elf’s breath caught. Calruz turned his head. Raskghar were moving. The awakened moved behind Nokha. Calruz looked around. No one had come to stand behind him. He bared his teeth in a terrible grin.

“It seems I should. Ceria, to me.”

Ceria moved forwards a bit. Nokha laughed. She looked from Ceria to Calruz. The awakened were at her back. Eighteen versus two. Calruz muttered to Ceria.

“Keep the others back. I’ll kill Nokha and put an end to their challenge.”

“Oh, thanks. Sure you don’t want me to take on the entire tribe?”

Ceria eyed the awakened. They were spreading out. But she could raise a wall of ice, box herself and Calruz and Nokha in. If they were fast. She tapped Calruz on the arm, drew a circle in his fur. He nodded. He’d clear the area with his axe while she worked. Nokha noticed the motion and bared her teeth.

“You trust her. But she is traitor. You said so yourself.”

“Not as traitorous as you, apparently.”

Calruz stared at Nokha. His eyes were turning red. The muscles in his arm bulged as he lifted his axe. Ceria braced herself. She knew he had Skills she hadn’t seen. And judging from the way the awakened Raskghar eyed him, they knew some of them. The tension grew deadly. But Nokha still wasn’t done. She looked at Ceria and the half-Elf saw her grin grow wide.

“But she told them everything. With a spell.”

A deathly silence fell over the room. Ceria gulped. She saw Calruz freeze. And then, slowly, the Minotaur turned towards her. And when he stared at her, his eyes were red. And oh, so very mad.

 

—-

 

Mrsha saw it all. The end. Her body hurt so much. Her head spun. But she was not alone. The Gnolls held her. The remaining ones sat together, waiting. They watched the standoff between Calruz and the awakened.

Around the room, the Raskghar were standing, forming a large, rough circle. They watched Calruz, their Chieftain, face off against Nokha and her awakened. Behind them the Cave Goblins scurried to and fro. They were watching too. They kept their heads low, not daring to make a sound. Mrsha saw the Goblins working on the large metal sheets propped up against the walls. Others were building more cages. She saw a tiny Goblin run past them with a few nails and a piece of unshaped metal. She began hammering it into one of the metal sheets. The sound was background noise, though. The center of the room was silent. Calruz had just turned to Ceria.

“What spell?”

“Fire. A bit of little magic. It flies up and vanishes.”

Nokha grinned. Her awakened were spreading out around Calruz and Ceria. They didn’t have their weapons in hand, but they were tensed.  But the Minotaur wasn’t looking at them. He stared at Ceria.

“A spell. A fiery—you told me you didn’t know [Message].”

“I don’t. I told you that.”

Ceria backed up. Mrsha could see her grinning desperately, holding up her hands. Calruz turned. His grip on his axe shifted.

“But you know other spells. Spells from Wistram. Didn’t you tell me once that you knew a spell to talk with an old friend? With him? The [Necromancer]?”

“Uh—no?”

Calruz looked like he was growing larger. Mrsha felt the madness rolling off him. She stared at him, at Nokha. If he won she wouldn’t go free. If Nokha won—they’d die tonight. Mrsha wished she had Ceria’s wand, but it had been taken. She wished Ceria had her wand.

“Look, Calruz. Nokha’s making all this up. She’s trying to divide us! We have to work together!”

Ceria’s smile was frozen as she tried to desperately talk down Calruz. But now the Minotaur was focused on her.

“The attack. You swore to me that it wasn’t your fault. But you were lying. Did you send them another message after that? Have you told them about the city? Did you tell them about the secrets?”

For a second Ceria wavered. She hadn’t expected that question.

“No—what? I would never—”

“Liar.”

Calruz let go of his axe. He reached out and grabbed Ceria’s arm. She tried to twist away.

“Calruz, listen—I never did anything to hurt you. The Raskghar are going to attack you! Remember?”

“I trusted you. I called you my friend. I told you my secrets. Even when you tried to kill me, I trusted you. And this is how you repay me? With treachery? With this?

Ceria’s smile was still on her face. She twisted. Calruz stared at her. His voice grew louder.

“Betrayal! I am surrounded by it! Betrayal! Treachery! You will be first, then the Raskghar!”

He let go of Ceria. Then his arm swung. He backhanded her. The blow spun the half-Elf. Ceria heard a crack. It sounded like bone breaking. Ceria’s head jerked. Her head snapped back. She fell. Mrsha made a tiny sound. No.

Ceria lay on the ground. Her face was shattered. Mrsha saw a piece of skin lying on the ground. The half-Elf jerked, looked up. Calruz stared at her.

Ceria’s face was broken. But something wasn’t right. There was no blood. And her smile was still there. But—crooked. Ceria’s smile was frozen on her face. Frozen on her face. No. It was her face. And as Ceria rose, the mask of ice broke. And beneath it she was scowling.

“I’m getting tired of being hit in the face.”

Calruz stared at Ceria. The mask of ice fell to pieces, colored water landing on the ground and melting. The Raskghar stared. Mrsha stared. Even she hadn’t smelled the mask! Had Ceria made it out of her sweat?

And now the half-Elf’s body was changing. Frost vapor poured from her arms, her hands. It formed a layer of ice over her robes, her skin. Her skeletal hand. Ceria’s voice was cold as a glacier.

“Frost armor. Illphres always said her masks were tougher than steel. You want to hit me Calruz, give it your best shot. But watch out for spikes.”

The Minotaur stared at his hand. It was bleeding. Ceria’s ice mask had torn his skin. He looked at Ceria. She grinned at him.

“Yeah, I cast a spell. So what? You kidnapped me. You kidnapped the Gnolls. What was I supposed to do? But guess what? Right here, right now, I’m not your enemy. They are.”

She pointed with a gauntlet made of ice. The awakened stared at Ceria. They smelled wary. Mrsha saw them look at Nokha. The female Raskghar bared her teeth. She had a hand on her sword.

“Your treachery is unforgivable.”

“Probably. But you have bigger problems.”

Ceria shrugged. She stared at Calruz and narrowed her eyes. The Minotaur looked at the other awakened. He stared at her uncertainly.

“Give me one reason why I could trust you.”

The room was silent. The Raskghar waited. Mrsha waited. The Cave Goblins moved and watched. Ceria looked around. She closed her eyes, then spoke.

“Death before dishonor. I’ve lied. I’ve betrayed you. But I haven’t compromised my honor.”

Calruz froze. Ceria pointed at him. The half-Elf stared at the Minotaur.

“What do you have to give them, Calruz? Glory? I don’t have that. But I do have honor. So if you’re coming, come. The Horns of Hammerad don’t run.”

She spread her arms. The Raskghar tensed. Calruz stared at Ceria. He looked at his axe. He bent and lifted it. He and Ceria charged. The Raskghar leapt forwards. Ceria ran at Calruz, her frost armor covering her body. He raised his axe and swung. She ducked.

[Whirlwind Cleave]!

The Minotaur roared. He swung his axe and the glowing green edge extended. His arm flashed and he spun. Three of the Raskghar jumping at him were caught by the enchanted axe. Calruz cut through them all. Blood splattered Ceria’s armor. She rose and shot an [Ice Spike]. A Raskghar howled in pain as it pierced his shoulder. Ceria conjured a wall of ice, blocking two more. She and Calruz stood back-to-back. Nokha and the other awakened snarled.

“Horns of Hammerad!”

Calruz roared. Ceria laughed.

“Horns! Forward!”

They spun, taking on the Raskghar, blade and spell. Mrsha saw the lesser Raskghar watching. The awakened advanced slowly, spreading out. The Gnolls clung to the bars, watching, hoping.

And the Cave Goblins backed away. They saw the fighting between Chieftain and awakened. They scurried towards the exits of the Raskghar camp. They disappeared past the metal sheets lying against the walls. Mrsha saw them streaming out, breaking into a dead run. None of the Raskghar noticed. Their eyes were on the battle. But Mrsha caught something as the Goblins moved and stirred the stale dungeon air into a breeze. It blew at her and she smelled something.

Oil. Salt. A warm room and a young woman. The scent of floorboards, of a crackling fire. A place where good food was always there and where she was safe. A loving mother.

Home.

And then Mrsha saw the Goblin who was the source of the scent. She was standing by one of the metal sheets. She had a hammer in hand. She’d pounded something into the sheet. A piece of unshaped metal. A round, crude little thing. On the flat piece of metal it was an irregularity. Excess. But as Mrsha stared at it she noticed something. The round bit of metal was at the right spot. If you looked at it just right, it looked almost like a door—

And then Pebblesnatch reached into her pocket. She pulled something out. A shimmering stone that glowed bright purple. It shone with magic. The stone was small, slightly rounded. A mana stone to be precise. But if you wanted to, you could call it a pebble. And she placed it on the door.

And Mrsha howled. The fighting Raskghar froze. Calruz turned his head as he swung his axe with a snarl. Ceria turned, her finger raised, tracking Nokha. The awakened Raskghar growled in fury. She looked at Mrsha and stopped. Because the Gnoll was pointing.

Every head turned. Raskghar. Gnoll. Minotaur. And Ceria’s. The others frowned as they saw Pebblesnatch standing by the sheet of metal with the crude bit of metal attached. They stared at the glowing mana stone. Ceria’s eyes widened. Nokha stared at her and barked an order, pointing at Pebblesnatch. But it was too late.

The Cave Goblin grabbed the doorknob and heaved on it. The piece of metal the Cave Goblins had built was thick. It was propped up against the wall, just a sheet of metal. There was nothing but dungeon stone behind it. But as Pebblesnatch dragged the door open, light shone through. The Raskghar flinched back, snarling in confusion. They shaded their eyes, and then stared.

There was a room on the other side of the door. A room filled with warm light. Rich, hardwood floorboards filled the common room of the Wandering Inn. A merry fire burned in the fireplace. The air smelled of good food, and the inn was warm and pleasant. But in that moment, what everyone’s eye was really drawn to were the people.

They stood in ranks. Gold-rank adventurers, lined up. The Horns of Hammerad minus one, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Wings of Pallass, the Flamewardens. Every Gold-rank team in the city and Silver-rank ones behind. And behind them were the Watch. Ranks of Drakes and Gnolls stood side-by-side with armored [Soldiers] led by Embria. Relc and Klbkch stood behind Zevara. Ilvriss and Olesm stood to one side with the Wall Lord’s personal retinue. Ilvriss’ sword was bared.

And behind them were the Antinium. The Painted Soldiers stood in ranks, led by Pawn, Anand, and Belgrade. Bird sat on a table, bow in hand. The adventurers, guardsmen, soldiers, and Antinium stared at the Raskghar in silence. The Raskghar were frozen.

And then a young woman stepped into view. Erin Solstice stood in the doorway, a broad smile on her face. She had a frying pan in one hand. She waved at the Raskghar with the other. She spoke in the silence.

“Hey. Welcome to my inn.”

The Raskghar stared at her in horror. Erin’s smile widened. Then she stepped out of the way. Jelaqua Ivirith strode forwards. She pointed, her golden-red armor burning with magical fire.

Charge!

She leapt through the door, her two-handed flail already swinging. The adventurers roared and surged through the door. Jelaqua bore down on the nearest Raskghar, her flail smashing into the beast-woman’s head. The Gold-rank adventurers charged past her, throwing spells and loosing arrows. Bevussa flew over the heads of the others, slashing at the Raskghar from overhead.

Silver Swords!

Ylawes ran forwards with Dawil and Falene at his back. He crashed into a Raskghar, ramming the stunned beast man with his shield. Dawil swung his hammer into the Raskghar’s side and Falene blasted another with a shower of fire arrows.

The Raskghar broke out of their stupefaction. They howled and tried to fight. But the wave of Gold-rank adventurers overwhelmed the first row of Raskghar, and the second. The Raskghar found themselves engaged in a melee as the [Warriors] pressed them from the front. The [Mages] and [Archers] held the back around the door. They poured through as the awakened Raskghar howled in alarm. Calruz spun, shouting orders as he and the other Raskghar tried to stem the onslaught.

There were over a hundred adventurers. But there were at least ten, no, maybe twenty Raskghar for each adventurer. The Raskghar formed a line, rushing forwards. The adventurers held their ground, shouting. Mrsha scrambled to see as the Gnolls howled. Where were the others? But the door was blank. Erin’s inn had vanished. Vanished?

And then Mrsha saw the light.

 

—-

 

The last adventurer charged through. Erin slammed the door. She ripped the purple mana stone off and grabbed another one from the tray beside the door. She heard Zevara and Embria shouting as she fumbled with the dark brown mana stone.

Guardsman! Follow Wing Commander Embria’s soldiers!

Captains! Prepare the charge!

A row of Drakes in colored armor marched forwards. They stood in front of the door as Erin slapped the mana stone into place. The [Captains] shouted, their voices overlapping.

“[Daring Charge]!”

“[Shieldwall Formation!]”

“[First Strikes]!”

“[Bravehearts]!”

Wing Commander Embria raised her spear. Erin reached for the door handle and yanked open the door. The Raskghar’s camp appeared in front of them. But from a different angle. The Raskghar were all clustered on the other side of the room and the Gold-rank adventurers were facing the doorway. They turned in disbelief as the light from the inn poured towards their backs.

Now! [Blades of Glory]! Charge!

She raced through the doorway towards the Raskghar. The Drake [Captains] were next. Then the [Sergeants]. Then the [Soldiers]. The 4th Company of Liscor’s finest crashed into the Raskghar like a wave from behind.

“Men! After me!”

Zevara ran through next, Relc and Klbkch hot on their heels. The [Guardsman] of Liscor followed, screaming war cries. Their blades glowed and they threw themselves at the larger Raskghar without hesitation. Erin saw Ilvriss run through with his retinue of personal Drakes. The Wall Lord pointed his sword and shouted.

“To me! Cut them down! Leave none of these monsters alive!”

Olesm ran with him, sword held aloft. Erin waited until the last Drake was out the door and then slammed her door again. This time she heard the Antinium move forwards.

“Soldiers, prepare yourself. We enter combat.”

Anand’s voice rang out as the Painted Soldiers tensed in front of the door. The two [Tacticians] stood to one side, as did Pawn. Yellow Splatter’s fists were raised. He and Purple Smile waited as Erin nearly dropped the black mana stone. She slapped it on the door and looked at the Antinium.

“Ready?”

Belgrade and Anand nodded.

“We have already applied our Skills. Proceed!”

Erin threw open the door. Again, the Raskghar camp appeared in front of her. Again, the perspective was different.

Three metal sheets. Each one had been placed at one of the entrances to the Raskghar camp. Each one at a different spot. Erin didn’t know how Pebblesnatch had managed it, but the logic had been simple. Why attack from one spot if you could attack from three?

Chess.

The instant the door opened Yellow Splatters thundered through. He spoke not a word. And neither did the other Soldiers. They charged silently.

A wall of black bodies smashed into the Raskghar from the side. They were so preoccupied with the Watch and Embria’s Soldiers and the adventurers that they didn’t hear the Antinium. Their only warning was the sight of Yellow Splatters running towards the nearest Raskghar. The beast man turned, eyes wide, and brought up his shield. Yellow Splatter’s fist punched through it and then the Antinium knocked the Raskghar to the ground. He pounded the Raskghar with all four fists as the Antinium streamed forwards, a tide of them—

“We go in too. Pawn, stay with us.”

Belgrade and Anand strode forwards. Pawn walked after them, swinging his censer. Erin wanted to stop them, but the Antinium walked behind the lines of Soldiers. And then it was just Erin. She looked around. Her inn was empty. Her chairs and tables were piled up at the dais in the back. Even so, her inn had been packed. Now there was only her, Bird, Lyonette, and Apista left. Erin stared at Bird. He had his bow out and was aiming it.

“Do I have permission to shoot, Miss Erin?”

“Yes.”

Erin stepped back from the door. Bird nodded. He knelt and drew an arrow. He took aim and loosed in a fraction of a second. His arrow shot past a group of fighting Soldiers, so close to one that it nearly grazed the Soldier’s eye. The Soldier didn’t flinch. The Raskghar that Bird’s arrow struck did. Bird drew another arrow and loosed it. And another. And another. His four hands moved so fast Erin couldn’t keep track. He loosed one arrow and then used his other hands to loose another. The arrows flew in a steady stream, as if Bird didn’t have to aim.

And he didn’t, in a sense. The Raskghar were everywhere. And there were so many of them! More than all the people fighting. But they were boxed in from three sides. And their opponents had been waiting for this moment.

Guardsman. Soldiers. Adventurers. Antinium. One side alone couldn’t beat the Raskghar. The adventurers couldn’t take the fight to them in the dungeon. The Antinium couldn’t bypass the traps. The soldiers and guardsman couldn’t abandon Liscor. People like Ilvriss could fight, but couldn’t handle the dungeon’s confines. But a fight? In a fight it was different.

Erin stared through the door. The Raskghar were disorganized, afraid. They had never expected their enemy to commit so much to one assault. If Liscor’s defenders died here, the city was lost. But that was the thing about strategy. You went all in. And this was all Erin had.

“Bird, I’m changing the door back to the adventurer’s side. They need support.”

“Yes, Erin. The pretty bird lady should not die.”

Erin slammed the door. Bird leaned out of the way as she plucked the mana stone off and slapped the purple one into place. She opened the door and Bird began loosing arrows. The Raskghar howled. Some of them pointed at Erin’s door. She gritted her teeth.

“Yeah, come on. Try getting in here. Bird, you get ready to move back if they rush us. Lyonette?”

Erin looked around. She looked for the [Princess]. Lyonette was staring into the door. She had a sword in her hands. Erin stared at her. Apista buzzed up in front of Erin’s face.

“Lyonette? What are you—”

 

—-

 

Chaos. The battle in the Raskghar’s camp was utter chaos. The three sides tried to hem the Raskghar in, but there were so many! The organized battle line began to fracture in places. But the Gold-ranks pressed ahead. The Silver Swords fought back-to-back. The Flamewardens incinerated patches of Raskghar while Bevussa’s team flew above. But they weren’t the tip of the spear breaking into Raskghar lines.

There. You. Are!

Jelaqua howled as she spotted the Raskghar in enchanted armor. The Raskghar turned and she crashed into him. The Selphid battered on his helmet with her flail as he struck her armor with his axe. The two cleared a space as they swung at each other. Raskghar tried to come to the armored Raskghar’s aid, but arrows cut them down. Halrac advanced, loosing arrows at point-blank range.

“Halrac! You’re in too far!”

Revi shouted at the [Scout] as he covered Jelaqua from behind. Her summoned warriors were clearing the left flank for the adventurers. Her giant Face-Eater Moth was causing havoc among the Raskghar and Typhenous was blowing apart their ranks with spells. But Halrac was surrounded. The Raskghar charged at the archers.

Halrac loosed an enchanted arrow, blowing two Raskghar apart, and then turned as one with an axe bore down on him. He dropped his bow, and drew his shortsword. He stabbed the Raskghar through the hide armor on its chest and turned. He cut at the Raskghar charging him from the right, dodging backwards, blade flashing. The Raskghar howled in dismay.

Duck!

The [Scout] flung himself down. He grabbed his bow and rolled, sheathing his shortsword as an adventurer heaved a trip vine bag at the Raskghar. It exploded, wrapping them in vines as Halrac leapt back. Jelaqua and the armored Raskghar fought on, heedless of the vines. Halrac turned, raising his bow, and an awakened Raskghar charged him. The first arrow Halrac loosed froze the Raskghar’s shield arm and raised buckler, but the awakened Raskghar just hurled the shield down. It charged Halrac, stone axe swinging. Halrac reached for his sword, narrowing his eyes—

And a hand grabbed the awakened. It twisted as Moore lifted it. The half-Giant roared at the Raskghar.

Where is Mrsha?

The Raskghar bit and clawed at Moore. In response, the giant threw the Raskghar into a clump of the others. The awakened Raskghar’s body cracked as it landed among the other Raskghar. They fell down, screaming in pain and then looked up as Moore swung his staff. The half-Giant punched and Raskghar disappeared. His body rose above the others as he threw Raskghar to the ground.

Mrsha!

Raskghar tried to fight him. But a shadow moved behind Moore. Seborn stabbed a Raskghar in the back, leapt, rolled, and cut another one before vanishing again. To his right, Relc grappled with an awakened Raskghar.

“Gah! You’re pretty strong!”

The former [Sergeant] grunted, his muscles straining as he fought with the Raskghar for possession of his spear. The awakened Raskghar’s eyes widened in disbelief as Relc forced the spear tip towards its chest. It backed up, arms straining—

And Klbkch’s blades pierced its chest. The Antinium twisted his swords and the Raskghar collapsed. Klbkch withdrew his blades and looked at Relc. The Drake blinked at him.

“I had him.”

“Evidently.”

Klbkch turned, blades flashing. Relc grinned and spun his spear. The Raskghar backed away as the two charged forwards.

Hold the line! Let the [Mages] cut them down! Hold!”

Zevara fought in her section as the Watch strove to keep the Raskghar pinned. While the Senior Guardsmen moved independently, the rest of the Watch fought shoulder-to-shoulder, not budging an inch. Zevara spat fire and cut with her sword. She saw the Raskghar charging on her left and ran to reinforce that spot. But before she got there she heard a voice.

On the left!

Embria charged with the [Soldiers] under her command. The [Captains] effortlessly cleaved into the Raskghar as the lower-level [Soldiers] rushed to follow. Embria whirled her spear, stabbed a Raskghar through the throat, and cut another across the face. She turned and saluted Zevara. The Watch Captain returned the salute.

“Salazsar! To me!”

Ilvriss stood on another part of the front lines. The Wall Lord fought with his small retinue of Drakes, not budging an inch. The Raskghar fell back in front of him—the Wall Lord’s fury was a physical thing, pressing at them, beating down like invisible fists. He turned and pointed.

There! Someone stop those Raskghar!

A group was headed towards Erin’s open door. The Antinium charged to intercept. Purple Smiles swayed as he jabbed, punching and fighting two Raskghar with his four arms at once. The other Soldiers overwhelmed the group of Raskghar with their bodies, throwing themselves on the Raskghar with a fury even the beast people couldn’t match. But some of the Raskghar escaped. They ran for Erin’s inn, ignoring Bird’s arrows that pierced their hides. One charged at Erin, howling—

And she slammed the door in his face. The warrior collided with the stone wall full-force. He lay there, stunned, until one of the Gold-rank adventurers stabbed him in the back. Light flashed from the other side of the room as Erin opened her door behind the Watch.

The battle was going one way. The Raskghar fell back, howling in fear as they were pressed from every side. They were strong. Cunning! Larger than their opponents! But these other races had magic. They blew apart the Raskghar from afar, and when they were injured they pulled back and used healing potions. The Raskghar, for all their numbers, didn’t have nearly as many healing potions. They had artifacts, but not enough.

And the Cave Goblins were gone. It was only Raskghar who fell and died. The awakened tried to rally them, but the Raskgahr were breaking. Nokha, snarling, turned, and howled for her bretheren. But she heard only three answering howls in the chaos. The awakened were dying! She felt fear run through her and looked around.

They had to flee. This battle was lost. But before they could go, they had to take the special one.

Mrsha. The fighting had kept clear of the cages. Nokha cut with her enchanted sword, killing the [Soldier] who was rushing at her and bounded through the fighting. She leapt towards Mrsha’s cage. The Gnolls inside cried out as Nokha tore the bars open. One tried to tackle her—she ran him through.

Mrsha fought as Nokha reached into the cage. But the Raskghar ignored her biting. She bared her teeth and turned. Flee! She looked towards the exits and then saw someone standing in front of her.

“Put her down.”

Lyonette held a sword in her hands. Nokha stared at her and grinned. She lashed out, her glowing sword cutting at Lyonette’s head. Mrsha screamed. And Lyonette parried.

It was a perfect moment. All the weight behind Nokha’s thrust vanished. Her blade missed Lyonette and the young woman stabbed. Nokha felt a burst of pain radiating from one shoulder. She turned, wrenching the blade out of her shoulder. She swung again, knocking Lyonette’s blade away. The sword tore loose from Lyonette’s hand and went flying. The young woman stared up as Nokha lifted her sword.

Bee attack! Go Apista!

Nokha heard the voice, but it made no sense. She turned her head and Apista jammed her stinger into Nokha’s cheek. The Raskghar howled and tried to tear the Ashfire Bee off. Apista flew up as Lyonette scrambled for her sword. The Raskghar whirled. Enough! She turned, eyes blazing—

And saw Moore. The half-Giant’s arms bled, but the thorns and vines covering his body were bloodier still. With Raskghar blood. Nokha’s ears flattened. She sliced at his arm, cutting deep—

Moore picked her up, broke the arm holding Mrsha like a twig, and threw Nokha. She slammed into a far wall, screaming, and vanished in the melee. Moore bent. Mrsha stared up at him. The half-Giant rasped.

“Mrsha. Are you alright?”

She nodded. Moore’s bloody face turned into a smile. He sat with a groan, bleeding. The Gnoll heard pounding footsteps.

Mrsha!

And then Lyonette was holding her. The [Princess] clutched the Gnoll and Mrsha clung to her chest. The two stood like that for a moment as the fighting continued around them. And then Seborn appeared.

“To the door! Now!”

They turned. Erin was standing at the door. She waved at them and threw her frying pan. It clocked a Raskghar bearing down on them. Erin waved them into the inn and then saw a Raskghar coming from behind. Bird looked for an arrow.

“I am out of arrows. Oh dear.”

“Out of the way! [Minotaur Punch]!”

The Raskghar’s head snapped back. It snarled—and Erin slammed the door in its face again. She yanked the mana stone off and turned. Lyonette was holding Mrsha. Erin smiled. Then she saw Moore collapse. Seborn yanked a potion off his belt as the half-giant lay on the floor.

“Tend to Moore! This isn’t over yet! Bird, get more arrows!”

“I will find more. Are any shops open?”

Erin ignored him. She yanked open the door. The Raskghar were beginning to break. But now she had only one question left.

Ceria? Where’s Ceria?

 

—-

 

Calruz stood in the center of the Raskghar ranks. He shouted, ordering them forwards. They struggled to obey. But the adventurers cut them down. They were using [Fireballs], blasting the Raskghar apart. Calruz roared in fury. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! If the Raskghar could pull back, if they could fight in choke points—

But something in him knew the truth. It was too late. They’d been taken by surprise. It was over. The Raskghar began to break, fleeing for the three exits, some trying to remove the barricades they’d painstakingly erected. Their morale was broken. Some fought on, but too many were fleeing.

“So this is it.”

The Minotaur stared around. His axe was heavy in his hand. He turned, staring at the three sides as they closed in. Despair made Calruz close his eyes. He had been so close! So close—

But some part of him was glad. It was a whisper, but it rejoiced. At last. Let this be an end. Calruz turned. Which side should he throw himself on? The people of Liscor, outraged over the Raskghar’s crimes? The adventurers, conquering the dungeon? The Antinium, the faceless, numberless foe? Each one was fitting. But before he could decide, a voice called his name.

Calruz!

He turned. Ceria stood behind him. Her armor of ice was cracked. Blood ran down her head. But she was alive. He was glad of that. But then three others moved to join her. Calruz paused.

An Antinium stood in front of Ceria, wearing a cloak, holding a dagger and shortsword and magical buckler in his three hands. Next to him stood Yvlon Byres, her armor bloody, gripping a sword with both hands. Beside Ceria stood Pisces, holding a rapier in one hand, his other hand glowing with magic. A creature of bone loomed behind him, a horrific spider of jagged edges. Calruz stared.

“This is it, Calruz. You lose.”

Ceria looked tired. Her hand trembled with exhaustion as it pointed at Calruz’s chest. But her eyes were steady. The Minotaur stared at her.

“So this is your new team. They aren’t worthy. Not of the Horns of Hammerad.”

“That is quite debatable—”

“Shut up, Pisces.”

Ceria turned her head to address the [Necromancer]. When she looked back at Calruz, she was smiling slightly.

“So you say. But here we are. The Horns died in the crypt, Calruz. All but you and I. But here we are.”

“True.”

Calruz felt his heart beating as he stared at the four Horns of Hammerad. He looked around, laughed, and raised his axe.

“Fitting! Then let’s make an end of it! Come! Show me what the Horns can do! Grant me death! For honor! For glory!

He charged. The Horns spread out. Calruz’s first swing was blocked by the Antinium. His buckler emitted a field of energy that blocked the swing. The Antinium swung with his dagger and shortsword. Calruz knocked away both blades. He turned and Yvlon swung her sword.

The impact nearly threw Calruz back as he blocked. The sword was enchanted! He struck her, and Yvlon’s arms buckled as she blocked the blow with her sword. But her arms did not falter. They did not break. She swung her sword and Calruz stumbled back—

And an [Ice Spike] struck his chest. The tip broke off in Calruz’s skin. His toughened hide resisted the force of the blow, but Calruz turned towards Ceria. And Pisces stabbed him from behind.

The tip of his rapier penetrated Calruz’s back. But like the spell, it didn’t go through Calruz’s flesh. The Minotaur turned, swinging his axe and Pisces blurred out of the way. Yvlon blocked another swing and stumbled back. The Bone Horror slashed Calruz across the chest. He roared.

[Hammer Blow]!

He cleaved through the thing’s head. It fell, lifeless. Ceria raised a wall of ice as Calruz rushed her. His axe smashed through the thick ice. Calruz turned. Yvlon was trying to flank him. The [Necromancer] was blasting him with electricity. Where was—

Ksmvr stabbed Calruz in the leg with his dagger. The Flamecoat Dagger sparked. And Calruz’s flesh ignited. The Minotaur screamed, his entire body aflame. He swung wildly and Yvlon’s blade cut a wide gash down his front. Pisces hit Calruz with a blast of air that knocked the Minotaur back. He tried to see. But the flames—

Cold. Something struck Calruz. It smothered the flames, put him out. Calruz groaned, pain wracking his body. He looked at what had hit him.

Snow. He looked up. Ceria Springwalker smiled at him. She lifted her skeletal finger and pointed at Calruz’s forehead. The Minotaur met her gaze. And smiled. He dropped his axe—

And the [Ice Spice] struck him between the eyes. The Minotaur fell. Ceria walked towards him. She knelt, her eyes filled with tears. Calruz stared up, his eyes wide and blank. Ceria bent.

“Stupid Minotaur. You always did have a hard head.”

Blood ran down Calruz’s head. The Minotaur laughed weakly.

“I suppose I did.”

He stared up at Ceria and reached out. She caught his hand.

“It’s over.”

“Thank you.”

 

—-

 

In the end, they stood and counted the dead. Of the Raskghar, there were too many to number. Of the attackers, well…

Erin watched as Halrac knelt and closed a Gnoll’s eyes. Nailren bowed his head, weeping. The Watch stood around their fallen, as did Embria’s [Soldiers]. The Antinium stared down at the broken bodies of their own. The symbols of the fallen soldiers would appear on the Hive’s walls.

The dead. Was it selfish that Erin had only known a few of them? Her friends had lived. It had been the low-level ones, the brave adventurers and guards who had volunteered to fight the Raskghar that had paid the price.

And yet, the mood wasn’t depressed. It wasn’t joyous either. It was…relieved. The Raskghar had fled. But only a few hundred. Their camps were still there, and perhaps some of the awakened lived. But this attack had shattered them. They would not menace Liscor again.

“It’s over.”

Zevara leaned on her sword panting and coughing exhaustedly. Keldrass was doing the same. He offered her a jar and Zevara eyed it before lifting it up. The air blowing from the magical artifact dried the blood on her face until she held it to her mouth and breathed from it. When she lowered it, she was breathing easier.

“We have lost good Drakes and Gnolls this day. And Humans as well. But this was a victory. A triumph.”

Ilvriss stood straight, although he looked as tired as anyone else. He bore a scratch on one cheek and he had buried two of his followers. But his gaze was clear.

“We saved the people of Liscor. We crushed the Raskghar in their homes. Was it worth the price? I think it was.”

“Not to mention the captured artifacts.”

Embria pointed at the dead Raskghar. The armored Raskghar that Jelaqua had finally killed, the Raskghar with the invisible bow—and far more. They had fallen with their brethren, and the adventurers had dragged their bodies out. Ilvriss nodded tiredly as the Gold-ranks looked at each other.

“We will take custody of the artifacts. We can divide it later according to each group’s contributions. And I will pay the full bounty for the freed Gnolls. Although—”

He brightened up a bit.

“—I suppose that Liscor’s involvement will mean that a portion of the bounty is rendered null.”

“Actually Wall Lord, I think that Liscor would like to claim whatever portion of the bounty possible. If only to provide the Watch pay for exceptional service and compensate the dead.”

Zevara cleared her throat, clearly embarrassed. Ilvriss sighed.

“Of course. But later. We will leave the dead here, I take it. Let the monsters have the Raskghar. We’ll destroy the doors—”

“And the prisoner?”

Everyone fell silent. Erin looked over at Anand. He and six Soldiers stood around Calruz. The Minotaur knelt, shackled, his head bowed. He did not look up, though his body was badly burned and he bled from two wounds. Zevara hissed.

“Take him to the Watch’s prison. We’ll begin the trial as soon as we can figure out all that he’s done.”

Ilvriss nodded coldly. Embria looked at her [Soldiers] and the Antinium made way. The Drakes yanked Calruz to his feet and forced him through the magic doorway. A few of the adventurers stirred. Erin saw Ksmvr, Pisces, and Yvlon look at Ceria. But the half-Elf just shook her head. Her eyes were pained as she watched Calruz go.

“He has to pay for what he’s done. Madness or not. I’ll…be there to testify.”

The other adventurers looked at the Horns. Ilvriss turned and nodded.

“We will look forwards to a full report. But later. For now—”

He wobbled and caught himself. The Wall Lord looked around. At Antinium, Drakes, Gnolls, a Selphid, Humans…for once there was no scorn in Ilvriss’ eyes as he met Erin’s.

“This was a victory. We accomplished it working together. Perhaps…no, let us say no more than that. All races came together in Liscor’s hour of need. Dwarf. Human. Drake. Gnoll. Selphid. Drowned Man. Half-Giant. Garuda.”

“And Goblin.”

Ilvriss looked at Erin. The young woman looked around. The exhausted warriors looked at her. Erin raised her voice.

“And Goblins. You may not like it. You don’t have to change your mind. But this was all thanks to Goblins. They fought for this. And it was a Goblin who opened the way.”

She pointed to Pebblesnatch. The Cave Goblin was staring at a dead Raskghar. She touched her former master and then looked up. She flinched as all the eyes found her. Erin nodded.

“You all fought. I’ll never forget that. But give the Goblins their due. They helped. And that is the truth. And the truth does not change. All of you saved the people I love. And Goblins.”

Ilvriss looked at Zevara and Embria. He wavered, then nodded curtly.

“So be it. And Goblins. And now—and now I think it is time. People of Liscor. Let us return home.”

And they did. The tired adventurers, the Watch, the soldiers and Antinium left the dungeon. The Raskghar camp lay abandoned. The dead remained where they had fallen. In time, monsters crept along. They devoured. And a lone figure walked, collecting heads. A skeleton danced around, giddy, laughing without a voice. But that was the dungeon.

Erin walked back into her inn and saw off every last person, thanking each one she could. She saw Lyonette go upstairs, still holding Mrsha and refusing to let go. She looked at Ceria and saw the half-Elf had changed. But she spoke little of it. She watched as all her friends went to their beds, and then slowly walked into her kitchen. She lay down on the floor in her nest of blankets and sighed. She closed her eyes.

 

[Magical Innkeeper Level 36!]

[Skill – Natural Allies: Goblins obtained!]

 

[Inn – Local Landmark: Liscor obtained!]

 

“Ah.”

Erin smiled for just a moment. Then she fell asleep in truth. And in a cave not far from her inn, a group of five Goblins stood in silence. They stared into the dungeon and then looked at each other. The Cave Goblins watched. The Raskghar were dead. But it was not their new masters that stood in front of them now. The Redfang Goblins turned, their red eyes flashing, and the Cave Goblins watched. They listened, and the ones below looked up. They felt it.

Something new.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.45

Night deepened and turned to day. The dungeon that had rung with the sounds of battle grew silent. The adventurers, Antinium, and people of Liscor returned to their city through the magic doors, breaking the exits behind them. They returned with the captive Gnolls, with a Minotaur in shackles, and a half-Elf. In triumph. In victory.

And so the Raskghar fled. Broken, they retreated towards their other camps, unable to do anything but run. They had been beaten, destroyed. And so badly that they could not even dream of vengeance. They ran, seeking out their brethren, a shred of hope. But what they found in the darkness was more despair.

The camps were filled with flickering torchlight and screams. Howls of Raskghar as they fought and died. And screams. Cave Goblins swarmed their masters, armed with crude weapons. But they outnumbered the Raskghar. And they had lost their fear of their masters. And they had leaders.

Five Hobgoblins fought, leading the Cave Goblins. They charged the Raskghar. A monster who raged stronger than even the largest Raskghar. A keen-eyed archer whose arrows struck the Raskghar from hundreds of feet away. A Hobgoblin whose sword seemed to shine as he cut down his enemies. The Goblin who sang. And a Hobgoblin who wore a crimson cloak, a hero.

And the Raskghar fled once more. They howled then, in grief and desperation. But no one answered. So they ran and ran, broken, not understanding how all this had come to pass.

All of that passed below as the weary folk returned to Liscor. They knew nothing of what followed. Why should they? The Raskghar were beaten. The uprising of the Goblins was a thing of monsters. Unimportant for now. For now they would rest. The [Innkeeper] slept in her kitchen. A [Princess] hugged a Gnoll tightly and the Gnoll cub hugged her back as fiercely as she could as they fell asleep in a warm bed. An Ashfire Bee crawled onto their heads and lay there, content that all was well in the world.

A weary Watch Captain fell asleep on top of a report on her desk, the ink splotching her face. A Wall Lord drank a cup of milk rather than alcohol and toasted the fallen with his people. A half-Giant laid down in the three beds pushed together and got a night of rest for the first time in days. The [Strategist] of Liscor sat and feverishly wrote, trying to recall all that he had witnessed. A Minotaur looked up in his prison cell, his flesh burnt, his body bleeding. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Countless members of Liscor’s Watch stumbled back into their homes, some grieving, all exhausted, but relieved. The adventurers slept, dreaming of treasure and levels. The city rested. Below, the Antinium returned to their Hive and got on with business as usual.

But in the twilight before dawn, one person moved through Liscor’s rainy streets. She snuck from house to house, never staying in one place long. But she moved with the utmost certainty. For her, the pre-dawn morning was the perfect time. The only time, before Liscor roused and heard the news. She crept up to one house in the street, silent as a whisper. A family of Gnolls slept there. They awoke suddenly as they heard a sound at the door.

“What is—”

A female Gnoll mother jerked upright, awakened by an unfamiliar scent at her door. She had slept lightly, for fear of the Raskghar despite the Watch’s assurances. She looked for her partner—but he was on night duty on the walls! She checked for her children. They were still asleep in her room, in the small home the family shared. She hesitated, then heard the knocking on the door. It was polite. Loud. Insistent.

Dread seized the mother. She rose, ignoring her state of undress and crept into the kitchen. She emerged with a wickedly sharp knife. She crept towards the door. Whoever it was stood right outside. There was another knock. The Gnoll held her breath. Then she threw open the door—

“Hello Miss Rykhai! Sorry about the early hour! Mind if I come in?”

Drassi beamed at Rykhai. The Gnoll froze, knife in hand. The Drake went cross-eyed as she stared at it.

“Uh—is this a bad time?”

“Drassi?”

Rykhai stared at Drassi in disbelief. She lowered the knife, her paws shaking.

“I nearly gutted you! I thought you were a Raskghar! Fool, don’t you know that the curfew is in effect? Come in, don’t stand in the streets!”

She ushered Drassi in and then slammed the door and locked it. Drassi looked around. It was very early, but the Drake was decidedly unapologetic. She rubbed her claws together, beaming, as Rykhai turned to glare at her.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Miss Rykhai. I know your children must be asleep. And your husband, Tessil, he’s probably on duty, right? It must be so hard to have someone working the night shift, what with the dungeon and all. Well, I have good news for you!”

“News that excuses me being woken up and frightened out of my fur, yes?”

The Gnoll folded her arms severely. She liked Drassi, and she was one of Drassi’s chat-friends as the Drake liked to call her circle of acquaintances. But this was crossing a line. Drassi grinned.

“Yes, actually! I have good news! Your husband won’t have to work overtime on the night shifts anymore. Because—are you ready for this? You might need a seat! The Raskghar were defeated! The Watch and the adventurers and the Antinium attacked them in their lair and rescued the Gnolls! All of them!”

For a second Rykhai thought she was still dreaming. She backed up from Drassi and sat on the family’s worn couch.

What?

The Drake beamed. Rykhai’s three Gnoll children woke up muzzily. Like their mother, their first instinct was unease. But as soon as they smelled Drassi they were bouncing around the living room. And when they heard Drassi’s news they immediately howled in relief.

The noise woke up their neighbors. There was a pounding on one of the walls and from above as Gnolls woke up unhappily, but Rykhai rushed to her windows and poked her head outside.

Get down here! The Raskghar are dead!”

She heard several yelps and banging sounds from the other houses nearby as more people began waking up. The Gnoll turned back to Drassi.

“They are dead? Yes?”

“Most of them. The rest ran. It was a huge battle! Thousands of Raskghar dead! I heard it all first-hand! I wasn’t there in person, but I was around to help when they came back through. I saw them bringing magical artifacts back, and the prisoners! Say, do you have any tea?”

Rykhai blinked. But then she nodded.

“I can put a pot on.”

Drassi smiled gratefully, her tail wagging.

“Thank you so much. I’ve been to three places before this. I don’t want to be a bother, but my throat is dry. Let me give you a few details before everyone gets here.”

She followed Rykhai into the kitchen as the young Gnoll cubs swarmed around her, asking questions which Drassi was only too happy to answer. The Drake hadn’t slept for over thirty hours, but that didn’t matter. Her smile only kept widening as more Gnolls swarmed around Rykhai’s locked door and then flooded into her home, demanding answers. Were the Raskghar all dead? How had it happened? Were the prisoners well?

To a [Gossip], there was nothing juicier, nothing more delicious than knowing something this big before everyone else. Drassi grinned as more Gnolls living on the street threw their shutters open. Soon Rykhai’s living room was packed and Drassi had a huge audience. Everyone waited for Drassi to give them the details. After all, they’d never known Drassi to lie and she was one of the few people who knew what had happened.

Yes, the Council would probably make an announcement with [Criers] and [Street Runners] later today. But their report would be lacking in details, whereas Drassi had all the juicy ones. She basked as she began to retell the entire series of events she’d gotten out of the adventurers and Erin to her audience.

And when she was done here, she’d visit the next street, and the next…there were a lot of hours before morning, and even then, she’d still be able to talk about what had happened to everyone she knew. Which was everyone.

In this moment Drassi was a [Queen] surrounded by her adoring subjects. She beamed at the Gnolls who stared at her, dying to know what she knew. Drassi felt excellent. After all, she was performing a public service.

And she was doing Erin a favor. After all, a [Gossip] could sway the mood of the public if she was good, and Drassi was an expert. She owed Erin that much. So the Drake [Barmaid] winked and accepted a cup of hot tea sweetened with Ashfire Bee honey and settled back in her chair. She cleared her throat theatrically, and then began.

“I’ll tell you everything as it happened. I heard it all from people who were there. It was adventurers who saved Liscor. But not just them. It was the Watch, the Antinium, Wall Lord Ilvriss, and even the army. But they couldn’t have done it without help from the Goblins. Yes. I’m serious! It was Goblins who helped save the day. And Erin’s magic door. But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. It started like this. And remember, this is all true. I heard it from Ceria and Erill and the others. They saw everything. When they first woke up in the Raskghar camp…”

 

—-

 

Mrsha had a bad dream. She dreamed that she was lying on the altar. Sticky blood was on her back and someone was holding her down. And Nokha was there. She was alive. She had a rock in her hands. It was stained with blood. And she was coming closer.

The white Gnoll tried to move. But she couldn’t. Nokha grinned at her. She drew closer. And then she reached into her chest. Her flesh moved and she pulled out a head. Vakk’s. He stared blankly at Mrsha. Nokha bent over the bloodstained altar. Her breath was rancid. She stared into Mrsha’s eyes and whispered.

We are whole, Mrsha.

And then Mrsha woke. She thrashed about wildly and felt something strange. A softness under her. Warmth all around her. And—

Light. And Mrsha looked around and realized she wasn’t in the dungeon. She was above, in her room in Erin’s inn. And Lyonette was hugging her. Mrsha’s heart still beat rapidly, though. She looked around, remembering Nokha’s words.

She shuddered, and then flinched as something moved in the inn. She crouched until she realized the thing was Apista. The Ashfire Bee flew up from the windowsill where it had been basking and buzzed gently around Mrsha’s head. The Gnoll cub looked at it and then realized Lyonette was holding her. She wiggled free and hopped to the ground.

The movement woke Lyonette of course. The young woman turned over, stirred, and then sat up. She blinked at her empty arms and then nearly shot out of bed.

Mrsha? Where—

She spotted Mrsha staring up at her. The Gnoll backed up a step at the look on Lyonette’s face. The [Princess] had an anguished look that turned to relief. She bent and swept Mrsha up into a tight embrace. Mrsha squeaked.

Lyonette didn’t care. She hugged Mrsha so tightly that the nightmare vanished. The Gnoll felt warm. And she hugged back, fiercely.

For a while they just stood like that. After a while, Apista landed on Lyonette’s head. The [Princess] started, and then laughed. She sat down on her bed with Mrsha in her arms.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I dreamed—”

She broke off, as adults did when they didn’t want to tell the truth. Mrsha silently squeezed Lyonette. She was here. She was above. She inhaled Lyonette’s scent and looked out the window. It was light!

A faint light. A grey light. Rain pattered on the window, a gloomy sky bringing down more water. But it was still light. The dungeon had been small. But the sky—

“I’m never going to let you out of my sight again. I promise.”

Lyonette shifted her grip on Mrsha. The Gnoll shifted, a tad uncomfortable until Lyonette supported her with one arm. She didn’t know if she liked that promise, but in that moment she didn’t care. She looked around and saw Apista hovering, her antennae waving. There was something different about her. Mrsha squinted, and then patted Lyonette’s arm and pointed. The [Princess] looked up and her eyes widened.

“That’s right! I leveled up! And I got a Skill—or rather—Apista?”

She held out her other hand and the Ashfire Bee landed on her hand. It looked much like normal—that was, until it turned and Mrsha saw its stinger. Normally, the Ashfire Bee’s stinger was a little barb sticking out of its backside, barely noticeable. But now Apista’s stinger was bigger. It looked brighter too, a more crimson tint to it. And it felt…hot. Heat was radiating from the tip of the stinger. Mrsha’s eyes went round as Apista fanned her wings, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes on her.

“[Crimson Stinger]. I got the Skill—I didn’t know pets changed with [Beast Tamers]! I heard that some [Falconers] could have huge hawks, but—”

Lyonette raised Apista up so the bee could walk up her arm and onto her shoulder. Mrsha stared too. Both she and Lyonette stared at Apista’s enhanced stinger. Lyonette reached out to touch it and thought better.

“We all leveled up, probably. That’s one good thing that came of all this. I…I was so worried. I would have gone after you if I could, but all I could do was wait. It was Erin who rescued you, really.”

Mrsha nodded. Lyonette had said all this yesterday. She remembered Lyonette facing Nokha. She looked up and licked Lyonette’s face. The young woman squeezed Mrsha again, and then heard a sound. It was a rumbling from Mrsha’s stomach.

“Oh. You must be hungry!”

She was. But Mrsha hesitated until she remembered that she was in Erin’s inn. Then she nodded rapidly. Lyonette smiled.

“Come on.”

She let Mrsha jump to the ground. Mrsha ran to the door, and then paused. She raced past Lyonette who was looking for her clothes.

Mrsha had leveled up too. And gained a Skill of her own. But that was a special secret. Mrsha reached under her pillow and pulled something out. Pisces’ wand. Her wand. She held it very tightly as Lyonette got dressed. She wouldn’t go anywhere without it. Ever.

“What’s that? Oh—well, I’m sure Pisces won’t mind. Come on.”

Lyonette picked up Mrsha. Rather than let her race downstairs, the [Princess] carried her down in her arms. Apista flew with her. At first, Mrsha felt like a stranger in a strange place. But then she smelled something wonderful coming from below. And when she and Lyonette reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a familiar face.

Erin Solstice was sitting at a table. She looked up with a smile.

“Mrsha!”

She stood up. Behind her, she’d set a table with a huge number of hot dishes. She must have heard the two getting up, because there were steaming eggs, hot bacon, pancakes, warm buns, butter, milk with honey, sausages—and that was only the food from Erin’s home. There were spicy Yelets, a fish congee, fruit juice, a salad with dressing sprinkled over it, a melon sliced into pieces…

Mrsha’s eyes went round at the sight of it all. Lyonette put her on the table. She and Erin looked at each other for a moment. And then Erin smiled at Mrsha.

“It’s so great to have you back. We were all worried—I made you a special breakfast.”

Mrsha climbed hesitantly into her seat. After being in the cell for so long she could barely believe what lay before her eyes. Her nose hurt a bit from all the smells. She had eaten food yesterday—but she’d been so hungry and so much had happened she couldn’t remember what it was. This was her first real meal. And it was overwhelming.

“Go on.”

Mrsha looked up at Lyonette. The [Princess] smiled and nodded.

“You have the first bite, Mrsha. The [Healer] said you can’t eat too much or your stomach will do bad things. But you can have a bit of anything you want, okay Mrsha? And you can have little snacks throughout the day. Take whatever you want.”

Slowly, almost thinking it was a dream, Mrsha reached out. There was a plate of poached eggs, wobbly, the edges crisped, and the yolks still gooey on the inside. Mrsha reached for one, picked it up, and then remembered she should have used a fork. She looked up guiltily, but neither young woman chastised her.

The food was hot. And it smelled so good. Mrsha just held the poached egg a second. She could see and smell the pepper and salt that had been sprinkled over it, smell the grease from fried bacon that had helped cook the egg. She could even smell the fact that it was a goose egg, not a chicken’s egg. Her stomach rumbled. But Mrsha was afraid. She held the egg until Lyonette and Erin were giving each other worried looks. Then, slowly, Mrsha bit.

The egg was…an egg. But glorious. The taste hit Mrsha’s tongue. It was nostalgic and new. It tasted nothing like the dead monster parts in the dungeon. And then it hit Mrsha. She was here. She was safe. She took another bite into the poached egg and began crying.

“Oh Mrsha—”

Erin bent down and hugged the Gnoll. Mrsha kept crying, but she started chewing. And now she was ravenous. She filled her plate, snatching food. Lyonette had to divide everything she grabbed into portions that wouldn’t tax Mrsha’s stomach. But she promised, promised the anxious Gnoll.

“Everything will be right here for later. Just eat this much, okay, honey?”

Mrsha did. Lyonette and Erin sat at the table and ate. They didn’t speak. They just looked at each other.

It was the first meal Erin had had with Lyonette in days. The first meal that Lyonette had really had, too. The [Princess] realized she was starving and after a moment, so did Erin. They ate ravenously, until the spread of food was quite reduced. And then they looked at Mrsha. She sat at the table, running her paws over the grain of the wood, looking around. She looked…different.

The dungeon had changed her. Erin closed her eyes. Of course it had. She had seen the cages and the Raskghar’s camp before the adventurers had burned it and retreated back through her inn. She had seen Mrsha’s cage. Normally the Gnoll would be running about. But today she just sat at the table, looking around as if she’d never seen Erin’s inn before.

Heartbreaking. And yet she was here. Erin felt a bit teary-eyed herself, but she didn’t give into it. Not just yet. She looked at Lyonette and saw the younger girl wiping her eyes.

“I guess I cook really well, huh?”

Lyonette laughed. Mrsha looked up, and then her lips moved upwards awkwardly. She kicked her legs at the table. But she didn’t move.

“Do you want to play, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll looked at Lyonette. Then she seemed to remember that yes, she did do that. She stood up hesitantly, and looked around. She glanced about Erin’s common room and sniffed the air. Then she held her paws up. She made a shape. A ball.

“Oh. Your ball. It’s…”

Erin stood up. So did Lyonette. They looked about, but Mrsha’s ball had vanished. With all that had gone on, Erin hadn’t thought to keep track of the ball. And wherever it was, it was gone. Mrsha’s ears drooped as she saw the consternation on the two’s faces.

“We’ll find it. I’m sure it just rolled somewhere. Why don’t we—why don’t we all clean up? I can hear someone moving about upstairs. The adventurers will be coming down.”

It was a lame suggestion, but it worked. The Gnoll and [Barmaid] automatically began cleaning up. Mrsha kept pausing, but Lyonette moved automatically. And sure enough, the Horns came down minutes later, as one group. Erin turned and blinked.

Ceria stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking just as dumbfounded as Mrsha. She gazed around and then she saw Mrsha. The Gnoll child had frozen. She and Ceria’s gazes met. The half-Elf straightened.

“Um. Hello.”

“Hi.”

Erin stared at her friend. Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr stopped on the stairs behind Ceria. For a moment Erin felt that strangeness, and saw it reflected on Ceria’s face. Then she heard a cough.

“Could you, ah, move, Springwalker? Before we all perish of starvation?”

Ceria blinked. She looked back and automatically scowled. Then caught herself. Yvlon glanced at Pisces. But not in annoyance. The [Necromancer] sniffed, but his eyes—the tension in the room vanished.

“Shut up, Pisces. I’m going.”

The half-Elf walked down the stairs. Ksmvr nodded.

“I believe I am able to function for at least four more days before expiring. In case anyone was concerned about my food consumption.”

“No, Ksmvr. Eat up.”

Yvlon smiled. She nodded to Erin and looked at Mrsha. She bent and held out a hand. The Gnoll looked at Yvlon and took it. Yvlon gently shook Mrsha’s paw.

“I’m glad to see you.”

Mrsha nodded. Then she looked up and saw Pisces. Ksmvr. Ceria again. They smiled at her. Mrsha stared up at them and her mouth moved. It might have been a happy expression.

“Alright! Breakfast!”

Erin found a smile of her own. She swept into the kitchen and came out with plates of food. Like her breakfast, she served the Horns everything she had. Ceria’s eyes widened. She grabbed a roll, smelled it as her teammates watched, and then bit.

“Dead gods. Dead gods. I forgot—”

The half-Elf chewed so fast she nearly choked as she tried to swallow. She grabbed a sausage and stuffed it into her face. Yvlon’s face was amused, appalled, and happy at the same time.

“Can you at least pretend to use silverware, Ceria?”

“Sorry. This is—this is so good. Tree roots, is this what it tasted like before?”

“Need a drink?”

“Alcohol?”

Ceria sat up. She stared at the bar. Erin filled her a mug. The half-Elf washed down her food and sat at the table. Mrsha watched her. The Gnoll didn’t bounce or beg for snacks. And as the Horns ate in the same silence, Erin saw Mrsha’s eyes fix on Ceria’s face. The half-Elf pretended not to notice.

So much had changed. And Erin didn’t know exactly what. In the confused aftermath of the battle, so much had happened that she’d only gotten the barest of accounts from Ceria. And she didn’t want to press the half-Elf or Mrsha. Far from it. But she knew just by looking that more had gone on than words could say. And Mrsha just sat there.

Lyonette and Erin exchanged a look over Mrsha’s head. Erin looked around. Her glass windows reflected a rainy day in Liscor, as usual. The rain poured down. Erin cleared her throat and Mrsha looked around quickly. The [Innkeeper] smiled at her and pointed.

“It’s not too nice out. But why don’t you take Mrsha into Liscor, Lyonette? I think what she needs is…a special present.”

“Now?”

Lyonette looked uncertain. But Erin nodded. She stared around the inn and then nodded to her magic door.

“We should go out. And Mrsha definitely deserves something. Maybe a new ball? We’ll all go together, how about that?”

The little Gnoll looked up. Her tail began to wag a bit. Lyonette hesitated, then nodded.

“I’ll get cloaks for all of us. One second!”

“I’ll put out more food. Save some for the Halfseekers, okay?”

Erin hurried into the kitchen. When she came out, the Horns were talking at last. Ceria sat, looking from face to face.

“So…what did I miss?”

Pisces smirked. Yvlon laughed and ran her hands through her hair. Ksmvr opened his mandibles.

“To the best of my knowledge, Captain Ceria—”

“We’re all heroes. After all, we participated in the largest dungeon raid in Liscor’s history. We obtained a bounty on the captured prisoners. And there are the magical artifacts yet to be divided up. Our team made substantial gains while you were captive. I suspect we may be able to claim a fair margin of the spoils.”

Pisces sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. Ceria’s lips quirked.

“Ah, right. We’re fighting over all the treasures the Raskghar had? Figures. How’s that going to work? Hell, how’d you get everyone into the dungeon? That was…a lot.”

“Miss Erin, of course.”

Ceria glanced over.

“I should have known.”

Erin shook her head as she came over. She put another plate on the table.

“I just came up with the plan. Everyone helped. Antinium, adventurers, the Watch…and Goblins. I think the Council of Liscor’s putting out the word right now.”

Ceria looked surprised.

“They didn’t know—oh wait, it was night. Wow. That’s a cause for celebration if ever I heard one.”

Yvlon nodded. She buttered a piece of toast. She glanced sideways at Ceria.

“There’ll probably be another parade.”

“Probably.”

Erin carefully found another table and put the food down there. She glanced back at Ceria.

“Going to join in?”

The half-Elf wavered. She looked around her table and then seemed to remember she was part of her team. The Captain. She shook her head after a second.

“Nah. We’re…I’m not up for it. If you all want to do it, that’s fine. I just want to know what they’ll do about—”

Ceria hesitated. She glanced at Mrsha, and then sighed.

“—about Calruz.”

The inn quieted. Mrsha looked up as Lyonette tied the cloak to her neck. Yvlon put down her fork. Pisces doodled with the grease on his plate. Ksmvr kept eating bread as he looked around, and then paused uncertainly.

“Right. Him.”

Erin didn’t know what to think. She’d seen Calruz. But the beaten, burned Minotaur wasn’t at all the one she’d remembered teaching her how to fight. And she hadn’t seen the monster that had led the Raskghar. Only the aftermath. Ceria shook her head. She passed a hand across her eyes.

“He’s not well. I don’t know if it was something in the dungeon or the Raskghar or the water, but I think it wasn’t entirely his fault. Still. That doesn’t excuse any of it. I just—”

Ceria’s voice trailed off. She looked at her mismatched hands. At last, Pisces cleared his throat.

“I believe that means, no parade, Miss Solstice.”

That elicited a grin from Erin.

“Right. Thanks, Pisces. Well, we’re going into the city. If you need anything.”

“I think we’ll stay here. And…talk.”

Yvlon looked at Ceria. The half-Elf glanced up and nodded.

“Yeah. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

They left it at that. Erin went over to Mrsha and Lyonette. The Gnoll was visibly apprehensive as she looked at the magic door. But that was the point. Erin went over and set the door to Liscor as if nothing was wrong.

“Ready? We’ll all go together. Come on.”

The door opened into a rainy street. Erin stepped forwards first and turned. Mrsha hesitated at the door’s edge. She looked up. Lyonette smiled reassuringly down at her. Mrsha wavered, and then put a paw on the rainy street. She flinched as she felt the wetness, then walked forwards. She looked up as the rain spattered her face.

“You’re so brave.”

Erin bent and gave Mrsha a wet cuddle. Then she stood. She nodded at Lyonette and they began to walk through Liscor.

Everything was the same. Everything was not. Erin and Lyonette kept looking at Mrsha every few seconds. And the Gnoll stared at everything. She didn’t run about. She was…looking. The three passed by Drakes and Gnolls on the street. And they were different too.

Liscor had been hushed after the Raskghar attacks. People had barely gone about, except to work and perform necessary business. They had been quiet, nervous and angry. But now the word had gone out. The Gnolls and Drakes stood about in the streets, talking. Some glanced about nervously, until they caught themselves and realized there was nothing to fear. They stared at Erin and Lyonette as they passed. And at Mrsha. The Gnolls paused in what they were doing and looked at the little Gnoll. She stared back. The Gnolls exchanged glances. Lyonette and Erin watched them warily. They heard whispers as Mrsha padded past.

“White one.”

“Mrsha child.”

And then, from one Gnoll, a word.

“Doombringer.”

Erin and Lyonette whirled. The Gnoll looked at them and then at Mrsha. Lyonette’s face went white. She opened her mouth furiously, but the Gnoll’s expression wasn’t hostile or afraid. He inclined his head at Mrsha. The Gnoll cub stared at him. Then he bowed his head. The Gnoll turned and walked past. A Drake blinked at the two and scratched his head. So did Erin. Lyonette stared with a mixture of anger and confusion at the Gnoll’s back.

“What was that about?”

Erin looked thoughtfully at Mrsha’s face. The Gnoll stared after the other Gnoll. Her expression was neither happy nor sad. But it was slightly content. Erin stared at the Gnoll’s back and nodded.

“I think…we should get moving before we’re all totally drenched. Where’s the toy store? Left?”

“Straight and then left.”

In time they reached the special store that Erin and Lyonette had found a while back. It was a Gnoll-run store and it was aimed at children, but mainly Gnoll children. That was because it was a ball shop. It sold balls.

Small catching balls. Large ones made of leather. Discs for catching. If there was anything Gnolls shared with dogs, it was their love of games that allowed them to run about. Mrsha’s ball had come from here. Now the three pushed inside. A Gnoll at the counter looked up and blinked when he saw Mrsha. Then he bowed at his counter.

“Greetings. What can I do for you?”

“Hi. We’re looking for a ball for Mrsha. We just wanted to look around. Is it okay if she touches things? We can pay for anything.”

The Gnoll inclined his head as Mrsha stared up at him.

“Of course. Take your time. We owe a debt to the Mrsha child. Doom of the Raskghar. Find whatever you might wish, child.”

Lyonette blinked and bit her lip. But Mrsha’s tail began to wag as she looked around the shop. Lined up on the shelves were a child’s fantasy. At least, any child who loved to play catch. There were balls of every size and shape and consistency. Little ones that could be hidden, large ones you could kick about, even metal ones with shiny surfaces. Mrsha looked at the adults again, and then wandered down the aisles. She soon lost herself between the shelves.

“I had no idea there was an entire shop for this stuff.”

Erin whispered to Lyonette. The young woman nodded.

“Krshia told me about it. Apparently Gnolls don’t have many toys when they move about in their tribes. Games of catch are very important. And balls are…well, they’re fun.”

“Yeah. I just never heard of personal, custom throwing balls. I mean, we had dogs at home, but—”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] raised one eyebrow and Erin turned red.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head and smiled.

“Dogs are dogs, yes? They are simple. But a Gnoll finds more joy than a dog can. They fetch. We throw. But one as young as the Mrsha child would find enjoyment in both, I think. Do you have any preference? I find that children are usually unable to choose from my selection.”

Erin stared down the rows of colorful balls. She was at a loss too. This was no supermarket selection with a bunch of generic, identical toys. Each object in the shop was hand-made and high quality. She hesitated, trying to imagine what Mrsha would like. If they found her old ball—

“What about a big bouncy ball? Do you have anything made of rub—of plas—something that bounces?”

“Hmm. I have a few. Let me bring them out.”

The Gnoll slipped out from behind his counter. He came back with a selection of balls, mostly leather, some wrapped in hide, and placed them on the counter. Erin bounced a few, but they were hardly as bouncy as a basketball.

“Got anything with more bounce? Like, one I could throw on the ground and bounce off the ceiling?”

The Gnoll frowned.

“You have high standards. Yes, I’ve seen such balls before. Magic ones, enchanted by [Mages]. Very prized among Gnoll children.”

“Uh—well, are they that rare?”

The Gnoll nodded, with the air of someone who had specialized in the nuance of ball manufacture all his life.

“I regret that I do not have any such objects in stock. Magic is costly. I regret that I do not have any specialty goods—you would have to place an order, yes? But this is a good one for catching and throwing. And these are good for chewing.”

He held up a ball wrapped in animal hide, and a set of smaller balls that smelled a bit like animal to Erin. She prodded the leather-wrapped ball and then the chewable ones.

“Hey, these are squishy!”

“Yes. Not good for throwing. But very young children chew on these.”

Lyonette frowned.

“What if they eat them by mistake?”

The older Gnoll smiled. He was probably the oldest Gnoll Erin had met, older than Erill and Krshia. His fur was grey, with black splotches.

“It is no danger. They are edible, and not harmful. And it is a lesson for children if they are swallowed. Because the toy is then gone. Unless it passes out of them in the same piece, which is not always pleasant, yes?”

Erin laughed. The Gnoll took the chewing toys away.

“But I think young Mrsha is too old for such things. I have other balls. Such as this one, which is very frictionless. And tough. Note the covering.”

The ball he showed Erin had a delicate wyvern-hide skin, which Mrsha sniffed with great interest. She touched the smooth surface.

“Ooh. Fancy. And you can see the scales!”

“Laminated. It is very tough, though. Not malleable. While these are cheaper.”

The Gnoll flicked the throwing ball. Erin studied it. She could see tiny stitches holding the hide wrap in place. And when she felt it the ball had some give, but only a little. It was definitely familiar. She frowned at the Gnoll, struck by a thought.

“Hey. This looks a lot like a…what’s this made of?”

He hesitated.

“That is a trade secret. But I suppose for this one—I could tell you. It is cork, yes? Hard, but malleable. Not cheap around Liscor, but good for throwing.”

Erin’s brows shot together. She eyed the ball and looked around. Mrsha was still wavering, caught by a huge, hollow ball and a small one that glittered, enchanted by a minor spell of some kind. Erin looked at the ball and tossed it up and down.

“Hmm. Hmm. Hey Mrsha, get the ball you want. I’ll take five—no, give me eight of these. Not the expensive ones, but good, quality ones.”

“Of course!”

The Gnoll beamed, happy to make a sale. Lyonette eyed Erin.

“Are those all for Mrsha? And can we afford all of them?”

Erin dug around in her money pouch for a few gold coins. She shrugged.

“I earned a lot of money from the plays. And I get some of the bounty money for the Gnolls. And I can even put in a claim for some of the magical items!”

“Really? How does that even work? I know there was Ilvriss’ bounty, but who gets to say who gets what?”

Erin paused.

“I have no idea. Hey, can I get these in a bag? Lyonette, I just had a great idea. You stay here and get Mrsha whatever she wants. Or two of what she wants. Here.”

She dug three gold coins out and handed them to Lyonette. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper]’s tail wagged in delight as Lyonette stared at the gold coins.

“Erin—!”

“Come back to the inn when you’re ready! I’ll be in Celum if you need me!”

Erin raced out of the shop. By the time she got back to the Wandering Inn, the Halfseekers were awake. They were eating ravenously and in good spirits without reserve. Jelaqua was thumping Moore on the back as Erin came in.

“Eat up! Don’t be shy, you great big oaf. Erin doesn’t care if you eat all her eggs! And you need your strength after you nearly got gutted by those damn Raskghar. Anyone want the sausages? Then take the platter, Moore! I told you—oh, hey Erin.”

“Jelaqua! Moore! Seborn!”

Erin beamed. The Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers both turned. They stared as she emptied the hide-wrapped balls onto the table. Jelaqua pointed.

“What’s that? Toys for Mrsha?”

“Nope! Toys for me! Oh, and eat everything you want, Moore. Hey, I’m going into Celum now. Can one of you change the door back to Liscor and check for me in like…thirty minutes?”

The Horns nodded. Ceria was sitting with the others. She looked relaxed, but tired. Erin strode over to the door and blinked as Yvlon stood up. The woman scratched at her arms. She was wearing her gauntlets and vambraces for some reason, despite not having bothered to put on her breastplate or any other part of her armor.

“I’ll go with you. I could use some sunlight.”

“Sure, thanks! I could use a pair of hands. Remember, let Mrsha and Lyonette through! I’ll be back soon! Oh, hey Octavia.”

The [Alchemist] looked up as Erin and Yvlon came through. She waved.

“Hey, everyone’s alive over there, right? I didn’t get to ask—”

“They’re all good!”

The Stitch-Girl sighed in relief. Erin spent a few seconds with Octavia, and then walked out of the shop. Yvlon nodded to the [Alchemist] and walked with Erin down the street.

It was different in Celum. Sunlight shone down from above, disconcerting after the pouring rain Erin had just been walking through. She felt her hair and clothes begin to dry. After a second, she turned and looked at Yvlon.

“So how’s Ceria doing?”

Yvlon looked up at the bright sky. People were passing by in the street. Humans, giving Yvlon an odd look now and then. People who had no idea of what had happened. Erin felt like a stranger with Humans all around her. After a moment, Yvlon shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think she’s okay. She told us what happened.”

“And?”

The woman let out a long breath.

“I…I’m surprised she can recall it. Calruz, the Raskghar—there was something truly awful down there, Erin. The ritual, Calruz—I don’t know how Ceria will handle it. I’m surprised she let him live after all that happened. And Mrsha…”

“That bad?”

“She was there for all of it. She looked okay to me, but I’d stick with her. Those Raskghar were monsters.”

Erin nodded seriously.

“Well, Lyonette is with her. And I’ll find tons of fun stuff for her to do. I just had an idea in that vein, which is why we’re out here. Hey, you know Celum, right? Can you help me find a shop?”

“Really? Well, why am I surprised? What are you looking for?”

“A [Carpenter]. Know any good ones?”

“Hm. Well, the Runner’s Guild would know the best ones in the city. Why not make a stop there?”

“Good idea.”

They turned left down a street. Yvlon and Erin walked along in silence. Erin glanced at Yvlon. She hadn’t spoken too often with the woman, but they knew each other.

“Yvlon?”

“Yes?”

“How bad was it? I can ask Ceria, but—”

The woman looked away. Her face was shadowed when she spoke.

“Bad enough that I had to leave. It was that or ask Ceria why she didn’t kill Calruz. She let him live. But the things he did, the horrors he let the Raskghar commit—that was not the Calruz I knew. And there was something else. Ceria saw the heart of the dungeon. And what lurks in there—you don’t need to hear about it.”

Erin shivered.

“Maybe I do. But not today.”

Yvlon nodded.

“Not today. I’m just grateful that she’s back. And so is Mrsha. Thank you for doing this.”

“Hey, it was just—”

“No. It was more than that.”

The woman met Erin’s eyes. Erin hesitated, then nodded silently. That was all they said for a while. They visited the Runner’s Guild, got directions from the [Receptionist], and were walking down the street when Erin thought of something else to ask.

“So…about the treasure. Loot. Whatever. How’s that going to work?”

Yvlon blinked. Then she smiled.

“Right. I nearly forgot! Ilvriss did offer a huge bounty on the Gnolls. What was it, a thousand gold pieces per prisoner saved? And didn’t he double that? Plus, we recovered a bunch of artifacts from the Raskghar who were carrying them. At least twenty, I think. I didn’t see all of them, but everyone wants one.”

“I bet. So how’s it going to work?”

“I think it’s a lottery. Part of what Ilvriss and Liscor’s Council will do is assign merit based on who contributed what. The Gold-rank teams get most credit for all the fighting they did, obviously. But the [Soldiers], the Watch, Ilvriss himself, everyone gets credit. So do you. A lot of it, I should imagine.”

“Mhm. I guess.”

“So we’ll all be eligible for some share. But what Ilvriss is going to do is pay the whole sum for all the prisoners rescued into a pool. And the artifacts go into the pool as well. Then we make bids on what we want. You can just ask for gold—or try and claim an artifact. If multiple groups claim the same thing, I think there’s a random lottery. Or you might get it if you did the most and you don’t want anything else. It’s complicated. Dungeon raids usually end up with a lot of fighting over who gets what anyways.”

“Wow. So could I get a magic sword if I wanted it?”

Yvlon grinned ruefully.

“You could try. But I’ll bet all the Gold-ranks will get the artifacts. I’ll be pleased just to get some gold for our team. We could use it. And the levels we gained already were treasure enough. We—oh, here we are.”

She stopped. Erin stared at the carpenter’s shop and then pushed her way in. The shop was run by a master and his apprentices. Erin edged past the apprentice who came to ask her what she wanted and strode up to the [Carpenter]. She smiled at him as he looked up with a scowl.

“Hey, I’m Erin. Erin Solstice. You’re a [Carpenter], right?  Can I ask how fast you can carpenter?”

“What?”

He looked irritated. The man had gnarled hands and grey hair. He glared at his apprentice and Erin, but she was undeterred.

“I have an order I’d like to make. Something custom.”

“I’m busy. If you have an order—”

Erin slapped a gold coin on the table the man was working at. He blinked at the gold piece. He opened his mouth and Erin dumped a handful on the table. Yvlon’s eyebrows shot up. The [Carpenter] wavered. He glanced at Erin and tried to adopt a much more helpful attitude.

“Uh, how can I help, you, Miss?”

“I want you to carve something. It has to be solid. One block of wood. And it can’t break. It’s not hard to make, but it needs to be good. It’ll look like this—hey, can I borrow that piece of charcoal? Thanks.”

Erin snatched the [Carpenter]’s drawing stick up and began to sketch on his piece of parchment. He blinked at her and then frowned at what she was drawing. He began nodding as she described what she wanted.

“That’s all? And you don’t want anything done with it? A wrap? Hah, that’s simple. Well, if it’s not engraving…I can get you a rough outline within the hour, no problem. Smoothing the surface takes a bit of work, but that’s an easy design. You’re lucky you came to me! My competitors can’t do quick work, whereas my Skills are far superior.”

He puffed out his chest a bit. Erin raised one eyebrow.

“Really? Well, can you give me a list of your competitors? I’m gonna get them to make some too. Unless you can make me…six within two hours? I need an oversized version too. Oh, and one with a custom grip. I’ll pay extra to get it done quick and good.”

The [Carpenter]’s jaw dropped. He stared at Yvlon, who gave him a curious, embarrassed, amused look. He looked at Erin. She smiled at him.

“Did I mention that I know Gold-rank adventurers? Say, do you happen to sell arrow shafts? Because one of my best clients is a guy called Halrac…”

A few minutes later Erin walked out of the [Carpenter]’s shop, whistling. She looked at Yvlon.

“Okay, we’ll go to one other [Carpenter] shop. The guy had a lot of apprentices so I think he can fulfill the order. Plus, he looked like he was going to work really hard.”

Yvlon looked back into the shop, which was a flurry of activity.

“I can imagine. Especially with what you paid him! What was that thing for, anyways?”

Erin raised her eyebrows mysteriously.

“You’ll see. Now I need to visit a tanner. Or a leatherworker.”

“We can ask about them at the next carpenter’s shop if you want. They tend to know other people in related businesses. But can I ask why?”

A wide smile was Yvlon’s only answer.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see what I’ve got ready in about two hours. Less, if I get everything ready. Hey, do you know where I can buy sausages? And I need more flour to make dough. Uh…how strong are your arms? I might need you to carry stuff.”

Yvlon flexed her arms as Erin eyed them with sudden concern. The [Warrior] smiled. Her arms looked bigger for some reason. Had she been working out?

“Don’t worry about me. But please tell me you’re not going to do something crazy. I can’t handle anything crazy.”

“Don’t worry! This is fun and good stuff. Besides—if I did do something crazy, could you even stop me?”

Yvlon paused.

“Yes.”

Erin hesitated.

“Right. You probably could. Well, this isn’t that crazy. Come on!”

 

—-

 

When Erin got back to the inn she found Mrsha and Lyonette had returned. Only, they didn’t have any new balls. And neither of them were smiling. Mrsha sat by herself, rolling something back and forth.

Her ball. Her worn, scratched little ball. Erin paused, looking questioningly at Lyonette. She and Yvlon were empty-handed, but Erin had spent a good deal of coin and she hoped to have things to carry soon enough.

“Did Mrsha not want anything?”

Lyonette was sitting at a table, watching Mrsha with concern in her eyes. She shook her head. Apista was in her lap and Lyonette was running her finger down the bee’s back.

“She started crying after you left and she had to decide on a new ball. She wanted her old one. I think it was too soon to bring her into the city, Erin.”

A bit of reproach entered Lyonette’s tone. Erin’s heart sank. She looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was sniffing her ball, holding it. Not really playing. Erin nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That was my mistake. Uh—is everyone doing good?”

She looked around. The Halfseekers and Horns were still in her inn. Both had stuffed themselves. They weren’t saying too much. Ceria sat at a table with Pisces and Ksmvr. She had emptied two mugs. She wasn’t exactly looking happy either. She kept looking at Mrsha.

The optimistic mood of the morning had somehow gone wrong. Lyonette glanced at the adventurers and shrugged. Erin saw Seborn talking with Moore and Jelaqua. She wandered over and heard his slightly echoey voice.

—It’s negotiations at this point. We could try for that armor, Jelaqua. But we owe Selys Shivertail a cut of whatever we get.

“I know, I know. But if we get the armor we can compensate her. And we do have a strong claim. Hell, maybe we could persuade Ilvriss or the Flamewardens to help us out if I agree to cancel my contract with Selys. But having a magical artifact like that we could own—oh, hey Erin.”

Jelaqua looked up. Moore sat up with a groan. He had a hand over his stomach where he’d been cut last night. The wound had healed, but the half-Giant still seemed tender. Or he’d stuffed himself. The mountain of dishes suggested that might be the case.

“Hey guys. I wanted to say thanks again for all you did. Really.”

Jelaqua raised one eyebrow.

“For what? Saving our hides? You gave us a victory. We had no way to beat the Raskghar. And you—”

Mrsha started and looked up from her ball. Jelaqua broke off guiltily.

“Sorry. What I meant was that we owe you, Erin.”

“Thanks. But you were fighting. I…well, I know you’re probably busy doing adventurer stuff, but I was hoping I could ask for a small favor.”

The Halfseekers looked at each other. Jelaqua shrugged.

“We’re only discussing business. It’s not like we can do anything now—it’ll be a week at least before we get to the actual dividing of loot, I bet. Gotta make sure we all get what we want.”

“Awesome. Then can I ask for you to help me deliver something? I need a few strong hands. Not you, Moore. I know you’re recovering—”

The half-Giant sat up. He smiled tiredly at Erin.

“I’m fine, Miss Erin. And if it’s lifting you need, I think I’m your half-Giant.”

He tried to rise, but Jelaqua and Seborn held him down.

Relax, Moore. We have this.

“But I—”

“No, no. Sit. Please. Let me get you a drink. You saved Mrsha. I owe you so much—Lyonette! Can we get the big mug for Moore? Fill it with something nice! Wine or ale? Something stronger?”

The half-Giant wavered, then collapsed back into his seat. Fatigue, that was it. He just looked tired.

“I suppose I could do with an ale. From Celum? Do you have any local brands?”

“I’ll check. Now, I just need four people, probably. I could do it with two, but—”

“Seborn and I are good. Who are the other two? Yvlon and Ksmvr?”

“I was thinking of making Pisces do it—”

Hah!

Erin turned and grinned at Pisces. The [Necromancer] had helped himself to a drink of his own. He sat next to Ceria.

“I will conjure you a skeleton to do the work if you desire, Erin. But you won’t get me to move for love or money. Threats of violence may suffice.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“I don’t need skeletons, thanks. They’ll cause a panic. But just give me one second and I’ll get everything in place. It’s for Mrsha, see.”

Both Mrsha and Lyonette looked up. Lyonette frowned.

“Erin. Mrsha needs some time by herself. I don’t think an outing is right. Not at all.”

She stared hard at Erin and the young woman felt a bit of pressure on her shoulders. She blinked. Lyonette’s gaze felt heavy. And then Erin realized. She was using her aura! She met Lyonette’s gaze. Neither young woman raised their tone for fear of scaring Mrsha, but Erin silently pushed back until the pressure had left her shoulders. Jelaqua and Seborn looked from Lyonette to Erin in silence.

“It’ll be fine, Lyonette. It’s just a little outing.”

“No. Not another one! She just needs to stay here!”

Lyonette raised her voice. Mrsha looked up again. Erin sighed. She walked forwards, giving Mrsha a reassuring look. She turned away and whispered to Lyonette.

“I know. Lyonette, I know you’re worried about Mrsha. But believe me. I know what I’m doing. She doesn’t have to go anywhere right now. Neither do you. Just wait.”

She met Lyonette’s eyes, trying to be reassuring. The [Princess] glared—then saw Erin was serious. She looked at Mrsha and sighed.

“Okay. But nothing crazy, okay?”

“Why does everyone think I can only do crazy? This is just…okay, it’s a bit weird. But just a bit! Ksmvr, Yvlon, can I get you to lift?”

“I am quite proficient at lifting.”

Ksmvr stood up at once. Yvlon nodded.

“Just show us what you need, Erin.”

“Okay. We’ll be back in a few minutes! Don’t worry! It’ll be worth it!”

Ceria, Pisces, Lyonette, and Mrsha watched as the four adventurers plus Erin walked over to her door. Erin didn’t change the mana stone. She opened the door and walked through. The people in the inn heard Erin speaking to Octavia, and then the [Alchemist] raise her voice.

“What? But Erin! I thought we were partners! This is really—did someone make you an offer? Hold on! Don’t touch it! We can deal! We can make—”

The door closed. The people in the inn looked at each other. Lyonette went over and gave Mrsha another hug. The Gnoll looked up at her. Lyonette tried to give her a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure it’s just Erin being Erin. She said she wasn’t doing anything crazy.”

She didn’t sound too convinced. But for some reason that uncertainty made Mrsha feel better. She stared out the rainy window and bounced her ball. All was the same. All was different. She wished she could play, but she was a bit—tired. A bit empty.

So was Ceria. The half-Elf sat at her table. She knew Pisces was watching her, which was why he’d volunteered to stay. That and he loathed physical exertion. She looked into her mug. She’d told her teammates everything. Nearly everything. But she couldn’t tell them what it had been like. The pain, Calruz’s madness. It felt like a nightmare she hadn’t woken up from. She was free of the dungeon now. The Raskghar were dead or fled. But it felt—

It felt like she’d brought the dungeon with her. And Ceria was unhappy. So she and Mrsha sat, a bit lost, as the rain poured down. Part of them was still in that camp. Part of them still thought this was a dream. It was unreal, too wonderful, too much after their torment. It was a figment of their imagination, an illusion.

A fantasy.

 

—-

 

“Erin, please! Please! How long have we known each other? Months? It feels like years! You can’t just throw me under the wagon like this! I have relatives! I’m an up-and-coming [Alchemist]! I can’t handle rejection!”

Octavia clung to Erin’s waist, despite Erin’s best efforts to get her to let go. The young woman waved her arms as Yvlon, Ksmvr, Jelaqua, and Seborn lifted the magic door in Octavia’s shop up. It wasn’t heavy for the four of them so much as cumbersome. They began to angle it out the door.

“Erin! You’re breaking my heart here! What will it take? Gold? Potions? Be reasonable! This is business!”

“Octavia, let go! I told you I’m not stealing your door!”

“What am I seeing then? Don’t lie to me, Erin! We’ve invested too much in this relationship to lie to each other!”

What relationship? Octavia, let go! It’s just temporary! I said it’s just for today, okay?”

“Oh. Well, in that case, why didn’t you say so?”

The Stitch-Girl let go. Erin stumbled back as Seborn held the door open for the door to go through. Erin turned and glared.

“I did say so!”

The [Alchemist] had the grace to blush. She fiddled with her braids and tugged at the stitches at her neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that. I panicked a bit. Your magic door gets me a lot of business, you know.”

“Well, it’ll keep giving you business! Now can I go?”

Octavia was standing in front of the door. She started.

“What? Sure, sure. But you are coming back, right? With the door? Promise?”

“Yes. Please move.”

The Stitch-Girl did. Erin hurried out of her shop. The adventurers were waiting for her. Jelaqua raised an amused eyebrow.

“Well, that’s one obstacle down. Where are we taking it?”

“Out of the city! North!”

“Gotcha. One, two, three, up—

The adventurers easily lifted the door. They began walking down the street. Erin followed them. After a few paces she turned.

“Why are you following me, Octavia?”

The [Alchemist] shrugged.

“No reason. I just…want to see where the door’s going. Is that a crime?”

Erin glared at Octavia.

“Just don’t get in the way!”

“Who, me? I would never. I’m on your side, Erin! Always have been. From the day we met I thought that we would be the best of friends. Say, where’s this door going? I could sell you some stamina potions if it’s a long haul. Not that it’s going to be that long, right? Because the door is coming back—”

Erin sighed and tried to block out Octavia’s voice. She looked ahead. Celum was busy and it was coming to midmorning. The people on the streets turned in surprise when they saw the four adventurers walking down the street with a door held between them. There were shouts of surprise. And a few screams.

Of the four adventurers, Yvlon was probably the most normal. But the other three were Jelaqua, a Selphid, Seborn, one of the rare Drowned Men, and Ksmvr, who was an Antinium. He’d been in Celum and other Human cities before, but there were plenty of people who were still shocked to see him.

Antinium!

“Dead gods!”

“Wait—there’s two of them! One of them’s half-Antinium!”

The people backed away in horror. Jelaqua, holding her end of the door with Seborn, began laughing so hard she nearly dropped it. Seborn growled. The adventurers made their way down the street until they ran into an obstacle.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, what is this?”

A Human [Guardsman] strode up to the group, looking afraid and indignant. He pointed a shaking finger at Ksmvr. He hadn’t heard of the Horns of Hammerad or fear was overriding common sense.

“Antinium are not allowed in the city! And you can’t bring a door down the street! You’re holding up traffic!”

There were indeed several wagons waiting for the adventurers. Jelaqua raised one eyebrow.

“Sorry, but this thing’s too bulky for the side of the street, Mister Guardsman. And Ksmvr’s a friend of ours.”

The Human purpled with fury.

“A friend? He’s an Ant! They don’t have friends! Move this thing out of the way! Who are you? Some kind of upstart Drake? This is a Human city! Who are you? An adventurer? I’ll report you to the guild! And what’s wrong with him? Is he sick? If he is, he’s a danger to everyone on this street!”

He pointed at Seborn. The Drowned Man had had enough. He let go of his side of the door and glared at the [Guardsman].

I’m a Drowned Man. My name is Seborn. I’m a Gold-rank adventurer. And this is Jelaqua, also Gold-rank. She’s a Selphid.

The [Guardsman] gulped. He looked at Jelaqua, who gave him a toothy grin.

“Rookie mistake. It’s the skin. Want me to open up my chest? Oh, wait. There’s kids watching.”

“Uh—I—Gold-rank?”

“That’s right.”

The officer of the Watch looked around. He realized that everyone was waiting for him to make a move. He looked at the wagons waiting impatiently behind the Gold-ranks, at the adventurers, and made a judgment call.

“Terribly sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me. You lot! Back up! Gold-ranks coming through on business! Give them some room! Do you need a wagon by any chance?”

No. Move.

Seborn grabbed the door and stomped forwards. The watchman stepped back, face beet red. Erin smothered a grin as she walked with the others. Jelaqua couldn’t stop laughing as they proceeded down the street. She grew more somber as they left the poor [Guardsman] behind.

“That happens a lot, actually. More often in Human lands than Drake ones, if you’ll believe that.”

“Really? Are Drakes less racist than Humans?”

Erin looked curiously at Jelaqua. The Selphid shook her head ruefully.

“Nah. It’s just that in the Drake cities, all the Watch knows your face so there’s no ‘incidents’. Helps a bit, but it raises other problems. Alright, through the gates?”

They’d come to the northern gates. Octavia looked at Erin and she nodded.

“Through the gates!”

The [Guardsmen] on duty were wiser than their colleague. They stood aside and just watched as the adventurers left the city. Erin took the lead, then. She pointed and the procession brought the door north of the city. It was about a ten minute walk.

There was nothing too special about the place the adventurers set the door down. Yvlon glanced about. The area just north of Celum was grassy, and there was a stand of trees to the left. But it was just a wild meadow Erin had chosen, really. Nothing too special about it at all. It was nice and open, a ways away from the road, but she couldn’t see why they were here.

“You sure this is what you want, Erin? There’s not even a wall to lean this thing up against!”

Jelaqua looked dubiously at Erin. The young woman smiled.

“No, it’s perfect. Plus, the door doesn’t need a wall. We can make one. All we need is a door frame and a bit of wood for the backboard…darn, I should have gotten that first.”

“Hey it’s no big deal. We can get it. Gold-ranks, remember? Seborn, let’s go requisition some nails and hammers and wood.”

You do it. I’m sick of idiots around here asking if I’m sick. I hate landlocked idiots who’ve never seen the ocean.

Jelaqua laughed. She and Ksmvr went back to Celum and came back with what they needed. Erin hammered a few boards together and Yvlon helped her pound the door frame into the ground.

“Why are you doing this?”

Octavia was more curious than upset at this point. She held the doorframe and backing up as Erin and Ksmvr wrestled the door into place. Seborn and Jelaqua were arguing about whether Drowned People or Selphids got more flak from the local law enforcement. Erin just grinned.

“You’ll see. Alright, I think we’re in place! Opening the door…now!”

She swung the door open. The wooden backing disappeared and the inn appeared. Mrsha and Lyonette turned from playing catch and shaded their eyes.

“What on earth—Erin, where are you?”

“Outside Celum! This is the plan! Hey Ceria, Pisces, you come through too!”

“What plan?”

Lyonette stared through the door. The sunlight was hitting her eyes and she was still upset at Erin. She just saw grass. In the distance a wagon rolled down the road heading north out of Celum. She didn’t see how Mrsha and Ceria looked up.

“This!”

Erin spread her arms wide. She turned about. Lyonette stared at her, uncomprehendingly. Then she looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was staring through the door. At the grass. At the clear blue sky. The wind blew. And then Lyonette realized.

It was bright in Celum. The sun’s light flooded through the door, bright, golden light. Lyonette looked around. The inn was dark. A fire burned in the fireplace and Erin had lanterns and candles when needed, but the rain was still falling outside. And it was cloudy. Even with the windows unshuttered, the inn was still drab. Colorless. Like the inside of a prison cell.

Like the dungeon. But in Celum, there was grass. It was spring. A few bugs leapt through the door, confused by the sudden change in light and temperature. Lyonette saw a bird flying through the sky.

“Ooh.”

She turned and jumped. Bird was standing behind her.

“Bird! When did you come down?”

“Just now. I sensed birds. I have a Skill for it. May I go through, Miss Erin? Please?”

“Yeah! Come through! You and everyone else! Come on! I’ll bring some food through and we can play a game!”

Erin beckoned. Ceria stood up. So did Pisces. They looked at each other. Ceria blinked a few times.

“It’s so…bright. I’d forgotten what it was like.”

Pisces studied the open door. He nodded at Erin.

“I suppose a moment in the sun would be a pleasant change. Springwalker, what are you waiting for? Didn’t you say you wanted to sit in the sun with the Ring of Barkskin on at least once?”

Ceria blinked.

“I did say that. Didn’t I? But Ksmvr has the ring.”

“I would be extremely willing to lend it to you, Captain Ceria. I have imbibed enough nutrients and I believe additional mass would not be unduly limiting to your combat prowess.”

“Thanks, Ksmvr. I—yeah, sure.”

The half-Elf stepped hesitantly towards the door. Erin smiled encouragingly at Mrsha.

“If you want to come through, we can have a picnic, Mrsha. We said we should do another one, remember? And I have a wonderful new game to play.”

Mrsha stared into the grassy field. She took a hesitant step forwards and stopped. She looked back at Lyonette. The young woman looked at her. Mrsha wavered. She was afraid. But then she looked back. At the light.

Apista buzzed past Mrsha, startling the young Gnoll. The Ashfire Bee flew into the field and hovered over a flower. Erin laughed. And that laughter struck something in Mrsha’s heart. She took another step.

“What’s the game?”

Jelaqua stood in the sun, smiling. Moore, who’d been napping at his table, looked up. The half-Giant smiled.

“A nap in the sun would be nice.”

He stepped past Mrsha. Ceria and Pisces followed him. Erin laughed again. She moved aside to let Moore go past.

“Oh, the best of games. The greatest game! For someone like Mrsha, at least. I thought of it when I saw the balls in the shop. They looked exactly like something from my home. So I made a few purchases. We’ll have a light lunch and then everything should be ready! I paid for speed.”

Lyonette stepped forwards. Mrsha was on the edge of the door. The Gnoll stared at the grass inches away from her paws. She looked up at the sky. A cool wind blew and ruffled Mrsha’s fur. She closed her eyes. She smelled…growing grass. Insects. Pollen. Soil. Birds. A rabbit nest hidden under the turf twenty feet to the left. Erin. Jelaqua. Yvlon. Metal. Sweat. A swirl of strange ingredients from Octavia. And that last scent of all, which reached into her. The scent that had no part of the dungeon in it. The smell of life, of growing.

Spring.

She took a step forwards. Her paw sank into the grass. Mrsha looked at it. She touched the soil. She felt the blades of grass beneath her. She looked up at Lyonette. The young woman smiled. She wiped her eyes and looked at Erin. The young woman nodded to her. Lyonette bowed her head slightly.

“And what’s this game, Erin?”

“Oh, it’s a simple one. You have a few balls, a few sticks to hit things with, a glove to catch with…and you play it in the open. In the sun. It’s called baseball. I thought we could play. If you want. What do you say, Mrsha?”

Erin crouched. She held out her hand. Mrsha wavered. She stared back at the inn. It was familiar. But it was also dark. And ahead of her—she stared up. The sky was bright. Mrsha looked at Erin. She was afraid. Afraid this was all a dream.

“It’s okay, Mrsha.”

The young woman looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll looked at her, and closed her eyes. Then, slowly, she stepped forwards.

 

—-

 

Yvlon was wrong about one thing. The parade wasn’t in two days. It was happening right now. In Liscor, the Watch and Embria’s Soldiers and a detachment of Antinium marched down the street. They followed a stream of adventurers, who waved as the crowd roared and cheered them. Liscor celebrated as the rain fell. Relieved Drakes and Gnolls took to the streets. And at the end of the parade, Wall Lord Ilvriss gave a speech after Watch Captain Zevara had given an account of all that had passed.

The Drake did not beat about the bush. He stood on a podium, several [Mages] and a scrying orb recording his every move. The world was watching. Already, the news of Liscor’s triumph over the Raskghar was spreading. It was, all things considered, small news. After all, it was just a group of monsters, nothing more.

To most of the world, Ilvriss’ speech was dismissed, forgettable. They had already gotten used to the novelty of the scrying orbs and after dozens of people had tried to emulate Flos’ attention-grabbing stunts, there were far fewer avid viewers than Ilvriss might have desired.

But that didn’t matter. The Wall Lord spoke for Liscor, who hung on his every word. He looked at the Gnolls, who stood together. Some grieved for those sacrificed or dead. Likewise, the Drakes had lost their own. But still they stood. The Wall Lord’s voice shook with raw emotion as he shouted.

“This was a triumph! Liscor has reclaimed its own! The dungeon and the Raskghar were no match for the might of adventurers, the resilience of the Drake and Gnollish spirit!”

The roar from the crowd deafened the falling rain for a second. Ilvriss raised one fist.

“The dungeon cannot defeat Liscor! Nor can any other foe! They assailed the walls! They took your family, your friends! And still the walls stand! Liscor will never fall to invaders! And the brave souls who battled in Liscor’s name are heroes, each one! Drakes! Gnolls! Humans! Selphid and Garuda, half-Giant and Drowned Man! Dwarf!”

He paused and muttered an oath.

“And Goblin.”

No one besides Zevara heard that last bit. They were cheering, throwing things at the adventurers and Watch. Since flowers were hard to obtain, it was a rain of brightly-colored fish scales that fell, much to the dissatisfaction of all but the Antinium. But still, it was a triumph. Ilvriss’s speech was transmitted by the [Mages] to other spots across the continent and the world.

The leaders of the Drake cities watched. Around the world, those with an interest in Liscor or had nothing better to do listened to Ilvriss speaking in the rain. They assessed, listened, and judged. It was politics. And the adventurers shifted impatiently, wondering when the speech would end and they could get out of the rain. They had their fill of glory, now they wanted a hot meal.

Embria’s [Soldiers] stood proud, for once the heroes cheered by their home. The Watch was more relaxed, relieved that the crisis was over. The Antinium stared at the cheering faces and felt strange.

So it went. Glory and politics and rain. Liscor celebrated. But in an inn just a short way away from the city, a young woman and a white Gnoll stepped through a magical doorway and into Celum. They stepped out of the dark inn, out of Liscor and the ever-present rain and into the fields outside of Celum. And Mrsha looked around.

The sun shone down from a blue sky overhead. The grass was soft and the flowers blooming. The wind blew Mrsha’s fur as she looked up and saw the sun. It shone bright, a fierce, warm, comforting, brilliant, soft, wondrous, terrible light. The Gnoll breathed in. She looked around and saw smiling faces. She looked back at the inn. It was home. But here?

The meadow was empty. In the distance lay Celum, but it was far off. Here there were no walls in sight. There was no darkness. The air was fresh. Mrsha looked around. And at long last she smiled. It finally hit her.

She was free.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.46

The sky was open. A warm sun shone down on the green grass below. The air smelled of spring. In the field just outside of Celum, the flowers and wild grass had been cropped short. A [Shepherd] must have taken his flock through the meadow not too recently. That also meant there were piles of poo in places. At least they were dried out.

Not everything was perfect. But it was good. Beautiful, even. Compared to the rains in Liscor, this was bliss. Compared to the dungeon, this was…Ceria looked around as she sat on the grass. A wooden ring was on her finger and the sun felt good as it shone down on her skin. She felt blissful, content. Full.

“I really like this ring. I feel like a tree.”

Pisces, sitting beside Ceria and fiddling with a pile of yellowed bones, looked up. The half-Elf ignored the bones as they danced about in midair. The [Necromancer] peered at Ceria’s Ring of Barkskin.

“Do you in fact feel yourself absorbing sunlight? Or is it just a pleasant sensation?”

“Hm. It feels warm. And I feel happier in the sun.”

“…Do you have an urge to dig yourself a hole and stand in it? Or imbibe water through your toes?”

“Shut up, Pisces. Don’t ruin this for me.”

The [Necromancer] huffed and went back to his bones. Ceria smiled. There was no real rancor in her tone, and Pisces seemed perfectly at ease to play with his bones. He was making another Bone Horror. The quiet click of bones didn’t disturb Ceria. She looked up and remembered the dungeon. The memory was still bitter, the horror real. But as the sunlight warmed her face, it seemed more distant.

“This is what I needed. Erin was right.”

“You mean, this is what we needed.”

Pisces looked up. Ceria blinked at him, and then nodded. She looked around and saw the others.

Bird. Jelaqua. Moore. Seborn. Lyonette. Octavia. And Mrsha. They sat or walked around the meadow, looking around. Half were barefoot. Mrsha didn’t wear shoes to begin with, but some had taken off their shoes. Just to feel the grass. After so long in the rain, after so many days in the dungeon, this was bliss.

Wonderful. Ceria smiled and stretched out in the grass. Something crawled on her arm. She flicked it at Pisces. He raised a finger and blasted it with fire. The stink and smoke made Pisces cough. He glared mildly at Ceria.

“That was quite unnecessary.”

“Remember the time we pranked you by dumping a bunch of bugs in your room?”

“In my fondest recollections. Are you incapable of enjoying yourself except at my expense?”

“It does make life more fun.”

Pisces sighed. Ceria laughed. She looked around. The meadow really was beautiful. Ceria didn’t love nature all the time, but this made her remember the forests of her home in Terandria. With fondness. She stared at the flowers blooming in the sun, some with white petals, others pink, blue…a green flower with curious arrow-shaped petals seemed to wave at her as the wind blew.

A butterfly flew through the air and landed on a dandelion. It perched there delicately. Then a loud buzzing sound made it take wing. It got three feet before Apista smacked into it. The butterfly flapped away as the Ashfire Bee buzzed in a wide circle. Apista possessively landed on the flower and began to feed on the nectar and pollen.

Ceria sat up a bit and stared at Apista. She glanced at Pisces. The tranquility of the moment was interrupted somewhat as Apista, buzzing loudly, flew up and landed on another flower nearby. The sound of her wings beating was loud. The bee cast about, then charged another group of butterflies. Both [Mages] watched Apista flying sentinel for a moment. Ceria glanced at Pisces.

“That’s one angry bug.”

He shrugged.

“I think Ashfire Bees are rather competitive. Or perhaps it is simply this one that seems to want to monopolize the surrounding area.”

“Lyonette sure can choose them, huh? And is it just me or is Apista…bigger? Her stinger looks nastier than last time. Do you think they get bigger?”

“One would hope not.”

Both [Mages] ducked as Apista shot inches over their heads, chasing a much smaller bee. They watched Apista warily until she disappeared into a patch of flowers. Then they went back to sitting around. It was the most fun Ceria wanted to have at the moment. She heard an excited rustling sound and glanced up just in time to see a white shape flash past her.

“Mrsha, slow down! Watch out, Pisces!”

Pisces looked up and levitated his bones out of the way just in time. Mrsha leapt and nearly grabbed one with her teeth. He smirked as Mrsha narrowed her eyes at him. Then the Gnoll seemed to lose interest and dashed over to the green flower. She sniffed it, seemed to like the scent, and bounded over to another.

Mrsha was running about, smiling. She ran to each flower, smelling them, her tail wagging. Lyonette chased after her, laughing. It made Ceria glad to see. She looked around again.

Everyone was in good spirits. The Halfseekers were sitting together, basking in the sun. Bird was staring at the sky—he’d already shot six birds, and Octavia was plucking some flowers and muttering about cheap ingredients. Erin was in her inn, getting some food together. And Ksmvr and Yvlon—

“Hey, I think they’re coming back.”

Ceria pointed. Pisces looked up and nodded. Yvlon and Ksmvr were walking from Celum. It was easy to spot the two—aside from them being the only two people moving towards them, Yvlon’s vambraces and gauntlets shone in the light. The woman wore armor nowhere else, but she still caught the light. Ksmvr was a black and brown shape behind her. Both were carrying something.

“Got what you wanted?”

“We did. Anyone have any water?”

Ceria looked around. Pisces shook his head. Yvlon shrugged.

“I’ll get it from Erin’s inn. Let me just put this down, first.”

She was holding at least six odd sticks in her arms. Ceria stared at them. They looked like stirring paddles. Only, they were round and had a thinner handle. They were made completely out of wood, although the handles had been wrapped. She eyed the things as Yvlon tossed them down.

“What are those supposed to be?”

Yvlon shrugged. She massaged one shoulder with a gauntleted hand as Ksmvr laid down more curious objects next to the carved sticks.

“I have no idea. But Erin paid a lot to have them made quick. I think she called these…‘bats’.”

Ceria stared at the wooden bats. They looked nothing like their namesake.

“Okay. And the leather glove-things?”

They looked like gloves, but with an odd twist. There weren’t individual fingers on the glove—it was a large, ungainly thing that looked like a pocket. Ceria had no idea why you’d ever put something like that on your hand. Yvlon shrugged.

“She called them gloves.”

“Right. Of course she did. Did she say why she wanted them?”

“For that game she mentioned, I think. Is Erin in there?”

Yvlon nodded to the door standing about ten feet away. Ceria nodded. Yvlon walked over to the magic door and stared inside. The grass ran right up to the door’s edge, at which point wooden floorboards took over. Yvlon stepped from Celum’s meadow into the shade of The Wandering Inn. She blinked as the room grew darker and then stared around Erin’s grand common room.

“Erin? We’ve got your bats and gloves. Do you have any water?”

What?

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen. She blinked as she saw Yvlon.

“Oh, hey Yvlon! Did you get my bats?”

Ksmvr poked his head through the doorway.

“Yes, Miss Erin. We have acquired your desired objects. Another successful mission for the Horns of Hammerad. Yvlon requests water as our reward. As do I. Comrade Pisces would like a glass of wine.”

“Sure! Wait—tell Pisces he can’t drink just yet! I’ll be out in one moment! I just have to put this dough in the oven…”

It took a few minutes for Erin to emerge from the kitchen. When she walked outside into the meadow she had a tray with a filled pitcher of water and cups. She raised her voice.

“Hey everyone! Gather around here! I’ve got something to show you! Also: water!”

She placed the tray on the ground. Everyone looked around and got up to come over. Pisces sniffed as Ceria offered him a cup of water. The half-Elf took a sip of the lukewarm water, grimaced, and then raised a hand before Yvlon could pour herself a cup.

“Let me.”

She pointed at the pitcher and conjured a sphere of ice out of the air. She tossed it into the pitcher, making a splash. Yvlon eyed the giant ice cube floating in the water.

“That’s handy. Normally ice is a rare treat.”

“That’s what you get with an ice mage around. You want smaller ice cubes? I like to chew them.”

“Ooh. I’ll have some!”

Jelaqua Ivirith grinned as she walked over. She nodded appreciatively at Ceria as the half-Elf conjured ice cubes out of the air and flicked them into a cup. Seborn took a cup, filled it, drained it, and then sighed.

Refreshing. No ice, thanks, Ceria. What’s this you have to show us, Erin?

“Baseball! You got the bats and gloves? And I have baseballs! Hey Mrsha, are you having fun?”

Erin bent down as Mrsha raced over. The Gnoll smiled up at Erin as she grabbed a cup and then ran over to Ceria to get free ice. Lyonette jogged over, huffing, and stared at the baseball bats, gloves, and balls. She glanced at Erin.

“Is this the game you were talking about?”

“Yup! Baseball! The perfect game for today! I thought we could sit outside, play games, eat some food—I’ve got some buns rising in the oven for hot dogs, popcorn, and there’s sausages since hot dogs aren’t made in Liscor. That’s probably a good thing. Anyways, we can try baseball or just have fun!”

Erin beamed. The others looked at each other. Everything sounded good, especially just sitting in the sun. But…Ceria coughed.

“Erin, would you mind explaining what this baseball thing is?”

“Oh. Right. I forgot that uh…well, it’s a game!”

Pisces rolled his eyes.

“Do tell.”

Ceria smirked as Erin glared at both of them. She picked up a bat and one of the hide-wrapped balls she’d bought from Liscor.

“It’s a fun game! I told you, people where I come from play it all the time. Everyone loves it!”

She paused and bit her lip.

“Okay, some people like to play it. I mean, in my country it’s big, but in the world it’s not that huge a sport compared to…”

She scratched her head. Her audience stared at the young woman expectantly. Erin coughed.

“It has fans. And it’s easy to play. Okay, wait, let me explain from the start. Baseball…baseball…”

Erin was at a bit of a loss of how to describe baseball. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the rules and so forth, it was just that she’d never had to explain the game in its entirety. She scratched her head as everyone sipped from their cups.

“I’ve got it! Okay. Baseball is this game. Where you hit balls.”

Ksmvr raised his hand.

“At people?”

“No! Okay, sometimes. Not on purpose. No, you hit balls, and then run around this…this diamond. It’s not actually a diamond, it’s actually three, no, four bases. On the ground. You run from base to base while the other team—there are teams—tries to get the ball you hit and tag you out. And if you run all the way around and get back where you started, you score!”

Jelaqua glanced up at Moore. The half-Giant was scratching his head.

“And you win? Is that the point of the game?”

“Nope! You get a point! And if you’re tagged, you’re ‘out’. And if you get three outs, the other team gets to hit the ball. And we change sides like that like…nine times. Whoever has the highest score wins. Unless there’s a tie.”

“What happens then?”

“Then we play another round until one team has more points than the other. Both teams get a chance at bat—that means hitting the ball. And if one team gets more points by the end they win the game. If not, we play another inning. That’s both teams pitching—throwing the ball—and batting—hitting the ball.”

Ceria looked at Pisces. He raised both eyebrows and smiled sardonically. Ksmvr raised his other hand, not having lowered the first one.

“Miss Solstice, what happens if both teams fail to aquire more points?”

“Then we keep playing. Forever. Or until one team can’t play anymore.”

Erin stared at Ksmvr. He nodded.

“Defeat by attrition. Very appropriate.”

“Right. So that’s baseball. Any questions?”

The adventurers, Mrsha, Bird, and Lyonette looked each other. Then they all raised their hands. Ksmvr raised his third one. Erin sighed.

“Let me try again.”

 

—-

 

A few explanations later, Ceria understood baseball. At least, she understood how the game was played. There was a logic to it—hitting a ball sounded like fun and the gloves made sense to her now. Still, she had declined to practice at first. The Halfseekers and Mrsha had volunteered to take the equipment and hit a few balls. Everyone else was sitting and watching as Erin coached from the sidelines.

“Okay! Aim for Moore’s glove, Seborn! Not at Jelaqua! Mrsha, you stay in the outfield! Grab the ball when it goes flying and throw it at Lyonette!”

“Alright! Throw that ball, Seborn!”

Jelaqua grinned as she swung the baseball bat energetically. Moore, crouching behind her with his hand open—he was holding a tablecloth for a glove since Erin hadn’t wanted to pay for a glove for his hands—eyed Jelaqua’s bat with some apprehension.

“Don’t let go of that bat, Jelaqua. And please don’t hit me in the head.”

“Relax! I’ve got this! Throw, Seborn!”

The Drowned Man did. Erin had shown him how to pitch, and the [Rogue] threw the ball surprisingly fast. Jelaqua swung. Her bat whiffed the air as the baseball bounced off of Moore’s palm. The half-Giant picked up the ball between two fingers and threw it clumsily back at Seborn.

“Aw.”

Strike one!

Erin waved her arms. Jelaqua looked over.

“What? Am I out already?”

“No, you get two more chances!”

“Got it! Throw me another, Seborn!”

The Drowned Man did. Ceria watched the ball flash past Jelaqua. The Selphid blinked.

“Hey, not that fast!”

Too bad. I’m trying to win here.

Seborn smiled as Moore threw the ball back to him. Jelaqua growled and swung the bat around. Ceria watched as Seborn wound up and threw the third ball. This time Jelaqua had the timing down. She stepped forward and swung.

The crack of bat hitting ball made Mrsha look up. She’d been playing in the grass impatiently. Her eyes widened as she saw the baseball flying overhead. She raced after it as Jelaqua looked around.

“Did you see that?”

“Run for first base!”

“Oh, right!”

The Selphid charged towards the ‘base’ Erin had set up, which was a pillow lying in the grass. Erin waved her arms frantically.

“The bat! Put the bat back!”

“Argh!”

Jelaqua ran back. Mrsha was racing towards Lyonette with the ball in her mouth. The [Barmaid] waved her hands encouragingly, holding a glove up.

“Throw it, Mrsha!”

The Gnoll cub did. The ball went wide of Lyonette. The young woman raced after it with Mrsha as Jelaqua ran onto first base. She raised her arms in celebration.

“I did it!”

Keep going!

“Right! Second base!”

Jelaqua ran as Mrsha and Lyonette grabbed the ball and chased after her. She got all the way to third before they caught up. Then Erin had to explain how the rest of the game worked again. Jelaqua groaned.

“Wait, so I just stand here?”

“I mean, you can steal, but it’s dangerous. You don’t have to stand here. This is just to show everyone how the game is played. Let’s have someone else bat. Moore?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t use one of those bats, Miss Erin.”

The half-Giant smiled apologetically. Erin grinned up at him.

“That’s okay! I got you a special bat! Here—”

She pointed at the oversized baseball bat which was more of a log. Moore blinked. He picked it up and Jelaqua whistled.

“That’s a stick! You could crack a few heads with that thing, Moore!”

“I’d prefer not to. But playing—hm. Yes. Thank you, Erin.”

Moore smiled gratefully at Erin. He took up position at bat as Jelaqua grabbed a glove and sat far behind him. Erin returned to her seat next to Ceria. The half-Elf was still sunbathing. Erin smiled at Ceria.

“What do you think?”

The half-Elf looked up. She had another pillow underneath her head and she’d been reluctantly looking up to see the action. Now she sat up and gave Erin a rueful smile.

“Honestly, Erin? It looks incredibly dull.”

“You think so?”

Erin didn’t seem too offended. She took a seat by Ceria as Moore swung his bat. Slowly. He missed Seborn’s first pitch. Ceria shrugged.

“It’s…well, I don’t want to be rude, but it’s about as fun as chess for me. Pisces likes chess, but I don’t know if he’ll enjoy this game. At least the Halfseekers are having fun.”

Strike two!

Jelaqua shouted happily at Moore. The half-Giant frowned at her. Their voices were audible to Ceria and Erin as they sat together.

“Stop yelling at me.”

“It’s part of the game, Moore! Hit the ball already!”

“I can’t see it. It’s hard to swing this bat fast enough, alright?”

“You get one more swing, Moore!”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You got to practice with Seborn.”

“Tough luck! There’s no mercy in baseball!”

Stop arguing, both of you. We’ll give Moore more swings.

“Aw, Seborn!”

Erin smiled as she watched the Halfseekers play. Mrsha was lying in the grass, waiting for another ball as Lyonette yawned at first base. Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr had also been recruited to stand at second and third base and in the outfield. They looked around, clearly waiting for something to happen. Bird and Octavia watched from the sidelines.

“It is sort of boring, isn’t it?”

“You think so too?”

“Eh. I never liked baseball too much when I was back home. My dad used to take me to a few games, but he wasn’t the hugest fan either. He would watch the big games and that’s about it.”

“I see. So why are we playing it?”

Erin smiled as she stretched out her legs in the grass. She propped herself up with her arms and watched as Moore swung again.

“It’s boring. And exciting when someone hits the ball. Mostly, you sit and watch. In baseball games the audience sits for hours. You can talk to one another, eat…it’s not filled with action. I thought it was perfect for today. For everyone. And for Mrsha.”

She pointed at Mrsha. The Gnoll was rolling about on her back as Moore missed again. Jelaqua was heckling him. Ceria glanced at Mrsha.

“You were right about us needing some sunlight. I’d forgotten we could just…go to Celum. It’s amazing.”

“All thanks to your door. Without it I couldn’t have done so many things. It really was the best thing you brought out of Albez. Thank you for giving it to me, Ceria.”

The half-Elf waved that away.

“You helped us. You gave us coin, brought us together—and you saved me. Twice. With the door we gave you.”

Erin smiled and looked away.

“Yeah. But I didn’t do too much.”

“You came up with the plan. I heard from Pisces and Yvlon what was happening while I was below. Everyone was fighting the dungeon, but you were the one who got the Goblins to find the Raskghar. And you made the plan. You even got people like Zevara and Ilvriss on board. You saved me, Erin.”

The [Innkeeper] shook her head.

“It was everyone. I just gave them a chance. I…I’m not proud of what I did.”

Ceria frowned and sat up a bit more.

“Not proud? Why wouldn’t you be? Erin, you beat the Raskghar! There were thousands of them and they were killing—”

“I know. I know. It’s just…I guess I’m really good at killing people after all.”

Erin’s voice was quiet. She was still looking away from Ceria. The half-Elf paused. Then Erin looked back at her friend. The young woman sat on the grass, smiling. But there were tears in her eyes. They ran down Erin’s cheeks as she watched Mrsha run after a foul ball.

“I knew I could, Ceria. I knew that I could figure out a way to kill the Raskghar. With fire. With water. With monsters or traps. And I did. I’d do it again. But I don’t like it.”

“It had to be done. The Raskghar were evil. They were sacrificing Gnolls. If you hadn’t, Mrsha and I would be dead.”

There was no pity in Ceria’s heart or her voice. Erin nodded. She wiped at her eyes.

“That’s true. It’s all true. But I still did it. I went into their home and killed them. I made the plan. I knew what would happen.”

Ceria stared at Erin. She couldn’t feel whatever it was Erin felt. Ceria had been there. She had looked into Nokha’s eyes as the Raskghar devoured the Gnoll’s hearts. If the Raskghar had been in front of her again, Ceria would have killed them without a second thought.

“They were monsters.”

“They were. But they were people. I walked into their camp before we destroyed the entrance. They were monsters. But they had a home. They were evil, but I still helped kill them.”

“Not all of them. Some got away.”

Ceria didn’t know if she was trying to cheer Erin up. If she was, it wasn’t working. Erin shrugged. She was smiling and crying a bit as Moore swung again and missed.

“It doesn’t matter, Ceria. I know it had to be done. And if I had to, I’d do it again. A thousand times. I just feel bad about it. It’s…something I feel. I just feel bad. For the people who died. The Antinium Soldiers, the Watch…Ilvriss’ people. They died because I asked them to. And the Raskghar. We killed an entire group of people. They were bad people, but still people.”

“I guess so.”

Ceria sat back, troubled. She stared at her skeletal hand. A bug had decided to crawl between her fingers and she’d smashed it accidentally. There was no feeling in her bone hand, after all. Absentmindedly, Ceria scrubbed her hand on the grass.

“I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t feel bad at all. Not after what happened. With Calruz.”

“Yeah. I don’t. I just wish I could have talked him into releasing the Gnolls. I wish I could have stopped him. But I didn’t. That was my fault.”

The half-Elf shook her head. Erin reached out and grabbed her flesh hand.

“It wasn’t. You did all you could.”

“I didn’t save him. He’s going to be executed. Drake law. I should have killed him when I had the chance. But I couldn’t. He’s…insane, Erin. He wasn’t in his right mind. There were bits and pieces of him, but it was all wrong. That’s the hard part. He cared about Gerial and the others. If he hadn’t, if he’d just been mad, it would have been easy to—but he cared and then—I couldn’t stop it.”

Ceria’s voice cracked. She stared at Moore as the half-Giant began arguing with Jelaqua. Seborn walked over to confer. Erin’s hand squeezed Ceria’s.

“I heard a bit of what happened. I…”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Ceria stared ahead. The sun felt less bright as she whispered.

“It was bad down there, Erin. I told the others about it. But not all of it. I don’t think I can. I wish—I can still hear them screaming. I know there were too many Raskghar. I know. But I was the only adventurer down there. They died and I couldn’t stop them.”

Erin stared at Ceria’s face. The half-Elf shook her head, her hands trembling.

“Do you want to talk about it? I can listen.”

“No. I—maybe later. But not right now. I just want to sit.”

“Okay.”

Ceria stared past Erin. After a while Erin took her hand away. The half-Elf wished she hadn’t. She felt tense. Guilty. Alone, despite Erin sitting next to her. Her failures pierced her over and over until—

Crack.

The half-Elf looked up. Jelaqua had hit the ball. She pointed.

“There! Like that, see?”

Moore stared as Ksmvr and Yvlon looked up. The Antinium and woman watched the ball land and then remembered they had to run and pick it up. He turned and glared at Jelaqua.

“Like what? You’re just hitting the ball, Jelaqua. Let me keep trying.”

“Aw, come on!”

The half-Giant took a position at home base again. Ceria watched Seborn throw a ball and Moore miss. Suddenly, she was back in the present. She looked around. Erin was watching her. Ceria half-rose. Then she inhaled and smelled the earth. The grass. She looked up and saw the sun.

Her heart began to beat slowly again. Ceria looked at her hands, and then at Erin. The young woman smiled. Her eyes were mostly dry, but there was still moisture in them.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

Ceria looked up. The sky was blue. High, high above, a few clouds slowly moved across the vast sky. The half-Elf closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of growing life. The sun shone down as Moore finally hit a ball and Mrsha and Pisces both raced after it. Ceria remembered the dungeon, the scent of blood. Calruz’s eyes full of madness. The Raskghar devouring the heart over the lifeless Gnoll. She blinked and found her eyes were watering as well.

“It really is, isn’t it?”

The two sat together for a while. Just sat. The horrors of the past melted away from Ceria as she watched Seborn take a place at bat. He swung and connected with the first ball, ran around the bases until Ksmvr tagged him out, and then waited at first base as Lyonette took a turn swinging the bat. The game was boring. Some might have even called it dull. But in this moment, it was the game Ceria needed. So she stood up.

“Alright. I’ll give it a shot.”

Erin looked up.

“You sure?”

Ceria smiled.

“Why not? I could use a bit of exercise. And I can always lie down afterwards. Are you going to play too?”

“Sure!”

Erin stood up. She smiled at Ceria and then cupped her hands.

“Hey guys! Want to play a real game? With teams?”

The others looked up. They looked at each other and shrugged. Jelaqua shouted back.

“Sure! Let’s play a bit. Then we can eat!”

The others nodded. They trooped over to home base as Erin walked forwards with Ceria. The game wasn’t amazing. It wasn’t fantastic or exciting. It was sort of fun. But that was what they needed. A game of baseball in the sun.

 

—-

 

The first game was simple. It was between the Horns of Hammerad and the Halfseekers, with Bird, Lyonette, and Mrsha acting as extras for the outfield team. Octavia watched from the sidelines with a bowl of popcorn as Erin umpired the game.

“Alright! Game one! We’ll play till one side scores five points, okay? Jelaqua, you’re up for bat first! Pisces, throw the ball!”

“Don’t let her hit the ball, Pisces! That’s an order!”

Ceria shouted at Pisces from first base. The [Necromancer] sniffed and awkwardly raised the ball.

“Very well. Allow me to throw a truly unhittable pitch. Like so—”

He threw the ball as fast and hard as he could without warning. It was a good pitch. But Jelaqua was quicker. The Selphid grinned and swung her bat.

Hah!

The bat cracked as it connected full-force with the ball. Pisces’ eyes widened and he ducked as the ball flashed by his head. Mrsha and Ksmvr raced after the ball as Jelaqua raised her bat and cheered. Erin shouted urgently.

“Don’t cheer yet, Jelaqua! Drop the bat! Okay, now run for first base! Ksmvr, grab the ball and throw it to Ceria!”

“Captain Ceria!”

Ksmvr threw the ball. Ceria raised her glove, swore as she saw Jelaqua charging towards the pillow, and tried to grab the ball. She caught it, but only after Jelaqua had stepped on the pillow. Erin shouted.

Safe! She’s safe, Ceria! You can’t tag her out!”

The half-Elf looked up. Jelaqua had both claws raised to fend Ceria off. Both looked slightly disappointed. Jelaqua coughed. Ceria scratched her head.

“That was it? She touched the pillow and that’s it?”

“Yup. She’s safe. Until the next ball is hit, she can stay there. Or steal a base.”

Aha! I knew this game was fun!”

Jelaqua charged towards second base. Ceria swore and ran after her. Erin shouted at both of them to come back.

“Wait, wait! No stealing in the first game! And you can’t just run all the way home! I think.”

“Why not?”

“Well—you’d be caught. If we had a full team. Which we don’t, so—no stealing.”

“Drat. So what do I do?”

Erin pointed back towards home base, where Seborn had the bat and was waiting patiently. Moore was catcher and sitting cross-legged rather than crouching since he was large enough to cover the entire base anyways.

“You just stand there. Seborn will swing and if he hits, you run for second or third, or even home, Jelaqua.”

The Selphid sighed. She scratched a loose scale on her cheek.

“So this is a waiting game?”

“Um. Yeah! But it’s not too long. Hold on. Seborn, let me get out of the way! Pisces, throw another ball when I say so! Try to not let Seborn hit it this time!”

Jelaqua and Ceria awkwardly stood together at first base while Erin had Seborn step up and take a few swings. The Selphid scratched the spines on the back of her head. Ceria coughed. Jelaqua scratched the spines on the back of her Drake body. After a moment she spoke out of the corner of her mouth.

“So. Do you think they’ll let me try out a Raskghar body?”

The half-Elf blinked. Jelaqua grinned sheepishly.

“I mean, I think we brought a few back. Trophies and to show other adventurers what they look like, you know? I don’t need a new one, but I’d like to be the first Selphid to try one out, you know? Bragging rights. And have you seen their muscles?”

“I uh, didn’t get too good a look at them. But that’s actually a good idea. Raskghar are really strong.”

“I know, right? And if I could get Erin to store a few bodies in her basement, you know, as insurance—is this getting creepy?”

“Just a little bit. But I get it. You don’t think the bodies will rot in her inn, right? What about bugs?”

“Well, Selphids have this paste I can get Octavia to make that—”

Crack. Both Ceria and Jelaqua looked up. A ball flew past them and Erin shouted.

“Run!”

Suddenly Seborn was charging towards them! Pisces and Ksmvr ran for the ball. Ceria and Jelaqua looked at each other. The Selphid looked around.

“Oh kidney stones, what am I supposed to do again?”

Run to second base! Ceria, get ready to stop Seborn! Catch the ball!”

“Over here!”

Ceria waved her arms in frustration as Jelaqua took off. Pisces blurred over to the ball with [Flash Step] and snatched it up. He looked around. But Seborn was already on first base. The Drowned Man eyed Ceria. And Jelaqua was rounding second base, headed towards third. Ceria pointed.

“I’ll stop Jelaqua! Pisces, get her!”

The Selphid was laughing as she ran. Pisces charged towards her. Jelaqua kept her eye on Pisces, but she didn’t see Ceria coming up from the side. The half-Elf tackled the Selphid, knocking her to the ground.

Get her, Pisces!

The [Necromancer] was twenty paces away. He threw the ball at Jelaqua as the Selphid turned and threw Ceria off. The Selphid dodged back as she saw the ball land at her feet, but then she grinned. She picked the ball up and threw it at Seborn.

“Get rid of it!”

On it.

Seborn turned, hurled the ball in the opposite direction, then charged to second base as Pisces and Ksmvr ran after the ball again. Ceria tried to slow Jelaqua as the Selphid tried to follow Seborn. Erin watched, jaw slightly open as Seborn rounded the bases. Jelaqua was nearly at third base with Ceria holding onto her waist when Pisces threw a ball and struck her shoulder.

“Aw, damnit!”

Ceria let go and Jelaqua threw up her hands. Seborn tried to run back to second, but Ksmvr was there. He caught the ball and chased Seborn as the Drowned Man ran back to first base. There Seborn stopped. He looked at Erin and she found her voice.

“Okay! Um. Return back to home base!”

All five players returned to the plate. Seborn looked at Erin as Ceria gave Pisces and Ksmvr a thumbs-up.

How’d we do?

“Well…that was awful. You’re not supposed to tackle players, Ceria! And Pisces, you can’t hit people with the ball! And if you touch the ball you’re out! And Ksmvr—you did a good job. Only Ksmvr played according to the rules!”

Ksmvr straightened up and smiled. The other adventurers scratched their heads. Ceria shook her head exasperatedly.

“This game has a lot of rules. And it’s hard catching people while they’re running.”

“That’s why you stand on the bases. The runners can’t score if you block them, and then you just have to tag them out. You throw the ball between each other. Look, we’re doing good. I think we just need a few more players.”

“You think so? We’re a pretty good team by ourselves, right Seborn, Moore? Right?”

Jelaqua elbowed Seborn. The Drowned Man looked at her.

Stop elbowing me.

Erin smiled. She looked to the outfield. Yvlon, Lyonette, and Mrsha were bored in right field and were playing catch with another ball.

“Look, one more game. But let me just call a few people over first, okay?”

The adventurers shrugged. Ceria nodded.

“Sure. Who did you have in mind?”

“Well…”

 

—-

 

The Redfang Hobs sat around in their cave. Around them sat Cave Goblins. The Hobs were busy at work and not busy at the same time. They were showing the Cave Goblins how to bandage wounds. Headscratcher winced as Badarrow sewed up a gash on his arm. The Hob flinched as the tip of the needle went through his flesh. Badarrow slapped his shoulder and glared at him.

It was a necessity. The Cave Goblins were wounded. Some were badly hurt. Those had been healed with the potions the Goblins had, but far more had injures that could heal with time. And the Goblins wouldn’t waste a potion on something like that.

With that said, the medical knowledge the Redfangs had was limited to stitching up bad cuts and making sure nothing got too dirty. That was still miles ahead of Cave Goblin medical advances, which hadn’t gotten much past ‘don’t poke an open wound’. So the Goblins watched as Badarrow demonstrated how to clean and stitch up a cut. He didn’t have to do it twice. The Goblins remembered and would teach their friends.

The mood in the cave was optimistic, despite the injured Goblins. Despite the dead. Because they had won their freedom. It was a battle no one cared about. It had not resulted in the freedom of Gnolls or a half-Elf. It was not a glorious battle, but many skirmishes. It had freed only Goblins. And who cared about them?

The Hobs. Each of them was wounded. The worst of their injuries had been healed, but they still had gashes. It was nothing compared to some of the pain they’d born, but it did hurt. Still, they would have been celebrating normally. Except, it was just that…

The door hadn’t opened. The magical door that connected Erin’s inn to the Goblin cave hadn’t activated since she’d set up the attack on the Raskghar camp. Of course, the Hobs knew she was alive. The Cave Goblins had reported everything. And naturally she was busy. Rabbiteater made that point so many times that the other Hobs threw things at him, forcing him to hide behind his water cloak.

Erin was probably very busy. It was just that she hadn’t talked to them today. It wasn’t as if they needed to see her. But there was a feeling in the back of the Goblin’s minds. It was a ridiculous thought. It ran something like this.

What if Erin had just used them to beat the Raskghar? And she didn’t need them anymore? Or maybe—maybe now that all the Goblins were here, she couldn’t help them anymore? Maybe they were a liability, with so many…monsters around. Or maybe she’d grown tired of them.

Ridiculous thoughts. Totally at odds with everything they knew of Erin. But the Hobs couldn’t shake the feeling. So they sat around moodily, bandaging their injuries. The Cave Goblins didn’t understand why the Hobs were upset. They were cheerfully sewing each other up when the door opened.

“Guys? Are you—”

The Hobs looked up as one as they heard a voice. Erin Solstice stood in the doorway and paused when she saw the Goblins. A detail yet to be mentioned was that there were a lot of Cave Goblins in the enclosed space. More than last time, even. And they were just the ones Erin could see. She looked around wide-eyed, and then focused on the Hobs who sprang to their feet.

“What happened? There are so many Goblins! And—oh my god! What happened?”

Erin had spotted a huge cut on Numbtongue’s chest. The Hob blinked as Erin threw up her hands in horror. She dashed back into her inn and the Hobs saw a little figure appear in the doorway.

Pebblesnatch had been happily sleeping until Erin woke her up. The little Goblin had been treated to a no-holds-barred breakfast and she’d been eating it all morning. She paused and all the Cave Goblins stared at her. She was holding a giant cookie. Pebblesnatch wavered as the Goblins’ eyes fixed on the treat which gave off a smell they’d never inhaled before. She looked from face to face, looked at her cookie, and closed the door.

A few seconds later it opened. Erin appeared with a potion box in her hands.

“What are you doing? Here—”

She moved past Pebblesnatch as the Cave Goblin backed away, clutching her cookie to her chest so hard that it began to crumble. Erin grabbed healing potions and thrust them at the Hobs.

“Where did you get those injuries? Oh no—did the Raskghar attack you? Here, use them! Any Goblin that needs it—”

Shorthilt blinked bemusedly at the healing potion that was thrust into his hands. He opened his mouth, but Erin was already handing healing potions out. The Goblins looked at each other. They hesitated. But then Headscratcher nodded. He uncorked a bottle and carefully splashed some on his arm. The stitches popped out of his healing flesh. The Cave Goblins did the same. Erin breathed a sigh of relief as she looked around.

It was a curious thing. The Cave Goblins stared. Some, a portion of them had seen Erin, tasted her cooking. The others only had rumors to go on. They had heard of a strange Human that didn’t hurt Goblins. They barely knew what a Human was, but they had heard she ordered the Hobs around. And she made good food. And now they saw her, they were shocked. Because she was so normal. Because she was giving healing potions to Goblins.

Because she cared. The Cave Goblins stared at Erin. They stared at Pebblesnatch, who was reluctantly giving out fingernail-sized portions of her cookie to other Goblins, and at Erin. She was talking with the Hobs and they were clustered around her. Smiling. As if they liked her. As if—

As if she was a friend. The Goblins listened as Erin spoke.

“—Had no idea. I’m so sorry I didn’t come by earlier, but I was so busy that I just crashed when everyone was safe. I have food—where did all the Goblins come from? From below? Ha ha. Very funny. I meant…well, okay, that makes sense. Do you have enough food? I can…well, I’ll need to see about buying more. We can deal with that later if you’re good for now. I was really coming to see if you wanted to uh, play a game. Of baseball.”

The Goblins looked up. The Redfangs looked at each other. Erin hastened to explain.

“It’s in Celum! In a field right next to the city. It…well, it might be a bit dangerous if someone panics, but Jelaqua said that you’re probably safe. And we owe you so much. So…if you want to bring some Goblins over, we could play a game. There’ll be food. I can’t let all of the Goblins through, but maybe a few and all of you? I’m sorry, but I can’t bring everyone through—”

The Goblins stared at the Hobs. They looked at each other as the Redfangs conferred, glancing around. Then they nodded. The Goblins saw Headscratcher smiling as Erin tried to explain the game to him. Not about the game. Just at her. And then the young woman smiled and the smile was everything. The Hobs turned. Numbtongue gestured.

Thirty.

They would take thirty with them. Pebblesnatch instantly sidled back into the inn. The Cave Goblins stared at her. At the cookie, mostly eaten. At Erin, the empty box of potions—and her smile. Then they charged towards the door, fighting tooth-and-nail to be the first ones through.

 

—-

 

“I feel so bad.”

Erin confessed to Numbtongue as she closed the door on the disappointed Goblins. There were hundreds crammed into the cave. And they’d all tried to get into her inn. A large number had gone through—until the Hobs had restored order.

It hadn’t been pretty. More than one Goblin probably needed another potion for their blinding headache as the Hobs had banged heads together and thrown the rest back through the door. Now, a lucky thirty Cave Goblins including Pebblesnatch were celebrating in Erin’s inn. The rest were in the cave. Sulking.

“You’re sure they’ll be alright without you?”

Numbtongue nodded.

“They’ll be fine. We don’t need to leave one of us behind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The Hob didn’t quite meet her eyes. He was holding a big mug of ale and he was eating a cookie. So were the other Goblins. The luxury of Erin’s inn and the sweet food was making some of them swoon. Erin eyed the Hob, but gave in. The Cave Goblins would probably be fine. And she owed the Hobs. She placed Celum’s mana stone on the door.

“Ready?”

The Goblins nodded. Erin threw open the door. Sunlight made the Goblins gasp. They looked out into a beautiful grassy field. And beyond it were adventurers. The Cave Goblins shrank back in terror, but the Redfangs stood between them and the door and made beckoning noises. They led the Goblins through.

There were adventurers standing on the grass. They froze when they saw the Goblins, but relaxed quickly. The others didn’t. A group of Humans, some dressed in armor, others in bright clothing whirled when the door opened. When the Goblins came through, they panicked.

Dead gods! Goblins! Hobs! Sound the alarm!”

“Run for it!”

The members of Celum’s Watch reached for their swords, then began to flee in a stampede at the sight of five Hobs. The brightly-dressed Humans paled, but didn’t run. One of them threw up a hand. He raised his voice and shouted in a surprisingly loud, commanding tone.

“Hold! I say hold, all of you! Turn, guardsmen, turn! These Goblins aren’t enemies!”

Wesle strode towards Erin. He nodded at the Hobgoblins as the Players of Celum stared at the Cave Goblins. They weren’t afraid! The Cave Goblins peered around Rabbiteater’s cloak as the guardsmen of Celum halted in their panicked flight. He bowed to Erin with a flourish.

“Erin, it’s a delight!”

“Wesle! What brings you out here?”

Erin beamed as she hugged the man. He wasn’t too much taller than her, and he wasn’t that imposing or huge a man. His lips were clean-shaven and he wore fairly fancy red tunic and breeches, but that was all. And yet, the Goblins thought he looked taller than the Humans around him. It was in the way he carried himself. And the way he moved and spoke. He seemed to draw the eye. Wesle stroked his upper lip as if he still had his fuzzy mustache.

“We got word you’d passed through the city. Caused a bit of a commotion. We thought—we hoped that it was safe to return to your inn.  It’s been terribly quiet without you or your inn to perform in.”

Erin smacked her forehead.

“Of course! I forgot—we won! There was a huge battle, Wesle! The Raskghar were defeated! We saved the Gnolls! It was incredible! Liscor’s saved, the Goblins helped, and the Antinium no matter what Ilvriss says—”

“Huge battle? Raskghar? Sounds like a play!”

A short woman strode over. Emme gave the Goblins a glance and then focused on Erin.

“Is this something we could turn into a play, Miss Erin?”

“Um? Yes?”

“Well then! What are we waiting for? Hey, you lot! Gather over here! Forget the Goblins—they won’t bite. And if they do, bite back! We’ve got material for a new play!”

The Players of Celum approached cautiously. Erin turned and beamed at a Drake and a Human child.

“Jasi! Grev! It’s great to see you all! And you’re all here at the perfect time! We were having a break after all that’s happened.”

“Hullo, Miss Erin. You’ve got a lot of monster folk behind you. Are all them new security for your inn?”

Grev stared at the Cave Goblins, who stared back, never having seen a Human child before. Erin turned.

“What, the Goblins? No, I brought them for the game. Hey Jelaqua! Look, we’ve got two teams of players!”

The Selphid waved back. She was laughing so hard she could barely stand. It was the reactions of the Humans that amused her. One of Celum’s [Guardsmen] followed the Players of Celum, practically hiding behind Jasi.

“Game? What’s all this? Mister Wesle, these Goblins—

“Security for Miss Erin’s inn. Don’t mind them, Fabial. The rest of you, take heed! These are Miss Erin’s employees. There’s to be no fighting here! Besides, there’s a team of Gold-rank adventurers.”

“Exactly!”

Jelaqua walked over, still chuckling. She grinned at Fabial, who looked alarmed as Moore approached.

“We’ve got this. These Goblins are under control. Hey, Headscratcher.”

She nodded at Badarrow, who ignored her. The Hobs stared around as Erin tried to explain why the Goblins were here to the Humans. Emme began to pester Jelaqua for details. Grev stared about and made eye contact with Mrsha. In the end Erin had to wave her hands and shout.

“Attention! Everyone! Shut up!

They all quieted. The Players of Celum, adventurers, and Goblins all stared at Erin. She looked around and smiled.

“Let’s leave the plays and killing each other for later, huh? Today’s not a work day. We’re just going to relax here. Goblins, Humans, Selphids—”

“Selphid. Unless anyone wants to change my mind?”

“We can do everything later. But for now—does anyone want to play a game of baseball?”

The crowd paused. They looked at Erin and at each other. Then Numbtongue raised a hand.

“What’s baseball?”

The Celum [Guardsmen] stared at the Hob in horror.

It can talk?

Erin rolled her eyes.

 

—-

 

“Baseball is a sport. A game where two teams compete. One team is on the attack, the other one defends. That’s the basics. Now, we never hurt anyone else. That’s against the rules. We’re competing to get more points. The way you do that is to hit a ball…”

Erin lectured the crowd of people in front of her. Cave Goblins, Hobs, and Humans stared at her. The Players of Celum and Goblins had joined the others in the meadow. The Watch from Celum had to go back to the city and try to explain…something. Erin had Seborn and Jelaqua demonstrate as she spoke.

“—And then, if Jelaqua hits it far enough, it’s a home run. Everyone runs around the bases and scores! It’s great! What do you think?”

The Players and Goblins stared at each other. They shrugged. Emme smiled.

“It looks as stupid as a play did to me the first time I saw one. So we grab these bats and start playing? Why not?”

“Awesome! Let’s play a game! We can make teams. Why don’t the Goblins play a game against the Players of Celum first? The rest of us can correct things, then we can divide and play with everyone!”

Obediently, the groups divided up. Erin grinned at Jelaqua as the Selphid began showing the Humans how to use the bat.

“I still think this is boring as watching tar dry.”

Octavia remarked from her seat in the grass. She’d finished three bowls of popcorn and was eating a fourth. Erin eyed her severely.

“You can go back to Celum. Or pay for that popcorn if you’re bored.”

“Bored? Hey, who’s bored? I love baseball! Go team! Hit those balls!”

Erin rolled her eyes. The Players of Celum seemed excited by the game. As they lined up, Jasi sidled over to Erin.

“It was a good thing Grev heard you were here. We’ve been cooped up this last week, what with your inn being too dangerous.”

“Haven’t you been performing?”

“Ah, well…we didn’t think it’d be right. Not with all the other inns smearing your name. You heard about that, right? We’ve been performing in the squares, but it’s not the same. Everyone’s been antsy, waiting for you to finish. This game is just what we need.”

“What everyone needs. Hey, it looks like the Goblins like the game too. See?”

Jasi stared as Erin pointed. Badarrow was throwing a ball at Numbtongue, who swung and connected solidly with it. The Cave Goblins ducked as the ball flew over their heads and then ran after it as Numbtongue shouted. They seemed nervous, rather than excited to play. But Erin hoped they’d warm up to the game. Jasi just shook her head.

“More Goblins. And you beat those horrible beasts in the dungeon with their help? You have to tell us the entire story, Erin.”

“Alright, but later. I just want to have fun today. Hey, Wesle looks great!”

The [Actor] was at bat. And the first ball that Jelaqua threw he hit. Not just hit—the impact sent the ball flying into the air. Mrsha raced after it. Erin whistled.

“That’s good form! Did he copy Jelaqua or something?”

Wesle was swinging the bat as if he’d played the game before. Jasi shook her head. She leaned forwards and whispered.

“He got a Skill! From his class! It’s called [Method Acting]. It means he actually becomes the person he’s playing! A little bit.”

“What? That’s incredible!”

The Drake smiled.

“It is. But it’s not that powerful. I think we checked it and he’s only as good as someone with, say, ten levels. So he can copy a [Butcher] and do a decent job even without training, but it still takes a lot of work to get any better. If he really copies someone for a while he can get even better.”

“Wow. Hey, that’s a real advantage! Do you have a Skill like that?”

“Not that Skill. But I do have a few new ones. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going to play this game. You’d better watch out for Emme, though. She’s stronger than anyone else in the troupe!”

Sure enough, when it was Emme’s turn to practice she hit the ball farther than Wesle did, although it took her four tries to connect. Erin watched the Players bat and catch and field and whistled.

“They’re good! I mean, I guess it’s their acting thing. But—hey, these guys could play a game against my dad’s team! Back home he had a team in his neighborhood. They were about this good.”

“And the Goblins?”

Erin stared at the Goblins. They’d finished their practice, but it was a bit…lopsided. Badarrow had taken up pitching and he could throw a fast ball. And all the Hobs had hit the ball far. When they hit it. They seemed to strike out surprisingly often given how coordinated Erin knew them to be. Still, when they hit it the ball went far. That was the Hobs, though.

The Cave Goblins were barely larger than children and so when they hit the ball it barely went anywhere. But they seemed quite coordinated, and as they lined up in the outfield they seemed cheerful. The Goblins kept staring at the grass and flowers as if they’d never seen them before. Which they hadn’t.

“I think they’ll be okay. We can always change up the teams. Besides, if the Players win a game or two maybe some of them won’t be so nervous. Hey guys! Are you ready to play ball or what?

“Ready!”

The Humans cheered as they got up to bat. The Goblins looked to Erin and she waved her arms as she came over.

“I’ll umpire! You all start playing! Remember, hit the ball and run for the bases! You can steal—oh, just go for it! Who’s up first?”

“Me.”

Wesle strode up to bat. He choked up on the grip of the wooden baseball bat and took a stance that was surprisingly like the one Erin had copied from watching professional baseball players on television. The Players cheered and clapped as the Goblins looked at Badarrow.

The Hob looked at Erin. She smiled at him. Badarrow fingered the baseball and looked at Wesle. Shorthilt was catching. The Hob looked up as the wind blew, and then slowly wound up. His arm came up and he threw. The ball flew towards Shorthilt’s mitt. Wesle grinned, swung—

And the ball dropped. Wesle’s bat passed straight over it. The ball struck the ‘plate’ that was a pillow and Shorthilt snatched it up. He tossed the ball back at Badarrow. Wesle gaped. So did Erin. Everyone stared at her until she remembered and raised her arms.

“Uh, strike!”

“What was that throw?”

Jelaqua stared at Badarrow. The Hob was smirking as Wesle stared at him in astonishment. Erin’s mind raced.

“That was—that was a splitter! Or a forkball? It’s a legal throw, but—how’d you figure that out, Badarrow?”

The Hob just grinned at Erin. He threw the ball up again and pointed at Wesle. The [Actor] was clearly disoriented, but he gritted his teeth.

“I get two more tries, right Erin?”

“That’s right. Uh—keep playing!”

The Hob wound up and threw another pitch. Wesle waited. This time he swung as the ball dropped and clipped it. The ball flew up behind him.

Foul ball! That’s a strike!”

There was a groan from the Players of Celum. They watched as Badarrow caught another ball and threw it. This time Wesle swung low and clipped the ball again, but it was a foul ball.

Foul ball!

Wesle hurled the bat to the ground in frustration. Badarrow grinned. Erin had to call Wesle back.

“You get another swing if it’s a foul ball! Don’t give up!”

“What is with that Hob? How’s he throwing like that?”

Wesle pointed at Badarrow. The Hob was smirking and throwing more splitters at Shorthilt.

“Well, he is an [Archer]. I guess it comes naturally? Or…”

Erin’s eyes narrowed. She remembered the Hobs striking out against Badarrow.

“I think he was practicing that pitch! I told you there are multiple ways to throw the ball. Fastballs, curves, uh, sliders…you just need practice. And unfortunately, Badarrow’s pretty good. Hey Badarrow! Don’t throw splitters for game one! It’s not fair!”

Badarrow looked up. He grimaced at Erin, but nodded reluctantly. The next ball he threw was a curve. This time Wesle connected with it though. The man was so surprised that he barely got to first base before the Cave Goblins got the ball. The players cheered, and Jasi went up to bat.

Fastballs! It’s just game one!”

The Hob pitcher was clearly put upon, but he obliged Erin by tossing a fastball…nice and slow. Jasi was so surprised she missed the first ball. Erin slapped her forehead, but Badarrow’s antics had amused the crowd. And more importantly, the Players of Celum were now competing to get a hit.

Jasi managed to bunt to first, but she got tagged out. Wesle ran to second, and then all the way to third as Emme smashed a ball straight past Badarrow. The next actor struck out, and it was Kilkran, the former [Blacksmith] who took up the bat next.

Badarrow threw a deceptively easy pitch. Kilkran smashed the ball out to left field. Wesle charged home and scored. The Players cheered as Emme ran for second. The Cave Goblins had a ball, but they fumbled it getting it to Numbtongue. Emme ran to third. And then Numbtongue threw.

The ball snapped into Rabbiteater’s glove as Emme was two-thirds of the way to his base. She turned to run, but the Hob sprinted at her. He tagged her out instantly.

“Alright! That’s three outs! Switch sides!”

The Players groaned and the ones who hadn’t had a chance to bat groaned as they put them down. But they seemed pleased. Quite a few slapped Wesle’s back and they took to the field with good nature. But Erin wasn’t fooled. Her eyes were on the Goblins as they meekly took up position at bat. She saw them glancing at each other and making covert signs she could half-understand.

“Hey Jelaqua. What do you think of the game?”

The Selphid was sitting with the adventurers, taking turns combing Mrsha’s fur. She looked up from the pampered Gnoll. Her mouth was full of popcorn. Dipped in fish sauce. Apparently it was better that way, according to her and Seborn at least. She shrugged.

“Looks fun. The Players can hit the ball. Unlike Moore.”

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Jelaqua?”

“I’m just saying…we should get that Wesle guy on our team. When can we play?”

“After five points. But the Goblins—well, just watch them, would you?”

“For what?”

“Just watch.”

The adventurers sat up a bit as Erin went back to the game. She looked hard at Headscratcher. The Hob smiled at her. Innocently. Erin looked at Rabbiteater, Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Numbtongue. She narrowed her eyes. They looked a bit too eager. And she had a funny thought.

“You guys take it easy, okay?”

The Hobs nodded obediently. Headscratcher squared up to bat as Wesle took the pitcher’s mound, which was in fact, more grass. The [Actor] was clearly keen to get his own back and he threw a ball into the mitt that Emme held twice. Both times it dropped. He met Headscratcher’s eyes as Erin shouted.

Play ball!

The first pitch came in hard and fast and dropped. Headscratcher swung and missed. Wide. The Players laughed as the Hob stared at the ball in Emme’s mitt. Wesle grinned and threw a second pitch. This one was a fastball and went right over Headscratcher’s bat. The Humans cheered. Erin just watched Emme throw the ball back. She saw Headscratcher glance at his fellow Hobs. They gave him a tiny nod. The Hob turned back as Wesle wound up for a throw.

The third pitch was a curve. Headscratcher watched it come. He drew back his bat, took a breath and roared as he swung. The sound shattered the air. Headscratcher’s red eyes blazed—and he connected.

It sounded like a car backfiring. Erin flinched as she saw the ball disappear. Wesle ducked and the Players of Celum flinched. The ball flew up, and up and—Erin’s jaw dropped. She saw the ball fly past Kilkran in the outfield, and land. The big man stared at the ball, a good eighty paces behind him as Headscratcher took off. The Hob charged around the bases as Kilkran belatedly ran after the ball. The Goblins cheered wildly and Headscratcher slowed as he realized there was no way the Humans would get the ball back to him. He sauntered back to home base to thunderous cheers.

“Okay. That was a home run.”

Erin stared at the Goblins. So did everyone else. The Redfang Warriors were grinning as they slapped Headscratcher on the back. And then Numbtongue took up the bat.

“Move back a bit!”

Wesle’s voice trembled a bit as he ordered the Players back. They obediently backed up. When he threw the ball, Numbtongue connected on the first hit. He didn’t hit it nearly as far as Headscratcher, but the Hob charged down first base so fast he actually managed to get to second before the bewildered actors managed to get the ball. And then Badarrow was up. He took one look at the first ball that came his way and let it pass.

Ball!

The second one the Hob hit solidly. He got to first and Numbtongue got onto third. The Players blinked as a Cave Goblin came up next instead of Shorthilt or Rabbiteater. The little Goblin had trouble lifting the bat. But when Wesle threw the ball—

“Bunt!”

The Goblin didn’t even try to hit the ball. It just blocked and then ran towards first base, screaming wildly. Emme and Wesle ran to get the ball, but that meant Emme was out of place. And then Numbtongue scored. And the Cave Goblin ran so fast it got to second and Badarrow to third. And then Shorthilt came up to bat—

“Wow.”

Erin stared as the ball went flying. She stared at the bases. Headscratcher was on third, a Cave Goblin on first. It wasn’t that it was a different inning. It was that the Goblins had played through all nine players on their team. There were two outs, but they’d scored seven times. The Players of Celum stared as Numbtongue swung. They ran for the ball and threw it desperately towards Emme. They got Headscratcher out. Barely.

“I uh—that’s game one!”

Erin called it there. The Goblins cheered and ran around the Hobs. The Players of Celum trooped back to home, panting. They stared at the Goblins.

“How’d they do that?”

Wesle gasped as he accepted some chilled ice water. He gulped from it, staring at the Hobs. They were grinning and eying the Humans. Erin sighed, but there was a smile on her face.

“I think…they planned that. Sorry. But I guess the Players aren’t as good as Goblins are naturally.”

“I see. That’s humbling. I think…we might be done for a little bit.”

The actor groaned as he massaged his shoulders. Erin nodded sympathetically.

“Sorry about that. It uh, looked hard but I didn’t want to call it. You take a break. We’ve got food.”

She pointed to the picnic in the audience. Wesle nodded gratefully. The Cave Goblins and Hobs occupied the field as the beaten Players left it. They were playing a game by themselves when Jelaqua stood up.

“Hold it!”

The Goblins looked at her. The Selphid grinned as she walked towards the pitch.

“Looks like you guys are pretty good. Hey guys, why don’t we take them on? Adventurers versus Goblins?”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a—”

Erin began nervously, but the other adventurers were already on their feet. The Horns and Halfseekers strode to the pitch, as did Mrsha and Lyonette. The Goblins looked at each other and grinned. They took up positions at bat. Jelaqua grinned at Erin as she walked past. Seborn was already practicing throwing a curve ball with Moore.

“Hey Erin, you were right. This game is fun. Especially when there’s good competition. Those Hobs can hit pretty hard. We might have to use our full strength.”

“Wait, this is just a fun game. Jelaqua—”

“Hey Pisces! You’re in the middle of the outfield! Use [Flash Step]! Ceria, first base! Can you freeze the ground? Is that against the rules? Ksmvr, outfield on the right? Lyonette and Mrsha can take third base and the left!”

The Selphid grinned as she pounded a fist into her glove. She strode over to second base. Erin eyed the Hobs. They were pointing at Lyonette and Mrsha, clearly telling Headscratcher to hit the ball their way. They huddled together like…well, like any team, really. Erin looked at the Players of Celum who were gulping down food.

Go Horns and Halfseekers! Teach those Goblins a lesson!

“Five silver on the Goblins!”

“Pass me those popcorn things! Stop hogging them, Emme!”

And suddenly? Suddenly it was a game.

 

—-

 

It was wet as Bevussa walked out of Liscor’s gates. Or rather, climbed down the ladder on Liscor’s walls and began walking across the water bridge to The Wandering Inn. The water was still high and it was raining in droves. Of course the Garuda could have flown to the inn, but the water made her wings heavy and she didn’t know if she’d crash in the water. That would be embarrassing, so she elected to walk. She’d tried to get to the inn through the magic door, but it hadn’t opened no matter how long she’d waited.

She met someone else crossing the bridge towards the inn. Keldrass, leader of the Flamewardens slowed and waved a claw at Bevussa. He wasn’t wearing his armor. Like her, he was dressed casually now the crisis in the dungeon was over. Bevussa jogged up to him.

“Hey Keldrass, you’re going to the inn too?”

“That’s right. What are you going for?”

The Garuda hesitated. But she’d known Keldrass professionally, if not personally. She glanced around at the rainy landscape and coughed.

“I was actually hoping I could meet the Halfseekers and possibly Griffon Hunt there and negotiate about the artifacts. You know, who gets what?”

Keldrass nodded.

“That’s why I’m going.”

“Oh—uh, what’s do you—”

“We want the armor.”

Bevussa breathed a sigh of relief. She began walking to the inn, watching her footing as the water splashed over her talons.

“Oh, good. We’re after the invisible bow or the shortsword. Or that staff that blasts people with wind. Or…we’re open for a lot of the items, actually. But I want to make sure we have a good chance of claiming what we aim for, so I need to talk with them. They’ve probably got two of the best claims of the Gold-rank teams.”

Keldrass grunted.

“We all shed blood. Some of us more than others.”

“True. But you have to admit, they went in hard. Did you see Moore smashing Raskghar? Or Halrac? That one’s not far from Named Adventurer.”

“He’s still a ways away. You’ve met the one in Pallass, right?”

“Oh—him? Well, he’s certainly better than Halrac, but he struck me as uh, not atypical of Named Adventurers.”

“They’re all insane like him. The [Scout]’s not at that level yet.”

“Yet.”

Bevussa let the word hang in the air. Keldrass nodded. The two walked towards the inn. After a few seconds, the Garuda chuckled. Keldrass looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. But it’s almost like a reflex, coming here. We’ve done it so many times, and Erin’s inn is so useful. Plus, she’s got so much unique food. Some of its awful—but it’s always new. I can’t stand the inn we’re staying at.”

“The Tailless Thief? The innkeeper’s food is good.”

Keldrass looked mildly offended on behalf of Peslas. Bevussa shrugged.

“That’s true. They’re as good as Erin’s in terms of quality. But they’re all Drake dishes, and I can eat that in Pallass, and far better. Our inns are superior.”

“No arguments there. But the [Innkeeper]—what’s his name—had a new dish. Hamburgers. I thought that was original. Quick food, I think he called it.”

“Yeah, but, apparently the recipe came from Erin.”

“Really?”

Keldrass blinked in surprise. He glanced at the inn coming up ahead of them. Bevussa smiled.

“Do you doubt it?”

“No. But where did she get it from?”

“Search me. There’s something odd about her. Not that I’m complaining. I just—hello?”

Bevussa opened the door and called about inside. The inn was empty. But the first thing that struck the two adventurers was light. They stopped as bright sunlight shone into the inn. The magic door was open and a blue sky and grassy field could be seen through it. It was such an odd sight after the rain that they had to stop in surprise.

“What the—is the door open to Pallass?”

“It can’t be. That takes up too much mana. I thought. Hello?”

Bevussa walked over to the door. She heard cheering as she drew nearer. She blinked as she stared out into the field. Keldrass stood by her and stared around.

“Where is this?

“Oh, hey!”

The two Gold-rank adventurers had been spotted by a group of Humans lounging on the grass. The Players of Celum waved at them. One of them, a young boy, jumped to his feet.

“You’re more guests for Miss Erin, ain’t ya?”

The adventurers nodded. Grev grinned.

“Hold on, I’ll get her! She’s umpiring the game. Miss Erin!”

The adventurers stared as he raced out of view. They looked at each other. Then they stepped through the door. They stared around. Then they heard a crack. Both ducked reflexively. Then they saw a ball flying through the air and heard a voice.

Fly ball! Go, Jelaqua, go!

They saw a familiar Selphid sprinting across the grass. She was moving fast, as if she was in danger. But the cheering that came from the crowd of Humans and Goblins, yes, Goblins was at odds with that idea. So was the grin on Jelaqua’s face. She rounded a pillow on the grass and dove as the Hobgoblin on another pillow reached out and caught a ball flying towards him. There was a cheer and the two saw Erin run forwards, waving her arms.

Safe! That was safe!

She turned as Grev grabbed her shirt. Erin turned and looked surprised to see Keldrass and Bevussa.

“Bevussa! Uh, Keldram? Oh man, did you walk here? Sorry, we’re closed! I can get you to Pallass if you need it, but I’m not selling any meals right now! We’re having a vacation!”

“Uh, no. That’s not why we’re here. We were hoping to find the Halfseekers. And Griffon Hunt if they’re here.”

“I haven’t seen Griffon Hunt. But the Halfseekers are playing a game!”

Erin indicated Jelaqua as the Selphid waved at Pisces and shouted at him as he took a position with a long wooden bat.

“We saw. What’s the game called?”

“Baseball! Hold on—Grev, you umpire. I’ll explain.”

It took Erin several minutes to explain the game to the bewildered adventurers. In that time Pisces bunted the ball Badarrow threw. He didn’t just run, he blinked across the field using [Flash Step]. The Goblins scrambled to keep up, but Pisces got to second without being caught.

“Pisces! That’s cheating!”

Erin turned to yell at the [Necromancer]. He yelled back in an aggrieved tone.

“Why? They can use Skills! Why can’t I use magic?”

“Uh—never mind!”

She turned back and beamed at the adventurers.

“You wanna play?”

“Um—not at the moment.”

Keldrass coughed a bit of smoke. He looked at the Halfseekers.

“They’re busy. I’ll come back later.”

“I uh, I’ll do the same.”

“Suit yourself. Hey, can you let the others know the inn’s closed if they come calling? Thanks!”

Erin went back to the game. The two Gold-rank adventurers walked back to the door. They paused as they stepped back into Erin’s inn. On the other side of the door, the rain was falling through the open door that Bevussa had forgotten to close. The inn was dark and the skies were grey. Keldrass glanced back through the door.

“Sunlight. It’s been a long time since I saw that, or so it feels.”

Bevussa looked longingly back as well.

“It’s a nice day out there. Perfect weather for flying.”

“Indeed.”

They looked at each other. Keldrass coughed again. He shifted.

“I told my team I’d be back soon.”

“So did I. We were actually going to get both teams to join us for negotiations. We felt like Erin’s inn would favor them a bit.”

“Sensible. Well. We should get back.”

“Yeah.”

The two stared back into the field. The sun was warm on Bevussa’s feathers. And she remembered the drinks and food the Humans were eating. She wondered what it would be like to swing that bat. It would be nice to hit something that wasn’t a monster’s skull.

“We did promise to go back.”

Keldrass reminded her. Bevussa looked at him. The Garuda’s hesitated, then smiled.

“True. But we could always come back. It’s a beautiful day out there, isn’t it?”

The Drake paused. He looked back out the door. There were more people coming towards the inn. Adventurers looking to do some negotiating. Relc and Klbkch, the Antinium clutching the ropes, Ishkr and another Gnoll coming for their shift…the Drake looked back at the grass. Bevussa nudged him.

“Wanna decide who goes back to get the others?”

“Sure.”

 

—-

 

At first, the City Watch of Celum was bored. It was, after all, an uneventful day in Celum. There were no monster attacks, no important dignitaries or caravans or even criminal activity that needed dealing with. That was good because excitement was often dangerous in their line of work, but dull was dull. It was a relief to have a bit of excitement.

And to begin with, that was exactly what had happened. A bunch of Gold-rank adventurers transporting the magic door through the city? It was all too fun to speculate why and laugh at the unlucky Fabial’s misfortune. They’d even had a chance to spread the word to the Players of Celum and get a few autographs. And from their vantage point on the walls, the bored [Guardsmen] could see the entire troupe head out.

But then the Goblins had appeared. At first the men (there were very few women in Celum’s City Watch) hadn’t believed it. Then they’d seen their comrades racing towards them and had been ready to lock the gates. And then—well, they didn’t know what to think. They’d watched the distant game of baseball begin with much bemusement. Still, their nervousness had quickly become fascination with the game, which was fun to watch for men whose only job was to stand and watch things. But now—

“Hey, look. There are more people coming through that door.”

“I see ‘em. Stop nudging me. Looks like that bird’s back. And a bunch of others. Looks like Drakes…another damn Antinium. Gnolls?”

“Huh. Liscor must be filled with non-Humans. Crazy city if you ask me. I don’t see why anyone’d want to live there.”

“Right. Right. Say, there’s a lot of folk coming through. Another pack of Gnolls. More Drakes…Humans…wait a second.”

“Is that—is that Halrac the Grim?

“It can’t be!”

“Look at him!”

“I can’t see. You’ve got [Keen Eyes]. Is it—”

“That’s him! And those Drakes—they must be other adventurers! Wait, I recognize some of the others! That’s Gemhammer! And all those other Drakes and Gnolls—”

The [Guardsmen] looked at each other.

“They can’t all be adventurers, right?”

“I heard Liscor had a ton of Gold-ranks.”

“Yeah, but—they wouldn’t be here, right? They have things to do.”

“Like Halrac the Grim.”

“Yeah.”

They stared at the distant people flooding through the doorway. A group of Antinium walked through. They wore paint on their carapaces. Celum’s Watch stared.

“There’s so many. Why’re they here? For the game?”

“Can’t be. But—there’s Antinium and Goblins. Do you think—should we raise the alarm?”

“Why? There’s got to be at least eight adventuring teams down there. Do you think they’d be sitting about if there was any danger?”

“Right. So what do we do? Do you think we should tell someone?”

“Tell them what?”

The men glanced at each other. They stared at the crowd filling the field. Then they turned and hollered at their comrades on gate duty.

Hey, you lot! Come up and see this!

The [Guardsmen] on duty looked up. They walked up the stairs. And as is the nature of Humans, some of the people on the streets crowded up onto the walls to see. Soon they were watching the crowd in the distance. Then the people of Celum were coming out the gates while the [Guardsman] had to stay on duty. Not because they knew what was going on, but because they thought something interesting was happening and they wanted in. That was people for you.

 

—-

 

“Baseball.”

Erin stood in front of a crowd. She had a bat in her hands and she was nervous. Not because she didn’t know what to say—she’d done this explanation multiple times already. No, it was uh, the size of the crowd that intimidated her.

Gnolls from Celum. Ishkr had brought a bunch of his friends and Krshia and Erill had come with their own group. They were all keen for sun as well as a chance to be outdoors after hiding in the city for so long.

Drakes. Not only adventurers but interested civilians, Relc, Olesm, Selys, and Drassi. No Embria, Zevara, or Ilvriss—they were busy doing official things in the city. That was sort of a relief, actually, and there were plenty of Drakes besides.

Bevussa, Dawil, Falene. The adventurers who’d fought in the dungeon. Griffon Hunt, Gemhammer, the Pride of Kelia, the Silver Swords…

And Pawn and his Soldiers. And Klbkch. Apparently they hadn’t received orders to stop guarding Erin’s inn and Klbkch had come with Relc.

And the Humans from Celum. Erin looked at the crowd. She didn’t get nervous in front of crowds. But this? This was a lot of people. She cleared her throat and went on.

“Baseball. Right. Well, this is a game. Some call it the greatest game. I don’t. I like chess. But baseball is a sport. It’s a game that takes nine people. We’ve got a small demonstration ready, so I’ll run you all through it. You see, it starts with this. This is called a bat. You don’t hit people with it…”

Not everyone was here to play baseball. In fact, Erin bet that most of the people from Liscor were just here to experience the sun. She could understand. After so long in rainy Liscor, seeing the sun and being able to walk around in the grass was almost addictive. A good deal of her crowd elected not to play after hearing her explanation. But a surprising number did want to try.

“Hey, this looks like fun! I can hit things and not get in trouble for it! Sign me up!”

Relc was first to grab a bat and stomp onto home plate. Erin pointed randomly and assigned three Gnolls and five Drakes to the field.

“Just hit the ball, Relc.”

“I’m gonna do more than that. This Goblin guy? He’s not going to get a single ball past me.”

The Drake locked eyes with Badarrow who was still occupying the pitcher’s mound. The Hob sneered. Relc was so busy giving him the stink-eye that he didn’t even see the first splitter. It dropped underneath his bat. Relc roared in outrage.

“Hey! What was that! That was cheating! Foul ball or whatever!”

“Nope! Sorry, it was within the zone! Try again!”

Relc growled as he swung his bat back and forth. This time Badarrow threw a curve.

Strike two!

“Damn it!”

“Hit the ball, Relc!”

One of the Drakes heckled Relc from the grass where Erin had put out blankets and food. Relc lifted a finger and Erin saw Lyonette cover Mrsha’s eyes. Grev just grinned and raised the same finger. The Drake swung the bat wildly, and then hunkered down. He watched the ball fly at him, dip, and then hit it with a roar.

Take that!

It was Erin who ducked when the bat hit the ball. She’d forgotten how scary it was to watch baseball up close! Badarrow turned and cursed as the ball went flying deep behind him. Erin stood up sheepishly as Relc crowed.

“Hah! See that?”

“Homerun! That’s definitely a—”

Erin shouted to the Gnolls and Drakes running after the ball. There was no way they’d get it. The ball flew as far as when Headscratcher had hit it. It was high, but far. She saw Ishkr running ahead. The Gnoll was moving fast! But he still wouldn’t make it. The ball had to be going at least four hundred feet—

Move Ishkr! Run!

Krshia stood up and shouted at Ishkr. Erin’s jaw dropped. The Gnoll had abandoned his two legs! He bounded along on all fours as the ball fell to earth. The Gnoll dove. Erin saw him roll. She looked for the ball, and then saw Ishkr on his feet, holding it aloft.

He caught it! He actually caught it!

Erin jumped up and down excitedly. She’d never seen anything like it! Ishkr ran wildly back to home base as Relc stepped on the pillow, crowing.

“Hah! Best hit ever! Take that you stupid Goblins!”

“Relc, you’re out!”

What? No I’m not! Did you see how far it went?”

“But Ishkr got the ball!”

“He did? I always hated that guy! Damn, damn, damn—

Relc stomped off. Erin saw Ishkr return, panting. She looked around. Now everyone was interested. Baseball was a slow sport, but seeing Relc hit a homer on his first try and then Ishkr run hundreds of feet to catch it—that was impressive.

“Hey, can we play a second game over here?”

One of the adventurers called out to Erin. She looked around. They were trying to set up a second game on the side. They did have enough space for it. Plenty of space in fact. And they had balls, enough bats…maybe not enough gloves, but there were always normal gloves. And hands.

“Sure! Why don’t we—okay! Let’s make some teams! We’re going to need another umpire!”

“I volunt—”

Olesm ‘tripped’ as Drassi rushed forwards. The Drake waved her hands about as she ran up to Erin.

“Oh, me, me! Please let me do it, Erin!”

“Do you know how the game works?”

“Totally! And I love to talk!”

“In that case, why don’t you be a commentator? And Olesm can be an umpire. Now, we need teams—”

Olesm got up and gave Drassi a dirty look. He pointed and Erin turned her head. A team of Gnolls was facing down the Goblins in one section. The Silver Swords had teamed up with Gemhammer against Griffon Hunt and The Wings of Pallass on another pitch. And on a third, the Antinium were lined up silently as the Players of Celum reconsidered their life choices. Erin hesitated. Then she grinned.

 

—-

 

“It’s a wonderful day to be alive, isn’t it Olesm?”

“It would be if someone didn’t keep tripping me, Drassi.”

“I said sorry! But just look at this weather! You can’t get this in Liscor! And the grass! Isn’t it great?”

“I thought we were supposed to be talking about the game, Drassi.”

“This is commentary, commentary, Olesm! Alright, for our first game we have the Gnolls versus the Goblins. And—wow, those Hobs are hitting the ball hard!”

“But the Gnolls are catching the ball. Almost every time.”

“That’s true! Would you look at Krshia go! I didn’t know she was that fast, especially for an old—I mean, a Gnoll in her prime! Uh oh. I think she heard me.”

“Gnoll ears are quite sharp. But if I might add a point Drassi—”

“Go ahead, Olesm.”

“—Thank you. The Goblins are quite good. But I would call their team fairly unbalanced compared to the Gnoll team. The Hobs are extraordinarily strong, as befits their Silver-rank designation as threats at the very least—”

“Do you have a point here, Olesm? Just say the Hobs are good at hitting things.”

“—but the Cave Goblins are physically much weaker, leading to a weaker offense. And the Gnolls are experts at fielding the ball as I believe the term goes, due to their long practice of similar mechanics.”

“…So you’re saying the Gnolls play catch a lot so they can catch the ball and the Cave Goblins don’t hit hard.”

“Well, that’s a basic summary—”

“What I’m impressed with is the Goblin’s teamwork. I mean, the Gnolls play together really well. You can tell they’re giving each other signals by the way their ears twitch. But the Goblins? They don’t even talk to each other! They just signal somehow and bam! Cave Goblin steals a base! It’s like magic!”

“It’s not, in fact. The Goblin system of communication has long been both verbal and nonverbal. I spoke with Pisces at length about why they might have evolved this unique form of—”

“Fly ball to right field. Ishkr is going for first base. It looks like Shorthilt’s fumbled the catch, but he’ll stop Ishkr from going to second. Will he no, he’s staying put. Krshia Silverfang at bat.”

“—as I was saying, Pisces was referring to—”

“Maybe save it for later? I want to talk about Krshia. Now, look at her swing. She’s got good form—not as good as that handsome [Actor]. What’s his name? Wesle. But I think Krshia’s got more muscle than him and she can probably hit the ball. Gnolls love to play catch. Looks like Badarrow’s getting ready for a pitch. Too bad curveballs and sliders don’t work on Gnolls. Hey, don’t step on my foot Olesm! I’m trying to commentate here!”

“But I had a point!”

“It was longwinded! Go on, shoo! Go commentate somewhere else! Can I get another announcer with me? Selys, get up here? No? Okay then, I’ll do it myself! Get lost, Olesm!”

Erin heard the sound of fighting from behind her as Olesm and Drassi fought for the magically-enhanced speaking crystal. The Goblins and Gnolls were natural baseball players it turned out. One team because they could run faster than any Human and loved to catch, and the other because they were naturals at teamwork. On the other hand, in the pitch she was umpiring…

“Homerun! Again!”

Ylawes’ bat connected with the ball that Halrac had thrown. The [Scout] wore a displeased expression as the [Knight] rounded the bases. Both his team and Gemhammer had hit every ball that Halrac had thrown and the outfield wasn’t good enough to keep up. After he had rounded the bases, Erin called the teams in.

It was Gemhammer and the Silver Swords at bat, and Griffon Hunt and the Wings of Pallass on defense. Halrac had been the pitcher. Erin looked around at the unhappy faces on one side and the smiling ones on the other.

“Okay, I think we have a problem here.”

“Yeah, the problem’s that Halrac can’t pitch!”

“Shut it, Revi.”

The Stitch-Girl glared at Halrac. He looked sourly at Erin.

“Well?”

“Um…she’s sort of right. Halrac, what’s wrong? You’re pitching fast, but the balls keep getting hit. Can’t you make them curve or something like Badarrow?”

The [Veteran Scout] looked unhappy at being compared to Badarrow.

“I don’t make my arrows curve. I hit the target.”

“Which is why they keep hitting the ball! All your balls go straight!”

“You want to pitch? Be my guest! I don’t want to play this game.”

Halrac snapped at Revi. She threw up her hands. Bevussa, who’d been watching all this with mild amusement, raised her talons.

“Hey Erin, we have a problem too.”

“What’s that, Bevussa?”

“We have to run for the ball. But why can’t we fly? We’re the Wings of Pallass, not the feet.”

Erin tilted her head.

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that be unfair? I mean, if you can fly…”

“We still need to get the ball. That’s not always easy. And we hate running. Come on, are there rules against it where you come from?”

“Well…we don’t have many flying people where we come from. It’s uh, mainly Humans.”

The Oldblood Drakes in Bevussa’s team rolled their eyes.

“Figures. Humans.”

“Hey! It’s not in the rules because it doesn’t happen where I come from! Fine! Bevussa, your team can fly. Halrac, Revi—”

“I’ll pitch.”

The other adventurers looked around as Typhenous raised his hand. The old [Mage] grinned and stroked his white beard as Erin stared at him.

“You? But uh—”

“I’m quite hale. And I think I can resolve this. Why not let me try?”

“Suits me.”

Halrac tossed the glove at Typhenous. Erin eyed the old man apprehensively. He looked as if he’d break an arm throwing the ball too hard. The other team certainly thought so. Earlia chuckled as she took up the bat, swinging it hard enough to cut the air. After all, her team was a bunch of former [Miners] and she swung a warhammer in battle. She shouted at Typhenous who was inspecting the hide-wrapped ball.

“Get ready to duck, old man!”

He looked up and smiled at her. Erin prayed Typhenous wouldn’t get hit. She waved as Bevussa and her team took to the air.

“Okay, play ball!”

Typhenous lifted the baseball. He didn’t hold it like a pitcher and Erin saw that he had no idea how to grip it properly. She was just about to shout at him when the ball levitated up in his palm. Erin paused. She saw Earlia’s eyes widen. Typhenous made the ball spin in the air and levitate around his palm. Then he looked at Earlia  and grinned.

“Oh shit.”

The ball drifted up and Typhenous pointed a finger. He spoke.

[Wind Blast].

The air around him exploded. Erin felt the wind slam into her as the ball shot from Typhenous’ finger and struck Revi’s glove. The Stitch-Girl hurtled backwards with a shout. Earlia stared blankly at the space in front of her.

Foul! That’s cheating!

Erin waved her arms as Revi got up, cursing. Typhenous looked puzzled as Erin ran up to him. He leaned on his staff.

“Why would it be cheating, Miss Solstice? If a team can fly or use natural abilities and other players can use Skills, why can I not use a spell, at least to move the ball around?”

“Well—because—I mean, Skills aren’t—no one can hit that!”

“Hey! I can hit that! Give me a few swings and I’ll nail that thing!”

Earlia shouted as she swung the bat. Erin looked at her, and then at Revi. The Stitch-Girl was massaging her chest and cursing Typhenous loudly. Umpire Erin threw up her hands and gave up.

“Fine! But if your catcher can’t catch the ball, then the player can still run! That’s the new rule,  got it?”

“Very well.”

Typhenous nodded politely to Erin. She turned.

“I don’t think Revi can handle that ball. Maybe Halrac or Bevussa—”

“I’ve got this. Give me five minutes with some thread and cotton. Hey, [Alchemist]! Give me a hand here!”

Revi turned. Erin watched as she and Octavia went together to confer, and then disappeared into Erin’s inn. In that time Typhenous practiced shooting balls through the air. They didn’t curve or drop, but they moved so fast that Erin was sure he’d broken some kind of world record for pitching. She thought that the other adventurers would complain, but they seemed to enjoy the challenge.

When Revi came back, Erin took one look at her and didn’t see anything different. Until she saw Revi’s arms. The [Summoner]’s thin, brown arms had suddenly gone on a weight-training course with protein supplements in the course of five minutes. Revi’s arms were muscular. And bigger. The Stitch-Girl smirked as she took up the catcher’s mitt. She caught Earlia’s eye.

“What, you’ve never seen this trick? Stich-People are what we make ourselves. Hey Typhenous, throw me a ball!”

This time Revi caught the ball without being knocked over. Earlia swung and missed three times, as did her other teammate. Dawil got a hit—the impact sent the ball soaring high, right into Bevussa’s mitt. The Dwarf grumbled as he stopped running to first.

“Short legs, flying balls, running to each of the bases—this game wasn’t made for Dwarves! Hey half-Elf. I’ll catch, you throw. Got it?”

“Can you handle the ball, Dwarf?”

Falene brushed hair out of her face as she took the mound. Dawil grinned.

“Depends on whether you can make that ball fly faster. Come on, hit the glove! Unless you’ve not got more magic than Typhenous in you?”

The half-Elf smiled coolly at Dawil. She levitated the ball up, flicked her finger, and sent a burning fastball into Dawil’s mitt. A literally burning fastball. The heat from the impact and Dawil’s cursing as his glove and beard caught on fire made Erin flee.

Foul! That’s illegal, Falene!”

You damn pointy-eared pyromaniac! I’ll crap in your bag of holding!

The Dwarf hurled the ball back at Falene. She sniffed, levitated the ball up, and looked pointedly past Dawil.

“Is this game commencing or not?”

She struck out Bevussa without a problem. And then Typhenous, who had problems telekinetically wielding the bat. And then Halrac came up to bat. He watched the first two balls whiz past him and then calmly struck the third.

The impact made the [Scout] wince, but the ball flew high overhead. It was a pop fly, but neither Ylawes nor Gemhammer were prepared for it. Halrac ran to first as Falene looked up—

Then the ball swerved in midair and flew over to tap Halrac in the back. Again Erin had to yell.

“Foul! Again! You can’t grab the ball with magic, Falene! No arguing! That’s one step too far!”

The half-Elf sighed as Halrac took first. Next was Revi. She got a hit—mainly from luck, and the ball went soaring. The Stitch-Girl still groused as she ran, though.

“Argh! I forgot how heavy these arms are! This is why I don’t wear muscle that often!”

Erin smiled. The game finally looked like it was going well! And the audience was loving it. Normal baseball could be fun, but watching Falene make the ball stop in midair and float back to her, and then argue with Erin whether that was legal or not? That was fun.

And it wasn’t just one team, either! Gnolls and Goblins and the two adventuring teams aside, there were other standouts as well. The Antinium Soldiers were slower than most and they had to use the special bat Erin had commissioned because of their odd hands, but they were as coordinated as the Goblins. And when they ran, the Players of Celum got out of the way. And they seemed to hit a surprising number of balls quite perfectly. And some of their catches were perfect. Almost…miraculous.

“Yes, I am praying for good fortune.”

Pawn admitted freely to Erin as he sat with a bowl of popcorn by his side. Yellow Splatters was signing to Purple Smile at bat. Erin stared at Pawn. The Worker paused.

“Is that illegal?”

“Um. Well, no. I think a lot of fans pray when their team’s playing. I just never thought it would work. I uh, I think it’s okay since you’re playing. And the Antinium are sort of at a disadvantage so yeah. But don’t you think it’s a bit…I dunno, not worth praying for?”

Pawn tilted his head.

“Why would I not pray? Is there some fault for doing so? It is not like prayer is a limited resource. Is it?”

“No…you know what? I think I’m in the wrong here. Keep on praying! Good luck!”

The first rounds of games ended with some predictable outcomes. The Gnolls beat the Goblins, due to superior fielding and the Hobs being the only ones who could hit far, although it was close. Griffon Hunt and the Wings of Pallass beat the Silver Swords and Gemhammer in the end. Both teams had [Mages] for pitchers, but the Wings could catch the balls that were hit. And the Players lost to the Antinium to no one’s surprise.

“Alright! Change it up! We’ll have new teams out there! Flamewardens get to play! Oh, and the Horns want a shot at things! Looks like people from Celum want to play—hey, is this going to be a grudge match between Liscor and Celum? And the third pitch can be…how about a kid’s game? Mrsha, Grev, get some teams together!”

The second round of games heated up fast. Literally. Erin wasn’t umpiring the kid’s game—that was Olesm’s job since Drassi had taken over announcing.

“—Mrsha up at bat. She’s so cute. You know, she was the one who helped save the Gnolls in the dungeon? Fact. And, by the way, she likes being scratched behind the ears. Only, don’t do it unless she asks because that’s very private for a Gnoll. You know, that reminds me of an encounter I had with this Gnoll guy back when I was a [Receptionist] working at the Adventurer’s Guild. Until I got fired that was—oh, look, Mrsha hit the ball and she’s running! Go Mrsha! She’s going to second base—”

Erin was umpiring the game between the adventuring teams. The Flamewardens were on one side with some Drakes and the Horns and Vuliel Drae were competing together, to their mutual displeasure. Meanwhile, the citizens from Liscor and Celum were trying to outdo each other in a heated match overseen by Halrac, who was a natural umpire. His keen eyes and sunny disposition meant that no one argued with him and he could call every pitch perfectly.

However, it was the shenanigans of both adventuring teams that had Erin ducking for cover, sometimes literally. She started with Keldrass’ team.

“You can’t set the balls on fire!”

“Why not? It’s just a bit of flame.”

“Yeah, but it could hit someone!”

“That’s what healing potions are for. Besides, that’s a walk, remember? This is just for…optical advantage.”

“Fine!”

The flaming fastballs that Keldrass served up were one thing. But then Ceria got the bright idea of trying her own take on it. Her first frozen fastball shattered into a thousand pieces.

“No shrapnel! No ice balls!”

Ceria looked embarrassed.

“Sorry, Erin.”

She threw a regular ball and one of the Drakes hit it into the air. Ksmvr ran after it as Pisces used his [Flash Step] to blink after the ball. But he didn’t get to it first. Ksmvr leapt into the air, so high he looked like he was flying! He caught the ball and threw it down to Pisces who threw it to first base. Erin gaped until she remembered Ksmvr had the Ring of Jumping. Naturally the Flamewardens protested, but Erin overruled them.

“That’s legal! You get to set balls on fire, he can use his ring! And Pisces can [Flash Step]! No buts!”

It was when the Flamewardens had a pair of runners on first and second that Erin began coughing. She saw smoke drifting from two of the Oldblood Drakes and saw Ceria coughing. She waved her arms.

Stop blowing smoke!

“It’s part of our ancestry! Don’t be racist, Human!”

“Shut it!”

Besides that, the game really was fun. Neither team was a powerhouse, but they had their own tricks. It actually took Halrac stomping over to help Erin with one problem. He pointed at Pisces who was patiently waiting on second base.

“Foul. Illusion spell!”

The image of Pisces vanished and he appeared, sneaking over to third base. Erin actually ruled that as legal, and the Drakes began poking Pisces to make sure he was really there whenever he was on base.

Of course, it wasn’t all just fun. Yvlon accidentally retired one of the Drakes on the opposite team when she smacked a ball straight into the side of his head. He had to lie down and Bird of all people was roped into playing. He did well in that he stood patiently in his position in the outfield, until a fly ball flew towards him. Then he raised his bow and shot it. Bird caught both ball and arrow. Erin waved her arms.

No using weapons!

But she was enjoying herself. The second round of games ended with a victory for the Horns mainly due to Pisces’ ability to run faster than anyone else, a victory for Celum mainly thanks to the Gnolls, and Mrsha’s team’s victory. That was because of Grev, whose ability to get his team to steal bases won most of the points.

“You know, there’s a rule that if you hit the ball beyond a fence it’s a home run no matter what. And I think you can’t keep stealing bases forever, but I could be wrong on that.”

Erin addressed her teams of players. They stared at her blankly. Relc grinned.

“So? It’s more fun this way. Hey, let’s play another game! Liscor’s Watch vs Celum’s Watch!”

That was received well by the Gnolls and Drakes and poorly by Celum’s Watch. Klbkch, who’d opted not to play, cocked his head and spoke calmly.

“I believe that game would be indefinitely long, Relc?”

“What? Don’t you have faith in us, Klb old buddy?”

“I do. I lack confidence in the opposing team’s ability to ever strike us out.”

“Hah!”

“No, no more sides! We’re all tired and I’m running out of sausage-dogs!”

Erin raised her voice to prevent a fight from breaking out. She took a deep breath.

“I think what we need…is a championship.”

That got everyone’s attention. Erin pointed at her first pitch, which was filled with trampled and dirty pillows.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. First, we expand the pitch. We make all the bases twice as far apart. Maybe even a bit more? Because the ball goes flying and you lot can run fast. Then, we make two teams. Not of one side or one adventuring team. Of the best. We take the best eighteen players and make two teams. Dream teams. And whichever side wins…gets a prize.”

“What’s the prize?”

Erin had no idea. She cast about, and then had it.

“Cake! And ice cream! I’ll make some right after we get back!”

Half of the players hadn’t ever had cake or ice cream or even knew what it was. But the other half did and that settled it. The next part was arguing over who would be in each team. Everyone wanted to join in. Jelaqua was quickly selected, as was Moore, although the poor half-Giant hadn’t hit a ball in a game yet. Jelaqua betrayed her earlier mockery of Moore by insisting he be on her team.

“You can be catcher, Moore! We need someone to catch Falene’s balls. She’s on my team, by the way.”

Yellow Splatters found a place on the opposite team, as did Relc. Pisces was nominated, as was Ksmvr for his jumping ability, and Bevussa was the only one of her team who got a spot. Halrac joined much to everyone’s surprise, as did Dawil despite his grumbling. Ylawes wasn’t picked, much to his unhappiness. Seborn and Ishkr found themselves on opposite sides and with a few more picks that Erin didn’t know by name, the teams were formed. However, there was one spot left and Erin filled it herself.

“Headscratcher gets a place!”

Some of the people from Celum loudly objected, but Erin overruled them.

“He can hit the ball as far as anyone else! He’s on the team! I say so!”

The Hob gave Erin a stunned look. She only smiled and waved at the Goblins who were sitting far from everyone else. The audience from Celum grumbled, but they fell silent as the teams took their places. It wasn’t Liscor vs Celum and it wasn’t adventurers vs Goblins. It was two teams, filled with all kinds of people working towards a common goal: cake. With extra frosting.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t sides. Erin could hear betting in the background and Olesm was conferring with Jelaqua on strategy, perhaps in exchange for some of the rewards if her team won. Erin also had to interrupt Octavia, who’d been making a killing selling ‘enhancements’ to each team.

“No potions! I want a clean game! Don’t make me shut you down! Is everyone ready?”

Both teams looked up. They nodded at Erin and she turned. The playing field was occupied by some of the audience who wanted to throw around a ball. Erin raised her voice.

“Alright, the final game is going to begin! Clear the field or you’ll get hit! All Mrshas must leave the field at once!”

Mrsha, who had been playing in the grass, looked up. She gazed around, realized she was the only Mrsha and gloomily left the field. She perked up when Lyonette offered her a cool drink. Erin was making a small fortune on food for her audience, although her regulars hadn’t paid. Yet.

“Okay! I will be your umpire! Drassi will commentate! Now, please welcome our two teams! At bat…uh…Team A!”

The audience cheered as nine players took the field. They were Halrac, Relc, Yellow Splatters, Bevussa, Falene, Dawil, Ishkr, a Gnoll and Wesle. The other team, Team B, took to the outfield.

Jelaqua, Seborn, Pisces, Ksmvr, Headscratcher, Moore, Keldrass, and two Drakes threw balls to each other and shouted good-natured insults at Team A. They grew still and the audience sat forwards as Erin looked around. The wind blew and the sky turned orange as Erin raised her hand.

Play ball!

 

—-

 

It wasn’t a game you’d see on Earth. And perhaps that didn’t make it baseball. There were a lot of rule violations, arguing over the legality of hexing your opponents or creating snares out of bone—or just plain cheating. But Erin thought that was what made the game so great. It wasn’t baseball. It was magic baseball. And that meant there were only a few dull moments.

Each time Falene shot a fastball into Dawil’s waiting glove, the audience groaned. She made just hitting the ball a challenge! And she could make the ball wiggle around in the air like a snake, even vanish! The only person who could hit her reliably was Pisces. All he had to do was tap the ball and take off and he was practically impossible to catch. His [Flash Steps] were as useful on the offense as defense and only Relc could keep up with him.

But that was the thing. When the Gecko of Liscor hit the ball it flew far. And he could sprint around the bases so quick that the only way to get him out was to catch a fly ball. However, he was only one powerhouse on his team. Team B had Jelaqua and Headscratcher. Even Dawil and Yellow Splatters could not hit the ball nearly as far as those two.

Erin hadn’t predicted it, but the games quickly became a battle between excellent defense and offense. Team A had Bevussa’s wings, Ishkr’s catching ability and Halrac’s eyes. Not to mention Falene’s magic pitches. On the other side, Team B had Jelaqua, Pisces, Headscratcher, and Seborn.

At first he was the underrated player of Team B. But after the second time he stole a base, every eye was on him whenever he got onto a plate. It wasn’t easy. Even when you watched him, Seborn could slip away into the shadows. And catching him?

“It’s a hit from Jelaqua! Seborn is running, but—oh no, Dawil’s got the ball and is at home plate! Seborn’s running back, but now Ishkr’s covering third base!”

Drassi’s tone was excited as Seborn found himself cornered between the Dwarf and Gnoll. He ran back as Dawil threw the ball to Ishkr, turned back, found himself menaced by Dawil who had the ball, and wavered. The two closed in as Seborn stood on the baselines. The Drowned Man dodged back as Dawil ran at him with the ball, took two steps back, and then flipped over Dawil’s head. He sprinted down to home base as the crowd roared. Erin was on her feet.

Safe! Safe! He never left the lines! That was amazing!

The baseball game went back and forth. 0-3. 1-3. 7-8. 10-16.  The final inning was 18-18 and everyone on their feet. Halrac’s team was first at bat. The [Scout] glared at Jelaqua as she tried to walk him. He eyed the ball as Jelaqua threw it to Moore a good six feet to his right. On the third pitch, Halrac threw the bat. It smacked the ball out of the air.

Every eye turned to Erin. She gaped for a second and then waved her arms.

“It’s good! Go, go!

Halrac ran. He slid to first, and a sacrifice fly from Relc put his team on second base. Their next hitter, Ishkr, struck out. But the game entered the last round with their team in the lead. And fortune didn’t favor Team B at first.

Halrac caught Pisces sneaking bases. And Keldrass just couldn’t run fast enough to get to first base. Jelaqua swore as she hit her way onto second base. She waited there as the next batter took his position. Moore looked close to tears as Falene smiled and levitated the baseball up. He had yet to hit the ball and his team had two outs. He looked sadly at Jelaqua and she shook her head.

“Just hit the ball, Moore! Get on to first base and Headscratcher will do the rest!”

Jelaqua shouted at Moore. The half-Giant swung his bat as Falene smiled and waved. The crowd was cheering.

Moore! Moore! Moore!

Skystrall! Falene! Skystrall!

“Throw the ball, half-Elf!”

Dawil roared at Falene from behind the safety mask he was wearing, which was, in fact, a helmet. Falene nodded.

The first ball hit Dawil’s mitt so fast that Erin barely saw it. Any suggestion of Falene’s taking it easy on Moore vanished as Dawil threw the ball back. The second ball curved under Moore’s bat. The audience groaned. Moore shook his head. He looked around, visibly bracing himself for boos. Then he caught sight of the little white Gnoll sitting in Lyonette’s arms. She waved at him.

Maybe it was the power of Mrsha’s silent cheering that did it. Maybe it was Pawn whispering a prayer. Or maybe it was just Moore. But as the third ball came screaming down the plate, he swung—and connected.

“It hit!”

Erin leapt to her feet. Falene’s eyes went wide. She turned as Dawil threw down his mitt. Moore stared and then began running. He moved slowly, but it didn’t matter. The ball flew through the air as if gravity had forgotten about it. Erin’s jaw dropped as it flew through the air. A hundred feet, two hundred, four hundred…six hundred? She couldn’t guess. But the ball was just a speck in the air. No one could catch it.

No one but Bevussa. The Garuda was in the air as the ball flew. She had the mitt in hand, but she abandoned it as the ball flew. She shot after the ball like blue lightning. The ball was falling. Bevussa dove towards the ground, talons outstretched.

She’s gonna crash!

Drassi screamed. The ball fell—and Bevussa snatched it out of the air. She raised the ball as everyone in the field shot to their feet. Erin cheered, and then saw Moore staring with a melancholy smile at Bevussa. He waved a hand and turned as the Garuda flew back. And then he saw Jelaqua charging at him.

“That was amazing!”

The Selphid tackled Moore in a hug. The audience flooded the field. The game was over, three outs, 19-18. And it had been Moore that hit the losing shot. But what a hit! The half-Giant found himself at the center of a crowd that was wise enough not to try and lift him on their backs. He smiled helplessly as they surged around him, laughing, talking, cheering Bevussa, the players, and the game.

“What a game.”

Erin stood in the field afterwards. The ground was muddy and broken feathers from one of her pillows were spread about. Wherever she looked she saw muddy, dirty people. But smiles. Erin looked around and grinned. She saw Mrsha riding on Moore’s shoulders, Bevussa drinking from a cup that never ran dry, and Headscratcher standing among the Goblins as they surrounded him, cheering their hero. Erin smiled and turned to Ceria. The half-Elf smiled at her.

“A nice day?”

“A nice day. And a good game.”

The two smiled at each other. Erin held out a hand and Ceria placed something in it. A baseball. Worn, dirty, the hide cover torn off in one spot. Erin stared at it.

“Baseball’s sort of fun, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit.”

Erin nodded. She tossed the ball up and down and then shrugged.

“I still like chess better. Hey, you wanna eat dinner?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.47 G

Even when he’d left, even on the days when he sat in the sand or snow, Velan could still remember the humid heat, hear the buzz of insects and feel the wet soil under his feet. As he swam across the ocean he still remembered his home.

It was that place that had shaped him. Given him the strength to do what no other Goblin could. It was there he had learned the truth of war, and gained the name of Velan the Kind. But it had not been kindness he had first shown, or been given.

Baleros. The continent was war and death. So much of it that sometimes the jungles ran red with blood. So much that the warring species, Dullahan, Gazers, Lizardfolk, Centaurs, and Humans, didn’t have time for Goblins skulking in the undergrowth. Until the Goblins caused trouble, that was. Or when a Goblin killed a person.

When that happened they hunted Goblins. They sent adventurers or hired mercenary companies. Velan didn’t know what had started the first raids on his tribe, the Clean Grass tribe. But the Bronze-rank adventurers came and began slaughtering his people. So he fought them. He killed them. And in response, they sent Silver-rank adventurers. And then Gold-rank teams. And he killed them.

Velan had learned to make medicines for his tribe out of the plants and animals of Baleros. Now he created poisons. At first his tribe overwhelmed the attackers and adventurers, looted their corpses and left their bodies as warnings.

But the enemy kept coming. And then they sent a company into the jungle. Velan led Hobs against them and shattered the Screaming Vine company into pieces. But then they sent four companies. And they slaughtered his tribe. So he slaughtered them back. And they fought and fought.

He was not known as Velan the Kind then. He was just Velan. And for his tribe he bathed in blood. Until he grew sick of the slaughter. But they kept on coming even when he ran. They chased him and turned the jungles to ash. So he fled. As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done.

And they killed his warriors. They killed his Hobs. They killed his entire tribe until the broken survivors left. And Velan stood amid the ashes and wept. He left Baleros then. He flung himself into the ocean and swam, not caring if he was eaten or drowned. He swam for days. He swam for weeks. He swam for months. And he did not die. And then—

Rags’ head jerked upright. She heard a blaring horn in the distance. She looked around. Her Carn Wolf raised its head and looked around nervously. The Goblins lying on the ground jerked upright. They heard another horn blare. Rags scrambled to her feet.

Up! They come! We go!”

She pointed. The Flooded Water goblins got to their feet. They could hear pounding hoof beats. The Humans were coming. The first [Fireball] exploded overhead. Rags shouted as Goblins ran around in a panic.

“No run!”

It was a warning shot. But they had to move now. The Goblins quieted at the sound of her voice. They formed into ranks and began to move. They left campfires unattended, dropped everything not essential and ran. The Hobs grabbed supplies and packed the rest onto the wagons. They pushed the wagons as the exhausted pack animals were spurred into motion. Some refused to budge. They were left. The Goblins ran.

As they did. As they always had done. Rags grabbed her Carn Wolf’s fur and hauled herself up. It whined as she patted it on the head. It loped ahead as the Goblins fled. The Human force was advancing behind them. Not fast enough to overtake them if the Goblins ran, but if they fell behind—Rags glanced behind her.

If there were Goblins who fell behind, they would be dead. She saw the stragglers running to catch up. Some were faltering—but then a huge Hob snapped an order. He ran back with two dozen Hobs. They grabbed the smaller Goblins and carried them, running faster than the others despite their burdens. Pyrite met Rags’ eyes. She nodded.

“Go! Redfangs in front!”

Her tribe ran. Rags rode ahead, her sleep-weary mind trying to work. She saw her tribe looking up to her. Rags sat up straighter. But she was trying to remember. What had Velan done then? What had he discovered? They had killed his tribe. He hadn’t stopped it. And he had become a Goblin King. What was the solution? Did it lie in memory, or in the past? Rags bowed her head. She rode on, fleeing.

As she always had.

 

—-

 

Day 3

 

It was a pattern. A…shape. Something. Rags understood that. As she scarfed down food while riding, her mind focused. She tore hungrily into the dry bread and bit of horsemeat, watching as the [Cook] Goblin handed out more food from the back of the wagon.

Her tribe was on the march. Rags jogged away from the wagon, watching it roll ahead as more Goblins wearily approached the back and then away with food in their hands. They ate as they moved at a jog. The landscape slowly moved past as Rags ate and looked around.

Exhausted Goblins. Half-dead animals. Carn Wolves, padding along with heads bowed. Rags could see Goblins with red war paint trying to feed their mounts and give them water. They, like Rags, were on foot. The Carn Wolves were too tired to carry their riders. The few Goblins that were on the back of the Carn Wolves were small. Children. Rag’s personal wolf bore a pair of babies held by a female Goblin. Their mother was dead.

The stream of Goblins that moved across the grassy landscape was an army. Thousands of Goblins armed with crossbows, some carrying pikes, and hundreds of Hobs. Rags would have considered this a dominant tribe in any part of Izril. And yet, they were running.

It wasn’t something you could see at first. The Goblins kept moving on their desperate march without any clear reason at first. But then Rags heard a horn blow. She looked up and saw the Goblins ahead of her moving left. Moments later she saw a group of Humans on horseback riding hard at the forward edge of their tribe. They forced the Goblins to run left, through a field of dewy grass rather than continue onwards. Rags could see the [Knights] and soldiers in armor drawing rein with bared blades, ready to charge any stragglers that came towards them.

No Goblin did. They moved, keeping an eye on the Humans on horseback. Rags could see one of the Humans, a [Mage] dressed in robes, raising his fingers to his temple. He was probably communicating with the Humans following them. The main force.

They were following. Over five thousand Humans on horseback, the small army that Lord Tyrion Veltras had brought to Laken Godart’s rescue had dogged the Flooded Waters tribe for the last three days. For three days they’d pursued Rags and her tribe, forcing them to run or die. Rags had tried to evade them or find somewhere to hide, but the Humans were relentless. They were faster than her people and while her tribe outnumbered them, Rags was under no illusion of what would happen if they fought.

She’d seen the Humans galloping towards her tribe. She’d counted the number of Humans in full plate armor, assessed the quality of their commander. They had [Knights], the same kind of warrior as Lady Bethal’s Knights of the Petal. And the regular soldiers were disciplined.

Their commander was a Lord. Lord Pellmia, who had powerful Skills that allowed him to revitalize his forces and move them around even faster than normal. And they had [Mages]. They’d blown open the gates to the city with a single spell and Rags guessed that any one of them was equivalent to Noears, her best spellcaster.

If Rags had to fight an army like that, she would have wanted at least twice as many Goblins at her back and a thousand more Hobs. The Humans had too much armor, and too much magic behind them. They could kill Rags’ tribe, overrun them in a series of charges, regardless of the pikes Rags had at her disposal.

She even knew how she’d do it if she were Lord Pellmia. She’d blast apart the units of Goblins with pikes from afar then charge her [Knights] in with hundreds of soldiers following. Split the Goblins apart, shatter their formations. After that it would be a bloody slaughter. Hobs were strong, but even they would die to Humans charging on horseback with lances.

But they hadn’t. The Humans had just pursued Rags’ tribe these last few days. And she had a suspicion that they wouldn’t kill her tribe, not unless she fought against them. They were driving the Goblins somewhere. Rags had no map of the area, but she knew they were headed east and south. Each day, Pellmia’s forces roused the Goblins at the break of dawn and made them move at a blistering pace across the landscape, avoiding Human settlements.

Why? Rags didn’t know. She only knew that Lord Tyrion, the Human with the cold stare who’d effortlessly crushed her tribe, had a plan. She hadn’t seen him since the first day, but Lord Pellmia had stayed true to his bet. He’d rapidly found Rags’ tribe and forced them to move or die. And many had died.

Many. They’d been fighting the Emperor. They’d been winning, despite the poison, despite the death! They could have won and then escaped, healed their wounds. Instead they were here, with thousands of Goblins lying dead behind them and nothing to show for it. That was her fault. Rags closed her eyes then stumbled. She wind milled her arms and felt someone grab her.

“Chieftain.”

Poisonbite steadied Rags. The smaller Goblin nodded up at her. Poisonbite looked weary, but she bared her teeth. It wasn’t really a grin. She pointed ahead.

“Redscar say there water ahead. Creek. Humans see too. We rest?”

Rags looked around. The Humans on horseback had vanished, but she knew they were constantly keeping pace with her tribe, some moving ahead while the majority stayed on their heels.

“If they let. Get water skins. Buckets. If we not stop, fill as we go.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Poisonbite jogged ahead. Rags saw the Goblins part in front of her. Some glanced back. They’d already heard her order and it was spreading at the speed of Goblin. Within minutes, even the Goblins at the rear were readying buckets or flasks and moving faster, hoping to drink enough water before they had to run again.

“Chieftain!”

Rags heard a loud voice. She looked around and saw a shape riding towards her. Redscar alone was on his Carn Wolf. He gritted his teeth as he slowed to meet her. He was guiding his mount one-handed. Rags eyed his shoulder where he’d been impaled by Tyrion’s lance three days prior. Redscar looked like he was in pain, but he offered her a hand and swung Rags up despite it. He turned his Carn Wolf.

“Humans slowing. Can drink water. Rest.”

Rags sighed with relief.

“Good. You rest too.”

“Can scout.”

“Or can rest. Shoulder still healing.”

The scarred Goblin grimaced. He rubbed at his shoulder.

“Had potion.”

Rags poked him in the back of his shoulder. Redscar snarled. She met his angry glare.

“Not good potion. You rest. Wolf needs too.”

“Thunderfur.”

The Carn Wolf looked up and whined. Rags shrugged. Redscar was attached to his Carn Wolf, which was larger than all but Garen’s. He cared more for it than himself, which was why he reluctantly agreed to rest. He’d been riding ahead, scouting the terrain nonstop these last few days. Rags thought it was Redscar’s way of atoning for his failure to defeat Tyrion, or slay the [Emperor]. But it wasn’t his fault. Again, it was hers.

The stream was fast-moving and situated in a prairie filled with yellowed, tough stalks rather than much grass. The exhausted Goblins flocked towards it, drinking and filling their containers. There were so many that Rags actually saw the water level of the stream drop and almost halt for a little bit. She filled her water flask, drank greedily, and then wiped her mouth. She looked around and whistled.

Heads turned. Some of the Goblins who’d been overseeing the others jogged over. Rags’ lieutenants appeared. Quietstab, Poisonbite, Noears, and Pyrite. They joined Redscar as he poured water over his wolf’s head, letting the animal shake itself and muttering soothing words. Rags let her officers drink. She inspected them.

They were all tired. Like her, they’d been moving constantly. And they’d been supervising the other Goblins, making sure essentials were taken care of, like the animals being fed or finding wood to cook food with on the march.

Pyrite looked the most tired. He hadn’t stopped moving since he woke up. He’d helped carry tired Goblins, push wagons out of ruts in the road, and helped carry the supplies that the dwindling number of pack animals couldn’t bear on their own. He sat in the stream, letting the water flow around his legs and splashed some in his face.

“How long do we rest, Chieftain?”

Noears looked at Rags. His hands were sooty. Despite not fighting against the Humans, Noears had been at the head of the tribe. He’d been hitting birds and other animals with lighting, killing them to supplement the dwindling food supply. Rags shrugged.

“Twenty minutes. Humans follow soon.”

The others nodded tiredly. They sat and drank and one of the Goblins brought food for Pyrite, who hadn’t eaten. He chomped the food down fast. Rags bowed her head tiredly. She knew the other Goblins were watching her. But for a moment she let herself sag.

“What did I do wrong?”

The other Goblins looked at her. Rags saw Redscar glance up. Quietstab looked alarmed.

“Nothing, Chieftain.”

Poisonbite and Noears nodded, although Noears was more hesitant. Poisonbite scowled.

“Good fights. Was winning. Humans cheat.”

“Chieftain did things right. Nothing wrong.”

The others nodded at that. Pyrite just splashed more water over his face. Rags shook her head. It had to be something. She looked at Pyrite. He met her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask him—

“Humans coming!”

A warning cry sounded from behind them. Rags whirled. That was too quick! Lord Pellmia wasn’t an idiot. He knew the Goblins couldn’t keep moving without rest. But it wasn’t he who was bearing down on the Goblins from the rear.

Get moving, you filth!

A loud, almost exuberant shout echoed from the young man riding towards them. Around a hundred soldiers were at his back. They rode towards the Goblins from behind. Rags saw the Goblins getting up. She shot to her feet.

Move!

The Goblins scrambled to pack their gear and move. The Humans drew rein, watching them move with clear distaste. The first ranks of Goblins surged forwards, wearily prodding the pack animals forward. Rags saw some of the mules lying down. It was hard to get them to stand up, and the Goblins had to force them to their feet with sticks. One of the mules tried to kick, but a nearby Hob grabbed it.

She was wrestling with the mule, trying to get it to move forwards as the unhappy animal began to whinny. The Goblins were all moving ahead of her. Rags saw the Humans waiting, but then the young man who seemed to be leading them decided he was done waiting. He spurred his mount and rode at the Hob with a shout.

“Lord Gilam, wait!”

One of the riders called out a warning, but the young [Lord] paid him no heed. He bore down on the Hob who looked up and saw the danger. Rather than run, she grabbed the club at her side.

Run!

Rags was on her feet. She shouted at the Hob, waving her arms. But the Hob didn’t budge. She’d had enough. The Human on horseback swung his sword as he charged her. She tried to dodge, but Rags saw the young man’s blade blur. He cut deep into her shoulder, effortlessly slicing through flesh and into bone. His sword was enchanted! The Hob groaned. Blood ran from her shoulder as the young man laughed.

But she was a Hob. And the cocky Human lordling had only wounded her. The Hob transferred her club to her other hand and raised it. She smashed it into the young man’s stomach. He yelped. The force of her blow was mitigated by his armor, but the impact still sent him reeling back. His warhorse reared, striking the Hob with its hooves. She dodged back and raised her club. Rags saw the Hob run around the side of the horse. She was going to knock the Human off! She grabbed his arm as the Human slashed her. She pulled and he tilted—

Loose!

Rags heard the snapping of bowstrings. She saw a flight of arrows shoot from the Humans on horseback. They feathered the Hob, piercing her from behind. She staggered. But her hand was still on the Human’s arm. He swore, cutting at her with his sword. His blows were erratic, but the enchanted blade finally sheared through the Hob’s arm. She fell and Gilam rode his horse back. He waved his sword at her nervously until he realized she was dead.

“Lord Gilam!”

The other Humans rode forwards, surrounding him. They needn’t have bothered; the Goblins were all running. The wagon lay in place, the pair of mules tethered to it straining to get away from the blood and the dead Hob.

One of the older Humans was speaking to Gilam.

“Lord Gilam, your father explicitly said to give the Goblins ten more minutes. Attacking the Goblins goes against Lord Veltras’ orders.”

“Be silent, Kilmet. They’re moving faster now that I showed them what happens when they lag. And I’ve bagged a Hob. You needn’t have interfered! I had it nearly dead on my first strike!”

The young man waved his bloody sword. The older man bowed his head.

“It’s my duty to keep you safe.”

“You and my father! I didn’t ride all this way to stay behind the lines, Kilmet!”

“But this is a war, young lord. And your father—”

Gilam’s face turned red.

“Fine! Enough! I’ll go back since those Goblins are so precious.”

He whirled his mount. The other Humans didn’t quite glare at him as Kilmet sighed and motioned for an escort to follow his master back. Gilam rode back, holding his bloody blade aloft. He turned, looking in satisfaction at the running Goblins and paused.

Rags stood together with the others. She was staring at Gilam. Not running. Pyrite, Quietstab, Poisonbite, Redscar, and Noears all stared silently at Gilam. The young man hesitated. Then he gestured at Kilmet angrily.

“Loose some arrows! I want those Goblins moving!”

“Young lord, you know that’s the Goblin—”

“I don’t care! I want—”

Gilam turned back. He stared at the place Rags had been, but only saw Goblins. They were all moving now, and the chieftain was gone. He glared at their backs, but then turned and rode away. Kilmet eyed the moving Goblins and then turned to one of the [Mages].

“Send a message to Lord Pellmia. Inform him the Goblins have begun moving. We’ll have to follow.”

“Damned idiot. We all need a break, not just the Goblins.”

The [Mage] grumbled as she began sending the spell. She wasn’t a retainer to Lord Pellmia’s house. Kilmet opened his mouth, but forbade comment. He watched Gilam riding back and shook his head. It was an inconvenience Lord Pellmia would not be pleased about, but his affection for his son meant that Gilam would get away with just a lecture. And it wasn’t as if a single Hob mattered to whatever plan Lord Tyrion Veltras had, after all. He let the Hob’s corpse lie and gave orders to untether the mules. That was all he thought on the matter. It was another dead Goblin.

But Rags remembered. All the Goblins did.

 

—-

 

“Twofeather.”

Rags looked up. Pyrite sat around the small campfire. He stared into it, chewing slowly on the soup he’d been given. He glanced up.

“Her name.”

The dead Hob. Rags nodded. She stirred her soup with her wooden spoon, appetite low. She forced herself to eat anyways. She had to sleep soon.

It was night. The Goblins lay on a natural stone road, which was where they’d gotten when the Humans had stopped pursuing them. They hadn’t even bothered to find a more suitable spot to rest; they’d just collapsed in exhaustion.

Small cook fires were the only sources of light. Goblins lay around them, eating and then rolling over and sleeping at once. Rags sat at her fire with Pyrite. Her legs burned. She didn’t know how far she’d run. With her [Fleet Foot] Skill, her tribe could move very quickly. But the Humans had pushed them to their limits even so.

It was the end of the third day. Unlike the previous two nights, Rags hadn’t called for her lieutenants. She didn’t have another plan that involved outrunning the Humans or giving them the slip. She just ate and stared into the fire. After a while she looked up.

“Know her? Twofeather?”

Pyrite shrugged.

“Fought with. Knew. Close-by tribe when I was Chieftain. Good fighter. In battle against Humans at city, watched back.”

“Why name?”

The Hob touched his pointed ears.

“Wore two feather.”

“Oh. What bird?”

“Duck.”

“Duck?”

“Liked to eat duck.”

“Duck is good.”

“Mhm.”

That was all there was to it. Rags bowed her head. She hadn’t known Twofeather personally, but the Hob had been part of her tribe. She’d fought for her, and now she had died for Rags. The small Chieftain stared into the fire. Pyrite finished his bowl and then looked up. He stared at Rags for a while. Then spoke.

“What did you do wrong?”

Rags looked up at him. Pyrite shifted his heavy body.

“Others say you did nothing wrong. But you think you did things wrong. What?”

“Should have run. Shouldn’t have fought.”

The small Goblin shook her head. Pyrite scratched his.

“But Humans attacked first.”

“After we attack army. Should have let be.”

“But were killing Frostfeeder tribe.”

Rags had forgotten about that. She hesitated.

“Okay. Should have run after poison attack.”

“Didn’t know where to run. Humans hunting. You…unconscious.”

Pyrite tapped his head. Rags scowled at him.

“Then run after!”

“But Humans following. Had to take city.”

“Then run then!”

“But Humans—”

Rags threw her bowl at Pyrite. He raised his claw as the dregs of her soup splashed over him. The two stared at each other in silence. Then Pyrite began licking the soup off his hand.

“Good soup.”

“Bad soup. Tastes like mule.”

Rags drew her legs to her chest and hugged them. Pyrite watched as his Chieftain sulked. After a while he lowered his clean hand and began scraping dried soup off his chest.

“Chieftain did everything she thought was right.”

“She did. Now we run and many die. For nothing.”

The small Goblin spoke into her lap. Pyrite shrugged again.

“Not your fault. Humans attack. Sneaky [Lord]. Lots of armored Humans. Can’t beat. Inevitable.”

“Could have run.”

“Could have. But didn’t. And Chieftain gave one new thing for all tribe.”

Rags looked up suspiciously.

“What?”

Pyrite tapped his chest.

“Level. Me. Redscar. Others. Level. I get Skill. Chieftain gets two Skills. And spell.”

“For thousands of dead Goblins.”

Again the Hob shrugged.

“Didn’t say it was good trade.”

Rags stared at him and then laughed. She uncurled from her ball of self-loathing and stretched out. Pyrite was relieved to see that. He looked around.

“More soup?”

“No.”

The Hob grunted and stood up. He came back with a bowl for himself. Rags eyed it. Now she did want soup. Pyrite noticed and got up. He came back with another bowl and Rags took it with a nod. They ate in silence for a while. Eventually, Rag spoke.

“[Rapid Reload]. And flashfire spell…spellcraft? ”

“Mm. And [Burning Blades].”

Rags snorted. She reached for the shortsword at her side and drew the blade. Pyrite saw her lift it up a bit and mutter a word. The blade burst into flame. Rags waved it around and then rolled her eyes.

“Ooh. Good spell.”

That was sarcasm. Pyrite shrugged, and then nodded. Rags’ new Skills were common knowledge now. The Goblins had been suitably impressed by her new levels. And her Skills were good.

[Rapid Reload] was a Skill that affected the entire tribe. With it, her crossbows and archers could fire even quicker. That was a solid, decent little Skill by anyone’s standards. Rag’s other Skill, [Flashfire Spellcraft] was equally useful, if only to Rags. With it, She could manipulate fire, make it form shapes and use it without needing a specific spell. She could also do tricks like fire a [Fire Arrow] three times as large as a regular one.

According to Noears, this was one of the first steps a [Mage] took. The other Goblins had seen it as a sign that their Chieftain was growing in good ways. They all agreed that [Burning Blades] wasn’t a good spell, though.

The thing was, it was just a spell that set one’s weapons on fire. Not with magical fire either. Just on fire. The flames were hot and they’d last for a good three minutes until they went out. Unless the weapon was wooden. Then the fire would just burn the wood up.

It wasn’t a great spell. It wasn’t even a decent one. Oh, sure, there were probably some Bronze-rank adventurers out there that thought a spell like that was useful, but Goblins were practical. Setting your blade on fire just made it hot to hold. It ruined your night vision and it didn’t really hurt your foe. What was a flaming blade going to do that a regular one wouldn’t? If you stabbed someone in the back, a bit of fire wasn’t going to make them die any quicker. Besides, flaming blades were terrible for sneak attacks.

“Maybe spell has hidden uses.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe…can chase away biting bugs?”

Rags frowned.

“Maybe. That useful. Little bit. But stupid spell. Wanted [Fireball] instead. Can use this, but only for one thing. Starting campfires.”

“Mm. Is handy.”

The little Goblin raised her bowl threateningly, but Pyrite didn’t budge. After a while, Rags sat back. She stared up at the stars in the night’s sky. They were beautiful. She lay back and Pyrite ate his soup silently. Then, since Rags had only eaten half of hers, he picked up her bowl and began eating. She didn’t comment.

“I dreamed of him.”

“Who?

“Velan.”

Pyrite froze. He looked up at Rags. She lay on her back, staring at the night sky.

“Not much. Can’t see much. But looked for clue.”

“And?”

“He attacked other species. They attacked back. Killed his tribe.”

“Hmm.”

“Like this. We attack, we die.”

“Humans not kill us yet.”

Rags looked up and gave Pyrite a withering glance.

“Yet. They have plan. Then we die.”

“Mm. True.”

The two sat there a while longer. After he’d finished with Rags’ bowl, Pyrite piled the two up. He stared into the fire and then spoke.

“Forty three.”

“What?”

“Killed forty three Humans. In battle. Before other Humans came.”

Rags sat up. She stared at Pyrite. Forty three? By himself? Pyrite glanced at her. His crimson eyes were tired.

“I was angry. I killed Humans. Tried to kill the armored one. And a half-Troll. And the pointy-hat Human. Didn’t kill any. So I killed other Humans. Lots.”

“I didn’t kill any. Emperor got away. Tried to make surrender. Couldn’t. Was going to kill when others showed up.”

Pyrite looked at Rags. He shifted, poked the fire with a stick and sent sparks flurrying up.

“Emperor. What was he like?”

Rags closed her eyes.

“He—he strange. He was strange. He had—”

Rags struggled to find the words and then gave up. She showed Pyrite as she spoke in their tongue to him. The strange man—young!—with closed eyes. And yet how he seemed to see her. And his smile. The way he laughed and was sad. And defied peace despite the slaughter both knew it would bring.

The rest Pyrite knew already. Tyrion’s arrival, Redscar’s injury—that was the stuff of despair and legends. But Rags had not spoken to anyone of her meeting with Laken Godart. It hadn’t mattered, but it did matter at the same time. Pyrite nodded along. He looked at Rags as her shoulders hunched and her words ran dry.

“He told me he could not make peace. Because I killed his people. He was sad because he could not. And angry. Sad and angry. Not what I thought.”

“What did you expect?”

Rags paused.

“A monster. Wished he was one.”

Pyrite nodded. That would have made things so much easier.

“Pyrite?”

“Mm?”

He waited. Rags stared at her hands.

“Was killing them wrong? They killed us. We killed them. Was it wrong?”

“Don’t know.”

Pyrite answered honestly. He could still remember the anger. He could still remember the fury as he faced down the Humans. But he remembered Sir Kerrig and Welca as well. He didn’t know. He wished he did.

He looked at Rags. She was smaller than she normally seemed. Or maybe she was just letting her guard down around him. He searched for words to say that would make his Chieftain stronger, but he had none. Things had happened. There was no changing it. But it had gone poorly. And it wasn’t Rags’ fault. But she had been in command. Pyrite understood that.

The Hob sat restlessly. Rags could see him shifting now and then. She felt tired. Hollow. The weight of her tribe rested on her shoulders. It was…heavy. But Rags refused to cave in. She refused to give up.

She stared into the fire. It crackled, the wood collapsing and the embers burning low. But neither she nor Pyrite made any effort to refuel it. They would have to run again tomorrow, as soon as they rose. Rags stared at her shortsword.

“Running. Fourth day tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

“Can’t do forever. Humans bringing us somewhere. But tribe will die before then. Animals already dying. Ate half of them today.”

“And food. Less to carry.”

“Less to eat.”

“Can’t fix now.”

“No.”

Rags shook her head. She looked at the fire and her sword. She glanced up. Something. There had to be something. She thought of her memory of Velan. And like that she had a plan. Another plan. Rags sat up, her eyes widening. But then she sagged.

It was a bad plan. Or rather, it wouldn’t change things. It might make things worse, actually. But it was all she had. They could keep running or they could fight. That was their only option. She didn’t know which would be better. Running meant they’d slowly die. But she’d fought before. She’d burned the Human’s lands, killed them, broken an army. And it had been for nothing.

“Pyrite.”

The Hob looked up. Rags stared at him.

“What?”

“Have a plan.”

His ears perked up.

“Really?”

Rags smiled wearily.

“I am your Chieftain. I always have plan.”

“Will it save tribe? Get rid of Humans?”

The Goblin hesitated and then shook her head.

“No. Not enough. Hurt them. Make them mad. Should do? Or…keep running?”

Pyrite hesitated. He fell silent and stared into the fire. When he looked up he shrugged.

“Don’t know, Chieftain. Could make things worse. Could make things better. Don’t know. But trust you to do right thing.”

“What? Why?”

Rags scowled at Pyrite. All her plans had backfired! She’d gotten her tribe killed! Pyrite looked at Rags calmly.

“Because Chieftain is smart. Tribe still follows. So Chieftain think and decide. And we follow. For better or worse, Chieftain Rags. Show us smart thing. Show us hope.”

“Hope? What hope? There is no hope!”

Rags leapt up. She grabbed at her head as Pyrite looked at her, raising her voice despite the late hour.

“Goblins die! Tribe is running! Humans chase us! We run—and die—and run and die! Again and again! Ever since I lead!”

“But we are here. Because of you. Because you had ideas. Because you didn’t give up.”

“I only did stupid things!”

“But no one else did them.”

Pyrite pointed at Rags. He stood slowly, grunting with effort. He looked down at Rags. And when he spoke, his voice was measured. Calm.

“When I was alone, I did not know how to lead the tribe. When you woke I was relieved. You had the plan that beat the Humans. You defeated the [Emperor]. And when the other Humans came, when they cheated, you were the one who led us away.”

He pointed at Rags.

“You, Chieftain. We could not do it. Quietstab could not. Poisonbite could not. Noears could not. Redscar could not. I could not. But you did. You keep trying. You have plans where we do not. That is why we follow. For hope. Because you see what we can’t. Show us it again. Show us something that will surprise everyone.”

He stared down at Rags. The small Goblin blinked up at him, stunned. Pyrite bowed his head. Then he sat. He lay on his back. He went to sleep there and then as Rags stood, paralyzed by a strange feeling in her chest. She stared at Pyrite as the Hob began to snore.

Pyrite trusted her. Even now. Even after—

Rags looked at her hand. Her fingers like claws. Dirty, small. But hers. She closed them slowly. Then Rags looked around her camp.

Hundreds, thousands of small campfires burned low. Goblins lay around them, silent shapes, occasionally moving. Thousands. Months ago, Rags could have never dreamed of so many Goblins, let alone so many under her command. But they had become hers. They followed her. Trusted her. Rags looked around.

“Not a good plan. But…”

Show us hope. Rags’ tired shoulders rose. Her back straightened. She probably couldn’t defeat so many Humans even if she pulled off her plan perfectly. Maybe, but the odds were small everything would work out that well. But she thought of the young Human riding back triumphantly with blood on his sword. Her hand clenched into a fist. She could hurt them, though.

Oh yes. She could hurt them. Rags turned and looked at the fire. It burned bright as she lay down. She was so tired. But as she slept she felt better. Not because she was rested. The ground was hard and rocky. And not because she was fed. The soup really was bad despite what Pyrite said. No, she felt better. Because she had to be. She was a Chieftain. And at last, Rags thought she understood what that meant.

 

[Chieftain Level 25!]

 

—-

 

Day 4

 

Pyrite was sleeping when the horn blew. He leapt to his feet before he was even awake. After four days the need to move was already conditioned into his body. He saw other Goblins scrambling to their feet. Wearily, Pyrite rubbed his eyes. He felt exhausted despite his sleep. He looked around.

“Move! Humans coming!”

The Hob’s voice made the other Goblins look up. They shook other Goblins awake, kicking or slapping them to get the tired Goblins up. The camp roused itself, but Pyrite could sense the weariness in the air. He stumbled as he tried to make his mind work. Food? No, they had to go now. They could dish out food on the wagons. But it was so early. They had to get the small Goblins on wagons and on the back of Carn Wolves, rouse the animals—

Pyrite’s legs buckled a bit as he tried to move forwards. He stared at them, shocked. He was tired. But he couldn’t fall. If he fell, the tribe would all see it. And their wavering morale would vanish. He had to stay strong. But he was so tired. Pyrite yawned as he looked around. Where was Rags? Did she have orders? Where was—

The weary Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe were so tired that they didn’t notice the small shape standing on the back of one of the wagons. It was only when they heard the voice that they looked up. They saw a small Goblin standing there. She was holding something. A shortsword. It blazed with fire. The Goblins stared. Rags held the blazing sword aloft. She shouted.

Goblins!

The Goblins and Hobs turned to look at her. Rags ignored the horns blaring. She had eyes only for her tribe. And they had eyes only for her. Rags was tired. Her body was sore. But she stood tall. She pointed her sword ahead.

“We move! I am Chieftain! I have a plan! Follow it! Follow me! Redfangs to me! Hobs, to me! Pikes! Get crossbows! We move!

She pointed ahead with her sword. It was probably the wrong direction. But the Goblins stared at her and their weary bodies grew lighter. They moved faster, shedding sleep.

It wasn’t a Skill. Rags hadn’t taken their fatigue away. But she’d replaced it with something. As Rags leapt from the back of the wagon and onto her waiting Carn Wolf, she saw the Goblins staring at her. She sat on the back of her mount, tall as possible. She had to be there. She had to be seen. The Goblins watched her. Their Chieftain. And Rags raised her sword.

It burned. A useless flaming spell. But the fire caught the eye. It was no good for fighting. But it was good for other things. As Rags saw Redfang Goblins hurrying towards her and Quietstab leading Hobs her way she smiled. A Chieftain had to be strong. Had to be smart. But most of all, they had to lead.

“Come. We have big plan.”

“What plan, Chieftain?”

Quietstab grinned up at her. Rags smiled back.

Big plan. But first we run. Redscar, send riders ahead! I want forest.”

The Redfang Goblins raced ahead as the tribe began to move. Rags kicked her wolf in the sides and it loped forwards. She could hear the Goblins beginning to chatter, wondering why she wanted a forest. They sounded hopeful. They trusted her to do something that would hurt the Humans. And Rags knew her plan would work. It was just—

Well, it felt familiar. It reminded her of what Velan had done. Rags’ smile slipped a bit as she rode ahead. Kill the Humans. And they would kill her people for this. As Goblins do.

As Goblins always did. But what other choice did she have?

“They started it.”

Rags whispered the words and tried to figure out why they sounded wrong.

 

—-

 

Lord Pellmia was tired. He rode his warhorse in the center of his command of riders, yawning and cursing the early hour. Sunlight was beginning to shine down on the earth and it was too damn bright for his taste. Pellmia glanced around, for once resenting the way the sunlight bounced off of the polished helmets and breastplates of the soldiers riding next to him.

He was leading the vanguard of the forces Lord Tyrion had entrusted to him. Around him he could see men and women surging up and down on their mounts as they rode after the Goblins. They’d had a later start than the tribe, but they still had to be up quick so they could follow.

It was a necessity. Yes, Pellmia could send smaller detachments of riders ahead to ‘guide’ the Goblins in the direction he needed them to go, but the threat only worked if he could back it up. If he only sent his scouts ahead and tarried just an hour, the Goblins could easily overwhelm the smaller groups of riders and make a break for it. And that would be unacceptable. Pellmia had promised Tyrion he’d be at the meeting spot by the sixth day, and he’d be damned if he broke that promise.

The problem was that he was tired. So were his men. Three days of pursuing the Goblins was hard on anyone, and even mounted, it was hard to keep both horse and riders rested.

“Those damn Goblins.”

Pellmia muttered as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. Moving them wasn’t the same as herding sheep. Not that Lord Pellmia had ever done that. But this was a trick and a half. The Goblins kept moving ahead of the Humans and they ran from his soldiers and when his [Mages] lobbed spells at them, but they were always changing directions slightly. Leading his forces through terrain that was unfavorable for horses, making things difficult to keep the encirclement of them.

Pellmia had to keep his [Scouts] moving ahead constantly to make sure they weren’t headed towards something that would allow them to lose him. Twice already they’d tried to hide in caves or summit rocky hills. Both times he’d had to force them to move by sending his forces in. He had to get them to move at the speed he required, but also keep them alive.

That was the tricky bit. It was one thing to run a quarry to death. But Tyrion wanted live Goblins, and they were incapable of keeping up a breakneck pace forever. They needed water, food, rest. Pellmia had tried to give them the bare minimums, of all three so they didn’t get any ideas. He’d been proud of the way he moved them along, which was why he’d been so incensed to hear about Gilam’s skirmish with the Hobs yesterday.

“You were supposed to keep him away from the Goblins, Kilmet.”

Pellmia snapped irritably at his personal retainer and old friend. Kilmet had been a village boy when Pellmia had been a lad. The two had decades of friendship between them, to the point that Pellmia sometimes joked that Kilmet was his second wife. But they were still master and servant when all was said and done. Kilmet, drinking a weak stamina potion to wake up, bowed his head.

“I’m sorry, Pellmia. But the boy’s hotheaded and eager for a fight. I can’t order him to stay back.”

That was true. But Pellmia was grumpy and didn’t want to hear it. His bones hurt and the thrill of being on campaign had left him after the second day.

“You should have. He’s only Level 20! A pair of Hobs could dice him up, armor or not. And he’s not had any practice in battle. One Hob nearly did for him already! When I was his age…”

“You could wrestle a Hob with one hand and drink two flagons of ale with the other, all before breakfast. Yes, sire. But Gilam’s been in your shadow for years. He wants to prove himself.”

Pellmia grimaced. That was true too.

“He can do that without risking his neck. Or going behind my back! I have to maintain discipline. I can’t do that if my flesh and blood is defying my orders!”

Kilmet sighed through his nose.

“What do you want me to do? I can’t stop him, Pellmia. I couldn’t stop you and your son’s not going to take me giving him orders.”

“He should. You’re my right hand!”

Lord Pellmia growled angrily. Kilmet smiled. He had grey streaks in his hair and his face was wrinkled. He still had a scar down one arm from where he’d saved Pellmia from a rampaging Corusdeer on a hunt gone wrong.

“Right hand or not, your son’s chafing at the bit, Pellmia. He needs freedom. Perhaps it would have been better to let him ride with the other nobles as escort.”

“And have him pick fights with those hotheads? The last thing I need is for him to get hurt or kill someone in a duel. Young [Lords] and [Ladies] can’t be left alone unsupervised.”

“Funny. That’s not what I heard you saying when we were that age. I distinctly recall you ordering me to help you lose your father’s guards, so you could have a nighttime rendezvous with a certain Lady Eskaria—”

Pellmia coughed, coloring. Kilmet smiled and the [Lord] laughed after a while.

“True! Ah, Kilmet! Why couldn’t you have had a son so Gilam could have what I had in you? Instead—”

Kilmet’s smile vanished. He stared ahead as the [Riders] and [Knights] in front turned left, following a road.

“It’s just fate, Pell. Your son—he’ll be a good lord. He just needs time.”

“He needs to listen to you.

Pellmia moved his stallion closer. He didn’t bring up Kilmet’s child again. He shouldn’t have, [Lord] or not. He’d helped Kilmet bury the poor thing. Overcome by guilt, Pellmia looked around.

“Where is he now? I’ll scorch his ears off and tell him you’re in command.”

Kilmet coughed.

“He’s with the scouts. Ahead. Too restless to stay with the vanguard. I gave them strict orders not to let him get close to the Goblins and there’s a pair of [Knights] in that group. They won’t let him do anything untoward.”

The old [Lord] nodded, relieved.

“Maybe that’s the solution. Put him with the [Knights]. They won’t tolerate him ordering them about, and they’re solid. Where are the Goblins now?”

“Passing through a forest.”

The old [Manservant] pointed ahead. Pellmia frowned and blinked his eyes. He rubbed at them angrily.

“Damn. Couldn’t we have forced them to go around?”

“We’d lose an hour or two doing that. It’s not a large forest, but it’s wide. Our riders won’t lose them, Pell.”

“They’d better not. We’re two days away from the meeting spot and I can’t imagine Veltras will be late. He offered me three casks of his personal stock if I made it there on time.”

Kilmet whistled.

“He wants those Goblins there badly, then. Did he say why he’s driving them with such a fury?”

“No, but anyone with a brain can tell where we’re going. Straight south. The real question is why he spared so much effort for this group. The Goblin Lord I can see, but a tribe of less than ten thousand? This group is tricky, but what was the point? Unless he was more concerned about that [Emperor] fellow than—”

Pellmia was interrupted by a bout of coughing from Kilmet. The [Lord] frowned.

“You alright, Kilmet?”

“Fine, sire. It’s just a bit of smoke.”

“Smoke?”

Lord Pellmia stared ahead. And then he saw it. A dark plume of smoke rising ahead of them. From the forest. He frowned. Then he saw someone galloping back towards him.

“Lord Pellmia! The Goblins are in the forest! They’ve set part of it aflame!”

“Damn!”

Pellmia cursed and Kilmet signaled the column of riders to swerve out of the path of the smoke. The [Lord] growled, feeling the stinging in his eyes worsen despite the fresher air.

“Of course they would do that. That damn little Goblin’s their Chieftain. Veltras warned me about her. They’re trying to slow us down. It won’t work. Have five of our [Mages] with water spells ride ahead and douse the flames. And tell the scouts to move the Goblins faster! We’ll catch up.”

“Yes, Lord Pellmia!”

The rider turned her mount and rode ahead faster. Pellmia looked at Kilmet.

“Looks like Gilam will have a bit of excitement. Come on, I don’t want the Goblins to have time to set more fires. I can’t imagine how they found the time to set these ones. Do they have spellcasters among them? I only saw the lightning mage.”

“He probably did the fire setting. Lightning can do that.”

“Yes, but—”

Pellmia paused as he saw the rider galloping back.

“What now?”

“Lord Pellmia! There are more fires starting!”

“Well, put them out—”

“We can’t! There are hundreds! The entire forest is going up! Lord Pellmia, the Goblins—”

Pellmia saw a black haze coming towards him, he turned his head, spluttering and coughing as the horses whinnied. The riders slowed. When Pellmia could see again, he froze.

“Dead gods.”

The single smoke trail had multiplied. Now dozens of areas were bleeding smoke. As Pellmia watched, he saw a red glow begin to spread between the trees. Kilmet stared, a wet handkerchief over his mouth.

“Fire. How did they—”

A roar made all the Humans jump. Pellmia saw a shower of sparks fly up from deeper inside the tree line. The red glow intensified. Now the forest blazed from a hundred different spots. Smoke was rising everywhere. Lord Pellmia stared around in horror. How had the Goblins done it? They hadn’t time to start a fire, let alone gather enough fuel for this!

Then he saw a Goblin amid the trees. It was riding away from them, holding it’s blade aloft. The blade was steel, but it burned.One of the [Mages] cried out.

“Enchantment! The Goblins have enchanted blades! That’s [Burning Blade]!”

Several mounted [Archers] raised their bows, but the Goblin disappeared before they could loose. Pellmia turned to the [Mages].

“Stop the fire! Summon some rain!”

“We can’t! We’re not [Weather Mages]!”

“Then douse the fire with water!”

The [Mage] raised her hands.

“From where? We can’t conjure enough! The forest is burning! We have to go around!”

Pellmia nearly tore his mustache off.

“Those Goblins will have nearly an hour’s head start on us! Damn, damn—fine, turn the column! We have to catch them!”

He whirled his mount, about to use one of his Skills. But Kilmet’s voice stopped him.

“Pell!”

“What?”

The [Lord] looked back, harried. Kilmet’s face was pale as he stared into the burning forest.

“Gilam was with the scouts! He hasn’t returned! He must be inside the forest!”

Lord Pellmia felt the blood drain from his face. He stared into the forest.

“No, he rode out. Didn’t he?”

Kilmet looked at the [Scout]. The woman hesitated, and then shook her head.

“I’ve not seen any of the riders. They would have exited the forest the instant they realized it was on fire, but—”

Pellmia didn’t listen to anything else. He charged his warhorse forwards, ignoring the cries from the others. He rode towards the forest, coughing, staring into the inferno. Now fire was licking from the treetops. It had yet to reach the outermost layer, but Pellmia could hear a terrible crackling and snapping from within.

Gilam!

“Pell!”

Kilmet caught his friend before Pellmia could charge into the blaze. Pellmia swung his fist and Kilmet staggered but held on. The Lord was shouting as the others caught up.

Gilam! Where is he?”

“I’m sending a [Message] spell!”

The [Mage] had a finger to her temple. She stared into the fire and then pointed.

“There! East! They’re inside, trying to get out!”

She galloped her mount to the left. Pellmia followed her, heart pounding wildly in his chest. He saw her draw rein and back up her mount. The heat was making the horses shy away from the forest. But then she pointed.

“There! Someone give me a hand! [Wind Blast]!”

She pointed. Another mage cast the same spell and the rush of air cleared the smoke and fire for a second. Pellmia spotted a distant group of shapes on horseback racing through the flames.

Gilam! Clear a path for him!”

The [Mages] looked at each other, but then they began casting water spells. Pellmia stood up in his stirrups. He and the other riders began shouting, trying to attract the attention of the scouts. Pellmia could see their heads turning. He saw the riders turn towards them. And then—

And then they appeared. Dark shapes moved in the burning forest. The riders halted, and then began to ride the other way. Pellmia stared. Then he saw them more clearly. Bounding shapes. Goblins on wolfback. And running behind them, Hobs and smaller Goblins armed with pikes.

The Goblins were moving. They charged through the burning forest, following the riders. Following Gilam.

“He killed a Hob yesterday.”

Kilmet’s voice was quiet. He was staring into the blaze. A burning branch fell from one tree, sending sparks flying upwards. The forest was turning into an inferno that not even magic could put out. Pellmia saw the riders fleeing. But the Goblins were surrounding them. He pointed with a shaking hand.

Forwards! Don’t let them—

“No! It’s a trap! Don’t let Lord Pellmia enter the forest! Stop him!”

Someone grabbed him as he tried to kick his warhorse forwards. Pellmia fought the hands. He screamed as true terror flooded his chest. His boy was in there. He drew his sword and the hands fell back.

Gilam! Stop! Don’t touch him! Gilam! Gilam!

 

—-

 

Rags stood at the edge of the forest. Her lungs hurt. The smoke half-blinded her, but the wind was blowing north. Away from her. Behind Rags, her tribe was moving far away from burning forest. Goblins clutching burning weapons and sticks put them out and turned to stare at their handiwork.

They were impressed. So was Rags. Her [Burning Blades] spell had worked even better than she’d thought. Yes, it was terrible for use in battle, but free fire was free fire. And this—

This was a lot of fire. The forest roared as if it were alive. The fire sounded like a distant wind, but the burning and breaking trees sounded like thunder. Rags stared into the orange glow. It looked like death in there.

Good. At least two groups of Humans were caught in the blaze. They’d followed the Goblins into the forest, tried to stop them from setting fires. Now they were trapped. Rags could see then fleeing. She’d sent some of her Redfangs in and Hobs. They’d trapped the Humans. They couldn’t stay long—the fire would kill everything inside. But the Humans might still get away. And he was in there. That young Human.

“Chieftain?”

Pyrite stood by her side. Rags looked at him. She nodded.

“Hurt them.”

The Hob nodded. He eyed the fire and looked around.

“Can fight for five minutes. Then probably have burning death.”

Rags nodded.

“Five minutes good. Healing potions ready. Small group goes in. You stay back in case Humans attack.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Rags nodded at Pyrite. Then she looked around. The burning light of the forest was reflected in the eyes of her warriors. Redscar grinned as he leaned on the back of Thunderfur. Poisonbite and Quietstab were standing ready. Rags pointed.

“Hobs behind! Redfangs with me! We ride!”

She charged into the forest. Her Carn Wolf howled in fear as Rags crashed through the flames, but Rags had chosen a spot of the forest that had yet to be engulfed. She urged her wolf forwards. She had minutes. But the Humans were in sight. A group of them fought desperately, keeping back from the flames while the Goblins she’d sent in encircled them.

Fall back!

Rags screamed at the Goblins. They looked up and ran as her warriors streamed past them. The burnt Hobs and Redfangs gave way as more of their comrades charged the Humans. Rags stared around. There were thirty-odd riders here. But the one she was looking for—

There. She saw a flash of armor and a panicked figure striking around him. The Humans had their backs to a wall of fire and the only way out was through the Goblins.

“They’re turning!”

Redscar snarled as he raced past Rags. She nodded. The Humans had no choice. They formed a clumsy line and then kicked their mounts forwards. Rags pointed.

Forwards!

Her Goblins screamed as they charged the Humans cut off by flames. Carn Wolves leapt at horses, making the already frightened animals rear and throw their riders off. Hobs filled the gaps, dismounting riders, cutting them down on the ground. Others grabbed the horses, dragging them towards safety. Rags watched the Goblins and Humans mixing in the confusion. But she only had eyes for one person. She waited as she saw him spur his mare past a group of fighting Hobs. Then she pointed.

“There!”

Her Carn Wolf leapt forwards. The young man lashed out, cutting another Redfang across the chest. He flinched as the Goblin’s sword skated off his breastplate. He turned—and saw Rags.

The fool had a helmet, but he’d forgotten to lower the visor. Rags saw a frightened young man’s face between the wrought metal. He was older than her. But he looked scared, like a child. He flailed at her with his enchanted sword as she charged him, crossbow in one hand, sword in the other. Rags drew her Carn Wolf out of range. Gilam tried to follow her, but his mount reared. A Hob was right in front of it. Quietstab swung a huge stave and the [Lord] screamed and choked as the cudgel knocked him from the saddle.

He landed hard on the forest floor. He was alive—his armor had blocked the blow, but now he was on the ground.  Quietstab ignored the young man—he yanked the white mare down as it tried to rear. Quick as a flash he mounted it and kicked it into motion.

“Stop—”

Gilam croaked as the Hob took off with his horse. He got up clumsily and looked up as Rags rode towards him. Gilam’s face went pale. He fumbled for his sword. But he’d dropped his sword. He backed up as Rags stared down at him.

“You—you—”

Rags ignored his quavering voice. She aimed the crossbow right between Gilam’s eyes. He turned to run. Her Carn Wolf snarled and leapt. The impact threw Gilam to the ground. He rolled over weakly and Rags stuck the crossbow’s tip into his helmet. Yes. Rags remembered Twofeather’s death. This was the moment. She wondered if she should say something. This felt so easy. So…she could hear Gilam panting loudly. It sounded like weeping.

Gilam!

Rags looked up. She heard a desperate shout. Someone was riding through the sea of flames. A man on horseback. Her eyes widened. Lord Pellmia himself was riding towards them, heedless of the fire that was making his horse scream. She looked down at Gilam and put the pieces together. This was his son!

Good. Rags saw the man casting about. Her Goblins were in full retreat. They had what they came for. The Humans were burning or dead. The Goblins had their horses and some of their gear. Staying any longer in the forest would be death. Rags had to follow them. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

“Father!”

Gilam flailed wildly. Rags’ Carn Wolf stomped on his chest and he gasped. Somehow, Pellmia heard it. He turned and Rags saw his form freeze.

Stop!

She saw the [Lord] riding at them, ignoring the flames that raged around him. She heard him scream. She had heard that scream before. Desperate. Helpless. She had heard Goblins weeping and screaming over their friends, their parents. She had heard Humans screaming the same as she burned their lands and homes.

Rags held very still. She could see Pellmia stop as he saw what was going on. The tip of her crossbolt was aimed straight at Gilam’s forehead. Her finger was on the trigger. Rags met the [Lord]’s eyes. He would see his son die. That seemed fitting. She’d watched him cut down families when his forces assaulted the city. This was justice.

“Stop.”

Pellmia’s voice rasped as he held out a hand. Rags didn’t move. Her Carn Wolf snarled in fear and anger as the fire closed in. Rags felt the tension in her crossbow’s trigger. One pull and Gilam died. And Pellmia would be broken.

As she’d broken when she’d seen Relc cutting the heads off her family. He’d hummed a song as he did it. This was vengeance for that moment. For Laken Godart. For Tyrion. For all of it. Only, it wasn’t enough. Pellmia would come for her after she killed his son. Rags would have to evade him.

The small Goblin held still as she considered it. Yes, he’d follow her—or stay with his son. Either way he’d probably die. But if he followed her she’d have to lure him back to Pyrite. He was probably good at fighting. And if she killed him, would the Humans stop or follow? She could hear them in the forest now, calling his name in desperation.

Loyalty. They’d come after her tribe. But they’d be leaderless. Could she beat them? Or would it be better to run and hide? Rags hesitated. She could hear sobbing now. She glanced down in irritation. The young [Lord] couldn’t even die quietly.

It was hot. Rags stared at Pellmia. His face was white. He stood in the forest as it turned to embers around him.

Chieftain!

A voice. Rags turned. Poisonbite was waiting. She had a group of Goblins armed with crossbows. They were taking aim at Pellmia. She pointed.

“Hurry and kill! We go! Forest burning! Burning pain death!”

Yes. Rags saw it clearly now. Shoot Gilam. Keep Pellmia back. Aim for his horse. Her finger tightened on the string. The crossbow’s trigger shifted. Kill him. And kill the Humans that came after him. Slaughter them. They’d kill her people otherwise. She had to kill them. Or run.

As Goblins did.

Rags saw a burning farmhouse. She saw a blind man declaring war. She saw a city burning as her Hobs streamed through the gates. She saw a Human army fleeing as she cut them down. She saw the Humans cutting down her tribe from behind. And the pieces fit together. She looked at Pellmia and saw something strange.

Wetness. The fire burned around him, but the [Lord] was weeping. He stared at his son. He knew what Rags would do. And he couldn’t stop her. His hand was raised. His son was weeping too. Rags stared at him. She saw the whole of her history with Humans in the flickering of the fire between them.

Kill. Flee. Ambush. Retreat. Revenge. Run. Attack. Defend. It had happened when Velan lived. And it was happening now. Again and again, since she had been born. And it would go on—

Forever. Rags stared at Pellmia. Then she looked down at Gilam. He was silent. He’d given up or passed out. Rags hesitated. Her trigger-finger itched to pull. But—

She raised her crossbow silently. Her warriors looked at her. Rags glanced around. Poisonbite was staring. Pellmia had frozen. Rags turned.

“Retreat!”

She turned her Carn Wolf. Poisonbite wavered, but Rags pointed. And the fire was growing more intense. Rags raced her wolf through the fire, sensing its fur begin to burn. The Goblins hesitated, but Pellmia kicked his mount forwards, racing towards his son. They turned and ran after Rags.

 

—-

 

He had to be dead. Pellmia tumbled from his saddle, landing hard on the burning floor. Even the dirt seemed to be burning. He knelt by his son, lifted the limp head. He had to be dead. That was why the Goblin hadn’t shot him.

“Gilam. Gilam?”

Gilam’s face was pale. Sweat poured down his face and his eyes were rolled back in his head. But he was breathing. Pellmia’s breath caught. He touched Gilam’s face with a trembling hand and saw his son react. Only then did the world start moving again. Pellmia looked up and heard the urgent voices at last.

Pellmia! Lord Pellmia!

“Here!”

The man cried out hoarsely. He stood up and looked around.

Here! Dead gods, get over here!”

He saw riders surging towards him in the flame. He heard Kilmet’s voice, ordering the mages to douse the flames. Pellmia looked around. The fire was intense. He could see a few shapes running in the distance. Goblins, fleeing the fire they’d created.

Pellmia stood over his son. He was alone as his cohort fought to get close to him. He was breathing hard, his armor scorched, his mount burned. He watched as the Goblins ran out of the forest. The last group ran to the edge and paused there. The Goblins looked at him. A small Goblin on the back of a Carn Wolf turned. Rags met Pellmia’s eyes. He stared at her. Then he saw the Goblins standing behind her.

Hobs. Goblins riding Carn Wolves. Crossbow Goblins. Others armed with deadly pikes, standing at the forest’s edge. Hundreds of red, glowing eyes found Pellmia. The Goblins stood at the back of their Chieftain.

In the moment before his escort reached him, Pellmia stood alone, over his son. The Goblins stared at him. They could have turned back through the fire. They could have killed the two Humans. But they did not. They turned and ran after Rags through the smoke as the fire engulfed the forest. Pellmia stood behind as someone screamed a word and water splashed on the ground around him, instantly becoming steam. He stood and then bent and cradled his son in his arms.

“My boy.”

 

—-

 

Later that day, Pellmia stood in the temporary camp that had been erected just outside the burning forest. He held still as the [Healer] gently applied a healing poultice to his skin.

“The burns are bad, Lord Pellmia. A healing potion won’t cure all the damage correctly. Something about burns—I’ll apply as much as I can, but you’ll need me to reapply this twice daily for several days.”

“That’s fine.”

Pellmia ignored the pain. He’d taken worse. He looked at Kilmet. The scar on the man’s arm stood out as Kilmet coughed. He’d ridden after Pellmia, helped him get Gilam out of the fire.

“Not as bad as that burn you got from the Corusdeer, eh, Kilmet? Now I know what it’s like.”

“You could have just asked, sire.”

Kilmet looked up wearily. His grey hair was blackened with soot. The two older men laughed and the healer shook his head.

“You’re lucky your armor saved you from the worst of the fire, Lord Pellmia. Or there’d be little to laugh about. If you’ll excuse me, I must see to the others. And your warhorse. He won’t be fit to ride for days yet.”

Lord Pellmia stopped laughing and nodded soberly.

“Yes, thank you. Is my son well?”

“Up and about. Shall I send him in?”

“Do so.”

The [Healer] left through the flaps of the tent. Pellmia was wincing as he put his doublet on when Gilam stormed through the tent flaps. He was already bandaged and poulticed, and his face was crimson with fury.

“Father!”

“Gilam.”

Pellmia turned. He tried to embrace his son, but Gilam stepped back.

“Father, the Goblins stole Olli! And my gear!”

“Did they indeed?”

Lord Pellmia blinked at his son. Gilam nodded. He clenched his hands into fists.

“That damn Hob and that little Chieftain ambushed me! He rode off on Olli’s back! My bag of holding was on her, and all the rest of my gear! Father, give me a hundred [Knights]. I’ll ride into their camp and retrieve her. And cut down their numbers so they’ll not dare try something like this again!”

Pellmia blinked at Gilam. He looked at Kilmet who sighed and didn’t meet his eyes. Pellmia nodded slowly.

“I see. So you survived the fire and you want to get your own back, is that it?”

“Yes! All I need are a few men—”

“No.”

Gilam paused. His face reddened further. The fire had scorched part of his hair off and what hadn’t been burned was reddened. He looked like one of those water bugs that were so highly sought-after. What were they called? Lobsters, that was it.

“But father, the Goblins attacked us! They nearly killed me!

“But they didn’t. They let you go. They could have killed you, but they didn’t.”

“Only because they knew what would happen to them if they did!”

“Most likely.”

Pellmia nodded. He thought of the small Goblin who’d met his eyes. His hand closed slowly and then unclenched. Pellmia stared down at his burnt palm. He shook his head.

“They spared you. She did. And I don’t know why. Perhaps it was mercy. Perhaps it was pragmatism. Either way—”

“Father, Olli—”

Pellmia turned. He looked at his son and Gilam went silent. It had been a long time since Pellmia had looked at his son like that. Not as his boy, but as a man looked at another man and gauged his worth. He shook his head.

“Kilmet?”

“Yes, Lord Pellmia?”

Kilmet straightened expectantly. Pellmia glanced at him.

“Have my son find another horse. He’ll ride with the vanguard tonight. Under your authority.”

“But father—

“And if he gainsays you in any way, spank him as you would your own boy. I have a job to do.”

Gilam made a strangled noise. Kilmet covered a smile as he bowed slightly.

“The Goblins, Lord Pellmia?”

“Yes. We have a duty and I’ve promised Veltras they’d be there. This changes nothing.”

Pellmia strode out of the tent. He left Gilam behind. Pellmia stared past the rows of burnt riders towards the forest. It was ash now, ash and smoke. He mumbled to himself.

“This changes not one thing.”

And yet it did. Pellmia bowed his head and then called for his horse. He mounted it, ready to hunt the Goblins down. He still had a duty. The little Goblin Chieftain had not won her freedom. But for the first time, Pellmia thought of her. How small she was. Was that normal? Or was she someone’s daughter? Did they have mothers? Fathers?

Pellmia had lived for over sixty years. He had survived both Antinium Wars, fought the Goblins on his land. He had not seen the Goblin King’s death, but he had celebrated it. He had known the world with the certainty of a man his age could have. Now the world began to crumble under his feet. But he had a duty. He was just no longer certain it was the right one.

 

—-

 

Rags sat in her camp, tending to her Carn Wolf. She hadn’t named it like Redscar had with his. Names were a silly thing to give to an animal that would probably die in battle. It was bad to get attached. But she still applied the healing potion gently to its burns.

The Carn Wolf wasn’t happy. It nipped her slightly, expressing its discontent at the pain. Rags let it, but bonked it on the nose when it tried again. She turned as a Goblin poked her in the side.

Poisonbite had missed one of her burns, but only just. The other Goblin frowned at Rags. She still didn’t understand why Rags had let the two Humans live. Still, her exuberance over the battle in the forest outweighed her personal issues with Rags.

“Chieftain, have special things. Magic weapons sorted. Also, bag.”

“Bag?”

Rags looked up. She glanced at her Carn Wolf and pointed. Another Goblin took over tending to it. Rags got up and followed Poisonbite. She found Quietstab, Noears, and Redscar sorting through the loot they’d captured from the Humans. A lot of it was just quality steel weapons. There was a weakly enchanted shield, a hatchet with a throwing enchantment on it…and a bag of holding. Rags’ eyes widened when she saw Noears drop a large rock into it and pull it out.

“Good bag. Lots of items can fit.”

“What was in?”

“Food. Gold. Letter. Shared food, tossed gold and letter.”

Noears dismissively pointed to a pile of gold coins. A few Goblin children were having fun throwing the gold coins around. Pyrite was reading the letter. Rags walked over to him.

“What say?”

The Hob shrugged.

‘Lady Cimeca, your face is as radiant as a pear in the full moonlight. I yearn to stroke it and speak to you of high matters such as romance and a possible union between our houses. You know my father and yours are close friends and I am most struck by your wit and humors and loveliness. Please give me some token to which I may use for remembrance…’

Rags tilted her head back and forth, frowning. She cut Pyrite off when it seemed that the letter began to repeat itself, only this time comparing this Cimeca’s legs to swan’s necks or something.

“What it mean?”

Pyrite considered the letter and shrugged.

“Want to have sex.”

“Oh.”

The Hob crumpled the letter up and tossed it away. Rags went back to the bag of holding. She stared at it.

“Can use. Put heavy things inside.”

“Yes, Chieftain. What about horses?”

Noears pointed. Rags stared at the restless horses. Of all the things they’d looted from the Humans, that was perhaps the most valuable. She eyed the snow-white stallion that was pacing back and forth restlessly and shrugged.

“Put on wagons. Good food and goes fast.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Noears smacked his lips happily. Redscar came over, flipping a sword up and catching it by the hilt.

“Chieftain, what now? Go this way? Hills. Hard for Humans to follow. Can lose. Or fight.”

He pointed westwards. Rags looked the way he was pointing and saw a distant set of hills. She hesitated, and then shook her head.

“No. We rest. Humans coming.”

“Not run?”

Redscar looked crestfallen. Rags nodded.

“Not run. Can’t.”

The Redfang leader grumbled, but he nodded. The Goblins lay about, just resting, looking at the burnt forest. Rags sat with Pyrite. After a while she looked at him.

“Didn’t kill Human.”

“Hmm. Why?”

“Other Humans kill us.”

“They do that anyways.”

Rags nodded.

“Yes. But maybe they don’t kill as many this way. Maybe they stop. Maybe—”

A horn blew. Rags looked up. She waited, and saw a line of riders circle around the forest. Pyrite looked up as well. The Goblins groaned and got to their feet.

“Maybe, Chieftain?”

“Maybe I’m wrong.”

Rags grumbled as she got up. Her body hurt. And she had burns now. But as she prepared to give the order to run, she saw the riders pause. They formed a line a few hundred meters away. Rags stared at them. She saw a familiar shape in front. Lord Pellmia stared towards the Goblins. He did not give the order to attack. Nor did his [Mages] send the customary rain of fireballs to get the Goblins moving. The horn blew again, but the Humans didn’t advance.

“Get moving! Humans moving!”

Pyrite called out loudly. The Goblins began packing up. Still, the Humans didn’t advance. Rags stared at the distant riders. They were giving the Goblins time. Only a few minutes. After about five had passed the Humans began moving forwards at a trot. But that was enough. The Goblins began moving and the Humans followed. The warhorses tethered to wagons snorted, but pulled the Goblins ahead. And Rags saw the Humans following. They didn’t press the Goblins like last time. They just followed.

The two Goblins stood together as the Goblins moved past them. They were tired, but they moved at a good pace nonetheless. The Goblins stared as they moved. At the little Goblin standing next to the fat Hob. She had not crushed the Humans. But she had hurt them. She had even spared some for some reason. She had set a forest ablaze. And she had shown them something. A plan. Hope.

Rags stood with Pyrite. She turned. She and Pyrite began jogging. He looked down at her.

“Maybe, Rags?”

“Maybe. Something will change. Or not. Humans still chasing. We still probably dying. But this is different.”

“What?”

The little Goblin reached up and touched her chest. She looked at Pyrite and smiled wearily.

“Us.”

 


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5.48 G

Day 5

 

The Humans came with the dawn. They blew war horns, waking the Goblins of the Flooded Water tribe from their sleep. But the Goblins knew the Humans were coming and so many were already awake. They surged out of their camp as the Humans appeared in the distance. Only, this time there were no [Fireballs], no spells or arrows loosed. The Humans let the Goblins begin their march in peace.

That was something. A very little something, but every Goblin noticed it. And they debated why. Unlike the last four days, today the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe gossiped as they ran. Some, the smallest or wounded or most tired, sat on wagons pulled by some very fine looking warhorses. And they talked.

If it was characteristic of Humans to play power games and for Drakes to bicker amongst themselves, and for Gnolls to form packs, then chatter was endemic among Goblins. Not gossip or talk, but chatter.

As Drassi might have put it, gossip was a product of cities, of largely peaceful populations who had to coexist with each other. Sometimes gossip was about the most dire of worldly events or politics, but other times it was mundane, petty. Silly. A social activity that existed to let people relax and insult neighbor’s cooking behind their backs. But Goblins had no time for that.

They had no [Gossips], but every Goblin communicated. Not talked. They were masters of sign language and interpreting body movement and posture. They relayed information about dangers, opportunities, and so on as a way to survive. So they chattered about what had happened yesterday.

About Rags. Of course the Goblins had all seen the forest fire. And they were quite impressed. Rags had turned her [Burning Blades] spell from a rather useless enchantment into a real and deadly weapon to use against the Humans. All the Goblins were rather proud about that. That was what you expected of your Chieftain. They had a smart one. The real issue of contention was the battle in the forest, though.

Again, it was an impressive battle. Only three Goblins had perished, and they’d taken down a number of Humans. More importantly, they’d gotten the horses and equipment. That was a real win. But Poisonbite had openly shared what she’d seen. Rags had cornered the Human lordling, the one who’d killed Twofeather. And she hadn’t killed him.

The reaction from the Flooded Waters tribe was mixed. Many Goblins, especially those in the more militant groups like Tremborag’s former Goblins and the Redscar Warriors were annoyed. They wanted the Human’s blood and as much of it as possible. The other Goblins were just confused. Some wondered if Rags had done it to avoid the Humans getting angrier. If so, that was a fair decision, but Rags hadn’t said that.

They’d all heard her. And by ‘all’, one Hob had been listening to Rags and Pyrite talk while he bandaged his arm. But he’d obviously told everyone else, so it was the same.

Rags had said it wasn’t just about not angering the Humans. She’d said it was something else.

Maybe. Maybe something will change. And it wasn’t the Humans that would necessarily change, but the Goblins. That made no sense to the Flooded Waters tribe as a whole. Several poked their chests, feeling no different. Why would they need to change? And why would Humans ever, ever try to stop killing them? Unless there were too many Goblins, the Humans would always attack.

It was a mystery. Their Chieftain’s mind was strange. Most of the Goblins had no clue what Rags had meant. And she was prepared for that. As her tribe began their march on the fifth day, Rags was prepared for angry Goblins to question her decision. She was prepared for fights as she watched the Goblins chattering without speaking more than a few words. Most of her tribe did not understand. But some of them did.

It surprised Rags. She saw a few smaller Goblins and a single Hob push their way into the conversation, signaling with their hands and arms dramatically to get the attention of the Goblins around her. They pointed at Rags and made complicated gestures. The other Goblins turned and listened.

This is what the few said. Not in words, but in action. In deed. Showing the other Goblins, patting their stomachs, smacking their lips. They told a story, a simple message.

 

Yes, of course the Humans would kill them. Of course they would not change from a single spared life. Of course they still harried the tribe.

But there were Humans that mattered. There were Humans that changed. And there was a reason to save some.

They had met her. A destroyer, the one who killed their old Chieftain. But he had tried to kill her. And when she killed him, she had not killed Goblins. She gave them food. She had been kind.

There was a reason.

 

The other Goblins looked askance. They ridiculed the few Goblins, and then fell silent as another fact was made aware to them. The few Goblins who argued with the rest and told the story weren’t strong or quick or exceptional. In fact, they were overwhelmingly mediocre in terms of Goblin quality. The tribe they had come from was tiny and it only had one Hob. But it had been the Flooded Waters tribe. The original tribe that Rags had taken over.

They had known Erin. They had been in her inn. Long ago, or so it seemed to the Goblins, they had walked fearfully into the inn and seen the strangeness. The wonder, too. The games of chess, the skeleton who served drinks. And the smiling [Innkeeper] who served them blue juice and pasta.

It sounded like a fairy tale to the other Goblins. Of course they had heard rumors of Rags’ past. But this was the first time the stories of Erin Solstice became public knowledge. Some were fascinated by the tales, others scornful.

The first Goblin to approach Rags was Noears.

“Is it true?”

Rags glanced at the [Mage]. He was riding Oli, the white mare that had been taken from Gilam. No one else objected; Noears looked worn from shooting animals with lightning for rations. But he grinned at Rags and raised his eyebrows.

“What true?”

“Chieftain knew Human? Good…Human?”

“True.”

Rags shrugged. Noears blinked. He rode back to tell the others. After a while, Pyrite jogged over.

“Chieftain.”

“Is true.”

The little Goblin sighed and looked ahead as her Carn Wolf paced forwards. She patted it on the back, feeling its exhaustion. Pyrite shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Not question. Chieftain, Goblins are tired. Hobs. Bad thing.”

“Oh.”

Rags looked around. Of course her tribe was tired, but Pyrite was pointing out a new development. Some of her Hobs, who’d been unwavering as they carried supplies and even other Goblins, were finally reaching the limits of their stamina. She could see them faltering, grunting with the effort of keeping up. She frowned.

“Put on wagons. Trade off.”

“Hobs are heavy.”

That was obvious too, but also important. Rags gritted her teeth and glanced behind her. She could see a group of Humans keeping a wary distance to her right.

“Can’t slow down. Humans not that kind. Trade off.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Pyrite moved away, signaling some of the most exhausted Hobs to take a break. Then he jogged back.

“So. Kind Human.”

“Yes. Gave name. And helped learn magic.”

“Really?”

Pyrite looked very interested. He peered up at Rags. She nodded absently, remembering.

“Not her. Pisces. She—taught me chess. Became [Tactician]. Gave me food.”

“Hm.”

The Hob grunted with clear interest. Rags stared ahead. Oh yes. How simpler it had seemed then. She’d liked Erin. And hated her too, sometimes. For being too nice, too naïve. As if making friends would bring back the dead. But she missed Erin now.

And now—Rags’ head snapped to one side as she saw a ripple in her tribe. The jogging Goblins parted and she saw something that made her heart lurch. A fallen Hob. He’d tripped and was too exhausted to get up. He lay on the ground, panting. Pyrite pointed at him.

“Get to wagon! Keep moving!”

“No.”

Rags leapt from the back of her Carn Wolf. She ran over. The Goblins parted for her and Rags saw that many stumbled as they moved. They were more tired than she’d thought. The Hob looked up.

Chieftain. Leave behind.

He was breathing hard and his bare chest was covered in sweat. He was a fat Hob, like Pyrite, but younger. It wasn’t hard to see why he’d collapsed. Pyrite and several Hobs came over. They wanted to lift the Hob, but Rags waved them back. She knelt, thinking hard.

They couldn’t keep on like this. This Hob was the first, but the wagons were already overloaded. Even with the horses they’d acquired, the Goblins were hitting a wall. But what else could she do? She had the bag of holding, but Noears had told her that it could not hold living beings. Or if it did, the people inside would quickly become not living.

All the Goblins had stopped. They watched as Rags knelt by the Hob. They were waiting for her to have a good idea, Rags knew. Only, she didn’t have a way to beat sheer exhaustion. She didn’t have a plan.

But she was a Chieftain. And maybe that was enough. No, it had to be enough.

Rags looked around. The Hob was lying on his back, resigned, unable to move. He wasn’t prepared for Rags to leap onto his broad stomach. He grunted and then looked up. Rags was standing on his gut. She looked around at the Goblins. Tired faces stared back.

Why are you tired?

The Goblins looked at each other as Rags shouted. They scratched their heads. The answer was obvious. Rags pointed behind them.

Humans chase us for five days! Only five days! Not even throwing fireballs anymore! Why is hard to run?

She leapt from the Hob’s stomach and landed on the ground. Rags looked around and then slapped her chest.

Follow me! Is not hard!

She took a few steps forwards and turned. The Hob lying on the ground stared at her. She gestured at him.

Up! Why is Hob with big legs slower than small Chieftain?

Tired. Carry lots of things.

He grunted at Rags, almost indignantly. Rags sneered at him.

Big Hob can’t even walk another step? Can’t even stand?

The fat Hob glared at Rags. He shifted and sat up as if to prove her wrong. He pointed at his back.

Chieftain not carry club.

Rags saw the Hob had strapped a huge club to his back. It was a monster of a weapon, the kind you’d use to hunt bears or [Knights] in full armor. It had to weigh a ton. But Rags just sneered. She struck a pose and pointed to her shortsword hanging at her side.

That because Chieftain smart. Uses sword. Sharp. Better than wooden club. Only good for firewood.”

The Hob huffed as the other Goblins laughed.

Not if fight Gargoyle.

You fight Gargoyle?

Rags paused. The Hob nodded proudly.

Not Redfang. But fought one once.

The other Goblins murmured in appreciation as he showed them a large scar on his stomach. A few of the Redfangs nodded, acknowledging the deed. Rags smiled.

Can kill Gargoyle, but not stand up?

Can stand! Not run. Too tired! Heavy club!

The fat Hob shouted at Rags. She shook her head dismissively. She switched to the common tongue.

“Only heavy club? In that case, get bag of holding! Noears!”

The [Mage] rode over. Rags pointed at the bag of holding he’d been entrusted with.

“Take club. Then Hob run. Too lazy otherwise.”

Noears glanced at the Hob. The fat Hob blinked and stared at the bag of holding. He opened his mouth to protest, then realized he’d been tricked. Silently, he unfastened the club from his back and handed it to Noears. The club vanished into the bag of holding.

Now, up!

Rags looked at the Hob. He hesitated and then stood with a groan. Rags smiled. She looked around.

“Other Hobs have heavy weapons? Give to Noears! Give armor, too!”

But armor for fighting!

One of the other Redfang Warriors protested. Rags glared at him.

“Where fighting? We run! Come! Humans following! Follow! Not hard! Chieftain can do it and she smaller and younger than you.”

Rags jogged forwards. The Redfang Warrior flushed as the other Goblins laughed and shrugged off his armor. He tossed it at Noears as he easily caught up with Rags. She grinned at him.

“Redfangs supposed to be strong! You ride wolf too much.”

So does Chieftain.

“Not today.”

The Redfang Warrior grunted thoughtfully. Rags turned.

Follow!

She began to run. Not quickly, but at a lazy jog. The Goblins watched her. Rags wasn’t moving fast. Not at all. Why, you could sprint three times as fast easily. Four times as quick if a monster was chasing you. A few of the children ran after Rags. They waved at the adults. Look! Look, we’re following Chieftain!

Rags smiled. She moved through her tribe, reaching the front. The Goblins in front watched as she jogged past them lazily. She waved and then heard a thumping pair of steps behind her. She turned her head and saw the fat Hob had caught up.

Tired!

He complained loudly, but he was running, matching her shorter strides with his long ones. Rags laughed at him.

Chieftain run too fast for you?

A spark entered the Hob’s eye.

This fast? Easy. Can run for hour. Without club.

Good! Hey! You, follow!

Rags grinned. Her tribe watched her as the children, the fat Hob, and the Redfang Warrior jogged after her. They looked at each other.

A female Hob was next. She grinned as she tossed a dented helmet at Noears. She ran forwards, her long legs easily catching up. A pair of smaller Goblin females followed her. And then a dozen Goblins. And then hundreds. And then all of them.

“Follow Chieftain!”

Noears pointed and shouted. He was being besieged from all sides. The Goblins were throwing armor and heavy weapons at him and the Goblin [Mage] was swearing as he tried to collect it all. He leapt from the back of the mare and began to run, stuffing objects into the bag of holding. All the Goblins were running now. Pyrite grinned as he ran next to Quietstab and a group of Hobs. They’d found a second wind during the short break. All the Goblins had.

This fast is easy! Slow! I swim faster than this!

Rags shouted at the Goblins behind her. They hooted and some shouted back insults. After all, Rags had rode this far! What did she know?

But now she was running and all the Goblins could see. Rags hadn’t abandoned her shortsword or her belt. She declined to give it to Noears. And she was running faster now. Not too much faster; it was easy to keep up. So her tribe did.

They spread out behind her, Hobs and Goblins. Most couldn’t even see her; Rags was so small that she was eclipsed in height even by a lot of regular Goblins. But they knew she was there. And if she was running, why couldn’t they? She made it look easy. Because it was. It had to be. So the Goblins began hopping off wagons and copying the rest. They had the energy to run for another hour! If it was this fast.

The pack animals and horses grunted in surprise as the Goblins began abandoning the wagons and running ahead of them. Their burden was quickly replaced by weapons and gear that couldn’t fit in Noears’ back of holding. The Goblins divested themselves of everything, from weapons to armor to clothing in a few cases. And they ran.

Children. Non-warriors. Even some of the wounded hopped off the wagons and ran. They matched the pace of the Goblins around then, in front and behind. It wasn’t that they had more energy. They were tired, worn down. But they were together. And they were following her.

Their Chieftain. The Flooded Waters tribe began to move as one. Their footsteps became a solid drumming—a hundred feet hit the ground at the same time, and then a thousand. And the Goblins felt it.

A sense of exhilaration. A primal sense of connection. Together. They looked at each other and smiled.

They did not laugh or cheer, as Humans might have done. Goblins didn’t make unnecessary sound. But they did smile. The Goblins ran in silence, but not silent. They spoke, gesturing at each other with hands, pointing. Ahead. At her. Telling stories. Creating another.

The tribe ran faster, propelled by something that could not be explained by the symmetry of muscle or the biology of bodies. Faster, forgetting the exhaustion or the pain in their legs. Faster, as if they could run forever so long as that little Goblin led them.

Faster.

 

—-

 

Lord Pellmia rode with Kilmet, speaking quietly with one of the [Mages] who’d been assigned to his command. Her name was Genviere and she was a personal [Mage] employed by Lord Erill. She’d been placed under Pellmia’s command but as a [High Mage] who’d graduated from Wistram she was by no means a subordinate to be ordered around.

There were other [Knights] of course, some of quite high level. And a [Captain], a [Tactician] assigned to the riding division, and two other lesser [Lords]…it would have been a good test of any [Lady] or [Hostess]’ Skills to tell who outranked who. In practice, it was a matter of who had the highest levels, and that meant Pellmia was only followed by Genviere.

“I understand, Magus Genviere. I do.”

Lord Pellmia inclined his head as he rode with the [Mage] at the head of their company. They were setting a decent pace. With his [Far Riders] Skill, even a slow horse could outdistance most horses without any Skills. However, it wasn’t an excruciatingly fast pace, and their quarry—the Goblins—could keep ahead of them at a slow jog with their Chieftain’s Skill. That was the issue, and Genviere had been selected to bring it up with Lord Pellmia.

“The Goblins are slowing, Lord Pellmia. I realize they’re reaching their limits from the pace we’ve set, but we must harry them or they’ll continue to slow or stop. Allow us to harass them.”

“No. Not yet.”

Lord Pellmia saw the woman sigh. She was strikingly beautiful, her face almost half-Elvish in beauty, her cheekbones high, her features delicate and sharp in the classic Terandrian vision of attractiveness. But it was an illusion.

One of the clues Pellmia had was that Genviere bore none of the marks of travel despite having been camping for five days. The second was that she was a female [Mage] and they were notorious for using illusion spells. But Pellmia forbade comment, as mentioning an illusion spell was highly offensive to most ladies in polite society. Still, this illusion was a good one. Dead gods, she even smelled fragrant.

“Lord Pellmia, is this in regards to the incident in the forest yesterday?”

Genviere’s spelled features contorted into a deep frown. Pellmia glanced about. He could see the rest of the riders nearby studiously not listening to their conversation. He raised his voice so they could hear better.

“Yes. The Goblins spared my boy, Magus Genviere. I owe some a debt. You might not agree, but they could have killed him. They did not.”

“They killed a number of our own. [Soldiers]. [Knights]. [Scouts]. Not all by blade, true, but they left the rest to burn in fire. It was not a bloodless engagement.”

Genviere frowned deeply. Pellmia took a breath and nodded.

“That is true. And I will personally see that the full restitutions are paid to the fallen. However, this is a matter of personal honor. Do you object to my command?”

He looked sideways at the [Mage] as she thought. Riding a few paces to the left, Kilmet looked up as well. If there was any dissention, it would begin with Genviere. At last, the [High Mage] shook her head. Her glossy, grass-green hair shimmered as it caught the light. Another big clue, that. Mages loved making their hair turn outrageous colors. Actually, most young folk loved that.

“I am no [Soldier], Lord Pellmia. I lent my aid to Lord Tyrion Veltras because of my ties to Lord Erill and the Goblin Lord’s threat. With that said, I understand the inevitability of casualties in battle, especially given our unusual mission. I also recognize gratitude, even towards Goblins, as amazing as this case is. But we have a duty and I fear that at this pace we will not reach the rendezvous tomorrow.”

“True.”

Pellmia bowed his head. He had promised Lord Tyrion they would be there, but the Goblin’s pace had slackened. Without killing the stragglers, they would slow. He bit the inside of his cheek. At last, he raised his head.

“We’ll see how far they’ve gone by midday. Make no mistake, this is my responsibility, Magus. If we fail to reach the rendezvous point, I will take full blame. However, if it is possible to move the Goblins close enough—”

Genviere was nodding politely and Pellmia thought she would agree, especially if it meant she bore none of the fault. He broke off though. Someone was riding back towards him. A [Scout], moving fast.

“What now?”

Pellmia cursed inside. If the Goblins had stopped, he would have to get them moving. But the [Scout] wasn’t bearing that message. He drew up as the [Lord] and [Mage] turned.

“Lord Pellmia, the Goblins are speeding up.”

“What?”

Pellmia stared at the [Scout]. He spurred his mount and sped forwards. By the time he crested the slight rise, he could see the Goblins marching ahead of him. Only, they weren’t marching anymore. They were running.

Not quickly. Not at the full speed a Goblin could go. But it was a decent jog, and combined with the Skill they were under, they were moving fast. Pellmia stared at them and then turned to Genviere, who’d ridden up behind him.

“It seems the issue has resolved itself, Magus Genviere.”

“Indeed. One wonders why.”

Pellmia did too. But the Goblins were moving faster and that was what mattered. He turned and raised his hand over his head.

“Company, advance! I don’t want those Goblins out of our sight! Tell the [Scouts] to move the Goblins southeast! Kilmet, my maps!”

As he rode forwards, Pellmia began adjusting their course again. He accelerated as he conferred with Kilmet and Genviere, moving up to catch the Goblins. He could see them staring at him and the other riders.

They were five thousand strong. Not nearly as large as some town’s garrisons, but a fearsome force given their level. The [Knights] rode with pendants flapping in the wind. The [Soldiers] and officers wore their city’s insignia proudly. The [Lords] and their [Retainers] laughed as they rode, resplendent in their colors. They were secure in their knowledge that they could eradicate the Goblins.

Normally, the sight of Lord Pellmia’s forces would have made the Goblins shy away. However, this time they didn’t budge from their course. All to the better, but it was strange. And something happened as Lord Pellmia was riding and checking the map. He looked up as the paper bounced awkwardly in Kilmet’s grip and frowned. The Goblins were pulling away.

“Faster! Why is our pace flagging?”

He snapped at the [Knight] in the lead. The woman touched her finger to her brow.

“Apologies, Lord Pellmia. The Goblins have sped up again.”

“Again? Well…follow them!”

Lord Pellmia glanced back down at his map as his company accelerated as his mount moved to keep pace. He inspected his map and made quick calculations. When he looked up again, he frowned. The company wasn’t moving at a trot anymore. They were actually moving at a quick canter. And the Goblins were running.

“Are they…racing us?”

One of the [Knights] stared at the Goblins. Lady Welca Caveis, who had been assigned to Lord Pellmia’s command to help with locating the Goblins to begin with, stared as the Goblins began to run. One of the [Lords] laughed uncertainly.

“Stupid Goblins. They’ll never keep that pace! They’ve got to be exhausted.”

That was true. But Lord Pellmia wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. If the Goblins wanted to make his life easier—he rode forwards.

“I don’t care why they’re running. Increase our speed! And add more riders to the flanking patrols. I don’t want them trying something again.”

The Humans rode faster. Now the ground was moving past them fast. Lord Pellmia tried to calculate how fast they were going. His [Far Rider] Skill didn’t exactly double a horse’s speed, but it could increase their pace a great deal. If they were cantering at—what, twelve miles per hour and the Skill was working on them…how fast were the Goblins going?

“Dead gods. They’re moving quick! Looks like they’ve taken off their armor and weapons—you can see it in the wagons.”

Kilmet rode next to Pellmia, eying the Goblins. They’d slowed a bit from the full-out run, but they were jogging fast. And together! They moved as if they were one unit. The sound of their feet hitting the ground was distant thunder. Combined with the horses’ hooves, the air was filled with noise.

And the Goblins kept going. At first the Humans laughed and took bets on when they’d slow. The first hour was jokes. The second confusion. By the third, the riders were checking their mounts anxiously. Because the unbelievable was happening.

The horses were getting tired first. They had to carry armored riders, supplies, and their own armor in the case of the barded warhorses. Before it hadn’t been an issue because the Goblins tired quicker, but now—

“Do we break, Lord Pellmia?”

One of the [Lieutenants] looked uncertain as the Humans paused to let their horses drink a bit of water. Pellmia stared at the Goblin tribe running ahead of him. He could see the little Goblin in front, running with Hobs behind her.

Lord Pellmia did not like her. She was a murderer, a monster. That she had saved his boy did not change that. But he could not help admiring the sight. He shook his head and swung himself off his horse.

“Stop? Are you insane, boy? The Goblins are finally moving! We follow!”

“But the horses—”

Pellmia turned his head and shouted.

Dismount! We run alongside the horses! Don’t give me that look! Have none of you been on campaign before? The [Knights] have trained for this! The rest of you, run and I’ll restore your vigor with [Second Wind] when needed. Get those horses moving!”

The other riders stared at Pellmia, but the [Knights] and more experienced [Riders] were already dismounting. Pellmia heard grumbling, mainly from the inexperienced [Lords] and [Soldiers]. He saw a familiar face among the discontented. Gilam was arguing with Kilmet. Only today, the aged retainer was having none of it. He pointed and his voice was a field roar like Pellmia’s.

“You heard Lord Pellmia! This is no joyride! We move at a trot! Anyone who can’t keep up can return at their own pace. Move out!”

He suited action to words. Soon the entire group had dismounted and was running alongside their horses, following the Goblins. Pellmia huffed as he ran, despite having put his armor in his own bag of holding. He was too old for this! Kilmet’s face looked set as he kept pace. But then again—he glanced around. Despite the grey in his and Kilmet’s hair, they were still doing better than some of the others. Genviere gave Kilmet a long stare as she tried to run without tripping over her robes.

“Why’re they doing this, Lord Pellmia?”

Kilmet gasped a question. Pellmia shook his head, loathe to answer.

“The Chieftain. It must be.”

He stared at the little Goblin leading the others. She was running at the front of the entire tribe. She hadn’t used a Skill—if she had one she surely would have used it before. She was just running. But why was that so important? Pellmia looked around, and then he realized it.

Because it was her. Because she was their Chieftain. He could see his company moving around him, some running ahead, some behind. Pellmia thought about running to the head of their group, but thought against it. He was too old to set that kind of pace and besides, this wasn’t a company of his soldiers. Many of the men and women here didn’t owe him allegiance.

But her? The small Goblin ran ahead, occasionally turning to shout at her tribe. And they raised their hands and shouted, following her. Believing in her. There was something to admire about that. Something to admire, and fear.

“That’s a leader if ever I saw one Kilmet. A Goblin leading other Goblins.”

“A danger.”

Kilmet agreed. Pellmia saw his old friend’s pallor fading and resolved to issue stamina potions and use [Second Wind] soon. He nodded curtly.

“Something to watch for. She cannot escape. But I see why Lord Veltras was so insistent we leave the Chieftain alive. She leads that tribe. Without her, they’d never have made the journey.”

“True enough.”

That was all Kilmet said. Pellmia kept up his pace, panting as his horse cantered next to him. He thought it was funny. Somehow, in some strange way, the Goblins had flipped the nature of things on them. It was he who was pushing the Goblins. Theirs was the superior force. But somehow, they’d fallen into the Goblin’s pace.

And he saw that they knew it. The Goblins ran faster. Following their leader. They didn’t falter, and they ran so hard that in the end it was Pellmia who was forced to stop them so his people could rest. He couldn’t believe it. They’d been dead on their feet yesterday. Where was their energy coming from? How were they doing it?

 

—-

 

Day 6

 

It was her. There was no magic in it. No Skill or things of classes. Perhaps there was something Goblin about it, but if there was, it was nothing any Goblin could explain. It was just morale.

Rags ran at the head of the tribe on the second day, before the Humans even had time to blow their horns. She set the pace and her tribe ran after her. Children and adults. Hobs and regular Goblins.

They were all tired. Their legs hurt from the pace they’d set yesterday. But when they saw her back, the Flooded Water tribe couldn’t help but follow. They found their aches and tired legs disappear as they stared at their Chieftain.

Onwards! Ever faster! If she led them, they could run forever! Even the Humans couldn’t keep up. The Goblin’s flagging spirits surged. They cheered their leader, shouted along with the Redfangs as the warriors roared and took the lead behind Rags.

The Goblins forgot about the battle with the [Emperor]. They forgot about the deaths at the city, their pursuers. They forgot about Tremborag and the danger they were in. They ran as if they’d never stop, across hills and valleys, fields of grass and through forests. The spring air was cool on their faces and the sun shone down. The Goblins ran and ran—

And then they stopped. Rags had halted. A group of riders had cut her off from the front. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe halted, coming out of their running trance. They saw Lord Pellmia’s riders forming a line in front of Rags as she stared at them uncertainly. The wagons rolled to a stop. Rags stared at Lord Pellmia as the Humans ahead of her blew on their horns, clearly telling the Goblins to halt. She looked around.

Where were they? The ground was filled with bright green stalks and they were standing almost on a dirt road winding south. A few rocks interrupted the plant life and she could see a lake far to the east. To the north a distant mountain sat isolated, and if she looked south she could see the High Passes, far away as they were. But there was nothing of note.

Except, Lord Pellmia clearly thought there was a reason to stop. His riders rode in a circle around Rags’ tribe, forcing them into a circle. Then the [Lord] dismounted. He pointed and his people moved a hundred paces west, out of bow shot. Then they began setting up camp.

“What are they doing, Chieftain?”

Poisonbite ran over, looking confused. Rags stared at the Humans as they began setting up tables to eat off of. They were even making a fire! She frowned.

“Resting. Must be at spot they wanted us to go.”

“Here?”

The female Goblin looked around skeptically. Rags shrugged. She eyed the landscape again, but she couldn’t see anything. All the way to the north there was nothing but grasslands. The Humans hadn’t colonized this part of northern Izril, and the horizon was just a distant black line. She looked behind her. She could see…a human settlement right on the edge of the horizon? Or was that just a clump of something else?

“Can’t move. We wait. Get food out! And get weapons! Just in case.”

Rags waved her hands. The Goblins in her tribe sighed. They flopped onto the grass. Some wandered over to the wagons and began unloading weapons. Rags saw the [Cooks] getting to work and flopped onto the grass.

There was no fuel for a fire, but Rags had collected enough firewood in the bag of holding that she could make a few large cook fires. It wasn’t cold enough for her tribe to need them anyway. So Rags lay in the sun as the wind blew, cooling the perspiration on her body.

The sun was warm, the sky blue. She felt good. She’d pushed herself hard, running yesterday. But somehow she’d done it. It was like she couldn’t get tired, not while she was leading her tribe. She felt…strong. Well, not strong in terms of arm muscle, but…something like that.

Rags didn’t feel like she needed to figure it out. She felt good, and as a Goblin brought her one of the first bowls of millet soup seasoned with lightning-fried fish from a pond and a bit of frog and mealworms and insects for taste, she was content. Even if the food was ick. Rags glanced north absently. The sun was warm overhead. But she was a bit warm—it felt like the heat from one of the bonfires north of her was being blown downwind.

“Chieftain.”

Predictably, Pyrite appeared. Even more predictably, he’d chosen to supplement his bowl of soup with food. Some of the growing wheat, still green, and a colony of ants. Rags stared as Pyrite tossed several white eggs into his bowl. She grimaced—she hated how they tasted. But Pyrite happily gulped his food down, then flicked a few of the red ants into his bowl. They were still clinging to his arm and biting him.

“Stopped.”

“Yes.”

The two Goblins looked at each other. Pyrite’s face was very calm, and he was eating with his usual placidness. But Rags noticed that the Hobs and Goblins with pikes had been moved to the edges of the seated Goblins. And they all had weapons now.

The elation she’d felt drained away slightly. A bit of tension entered Rags’ stomach. This was it. She felt it. So did Pyrite. They were at their destination. Now, whatever the Humans had planned for them would occur.

She had no idea what it was. She’d imagined they were being herded in this direction to fight something. Or maybe to a city so they could be executed for all the Humans to see. But this? This was nowhere. And yet—Rags glanced at Lord Pellmia. His forces were all in one spot, but they could easily run the Goblins down in this flat area. He was clearly waiting. For Tyrion Veltras?

“Good run. Chieftain was Chieftain today and yesterday.”

Pyrite chomped on his food. Rags glanced up at him. She shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Was Chieftain thing to do. Not special. Other Chieftains lead all the time.”

“Yes. But was special because you did it. Smart Chieftain. And strong. Better than me. Better than Garen. Leader, not just Chieftain.”

The Hob looked calmly at Rags. She flushed at the unexpected compliment. She glanced around, feeling warm. That stupid fire was hot! Rags shook her head.

“Still not good enough. Not yet.”

“But learning. But change.”

“True.”

Rags glanced at Lord Pellmia. She could spot Gilam among the tired Humans. He looked miserable, which made her feel better. She emptied her bowl—she was hungry!—and stood, stretching. The Goblins of her tribe watched her. She looked at them and they nodded.

There was something in their gazes that had changed these last few days. No, these last weeks. She had led them against the Humans, fought off Bethal’s knights, defeated the [Emperor]. Led them. Pyrite was right. Now, more than ever, she was their Chieftain. It felt strange. Rags felt large, despite her small body.

And hot. She glanced about irritably. Had someone dumped all the spices in one pot again? No—it was the fire. She fanned herself and decided to walk out of range of the heat. Pyrite noticed.

“Hot?”

“From fire.”

Rags pointed north. Pyrite looked around and frowned.

“Fire? All fires downwind.”

“No. Fire there—”

Rags turned and stopped. Her finger was pointing north, towards the mountain. But there was no cook fire in front of her. But the heat was real. The heat and the sense that there was a…a fire nearby.

Slowly, Pyrite stood. He looked around and frowned. He sniffed the air, checked the direction of the wind. Then he looked at Rags.

“Something, Chieftain.”

“Yes.”

“Something north. I feel too.”

“You do?”

Confused, Rags glanced up at Pyrite. He nodded and squinted north.

“Brightness. Stars. Glowing gem. North.”

That wasn’t what Rags felt. She frowned.

“I feel fire.”

“Fire? No. Bright light. Like in dark tunnels far underground. See light.”

“No, fire. Hey, Redscar!”

Rags turned and waved her hands. Redscar looked up from feeding Thunderfur. He jogged over. Rags pointed north.

“Feel something? North?”

The Goblin frowned. He cast about, scratched his head, and then paused. Slowly, he nodded.

“Feels like…mountain. Like High Passes north.”

“High Passes?”

Rags glanced south, towards the actual High Passes, the eternal, gigantic mountain range. Redscar frowned as he tried to explain.

“Like tall mountain. Like…like stair up and see high mountain. Over there.”

He pointed. There was a mountain that way. Dwarfhalls Rest. But it was a lot smaller than any of the mountains of the High Passes. Barely more than a giant hill, really. Rags glanced around and then realized something.

All the Goblins could sense it. They were eating, chattering, or just lying down to sleep. But somehow, they were all facing north. And they kept glancing north, idly, as if looking for something.

And now Rags could feel it for a certainty. There was a burning north of her. A fire. But she could only see the empty grass, rocks, the road, and the black horizon line north of her. She frowned.

“Something that way. But what?”

Rags stared north. The wind blew in her hair, and a bit of dirt. She cursed and wiped her eyes. She was about to order Redscar to send a few riders north—then she remembered that the Humans would probably stop the Goblins. She glared at the black horizon line. And then she frowned.

Was the horizon…getting larger? It seemed that way. On the edge of vision, where the sky and land mixed, the world was black. But the black line was getting larger. And now the wind was blowing south and Rags felt more grit blowing into her face. She cursed, turned her head and felt it.

Fire. Her head turned back. And then she saw it. The line was moving. And it was no line in the sand. It was a bunch of bodies. Bodies wearing black armor.

Rags looked around. She saw the Humans stirring from their camp. Rags looked at Redscar and Pyrite. They were still frowning, trying to understand what they were sensing and feeling. But now Rags was sure. She kicked Pyrite.

“Hey!”

He looked at her. Rags pointed.

“Get tribe up! Move them!”

“Where?”

Redscar stared at Rags. She was scanning the landscape.

“There! East! Two hundred paces! Hurry!”

“Why?”

The two Goblins stared at her. Rags cursed.

“Just do! We’re in way! They come!”

“Who? Wh—”

Redscar demanded as Rags ran into her tribe, shouting orders. He stared back at the strange, moving line of bodies. Then his eyes widened. Not all the bodies were wearing black. Some were green. And then the distant shapes made sense.

It wasn’t a line. And it wasn’t one single thing that was coming towards them. Redscar saw a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand moving shapes. They were spread across the plains, moving at a run. So many that they filled the horizon, an unending mass of them.

Goblins.

 

—-

 

“Dead gods.”

Lord Pellmia and Kilmet rode their horses east, pursuing Rags’ tribe. They stared north. They had known what they were supposed to see, but nothing could have prepared them for the sight.

Goblins. Over a hundred thousand of them were running south. Goblins in black armor, Goblins without. Thousands of Hobs. Smaller Goblins. All running. Lord Pellmia felt his breath quicken as the ground seemed to fill with Goblin bodies.

They were far off. Miles away. But already, Lord Pellmia could hear the sound of approach. It sounded like distant thunder. He stared north and saw Kilmet’s face pale. Both men were thinking the same thing.

“I’ve not seen so many Goblins since the Second Antinium War. Pell, there are so many Goblins—”

“Steady, Kilmet. Steady. Company, we’re abandoning the Goblins! On me!”

The Humans started as Pellmia raised his voice. He kicked his warhorse. The animal was only too glad to get out of the way. It snorted and Pellmia calmed it with a hand. He rode east at the head of the company, out of the way of the Goblin migration. But he couldn’t help looking north with the others.

So many Goblins. It seemed as if there was no end to them. And Pellmia couldn’t quiet the shaking of his hands on his reins. He remembered a similar sight.

Millions of Goblins, following the Goblin King. Each army hundreds of thousands strong, led by Goblin Lords and Chieftains. Tens of thousands of Hobs. So many Goblins it seemed as though they could drown Izril in bodies. And at their head, the Goblin King, howling as he cut a hole through Humans, half-Elves, Drakes, Gnolls, Selphids and Lizardfolk and Dullahans and—

“Pell!”

Lord Pellmia heard Kilmet’s voice. He realized he was galloping. He forced himself to slow and turn. They were out of the way of the Goblins heading south. But so many. So many!

“They could sack practically every major city with an army this large. We don’t have walls on most of them. Invrisil would fall! Only First Landing would survive. That and maybe—”

Kilmet stared at the Goblins. Pellmia shook himself. He had to stay calm. He looked around.

“They’re coming. Keep an eye on the Goblin tribe we brought. If they make a break for it, we have to force them towards that lot.”

“And if the Goblins in front decide to charge us?”

Genviere had paused. She was looking pale as she studied the Goblin line approaching. Pellmia shook himself.

“If that happens, we’ll retreat. But we’re not alone. There should be guides—there!”

He pointed. Another group was raising a dust storm. A group of riders to the east and west was moving south, ahead of the Goblins. They were specks in front of the Goblin horde, but they had to be at least a thousand men strong. At least! And they were not Goblin. Pellmia gritted his teeth.

“This is all part of the plan. Steady. We’ve nearly completed his task.”

“All of this was his plan?”

Genviere looked at Pellmia. The [Lord] nodded. He scanned the horizon, not looking at the Goblins now, but for what he knew must be behind them. Lord Tyrion Veltras. All of this was his plan. He’d done it. This force had to be the Goblins from Dwarfhalls rest. He’d marched them south, as fast as Lord Pellmia had run Rags’ tribe. The Goblins of the Great Chieftain of the Mountain’s tribe. But not just them. The Goblin Lord’s army had been besieging the mountain. And Lord Tyrion had brought them too. He’d brought…

All of them.

 

—-

 

Rags stared as the horizon was filled with moving bodies. There were more Goblins than she’d ever seen in her life. And that was only the first rank. Goblins streamed towards them across the grassland, running down the road, others through the fields, trampling everything underfoot. Black armored Goblins ran in front, warriors wearing the iconic black armor of the Goblin Lord. And behind them?

Goblins. Green bodies, so many that they blended together. Crimson eyes, distant pinpricks of light at a distance. Rags found herself backing up. The Goblins were headed straight for them. She looked around and saw her tribe was transfixed.

“Pack up!”

Rags’ voice made the Goblins start. She shouted above the growing thunder of the Goblins moving towards them. She waved her arms and pointed.

“Pack! Get wagons moving!”

“Chieftain! Which way?”

Noears looked alarmed as he stared at the Goblins. Rags hesitated. She stared around and saw Lord Pellmia. His group had retreated far out of the path of the Goblins. She looked around. If they ran for it—

No, they were still too close. And Rags could see a glittering line of riders coming from their west. She hesitated, and then pointed south.

“South! Move slow! Pikes to rear!”

The Goblins moved to obey. They loaded the wagons and began to walk. Slowly. The Goblins with the twenty foot-long pikes ran to the rear. They didn’t quite aim them at the approaching Goblins, but Rags could sense the tension.

Was this Goblin force hostile? Why were they marching? Those were the Goblin Lord’s warriors, weren’t they? And that burning—Rags cast her glance north again.

It felt like a giant bonfire was moving towards her. She felt like she should be able to see it, a roaring pillar of flames coming ever closer. It made her nervous. But the fire wasn’t scary in itself. It actually felt warm. She felt alive. But she didn’t know why and that was the cause of her fear.

“Chieftain. Lots of Goblins. We fight? We run?”

Quietstab appeared at Rags’ left. She could see Poisonbite marshaling her group of warriors. Redscar had assembled his Redfangs and was glancing at the Goblins approaching them. Rags looked around for Pyrite. He was standing with his Hobs, glancing at her and then behind.

“Can’t run. Don’t want to fight.”

“Good.”

The Hob smiled nervously. Rags saw the Goblins around her shuffling forwards. She whistled for her Carn Wolf and it bounded over. Rags mounted and pointed.

“Walk! Walk!

Her tribe did. They stared back as the first row of Goblins in black armor finally came within close range. They were running, closer to running than a jog at any rate. The Goblins moved in a rolling wave, some forging ahead, others falling behind, but none daring to stop. Such was the momentum that any Goblin who tripped or fell would surely be trampled by the thousands behind them.

So many! Rags saw wagons, Hobs loaded with supplies, and pack animals by the hundreds, just like her tribe. She also saw a good number of Goblins were mounted. And—her blood chilled for a second—Shield Spiders. Large ones. Many scuttled ahead, given a wide berth by most of the Goblins, but some were large enough to ride. Rags saw Goblins in black armor sitting on their backs.

“Goblins coming!”

Raise pikes!

Pyrite bellowed an order. The first row of black Goblins wavered as they moved towards Rags’ tribe. They were clearly surprised to see more Goblins. They raised their weapons uncertainly as Rags’ rear line raised pikes. The Flooded Water tribe halted and the Goblins behind them froze.

They stared at the pikes. Twenty feet long and tipped by metal. The Goblins that held them were armored in scrap metal and Hobs stood behind them, armed with steel. Yes, the formation was one that was designed to slaughter most groups of cavalry, but if the Goblins charged, the pikes would do a pretty good job at impaling anything, really.

The Goblins in black armor hesitated. They eyed Rags’ forces and made a snap decision. They broke to the left and right of Rags as their comrades kept moving, splitting like a parting ocean in front of Rags’ tribe. Rags saw her Goblins looking around uncertainty, but the Goblins in black armor gave them a wide berth and made no move to envelop them.

They weren’t here for a fight. Rags felt a pang of relief. She looked back. More Goblins were following behind them, clearly as shocked to see another tribe just standing there. They too parted and Rags realized her tribe was like a rock in the middle of a river. She shouted, getting the attention of her tribe.

“March! Forwards, slow!”

Her Goblins turned. The ones with pikes shouldered their burden and the wagons began to move ahead. Slowly. It allowed Rags’ tribe to further enter the stream of Goblins. Her tribe glanced about, but now some began to shout and wave at the Goblins passing on either side. The other Goblins shouted back, and drew a bit closer.

“So many Goblins! From where?”

“From mountain. These are Goblin Lord tribe.”

“Not just them. Chieftain, I see Goblins. Mountain City tribe!”

“Where?”

Rags looked around. Quietstab pointed out a passing Hob he recognized. Rags hesitated. She’d expected to see the Goblin Lord’s forces, but Tremborag’s Goblins too? Had the Goblin Lord taken the mountain before the Humans had chased him away? Or was this…

The Goblin army wasn’t just warriors. There were children and Goblins who clearly weren’t warriors moving with the rest. They stumbled past Rags’ tribe, staring with wide eyes at the rested and comparatively healthy Goblins.

It was a stark contrast. These Goblins looked worn, practically dead on their feet. Rags watched the first wave of Goblins move past her position and eyed their speed. They didn’t have [Fleet Foot]. They were moving a lot slower. But they were still moving at a fast jog. Rags didn’t understand why, until she glanced behind her and saw the end of the winding Goblin migration. In the distance, the black line had changed to one of silver.

A glittering wave of [Riders] filled the horizon behind the Goblins. Thousands, tens of thousands of mounted Humans rode forwards, so many that Rags quailed to see them. Humans mounted and, Rags heard from the Goblins shouting at her tribe, countless more behind them. On foot.

“The Humans have made a huge army to crush Goblin Lord! Big army! Biggest! [Mages] and [Knights]! [Soldiers]! Gold-rank adventurers! And her! Kingslayer!

Rags’ heart skipped a beat as she heard Quietstab give a report. Her other lieutenants looked nervous. Kingslayer. Ellia Arcsinger, the slayer of the Goblin King. No wonder the Goblin Lord was running.

“Chieftain, what is plan?”

Pyrite looked at Rags. Goblins were streaming past their small tribe. And it was a small tribe. There were probably twenty…yes twenty Goblins for every one of Rags’. At least! Rags felt overwhelmed, but she squared her shoulders.

“What can we do? We march! Keep pace with rest, but don’t let others come near! Talk more! Redfangs, patrol right. Poisonbite’s warriors left side! Pyrite takes rear! Quietstab in front with Noears!”

“Yes, Chieftain!”

The other Goblins looked relieved. Rags wished she was certain in the orders she was giving. She got her wagons moving and sat in the center of her tribe, looking around restlessly.

None of the other Goblins was making a move on her tribe. But they knew there were others. Like before, chatter spread throughout the entire force of Goblins, only on a much larger scale. At first, just the news of another Goblin tribe was relayed, and then details about the tribe. It was hard to miss the Redfang Warriors mounted on Carn Wolves, and Rags herself stood out as the Chieftain. And when that information spread back through the lines of Goblins—

She first heard it as a roar that went through her bones. The Goblins around her froze. Then Rags saw the crowd of Goblins to the left part. She saw a huge shape looming above even the tallest Hobs. A gigantic figure with pale green skin from sitting in the darkness for so long. A massive, fat face. And a fat body. Really, all of him was fat. But there was so much.

Tremborag lumbered through the ranks of Goblins, a giant Hob, obscenely fat. His arms and legs were huge pillars that casually threw Goblins aside. He approached the Flooded Water tribe and stopped. His crimson eyes widened in surprise. They swept the ranks of Goblins, narrowing when he spotted Quietstab and the other Goblins formerly of his tribe. Then they stopped. He had found Rags.

“You.”

Tremborag’s voice was deep. Loud. He stared at Rags in shock as she turned her Carn Wolf to face him. The animal growled nervously. Tremborag’s eyes were wide with shock. Then his expression changed into a snarl.

You. Traitor!

He roared. The Goblins around Rags flinched. Tremborag lumbered forwards, his hands clenching into fists. And suddenly, his huge body wasn’t so flabby. Muscles seemed to grow out of fat and his skin tightened. Tremborag’s round face grew bestial and his teeth and claws lengthened. He loomed over Rags, moving towards her faster, faster.

This is your fault you traitor!

Tremborag howled. The Goblins around him fled as the Great Chieftain of the Mountain charged. Rags scrabbled for her sword. She saw the Goblins around her panicking, then heard a voice.

Pikes!

Pyrite roared as he pushed forwards. The enchanted battleaxe glowed in his hands. A group of Hobs charged forwards. Suddenly, there were two dozen Hobs between her and Tremborag. They hunkered down as Goblins with pikes charged forwards, screaming wildly. They set themselves and Tremborag was suddenly facing ten pikes aimed at his chest. His wild charge slowed. But he did not retreat. He swiped at the pikes, splintering one and throwing the Goblins holding another. He tried to advance, but Rags had recovered herself.

“Crossbows!”

The Goblins around her started. They raised their crossbows, aiming at Tremborag. Then the Great Chieftain’s arms tensed. He raised his hands in front of his face, but his eyes were burning hatred and his jaws were dripping with saliva. He roared and the Goblins flinched. Rags held up her hand, seeing Redscar charging left, flanking Tremborag with his warriors. She locked eyes with Tremborag, wavered—

And the sea of Goblins parted. A Goblin, a Hob on the back of a Carn Wolf, leapt over the heads of the Goblins. More riders charged out of the chaos. The Hob on wolf back charged towards Tremborag. He halted as he saw the confrontation. His gaze swept past Pyrite, found Rags. The Hob’s eyes widened in recognition.

Garen Redfang stopped and stared at Rags. She stared back. There he was. Tall and proud, carrying his famous red blade in one hand. He didn’t look as weary as the other Goblins and he still radiated strength. He was just as she had remembered him. But she wasn’t.

“Redfang!”

The cry went up from Garen’s right. He turned and Rags saw Redscar and his warriors appear out of the chaos. The warriors mounted on Carn Wolves were howling, ready to attack. But they froze as they saw Garen. They halted as one.

Redfang Warriors. His Redfangs. Only, they were of Rags’ tribe. They had betrayed him. Rags saw Redscar freeze up as he saw Garen. The true Chieftain of the Redfang tribe looked at his warriors and then at Rags.

“Rags.”

“Traitor!”

Tremborag spat. His body was halted in mid-transformation. He was raging, but even in his fury Tremborag was no idiot. He could see how many Goblins were between him and Rags’ tribe. He might be the biggest and most deadly Hob, but Rags had hundreds of Hobs, pikes, and crossbows aimed at his chest. Plus the Redfangs and Noears, who had a ball of lightning in one claw, ready to loose. Tremborag hesitated.

“I’ll break these pikes. You kill her, Redfang!”

Garen hesitated. He stared at Rags and his hand tightened over his blade. Rags reached for the crossbow on her back slowly. By her side, Quietstab and Poisonbite tensed. And then all the Goblins heard a voice.

Make way! Make way for Goblin Lord! Cease fighting!

It was a bellow, a surprisingly educated voice. Rags turned her head and saw another towering figure emerging from the ranks of the Goblins. This Hob wasn’t as large as Tremborag but he was all muscle, unlike the fat Great Chieftain. Eater of Spears parted the Goblins around him with his arms and then turned. A Goblin rode past him. A Goblin riding a horse. Her head was too large and her teeth were bared. They were silvery and grey, metallic. Snapjaw rode her mount in a tight circle, scattering the Goblins even further. And then a third Goblin appeared.

He appeared out of the crowd, seated at first. Only Rags couldn’t see what he was sitting on so it looked like he was just sitting on the air. Then she saw a huge black body, scuttling legs. The Goblins flinched as a Shield Spider, three times as large as a horse, scuttled out of the crowd. It was massive, a true giant of its kind.

And it was dead. Something or someone had torn the head off it. So what the Goblin was really riding was a headless corpse. The Shield Spider had taken grievous injuries in other places, so that part of its body was ripped open, exposing dark internal organs, rotted and putrid. But still the spider moved at the will of its master who sat on its back.

The Hob was thinner than Garen, not built as strongly. He was certainly not fat as Tremborag, and he could almost have passed for a Human if it weren’t for his green skin and pointed ears. His head turned as Snapjaw and Eater of Spears flanked him. A group of Hobs in black armor rushed forwards, putting themselves between the Hob and Tremborag and Garen. The spider rider saw Rags’ tribe and his eyes widened. He glanced at Tremborag and pointed.

“Split them.”

His voice was loud and he spoke in the common tongue! The Hobs rushed forwards at his command without question. Tremborag snarled and retreated. Garen whirled his wolf and rode back as the black-armored Goblins formed a line between them and Rags’ tribe. They completely ignored the pikes and other Hobs at their back. The Goblin stared at Tremborag.

“Begone.”

“You do not give me orders.”

Tremborag’s voice was barely controlled rage. The Hob ignored him. He looked at Garen. The Hob looked up with clear hatred in his eyes. Garen didn’t bother with a response. He just turned and rode back through the crowd. Rags saw the Goblins he’d brought with him—all with red fangs painted on their shoulders—turn to follow. Tremborag turned and bulled his way through the Goblins as well.

The Hob on the spider’s back watched him go. Then he turned. His gaze swept the Goblins of Rags’ tribe and they shuddered. Partly in fear, partly in longing. They stared at the Goblin on the spider’s back as if he shone. And he did. In their minds.

Rags stared too. The Hob’s eyes weren’t crimson like every other Goblin. They were black, with white pupils. She had never seen any Goblin with eyes like that. She shuddered. But then the black gaze moved towards her. Rags steeled herself and didn’t look away. She locked eyes with the Hob riding the undead spider.

The Goblin Lord stared at Rags and she met his eyes for the longest second in her life. Then his gaze flicked back. He looked up and frowned. Then the Goblin Lord pointed.

“The [Mages] have noticed. Clear the area!”

His voice sounded…normal. It wasn’t like a Goblin who’d learned to speak the common tongue, but like a native speaker’s. It wasn’t guttural or harsh or deep or…anything. It was just loud. But there was a reverberation to it. Power in his words. The Goblins around him rushed to obey and Rags saw her tribe moving away, obeying without thinking. She started as her Carn Wolf padded back and realized she was moving too! She jerked her Carn Wolf to a halt and looked up.

Something bright was falling from the sky. Rags stared at it as the Goblin Lord calmly rode his undead spider back. Rags’ eyes widened as the fiery thing resolved itself into falling meteors and fireballs, glowing orbs, and a rain of magical arrows. She turned her head and screamed.

Run!

The Goblins around her needed no encouragement. They raced out of the way as the spells fell. The first meteor struck the earth with a roar and sent up a plume of earth. Rags felt some of it land around her and heard more explosions.

The falling spells detonated as they struck the ground. Goblins fled as the [Mages] unleashed another volley, forcing them to run or die. Rags shouted for her tribe, trying to keep them together. Somehow, miraculously, they managed to escape the bombardment intact. The spells rained down for a minute, but only in the spot where Tremborag had been facing off against Rags’ forces. The Goblins moved forwards in a mass and Rags found her tribe caught up in the procession. She shouted, waving her arms, restoring their ranks.

“Keep moving! March in line! Keep other Goblins back!”

The Hobs reacted slowly to her commands, but they did get the job done in the end. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe shakily began marching, but they kept glancing back towards the spot where the Goblin Lord had been. So did Rags. She started as someone approached her from the side.

Pyrite. The battleaxe was on his shoulder. He stared back towards the destroyed craters in earth. Fire had spread to a few of the growing plants and the Goblins running past stomped on the flames before they could spread. The Hob shook his head as the Humans following the Goblins loosed another volley of spells and arrows, this time forcing the rear-most ranks of Goblins to hurry up or die. He glanced up at Rags and spoke quietly.

“That was Goblin Lord.”

“Yes.”

Rags looked for the Hob, but he had vanished into the mass of Goblins. She thought she could see Tremborag standing above the others and maybe the other huge Hob—Eater of Spears. But she wasn’t sure. She turned to Pyrite.

“Goblin Lord.”

“And Tremborag. And Redfang.”

“None died.”

That seemed wrong to Rags. Garen had sworn he would oppose the Goblin Lord. And Tremborag had seemed just as adamant, for all he was content to hide in his mountain. Why weren’t they fighting?

The Humans. They were chasing the Goblins. And they were willing to blast the Goblins apart to keep them moving. It didn’t explain everything, but it explained enough. Rags glanced ahead. The Goblins were marching. They’d never really stopped. They looked tired, but Rags was sure they wouldn’t stop until nightfall.

Everything was different, but some things were the same. Rags took a few steadying breaths. She didn’t know what was happening. But she could guess and she knew that she was relatively safe for the moment. She had to move her tribe. So with that in mind she turned to Pyrite.

“We march again. Pyrite, take rear. Don’t let other Goblins get close.”

The Hob eyed her.

“What you do?”

“Same thing as yesterday.”

Rags slid from her saddle. She gritted her teeth in determination. Pyrite looked concerned.

“Wise, Chieftain?”

“Can’t stay in back. Get lost or trampled. Hey! Follow!”

Rags waved her arms. The Goblins around her stared. Her tribe looked shocked as Rags jogged ahead. But then they followed. They broke into a jog, and then a run. Rags saw the Goblins ahead of them turn and part ways in surprise. The Flooded Water tribe ran past them, accelerating, faster, faster.

She had a Skill. Her tribe had a Skill. The other Goblins did not. They stared as her Goblins zoomed past them, heads held high. They shouted as they ran. The Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe, from the Goblin Lord’s army looked back in alarm and surprise. They fell back, moved out of the way.

Rags’ tribe surged forwards, moving faster than the rest. The weary Goblins stared as the small Chieftain running ahead. Their eyes followed her. So did Garen’s. Tremborag spat as he forced his burning legs to move. And Reiss stared in curiosity at Rags’ back. She could feel his gaze there, but she didn’t turn. Rags ran at the head of a hundred thousand Goblins, seeing the Humans racing ahead of her to guide the Goblins. And she had to wonder where they were going. And why.

 

—-

 

Lord Tyrion Veltras was busy. He stood at the heart of a ring of people, all of whom wanted to speak to him. [Mages] bearing messages, [Messengers] with the same, [Scouts], officers with questions or issues that required his attention, and not least the nobility. There were a number of [Lords] and [Ladies] and [Servants] who had come on behalf of their masters to speak with him. Tyrion dealt with it all coldly and calmly.

“Recheck the supplies for spoiled goods. Have the [Quartermaster] in charge of that section replaced and administer punishment. If necessary, find more supplies at the next village we pass. Tell Lady Faima that the soldiers are not hers to order about. If she requires a bath, perhaps she should seek it in a town and stop following this force. Or she may have her servants draw it for her. But her personal soldiers are under my command for the duration of this campaign and I will have her respect that. Sir Niels, resolve your grudge with Sir Vecle later. I won’t have duels of honor in my camp. Lord Bhors—”

Lord Pellmia stood at the back of the gathering. He watched as Tyrion efficiently reduced the number of people circling about him. The nobility he dealt with brusquely in most cases, while he devoted the most time to problems concerning the army. It was really a matter of him deciding what action to take. In most cases, the other [Lords] and officers he’d appointed could handle the details. Soon, Lord Pellmia could step forwards. He did not.

It didn’t take Tyrion long to spot him either way. The younger [Lord] waved aside a [Mage] with a stack of transcribed messages for him.

“I’ll review them in my tent. The rest of you, leave us. Lord Pellmia, I congratulate you on your efficiency.”

“You’re too kind, Veltras.”

The two men found themselves alone. The evening light shone into Pellmia’s eyes so he turned sideways. Tyrion had the sun at his back. It was nearly night. Tyrion’s forces were already camped and the Goblins were sitting in their own camp. The campfires and distant shapes were still a huge mass, but Pellmia had grown slightly used to looking at them. He couldn’t even tell where the tribe he’d been shepherding had gone.

“It seems you’ve won our second bet. I will of course honor it. My stores are yours to peruse when we return from the campaign. Or if you have a preference, inform my [Majordomo].”

Tyrion didn’t waste time on small talk. Pellmia inclined his head politely.

“I will. And I thank you, Veltras. But I’m afraid I can take little credit for the Goblin’s arrival. They moved fast. I have no idea how you managed to force so many to march this far without a Skill.”

“It’s been a challenge. But hardly an impossible one. Arcsinger’s Skills have aided with the task. As have the [Mages]. We are on schedule, however. With your success, we have all the Goblins in the same spot. Now all that remains is to keep moving them. I intend to reassign the riders under your command to interception duty. Lord Pellmia, it’s my opinion that you would be well suited towards the left flank. I have Gralton and several [Captains] in joint command, but none of them have the right temperament to take control of the entire wing—”

“Veltras.”

Tyrion broke off. Lord Pellmia cleared his throat. He felt weary and unhappy, but this needed to be said. He inclined his head to the younger Lord Tyrion. They had to have, what, twenty years of difference between them? It felt like a century today. Pellmia kept his voice as formal as he could as he spoke.

“Lord Tyrion Veltras. I regret to inform you that…I can no longer aid you in your task. My men are yours. But I have not the stomach for this anymore. I resign my command.”

Pellmia stood straight as he spoke. He waited for Lord Tyrion to speak. But the Lord just looked at him. Tyrion stroked his beard, looked Pellmia up and down, and spoke curtly.

“I heard a report from one of my people. You engaged the Goblins in the forest. They set a forest fire. Your son was nearly killed.”

Of course he knew. Pellmia nodded slowly.

“They could have killed my boy. They didn’t. I don’t know why, but he lives. He lives and that—that’s enough. I will be returning to my estates. With Gilam.”

Tyrion lifted one eyebrow.

“So suddenly? The boy was in danger, but he is a warrior. Or do you mean to shield him forever?”

“He’s young. And doesn’t understand how close to death he came. He is young, but a fool. I think…”

Pellmia’s throat closed.

“…I think my legacy is more uncertain than I would have liked to hope. My son is not the man I hoped he would be. He might be, but I refuse to risk him any further.”

“I see. However, you need not leave, Lord Pellmia. A man of your level is hard to come by. I would consider a personal favor if you stayed. This business with the Goblins—they killed good men and women. There’s little to thank them for.”

“I know. But they spared my son. The Chieftain did, Veltras. She could have shot him through the head. She did not. I can’t forget that.”

“And you’d halt your campaign for that?”

Tyrion looked uncomprehending as he shook his head. Pellmia nodded. He wondered what his peers would say. He wondered what his wife—he shook his head again.

“I apologize, but my mind is made up.”

This time Lord Tyrion visibly sighed. He drummed his fingers on his forearm and then looked up.

“I need as many [Lords] as possible. Lord Pellmia, if you won’t take part in the cavalry’s movements, could I at least persuade you to take charge of the foot? The infantry are struggling to keep up and your Skills would be invaluable there.”

That surprised Pellmia. He hesitated.

“But my son—”

“He would be quite safe in the rear. I could station him under the command of my adjutants. They have some of the younger [Lords] in check.”

Tyrion watched Pellmia’s expression closely. Lord Pellmia grimaced, rubbed at his face, and then nodded abruptly.

“I accept. Thank you, Lord Tyrion.”

“It is I who should thank you. Regardless of any incidents, you’ve done what I asked. I would be honored if you joined my table at tonight’s dinner.”

“I shall. And I shall leave you to your work. Until later, Veltras.”

Lord Pellmia walked back. Tyrion watched the older man go, and then made a note to inform his people about the change. He glanced at the Goblins in their camp and shook his head. Lord Pellmia lost his nerve? That was unthinkable, or it should have been. The man had fought the Goblin Lord with distinction. Was he that concerned for his son? Or had the Goblin Chieftain shaken him that much?

For a moment Tyrion wondered, then he put it out of his mind. He beckoned one of his [Mages] over. She had been screening his conversation with Pellmia, preventing anyone from listening in. Tyrion spoke curtly as she approached.

“Jericha, we’re on schedule. Send word to Emperor Godart. Tell him—no, inquire if he will be able to fulfill his side of the bargain on time. And have Lord Pellmia take charge of the infantry. Move Yitton Byres and Lord Erill up to the front. I want the supply wagons moving as fast as they can to catch up.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The [Mage] stepped back. Tyrion glanced around. He was alone for a moment. He stared back at the Goblin camp. Over a hundred thousand of them sat in the darkness, around fires, eating, moving about tiredly. Tyrion grimaced. He looked up as Jericha returned. Magus Genviere was with her. She bowed politely and Tyrion nodded.

“Magus Genviere, I appreciate your support of Lord Pellmia.”

“It was mildly eventful. May I take it that the operation was a success?”

“You may. And now that the Goblins are in place…the Chieftains have kept their tribes together. But they’re no longer needed. We only require the Goblin Lord.”

“Really.”

Genviere’s eyes flashed with interest. Tyrion nodded. He glanced at Jericha, who was watching Genviere warily. Between the two, Genviere was the better [Mage]. But Jericha was more loyal—the [High Mage] worked with Lord Erill, but she wasn’t his, just an ally of convenience.

An important distinction, that. The tension between the two also probably came from the fact that Jericha hadn’t studied at Wistram. She’d learned from the mage’s academy in First Landing. It mattered little to Tyrion as Jericha was one of the best spellcasters he employed, but it was everything between [Mages].

At last, Jericha looked at Lord Tyrion.

“The incident on the march seemed to be due to the new Chieftain. Lord Veltras, it appears that the ah, Great Chieftain and Goblin Lord both took an interest in this Chieftain.”

Tyrion raised one eyebrow.

“Interesting. In that case, monitor the camp. I won’t tolerate the Goblins slaughtering each other before I can use them. But if there are tensions, I want to be aware of them.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The [Mages] bowed. Tyrion turned his attention back to the camp as they left. He stared at the Goblins in distaste. It would be so easy to attack them. But not yet. Just a little longer, a little longer…his hand clenched.

He’d been waiting a long time for a chance like this. And he refused to let it pass him by. So Tyrion waited. Another night fell as the Humans got to work, monitoring the Goblins, much as things had been the last few nights. But in the Goblin camp there was chaos. Tyrion thought of Goblins much as the same people, but you couldn’t suddenly add in a new tribe without consequences. And given that it was Rags’ tribe, the effects were large indeed.

 

—-

 

Chaos. That was all Rags could see when the Humans finally had the Goblins halt. There were so many Goblins milling about that she thought they’d never get anything done. But to her surprise, the Goblins got their camp ready in good time. Not as quickly as her tribe of course, but faster than so many Goblins had every right to be.

And oh, it told Rags everything she needed to know. You could summarize the entire situation in a glance just by looking at the camps at night. The Humans camped behind the Goblins , the smaller camps encircling the Goblin’s position and flashes of light from constant patrols—and the Goblin camp itself. Or rather, the camp of two sides. Three, if you counted Rags’ tribe.

The largest camp was arranged in a tight circle. Large tents were set up, and Goblins moved in lines, eating, using the latrines, sleeping, and so on. And not a stone’s throw away was a mess of tents and Goblins sleeping out in the open. They were cheek-by-jowl next to each other, but the two sides were clearly sides.

Hobs and armed Goblins stood, at the edge of each camp, glaring at each other. But they didn’t fight. There was no fighting in either camp, except for squabbles over food. Rags had been on guard, but none of the Goblins had tried to start anything with her tribe either.

Strangely, there was peace there, despite the separate factions. The threat of the Human army made infighting a stupid idea. Plus, the [Mages] would actively bombard any group of Goblins that fought against each other, discouraging conflict even more. So the camp was at peace. But there was an undercurrent, a tension running throughout all the Goblins. They weren’t one people. They weren’t united.

There were factions. Rags could sense it, a confusing tug-of-war between the various sides. It was like being trapped in—in a current. Like the ones Liscor had when it rained. Rags had never seen the ocean, but she had swum in those waters. They were constantly being sucked downwards, disappearing into the earth. Every Goblin learned to read the currents when they dove or be drowned, sucked into some deep crevasse. The camp felt much like those waters.

The Goblin Lord was obviously the biggest pull. Rags could feel him nearby, like a bonfire’s heat just out of sight. But the pull from Tremborag was very strong too. She could even sense Garen’s presence, and some of the other Chieftains. A lot of them were with Tremborag and they were holding the Goblin Lord’s pull at a stalemate.

Still, the balance was fraught and ever-changing. As Rags stood in her camp she could see Goblins scurrying around. Reiss’ war camp was organized, rows of military tents set up like a Human army. Tremborag’s faction was a mess by comparison, but very Goblin-like in that regard. Armed Goblins stood watch on the edges of both camps, but a surprising number of Goblins went back and forth between camps.

“Lots of Goblins moving between camps. Some come to ours.”

Quietstab’s voice made Rags turn. Their camp was on the edge of the other two, like a strange new growth. As of yet it wasn’t part of the entire hubbub so Goblins had yet to readily enter their camp, but Rags could see several groups looking at her neat setup and cooking Goblins with clear interest. She pointed to the outskirts of her camp, which was marked by a clear stretch of grass about four feet wide.

“Keep some Hobs on edges of camp.”

Quietstab nodded. He’d figured out what Rags had.

“Not to let Goblins go?”

Rags turned her head.

“No. To not let them come in.”

The Hob blinked. He looked questioningly at Rags, but she was already moving past him, waving at Poisonbite. Quietstab scratched his head, but went to do what Rags had ordered. And she was right.

Before their camp had even been fully erected, the Hobs on the edges of the camp stopped several groups of Goblins varying in size—one a family of four, another nearly a hundred strong—from entering the camp. They seemed confused why they couldn’t enter. Some tried to bribe the Hobs with food they were carrying or showed willingness to do tasks, but they were turned away in the end.

It was strange behavior. Definitely odd for Goblins who usually lived and died by their tribe. But so many competing Chieftains and a Goblin Lord had created the most unusual of circumstances. Noears summarized it best as he ate with Rags and her officers. Today’s dinner was horse. Not all horse, but that was a definite component. Rags felt slightly bad, but the white mare had broken a leg in the chaos and that was that. Noears nibbled at his fried meat and gestured at the Goblins still trying to get into the camp.

“Those are not-loyal Goblins. Bounce between factions. Want best food, most protection. Caught between strong Chieftain. And Goblin Lord.”

“Not loyal. Cowardly. Run to biggest Goblin to hide behind.”

Poisonbite scowled darkly. She’d been wary all day, especially given how many of Tremborag’s Goblins were marching around her. They’d recognized their friends in Rags’ tribe and not been happy. Only the ban on fighting had prevented some unpleasant confrontations.

Redscar nodded. He was feeding his Carn Wolf. He paused as he stared past the aimless Goblins being blocked by Hobs. A few of the Goblins waiting in the back looked like warriors. They had red paint on their bodies. He pointed at them.

“Some are Redfangs. Want to talk. Should let in.”

“Garen’s Redfangs.”

Quietstab corrected Redscar. The other Goblin glowered at him.

“Redfangs are Redfangs. Not like other Goblins.”

He glanced around for support and got only a brief nod from Pyrite, which was probably only for politeness’ sake. Rags saw Noears gulp down his meat and then look at her curiously.

“Why not let other Goblins in, Chieftain? Get more food, supplies. And hands. They help, do things for tribe.”

She grunted irritably.

“And spy. Let none in. Not even Redfangs.”

Redscar looked indignant.

“Goblins do not spy. Redfangs do not.”

“Then talk outside camp. Or will you go to Garen camp?”

Rags looked up and met Redscar’s eyes. The Goblin paused and the others froze as they stared at him and Rags. Redscar glanced at the other Redfang Warriors behind him and slowly shook his head.

“We chose you. Chieftain.”

He met Rags’ eyes. She nodded slowly, not apologizing. She had to know. She glanced back towards her Hobs and then stood up.

“Uh oh. Bad thing.”

The other Goblins looked over and then stood up. A group of Goblins had gathered outside the edge of the camp. And these ones weren’t opportunistic Goblins. They were Tremborag’s Goblins. A few of the high-ranking Hobs and their warriors were facing off with Rags’ Hobs. And both sides were armed.

“Traitors!”

The Goblins of the Mountain City tribe howled and raised their weapons. They were angry, pointing at their former comrades. One threw a rock at Poisonbite. The others stepped forwards, brandishing their weapons. There were a lot of them and they looked ready to attack. Rags instantly snapped an order.

“Crossbows!”

The Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe didn’t look afraid. They outnumbered the Goblins around Rags. Then they saw hundreds of Goblins behind Rags grab crossbows and aim it at them. The Goblins turned and fled back towards their camp.

“No shoot! Get crossbows behind Hobs! And keep other Goblins back! No Goblin gets in, no Goblin goes out!”

Rags shouted at the Hobs, who grunted and nodded. Pyrite looked around, eying the other camps.

“Have to talk sometime, Chieftain.”

“Not now! Not to them. Will talk soon. We wait for him.”

“Him?”

Poisonbite looked confused. Rags glanced at Pyrite. The Hob nodded. Of course he would be here soon. Tremborag? Possibly not. But Garen Redfang wasn’t patient. Or afraid of confrontation.

Sure enough, it was only an hour later that Rags heard a commotion again. This time she didn’t get a chance to get to the front. Garen Redfang ignored the Hobs standing guard. He rode his Carn Wolf down on a pair of them and kicked the female in the face while his Carn Wolf knocked over the male. He rode straight into the camp with his warriors spreading out behind him. Goblins backed up as Redfang looked around. He bellowed one word that made both camps go silent for a second.

Rags!

And then she was there. Rags strode forwards, unarmed, Pyrite, Redscar, Quietstab, and Poisonbite at her back. Noears was having violent diarrhea somewhere else. Garen stared down at Rags. His eyes narrowed.

“You betrayed me.”

Rags sighed. It wasn’t like Goblins did small talk anyways. She looked up at Garen and raised her voice.

“I betrayed no one. I took my tribe from mountain. It was bad place. Not-Goblin place!”

Garen snarled. His Carn Wolf growled loudly, and the smaller Carn Wolves backed away as the alpha wolf bared its teeth.

“You stole my warriors! My Redfangs!”

Rags folded her arms.

“They came with me. Your fault. You let Goblins rape Human women. You gave tribe to Tremborag. I was your Chieftain. Not him.”

“They were my warriors!”

Garen howled. He had a hand on his sword. The Goblins around him tensed. But Rags just shook her head. She felt…bad. Not bad as in scared or upset. Just disappointed. She’d wondered what Garen’s reaction would be. And it was everything she’d thought. He was just how she remembered. But she was not.

“You lost them, Redfang. Not me. They followed me because you were poor Chieftain. Ask Redscar.”

She stepped to one side. Garen turned his burning gaze to the Goblin who was studying his feet with interest. He growled a word, a note of betrayal.

“Redscar.”

“Garen.”

At last, Redscar looked up at Garen. The two locked eyes. Garen leaned forwards over his Carn Wolf. Redscar’s own wolf, Thunderfur, slunk over, growling at Garen’s wolf. The two stared at each other for a long moment. The Redfang Warriors behind Garen and the ones in Rags’ camp stared between the two Goblins. At last, Redscar spoke.

“That was not Goblin. You told us.”

“I told you to obey. We fought Goblin Lord! Tremborag’s Goblins are them. We leave them be. Deal with it!”

Garen shouted at Redscar. The Goblin gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“What about pride? What about Redfangs? We are warriors, not—that!”

He pointed scornfully at Tremborag’s camp. Garen growled.

“You betrayed me. You are not Redfang.”

Redscar’s eyes blazed. He slapped his chest and raised his voice.

“I am Redfang! I led tribe! I fought! What did former Chieftain do? Hide in mountain? Hurt Human females? Chieftain was coward! Not-Goblin! Rags was better Chieftain than Garen could be!”

The Redfang Warriors roared. The ones around Garen surged forwards. Garen unsheathed his blade. His Carn Wolf crouched—and then stopped. So did Garen. He stared down at the glowing, fiery battleaxe whose edge was inches away from his Carn Wolf’s nose.

“What?”

“This is an axe.”

Pyrite casually held the battleaxe in front of Garen’s Carn Wolf. The Hob stared up at Garen. Then he pointed a thumb. Garen turned his head.

Dozens of Goblins with crossbows were aimed at him. And Goblins with pikes were set up, ready to pincushion Garen and his warriors. Garen looked around and saw Rags.

“Beat you once. Strategy or not.”

She shrugged.

“Try again. Go on.”

Garen didn’t. He glared around, hand tight on his blade, but slowly sheathed it. He looked down at Rags in disgust, completely ignoring Redscar.

“This is your fault. Humans chased from mountain. Goblin Lord here. Should die.”

“Didn’t look bad to me.”

Rags countered, although that was half a lie. She still shuddered to remember the Goblin Lord’s unnatural eyes. And she’d seen more undead lurching around in his army. But Pisces had been a [Necromancer]. And his Goblins didn’t look any worse for wear than Tremborag’s forces. She glared up at Garen.

“You told me Goblin Lord was evil. Used undead. Treated Goblins bad. Was that a lie?”

“He is a slave. He betrayed kind.”

Garen hissed at Rags. He seemed serious. And he was a bad liar. Rags considered this.

“Didn’t look bad.”

“You know nothing! He is slave! Ask! He raises undead! He has master! He is not-Goblin!”

Garen shouted at Rags. He pointed to the camp and his voice was loud enough to be heard by everyone.

“The Goblin Lord is a traitor! He betrayed kind!”

“Like Garen betrayed his tribe?”

Rags stared up innocently at Garen. His eyes bulged. He made a strangled noise and nearly drew his sword again. At the last moment he caught himself. He stared at Rags and turned.

“This is not over.”

He turned and rode his Carn Wolf out of her camp. His Redfang Warriors followed, glaring at their comrades in Rags’ camp. Rags watched Garen ride back to Tremborag’s faction. She could see the Great Chieftain sitting there. His face was turned to her, but as she looked over he turned away and began eating.

“Fun.”

Poisonbite scowled and sheathed her poisoned daggers. She stomped away now that the threat of violence was done with. Rags just wiped her forehead. She looked at Redscar, who was scowling at the ground.

“Alright?”

“No.”

He looked up and at Rags. There was pain in his eyes. Rags nodded. She left Redscar behind as the other Redfangs clustered around him. The other Goblins dispersed, clearly shaken by the confrontation.

Noears staggered towards Rags, clutching his bottom. She wrinkled her nose and backed up. The [Mage] gave her a pale grin.

“Chieftain, bad? Fight?”

“Not now. You go poo there.”

Rags pointed back to the latrines. Noears nodded gratefully and shuffled off. Rags backed away and decided to check the horse meat again. She was just finishing and wondering if it was time to sleep—after all, they’d be marching tomorrow—when she heard the sound of Goblins chanting. She turned.

Redfang!

The Goblins in Tremborag’s faction were shouting. Not many of them—barely a thousand or so. They were shouting one word. Redfang. Rags didn’t hear Garen’s voice, but the Goblins shouted again and again.

Redfang! Redfang!

It was clearly a provocation. Rags saw the warriors in her camp stir. They formed into their own group and began shouting back.

Redfang!

The same word, a different meaning. The Carn Wolves began to howl as Rags’ Redfang Warriors shouted and stomped. Redscar led them, shouting angrily at Garen’s warriors. The Goblins fell silent for a second, and then came back with another chant.

Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Redfang! Ga-ren!

The Redfang Warriors in Rags’ camp faltered. They stopped chanting. The ones in Tremborag’s camp kept shouting Garen’s name until a [Mage] from the Human camp threw a ball of air that exploded overhead. Then all the Goblins slept in silence.

Rags lay down and slept uneasily. She didn’t know what to make of Garen. Or Tremborag. She didn’t feel safe, but she didn’t want to be the first one to attack. And she could still sense it, practically on top of her now. A roaring flame. A burning sensation. Fire, bright and beautiful, close enough to touch. Alluring in the darkness. But—putrid? No, not entirely. But something foul mixed into the flames. A foul smell that was feeling rather than scent. Rags wrinkled her nose. But the fire was still glorious.  She raised her head and looked across the camp. She could not see him, but she knew he was there. And he knew her.

The Goblin Lord.

 

—-

 

Day 7

 

It was the same and not the same. This time the horns blew and [Mages] blasted sound spells over the Goblin camp. It was definitely a rough start, but Rags’ tribe was used to the routine now. So were the other Goblins. They were up and moving, eating on the go before the sun was even risen.

Rags had a system now. She declined to lead her tribe seeing as the Humans now set the pace. Instead, she had the wagons all set up. Since they were actually moving slower now, given that the Goblin Lord and Tremborag both lacked movement Skills, she could burden the wagons a bit more and let the Hobs lend their strength to the job.

Now her [Cooks] were making food on the wagons’ back. And Rags had set up a mobile rest room on the wagons so Goblins could do their business without having to catch up. It was a glorious invention hampered only by the smelly poo that other Goblins had to avoid. She even had a wagon for Goblins to sleep on, and she had to assign several Hobs to keep Goblins from other factions from climbing on.

Her tribe marched at the front of the sea of Goblins. Rags didn’t want to get near Tremborag or Garen, who were closer to the back. But that put her closer to the Goblin Lord’s army. And while the black-armored Goblins gave them space, it was only a matter of time before something happened.

As it turned out, it was Pyrite and Redscar who were at the front when it occurred. Both were on the right side of Rags’ tribe, talking. Redscar was disconsolate after his encounter with his former Chieftain, and Pyrite was lending him an ear. It was mainly Redscar talking and Pyrite offering a word or two now and then. Or a grunt.

The two were keeping an eye on the ranks of Goblins in black armor. They saw the shift in the movement of the Goblins and broke off speaking quickly. Then Pyrite saw the black goblins start to advance and recognized the huge Hob that pushed his way forwards. Eater of Spears appeared on the front and Redscar cursed.

“They’re coming.”

Pikes!

Pyrite roared. Goblins with pikes rushed forwards, setting themselves up. All around them, the other Goblins screamed and moved back. Pyrite kept the Goblins moving, but now there was a wall of pikes between them and the Goblin Lord’s army. He could see more Goblins moving forwards and heard Rags calling out orders as she repositioned her forces. And then—

It was like light in the darkness. Like the light of the sky after the time Pyrite had gotten lost in the caves for two days. The light of gemstones. A glorious light. A terrible light. A wondrous thing he couldn’t explain. Glorious—but dark. There was something tainted. But it was beautiful.

Pyrite saw the Goblins in front of him stir. He felt something seize hold of his heart. He saw the black bodies part. And a Hob rode forwards on the back of the undead Shield spider.

There he was. His black eyes shone as the Goblins fell back in front of them. They couldn’t help it. Pyrite and Redscar stared up at the Hob riding the undead Shield Spider. They felt it too. An urge to move aside.

It was different from Tremborag. He had commanded them to kneel. But that had been an order. This was different. As Reiss rode forwards, the Goblins stepped aside, staring at him, not even realizing what they were doing. They looked up not in fear, but with awe.

Here rode a Goblin Lord. His black gaze swept the Goblins. And not even Rags’ warriors could meet his eye. They parted for him automatically, the pikes lowering as the Goblin Lord rode slowly forwards. All but two. Redscar and Pyrite held their ground, but wavered as the Goblin Lord came closer.

Redscar’s legs began to move. He reached down and pulled out a dagger. He stabbed himself in the leg, grunting. Thunderfur whined and Redscar clung to him. He glared up at the Goblin Lord.

And Pyrite? The Hob looked up and closed his eyes. He felt the Goblin approaching. That brilliant light grew brighter in his mind and he felt the urge to obey. Here was something wondrous. Powerful. Greater than him.

But. It was not the first time he had seen that light. And as Pyrite opened his eyes, he met the Goblin Lord’s eyes. He looked up at the Hob riding the headless, undead spider and spoke a word.

“Small.”

The Goblin Lord blinked down at him. Behind him rode Snapjaw and Eater of Spears trudged on his other side. He looked at Pyrite and then decided he’d heard the Hob wrong. He glanced past Pyrite and tried to ride forwards.

Pyrite casually lifted the battleaxe. The Goblin Lord stopped and stared down at him.

“This is an axe.”

Redscar grinned. The Goblin Lord didn’t get the joke. He looked at Pyrite and then glanced at Eater of Spears. The gigantic Hob stepped forwards. He and Pyrite appraised each other for a long second. Pyrite wondered if he could beat Eater of Spears. He did a few calculations that involved him getting thumped on the head repeatedly, and then heard a voice.

“Pyrite.”

The Hob turned. Rags rode past him. Pyrite lowered his battleaxe. Rags’s Carn Wolf stepped past him and Eater of Spears moved back. The Goblin Lord looked down. He and Rags stared at each other as Rags’ warriors and the Goblin Lord’s army faced each other in silence. Pyrite was ready for anything. But after a long minute, the Goblin Lord smiled.

“I am Reiss. Goblin Lord. I would know your name, brave Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe.”

Rags blinked. She stared at the Goblin Lord in surprise. Then she raised her voice.

“I am Rags! Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe! Why do you come, Goblin Lord?”

Her question seemed to surprise Reiss. He looked at her.

“Why? Because your tribe shines. Because it is good. Because you and I—”

He touched his chest.

“—are Goblins. We are kin. And I would help you and have you help me. The Humans pursue us both. But are we enemies?”

He looked at Rags. The smaller Goblin folded her arms.

“Maybe.”

Reiss tilted his head.

“Why do you believe that?”

Rags shrugged.

“You are slave. You hurt own Goblins. You are not real Goblin Lord. Is what other Goblins say.”

There was a cry of outrage from Snapjaw. The Goblin Lord’s warriors growled and shouted in protest. Pyrite blinked at the unexpected denial. And Reiss? He laughed.

It was such a peaceful, happy sound. Reiss laughed and leapt from the back of his Shield Spider. He landed lightly. Rags stared at him from the back of his Carn Wolf. Reiss walked forwards and Pyrite tensed, but the Goblin Lord didn’t attack. He walked next to Rags.

“We must keep moving. The Humans will attack my people if we do not move.”

He pointed to the rear where the Goblins had halted due to the confrontation. Rags glanced in that direction and frowned.

“Those are Tremborag Goblins. Not yours.”

“They are Goblins. My people. They should not die.”

Reiss looked at Rags. She blinked and then slowly nodded. She pointed.

“Move out!”

Her tribe began moving. Reiss pointed and his army did the same. Rags expected him to get back on his Shield Spider, but to her surprise it began to shuffle back into the line of Goblins. Reiss started walking. He glanced up at Rags.

“Will you walk with me, Chieftain Rags? My warriors will pull back. Snapjaw, Eater, return and wait for me.”

“But Reiss—”

Snapjaw protested, but Reiss shook his head. Eater of Spears pulled her gently back and they disappeared into the crowd. Rags hesitated.

Now would be the time to kill the Goblin Lord. If she were Garen. But she had real reason to doubt Garen’s words. Especially now. She looked at the Goblin Lord. Then she shrugged and leapt from the back of her Carn Wolf.

“No walk. Will jog.”

“True.”

Reiss began to jog. Rags ran with him. The two moved ahead as the other Goblins gave them a wide berth. It was strange. Reiss ran naturally, breathing steadily. Rags had to run harder to keep up. She didn’t know what to say to him. He wasn’t like what she expected. She had thought he would be a monster. But he wasn’t. He had black eyes, but everything else about him was normal. Friendly, even.

“I don’t hurt my tribe.”

Reiss spoke first. He looked at Rags seriously.

“They fight for me. Die for me. And I lead them. Sometimes poorly. But I don’t mistreat them.”

Rags shrugged noncommittally.

“You make them undead.”

She pointed to a group of zombies rapidly shuffling to keep up. They were given a wide berth by other Goblins. Reiss nodded.

“That is true. But I am a [Necromancer]. I raise the dead. The Goblins who died fight for me. So other, living Goblins won’t die. I would let them rest if I could, but I cannot. Is that wrong?”

“No.”

Rags conceded the point. This was strange! Reiss actually sounded sad. And his voice—Rags peered up at his eyes again.

“Are you slave, though?”

This time, Reiss hesitated. He looked at Rags and then glanced behind her. She knew Garen and Tremborag were behind them. She could vaguely sense them too. Although they were embers to the Goblin Lord’s fire.

“Who told you that? Garen Redfang? Tremborag?”

“Maybe. Is true?”

“True. And false. I have a master. But…

Reiss!

Rags turned. She heard a shout and the sounds of fighting. She turned and saw Snapjaw and Eater of Spears crashing back towards them. Pyrite swung his battleaxe, but too slow. Garen parried the blow and charged towards Reiss.

His eyes blazed. He swung his blade up as he charged the Goblin Lord. Reiss had stopped. He watched Garen charge him. His hands turned black with magic and he pointed.

A bolt of black energy shot from his hands. Garen dodged in his saddle. He roared and his Carn Wolf leapt. Rags shouted as Garen swung his sword down, ready to cut. She raised her hand. Reiss and Garen were aiming at each other—

And Rags blew fire into the Carn Wolf’s snout. The wolf howled and leapt back. Garen sliced, but he was too far. Reiss shot another bolt of energy at Garen and the other Hob blocked it.

There was a commotion. Pyrite charged forwards, covering Rags. Redscar and his Redfangs formed a circle around Rags and Reiss. But then Snapjaw and Eater of Spears were charging them with the Goblins in armor and Garen was getting up, murder in his eyes—

Stop.

It was Reiss’ voice who halted the violence before it could begin. All the Goblins paused, even Garen. The Hob looked around as the other Goblins aimed their weapons at him. Reiss’ voice was cold.

“Garen.”

He looked at Rags and shook his head.

“You knew Garen Redfang, didn’t you? He told you I was evil. Not a Goblin.”

“Yes.”

Rags looked between Garen and Reiss. Garen Redfang was staring at Reiss with hatred in his eyes. And when the Goblin Lord looked back, there was sorrow in his. He shook his head.

“True and not true. He called me a slave. I have a master. But I am no slave.”

“You are not Goblin!”

Garen shouted at Reiss. He brandished his weapon. Reiss turned, ignoring him. He looked at Rags, looked at the Goblins standing around. Watching. Staring.

“Garen hates me. He has a reason. We were once friends. He and I met ten years ago, when I was a small Goblin. When he first became a Hob. Garen and I were…the Humans would call us ‘brothers’. We had the same dream.”

Rags’ jaw dropped. The other Goblins stared, becoming waxworks. Garen froze. Reiss looked back at him.

“We met seven years later. Garen when he had become a Gold-rank adventurer. I, when I had found my master. You were furious. You told me I lost my way. You called me not-Goblin. But my dream was the same. Our dream was the same. I would become a Chieftain. No, a Lord. And you would be my finest warrior. And give me the greatest weapon to save our people with.”

Garen was silent. Reiss looked at him. He looked around at his audience, who were speechless. He looked back at Garen. And then his eyes narrowed.

“We never spoke after that. But I followed you, Garen. I listened to rumors of you. I knew you fled, became hunted, settled in the High Passes. That was why I came to find you. You have it, don’t you? You swore to me you would find it. And you did. You became a Gold-rank adventurer, searched the entire continent for years. And you found it. You betrayed the Halfseekers for it.”

Garen’s eyes burned. He still said nothing, but his grip tightened on his sword. His other hand was at his belt. Clutching something. Reiss’ voice was loud in the silence.

“My master searched, but he was not a Goblin so he and his creations could never find it. And I never told him of the memory.”

“Memory? What memory?”

Rags spoke up. Reiss turned to her. His black eyes shone. It was a beautiful light. A terrible light. He was hope and dissonance and wonder and corruption all at once. He was not a Goblin. But he was a Lord. And he spoke and shook Rags’ entire world.

“The legacy of Velan the Kind. The thing he hid in the High Passes. The treasure of the Goblin King. And Garen has his key.”

He pointed at Garen. The Hobgoblin stood as all the Goblins stared at him. Garen looked around, clutching something in his belt. His eyes burned. He looked at Reiss, looked the Goblin Lord in the eye. For a second he looked at Rags and she saw a thousand unsaid things there. But then Garen turned away. He shook his head and said one word.

“No.”

All the Goblins stared at him. They looked at each other. In the end, all things considered, they could agree on one thing.

Garen Redfang was a terrible liar.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.49

It had been a long time since Olesm had sat in his office without being afraid or stressed out. A long time, and yet a short one. In his head, Olesm knew that it hadn’t been that long. A bit over a week at most since the Raskghar had begun attacking in force. But oh, it had felt like months of his life.

And yet, today he was calm, if a bit nervous. It wasn’t anything too serious—although, then again, yes it was and Olesm dreaded it—but he’d put enough days between him and the nights of fear to feel better.

No, it was more than that. He’d faced the Raskghar in the darkness, seen them broken. He’d helped burn their camps and rescued the Gnolls and Ceria with his own claws. Olesm paused as he lifted a wet quill above his parchment.

He’d fought in the dungeon, with Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Watch. He’d slain a Raskghar—the beast had been wounded by a [Fireball], but Olesm had been the one to charge it and cut it down as it flayed open his other arm. He winced and rubbed at his left arm, remembering. They’d won that battle, though. And afterwards he’d seen the sun.

The clear sky above his head, warm air in his face. Olesm jostled Drassi, trying to speak into the voice-amplifying gem as he watched the baseball players running after the ball. He was annoyed, excited—and happy.

It had been several days since that moment. But still Olesm thought back to it. Especially whenever he glanced out the window. Liscor was wet and rainy, as usual. But that didn’t bother Olesm. As soon as he was off duty he’d head to Erin’s inn.

Or…or he could stop by the barracks. Watch Captain—that was to say, Zevara—had asked if he’d like to have a drink together when they were off duty. They could surely do that and he did owe her at least a few drinks for all the hard work they’d done. They could do that. At Erin’s inn.

“All right…nearly done…there! Signed, Olesm Swifttail. Date is…uh…well, I can always fill that in before filing it. Where’s my wax and seal?”

Olesm hunted around in his desk and then found the wax. He gloomily heated up some sealing wax while he got his stone stamp ready. He hated this part, mainly because he was no good at it. The wax always got everywhere on his desk.

But it was important. Sealing wax on a document prevented it from being tampered with magically. So Olesm tried to carefully dribble some wax on a corner of his report and stamp it without making too much of a mess.

He failed.

 

—-

 

In the same building, a few rooms away, Wall Lord Ilvriss was hard at work as well. He was working in the room usually reserved for Liscor’s Council to meet in. However, it was now effectively his office and war room. As the largest room in the building that was Liscor’s city hall it was spacious and could easily seat a dozen Drakes. However, this room was currently filled to overflowing.

With treasure. Magical artifacts lay on cushions, or were piled neatly awaiting inspection. Some bore little scraps of parchment that were attached to them, while artifacts yet to be inspected were clearly marked with red discs warning against casually touching them.

Ilvriss sat at the meeting table, a large, single-bladed axe lying in front of him. On Ilvriss’ left was a pile of clean parchment and quill and inkpot. On his right sat several bulging hemp bags, some of which were open. Bright gold pieces could be seen inside them. Ilvriss paid the gold no mind. It was his, after all. He just had it next to him to set the mood. Being surrounded by priceless treasures made him feel like he was back in Salazsar, in his home.

At the moment, Ilvriss was carefully inspecting the axe. It was a beautiful piece, with an engraved metal handle and axe head, the metal seemingly golden. Seemingly, because the axe was not nearly that heavy. It was clearly meant for two hands, but Ilvriss could lift it with one and feel the power and balanced weight favoring the axe head. He murmured as he ran his claws along the metal.

“Not too heavy. Good speed for blocking. Yes, and the metal’s clearly got some gold in the alloy. To help with holding the enchantment? The blade on the axe head…”

He peered at the sharpened edge of the axe. It was a bright green material and Ilvriss’ first instinct was to call it stone, rather than metal. He touched it carefully and nodded. He was right. The axe head was jade of all things. Which made sense if—

He lifted the axe and gripped it tightly with both hands. Ilvriss uttered no words and performed no visible action, but the axe head began to glow. A magical light shone from the jade edge and suddenly it projected a huge, glowing magical blade, easily as long as the axe itself. Ilvriss blinked, and swung the axe through the air. The magical edge hummed as it cut the air.

“Fascinating. An enlargement spell and projection spell combined into one. Definitely a [Warrior]’s weapon. Not ah, useful in any confined space, but a proper [Axe Master] could cut through a horde with this. But why jade? The cost to enchant it and keep it from breaking seems ludicrously high.”

Ilvriss deactivated the enchantment and put the axe back on the table. He scooted his chair in, frowning. Maybe it was so someone could activate the enchantment by will alone? Jade was particularly sensitive to inputs like that. He looked around on the table and picked something up.

A monocle. Or rather, a magnifying lens. This one was bulky and hardly the sort of thing Ilvriss would wear in any kind of social setting. But it did have several lenses that could amplify his vision dramatically, or allow him to see magic. Ilvriss absently adjusted the lenses until the one he wanted allowed him to peer at the axe head. He was jotting down a few notes on his parchment when he heard a tap at the door.

“Enter.”

Ilvriss looked up. He saw two of his staff open the door. The Drakes who were both his subordinates in battle or assisted him with paperwork—or just guarded his tail—screened all of Ilvriss’ visitors. They had orders not to let anyone disturb him, but there was a short list of exceptions. One of them poked his head nervously into the room.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, might I intrude on you?”

“Ah, Swifttail. Come in. How can I help you?”

The older Drake smiled slightly and nodded. Olesm shuffled into the room, clutching a sheaf of reports. He coughed politely.

“I won’t take up your time, sir. I was just hoping I could borrow your personal [Mage], Miss Laskaillia, to send the contents of these reports to the other cities. I’ve finished my account of Liscor’s victory over the Raskghar. I wouldn’t ask normally, but the Mage’s Guild is currently overworked and I’ve been told to submit my reports soonest.”

“I see. I have no objection. May I read the summary myself?”

“Of course.”

Olesm approached and handed Ilvriss a long sheaf of parchment. Ilvriss covered a sigh as he stretched the parchment out and weighed it down with his inkpot. No paper. He supposed it was a waste of resources, but in Salazsar, all the city’s documents were transcribed on paper. It was clearer and it didn’t roll so. But Liscor probably couldn’t afford that—no, it didn’t have the trade routes to import paper in the first place. He scanned the report quickly, nodding a few times. Then paused.

“Quite an interesting account here, Swifttail.”

The [Strategist] ducked his head.

“I uh, wrote the events as I perceived them, Wall Lord Ilvriss. I know it will be somewhat controversial, but—”

“No, no. It is accurate. However…”

Ilvriss drummed his claws on the table. Then he shrugged. He handed the report back to Olesm.

“I cannot pretend the other cities will like it. But the truth is the truth. If they object, tell them I vouch for the contents of the report. Not that they should question a [Strategist] to begin with.”

He looked pointedly at Olesm. The Drake colored with pride.

“Thank you, sir.”

He bowed slightly and left the room. Ilvriss turned back to the weapon in front of him, smiling slightly. Young Olesm really was amusing. To think he’d been a [Tactician] when Ilvriss first entered the city! And he didn’t even seem boastful about his accomplishments. There was talent, right there. Talent and humility, both of which were in short supply.

The Wall Lord bent over the axe again. He began scribbling notes on the parchment, talking to himself absently. Ilvriss was no [Enchanter], but he was a [Lord] who specialized in economy as well as war. He had a number of Skills that made him possibly the best appraiser in Liscor for this sort of thing.

“Let’s see. This axe belonged to…the Minotaur. Of course. I’d rate it very strongly. It doesn’t have a dramatic enchantment on it of course, but every indication is that it will perform well against mid-range artifacts. I’d like to test the axe head—I can’t help but feel as though the jade edge is meant to sunder some kind of material or magic barrier. If that’s the case, I would price it at…hm…”

Ilvriss’ tail curled up absently as he worked. The magical artifacts lay around him, waiting for his inspection. He had plenty of gold too, ready to be divided amongst the adventurers. Ilvriss had promised them a small fortune and he was not one to break his word.

The artifacts would be divided up, as would the gold. But Ilvriss had a small claim as well. And he intended to walk away with at least one new artifact for his selection. He smiled as he jotted down a few notes and then set the axe aside. If there was one thing he loved, it was inspecting expensive objects.

Ilvriss hummed absently as he worked, so unconsciously that he didn’t notice it. His adjutants waiting outside didn’t hear him, so the humming was really heard by no one. But it was significant. Ilvriss’ penchant to hum as he went about an enjoyable task was a small quirk known only to him and a few of his closest friends.

Periss had known that. But Ilvriss hadn’t hummed since her death. He hadn’t smiled much since her death. But for the first time in months, Ilvriss sat by himself and hummed an aimless little tune. He was not smiling; he was hard at work. But he was happy.

 

—-

 

Olesm sat in a side room, fidgeting nervously. He wasn’t doing anything at the moment, just waiting for his report to be sent. Ilvriss’ personal [Mage], an older Drake named Laskaillia, was sending the contents of his report via [Message] spell to a number of Drake cities. She was in the room next to his—[Mages] enjoyed privacy when casting the spell, and they needed to concentrate.

The [Strategist] looked around aimlessly as he sat and waited for the report to be sent. He had no doubt he needed to wait to answer questions. So while he waited he thought about Ilvriss’ retinue.

Of course, the Wall Lord had a number of decently high-level Drakes in his personal employ. Officers who could lead, bodyguards, and a [Mage] of course. All that made sense. Laskaillia was a retainer of the Gemscale family, or so Olesm gathered.

Was it important that she was female? Olesm knew it was statistically more common for [Mages] of the opposite gender to be employed by the nobility. Why? Something to do with not being threatened by someone of the opposite gender capable of casting magic? Or was it just a social thing?

Maybe it was just coincidence in this case. Ilvriss wasn’t married and Laskaillia was old enough to be his senior by at least ten years. She was probably his minder or something. Strange that an elderly Drake woman could be walking around battlefields, but then, Olesm knew she could probably melt his face off. He wondered if it was possible to survive your face melting. Maybe if—

“Swifttail?”

The door opened. Laskaillia appeared, her grey-blue scales flickering a bit in the light coming through the rain-spattered windows. Olesm stood at once.

“Yes?”

“A message for you. They want a correspondence set up. Pass me [Messages] and I will send them and note their replies here.”

Laskaillia had a floating quill and piece of paper by her side. Olesm nodded.

“At once. I’m terribly sorry to trouble you…”

“Just be quick. They’re impatient.”

The old Drake cut Olesm off. She gestured and the bit of paper floated into Olesm’s claws. He sighed as he read it.

 

Pallass’ [Strategist] receives Liscor’s report. Liscor, say again. Is this a joke? Please confirm existence of ‘Redfang Goblins’ as real Bronze-rank adventuring team. Also confirm presence of ‘Goblin friendlies’ in assault on Raskghar?

 

Predictable. Olesm sighed and frantically wrote on a piece of parchment. He’d written the account of the battle as truthfully as he could. That meant he’d written of the Redfang Goblin’s aid and the way Pebblesnatch and the Cave Goblins had helped locate and then set a trap for the Raskghar. It all made sense—if you knew what was going on in Liscor.

The other Walled Cities and Drake settlements had no idea of Erin’s inn, though. All they knew was that Liscor had defeated the Raskghar menace. And now with Olesm’s report, they were going to ask a lot of questions.

The conversation that went on between Olesm and the other Drake cities was a simple dialogue. Written down it was fairly simple to understand, but that wouldn’t capture the way Olesm had to write down his replies, pass them to Laskaillia, wait for them to be sent and a reply to be transcribed, and then read and reply all over again. The process was agonizingly slow, but again, it looked a lot simpler written down.

 

Pallass, this is Liscor’s [Strategist]. We confirm reports. Goblins were present during attack on Raskghar and Goblin team has been confirmed by Liscor’s adventuring guild. Said Goblins participated in location and assault on Raskghar camp as well as rescue of Gnoll citizens.

Pallass. Liscor, repeat again?

Zeres has received Liscor’s report. Confirmation of Goblin friendlies and adventuring team. What the hell is up with your city, Liscor?

Oteslia’s strategists are sending. Zeres, please conform to sending protocol. Liscor, elaborate on presence of Goblins in dungeon. How were they tamed?

Liscor. The Goblins were successfully convinced to abandon Raskghar masters due to presence of auxiliary Human A, noted in the report. Her possession of Artifact A—also noted—facilitated the defeat of the Raskghar in no small part.

Zeres. That’s the crazy innkeeper, isn’t it? The one in the moving pictures?

Pallass. Liscor, please send further details regarding spoils of war taken from Raskghar camps.

Liscor politely declines as the details of the dungeon operation are classified at the order of Wall Lord Ilvriss of Salazsar.

Oteslia. Hah!

Zeres. Oteslia, please conform to sending protocol.

Pallass requires report as a matter of security due to Liscor connection. The Assembly of Crafts will send formal request to Liscor’s Council momentarily. Stand by to receive.

Fissival. Pallass has no claim on the treasure. Stop being greedy little hatchlings.

Zeres. Fissival, please conform to sending protocol.

Manus is sending. Other cities, please refrain from petty disputes. Liscor, please confirm dungeon status. Reports indicate inner city. Confirm?

Liscor confirms. Dungeon is still classified as ‘active’ and ‘hostile’. Gold-rank danger rating remains unchanged despite reduction of Raskghar threat. Preliminary reports—see summary of Adventurer B’s attached interview—reports ‘infested’ monsters possibly derived from ancient Drakes, as well as at least one more boss-class guardian monster and possibility of major unique enemy known as ‘Mother of Graves’, classification pending. Further details will be reported as they occur.

Oteslia. Ancestors. Does Liscor have enough adventurers to deal with dungeon? More should be sent north at once.

Zeres. Oteslia, please conform to sending protocol.

Pallass. Claim to portion of Liscor’s treasure being sent. Liscor, please note involvement of Pallass’ adventuring population in aid of Liscor. Pallass will require report within the next hour, subject to immediate action by Pallass.

Salazsar objects to Pallass’ claim.

Oteslia objects to Pallass’ claim.

Fissival objects to Pallass’ claim.

Manus requests list of artifacts recovered—possibility of trade for artifacts with goods or coin?

Zeres thinks Pallass is a bunch of greedy cowards. But we’ll also trade for artifacts received.

Liscor. Wall Lord Ilvriss has sealed the contents of acquired artifacts. They’ll be distributed among contributing adventurers and factions. It’s out of my claws.

Pallass. Stand by for response.

Salazsar. Leave Liscor’s [Strategist] alone. Congratulations, by the way, Liscor.

Liscor. Thank you!

Oteslia congratulates Liscor.

Zeres. Please conform to sending protocol. No personal asides, Oteslia, Salazsar.

Oteslia. Damnit, Zeres, stop being petty. Is that you, Kissi?

Teibault. Liscor, can you send a more detailed analysis of Raskghar with adventurer analysis?

Liscor will comply as soon as possible. Estimated one day delay due to adventurer fatigue.

Pallass. Lesser cities will refrain from sending [Message] spells into this discussion. Liscor’s situation is priority, not for casual interruption.

Teibault. Go eat your tail, Pallass. We have a right to ask questions.

Fissival. Hah!

Zeres supports Teibault. Who’s the idiot sending from Pallass?

Pallass to Zeres. Please lodge formal inquiry and complaint into Zeres [Strategist]’s conduct.

Zeres. Go boil yourself.

Ssilvem. Sorry, can we get a resend of our report? Our [Mage] forgot to write down the report. What’s this about Goblins?

 

Olesm groaned and covered his face as he scribbled down a request for Laskaillia to resend the report to Ssilvem. He looked at the paper and shook his head. It was a mess, and in that sense, typical of most joint conversations between the cities. Olesm sighed as the cities started bickering with each other. Laskaillia’s brows twitched as she stopped writing and looked at him.

“It’s all chaos. They’re just insulting each other now. Should we send any more [Messages]?”

“No, I think the report’s out there. They can make what they want of it. If they hail you, please tell them I’m off duty. Or dead. Thank you so much, Miss Laskaillia.”

“Of course.”

She smiled and glanced at something behind Olesm. The [Strategist] sighed and put away his reports for filing. No doubt he’d have to answer more questions, but there was no sense waiting now. He turned—and nearly had a heart attack. Wing Commander Embria was standing right behind him, peering at the conversation between the cities.

He hadn’t noticed her behind him at all! She’d appeared in silence—despite the armor she wore! The Wing Commander noticed Olesm jump and coughed. She stepped back quickly.

“Apologies, Strategist Olesm. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Uh—that’s quite alright, Wing Commander.”

“Embria, please. You’ve sent the report to the other cities I see. May I have a copy to send to our High Command?”

“Oh—of course! I’m so sorry. I’ll transcribe one right away!”

Olesm flushed as he stood. He kept forgetting that he should send copies to Liscor’s army! It wasn’t something he normally did—usually Liscor would send a batch of all the news to the army in one lump every month, but with Embria here…

The Wing Commander smiled at Olesm. She was around his height, and around his age too, come to that. But where Olesm was thin if fairly fit, Embria was athletic and strong. Her bright red scales were striking and Olesm had to keep from admiring them.

“Don’t worry about copying the report. If I could prevail on your [Mage] to send it via [Message] spell?”

“Yes, at once. Who’s the [Strategist] in charge of the army again? Uh—Zweiltan?”

“That’s correct.”

Olesm sighed with relief and wrote down a note, indicating how Laskaillia could contact him. The [Mage] nodded and lifted a claw to her temple. Olesm and Embria stood around awkwardly. He coughed.

“So…how are your men after the battle, Wing Commander Embria? And uh, how are you doing? I heard you took an injury during the fight.”

Embria smiled at Olesm.

“Barely a scratch. I got cut here—right above the shoulder. But there’s not even a scar as you can tell. I lost two [Soldiers], but the boys are taking it well. As for High Command, I just reported my version of events to them.”

“Ah. And their response?”

The Wing Commander hesitated. She took a seat and Olesm did too.

“Mixed. But generally positive. They objected to some aspects of the operation, but they’re glad that Liscor is safe and that 4th Company participated in the battle. They send their congratulations to you as well, Olesm. For making [Strategist].”

“Thank you. I uh, appreciate it.”

The two Drakes sat in silence until Laskaillia looked up.

“I’ve sent the report and it has been received. Will that be all?”

Olesm started. He nodded as he stood.

“Yes, thank you so much. I should be going. I have to file these and uh, then I’m off duty.”

He swept up the reports. Embria cleared her throat. She didn’t quite look at Olesm when he glanced at her.

“Hey Olesm…I quite admired your conduct in the battle. You were a good fighter. Do you want to get a drink later? Because uh—I’m pretty thirsty and you’re a fine glass of water.”

She pointed with both fingers at Olesm and gave him an uneasy smile. Olesm stared at Embria with his mouth open. He only managed to close it when he heard Laskaillia snort. He looked over and saw she was trying not to guffaw.

“I uh—I—well, that’s very kind of you, Embria. But I uh, have an appointment with Watch Captain Zevara and I’d hate to keep her—”

Embria’s red cheeks flamed brighter. She waved a claw hurriedly.

“Of course. Forget I said anything.”

“Right. Well, I’ll be going. I’ll uh, see you around. And we could have a drink. At another time.”

“Sounds good. Um. Thanks.”

Olesm edged out of the room as fast as he could. Embria kept smiling until she heard him rapidly moving away and then she buried her face in her claws.

Damn it, Dad! Why do I ever listen to your advice?”

She sat like that for a moment. Then Laskaillia, forgotten, spoke up.

“That young Olesm is quite an attractive Drake. Not that I think he’ll be falling for your lines anytime soon, Miss Wing Commander.”

Embria started. She looked up at Laskaillia and flushed even further. She stood up hastily and made to exit.

“Thank you for your help, Magus Laskaillia. I must be going. To work.”

She was nearly out the door when Laskaillia called after her.

“You flirt as well as your father, my dear. I think he tried a line like that on me, once. Of course, whether it worked or not is another matter entirely…”

All the color drained from Embria’s face. She stared at Laskaillia, who gave her a serpentine smile, turned to the door, staggered, and then rushed out to get herself as drunk as possible.

Laskaillia cackled to herself as she sat back in her chair. Relc had never flirted with her, but she knew the Gecko of Liscor by reputation. She cleaned her claws, smiling to herself. Laskaillia  had only a few vices in life at her age, but one of them was tormenting the youth. And as insults went, that one had been a good one.

 

—-

 

Silly things. Happy things. It was because the Raskghar were gone that they could happen and be laughed at. The City Hall in Liscor felt lighter to the young woman who slipped inside. She watched Olesm practically run out of the doors and Embria depart as well. Neither Drake noticed her in their embarrassment which was unusual—or not, given that she was hiding behind a door jam and peeking out. She had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Still, the few Drakes at work in the building didn’t slow her and the two Drakes standing next to the door didn’t stop her from entering. Wall Lord Ilvriss looked up from the enchanted bow made of some kind of ivory and sighed loudly as Erin Solstice entered the room.

“You are aware, Human, that Liscor’s city hall is off limits to members of the general public? And I am a Wall Lord. How did you get in here?”

“They let me in. I told them I wanted to speak with you. And I bribed them with cookies. Sorry about that.”

Erin smiled unapologetically. As she shut the door, Ilvriss caught both of his guards eating cookies. They looked guilty as he narrowed his eyes at them. Erin shut the door and then stared around.

“Wow. There’s an entire armory in here. Hey, is that—”

“Don’t touch that.”

Erin snatched her hand back before she could touch a suit of armor that looked as though it was made of blue metal and bronze. She stared at Ilvriss. He sighed and took his eyeglass off.

“What do you want, Solstice?”

“Nothing…I was just checking on you. And Olesm. It’s been a while. You’re good, right?”

Ilvriss sat back in his chair and folded his arms. Erin gave him a big smile. She reached for a bag at her side.

“Wanna cookie?”

“Is it sugary?”

“Yes?”

“Then my answer is no. Why are you here?”

“Can’t I be here to give everyone good cheer?”

Ilvriss slowly raised one of his brows. He had no eyebrows, but the effect was largely the same. Erin put her hands behind her back and studied the room, taking in the parchment, Ilvriss, and the gold sitting in the bags next to him.

“You’re busy, I get that. I bet you have a lot of paperwork and I’m sorry for bothering you. But…I dunno, it feels like we should all be giving thanks for defeating the Raskghar, don’t you think. And I dunno, celebrating the teamwork? The joint effort? Goodwill towards Humans and Drakes? And Goblins?”

The Wall Lord waited. Erin indicated the gold in the bags meaningfully.

“Hint, hint.”

They stared at each other for a few more seconds. At last, Erin gave in.

“Can I have some money?”

“Is that all you came here for?”

“Yes! No! Okay, yes. I really could use some gold.”

Ilvriss glanced at Erin as he leaned back in his chair. His tail curled around his chair leg.

“Is your inn doing that poorly? I was under the impression that your plays had resumed and that Liscor’s citizenry were frequenting your inn quite often. The Hubris of the Raskghar is the name of the play, is it not?”

“What? Oh, that. Yeah, we’re filling the inn each night! I’m making tons of coin! Uh…but I could use more? I did help with the Raskghar, remember?”

“I recall. Why is the need for coin so pressing?”

Erin scuffed at the carpet with one foot.

“Well…I’ve got expenses. The Goblins, you know? They’re sort of an additional expense. I’ve been trying to feed them at least one meal per day, but uh, buying that much food is expensive. I can handle it! But I heard you were giving out money so…”

“The lottery and division of the coin and artifacts will happen later.”

“Oh. Right.”

The young Human woman stared at Ilvriss. She looked around the room and seemed to be deciding whether to leave or not. Ilvriss stared at her and then leaned forwards.

“The Goblins are still connected to your inn via that magical door, are they not?”

“Yup.”

“Something will have to be done about them soon. You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

“Like what?”

The Wall Lord narrowed his eyes.

“Liscor cannot have a few hundred Goblins nesting close to the city. It is a security risk and it will kill trade. The Goblin Lord may be on the run, but until the Humans destroy his army, the Goblins are a legitimate threat.”

Erin sighed. She took a seat across from Ilvriss without being asked.

“I know that. But these Goblins helped us. They saved the Gnolls. Without them everyone would be dead. You remember that, right?”

“I haven’t forgotten. But that changes none of the facts. The…Hobs under your command were one thing. But three hundred Goblins—how many of them are in that cave, incidentally?”

“Dunno.”

“You have no idea? Surely you’ve counted.”

“Well, there are a lot of them, but I didn’t sit and count them one by one. Why would anyone do that? There’s Goblins. Y’know?”

Erin gave Ilvriss a round-eyed stare. Normally that would be enough to make Ilvriss snort and dismiss her. However, this time it didn’t work. The Wall Lord glanced suspiciously at Erin, drumming his claws on the table.

“And you have no idea what their plans are either, I suspect.”

“Nope. I just feed them. That’s my job. Hey, did you know they really like fish?”

The Drake looked up suspiciously at Erin. She smiled at him.

“Fish with sauce. Have you tried my fish flakes? They’re a big hit. Takes a lot of oil and eggs and flour, though. Oh, and sauce. Which is why I came here. For the money.”

“I had gathered.”

Erin had an amazing talent to distract from the conversation at hand. It was incredible, really. And aggravating. Ilvriss pinched the scales around his temples with one claw. He would have dearly loved to see what would happen if he let Erin sit in on one of Salazsar’s meetings between the Wall Lords and Ladies. Then again…

He closed his eyes for a second. Erin took that moment to breathe a sigh of relief. Her diversionary tactics had worked. She sat up and gave Ilvriss a broad smile as he looked up.

“They will have to be dealt with. I am not ungrateful. But Goblins are monsters.”

He looked seriously at Erin. And her smile faded. She sat up in her chair and then put one elbow on the table. She leaned forwards, losing her smile for a second.

“Not all of them. You and I know that. It’s just how they’re seen. But the five Hobs at my inn—Pebblesnatch—they went into the dungeon and saved lives. They owed us nothing. They could have run. But they didn’t. They risked their lives and no one’s given them more than passing thanks. Don’t forget that.”

Startled, the Wall Lord met Erin’s eyes. She didn’t use her aura, but for a second, just a second he felt the intensity in her stare. Then Erin sat back and the mood lightened as if nothing had happened. After a second, Ilvriss spoke.

“I do not forget. And while it is not expedient for Liscor to acknowledge the Goblins, I honor my vows. I had intended to send this to you, but since you insist on interrupting me—here.”

He reached for the bags of coin at his side. He inspected the gold, and then pushed two of the bags across the table. Erin wavered.

“What’s that?”

“Your share of the bounty. One thousand two hundred and eleven gold coins. A small sum, but it was decided that would be the reward for the use of your magic door. And payment for stamina potions and food provided afterwards. I’ll require the bags of holding back, by the way.”

“Buh—all this is mine?

Erin’s eyes went round with genuine shock this time as she stared at the two bags heaped with gold coins. They were lesser bags of holding so they had a larger depth than their size indicated. Erin poured several gold coins into the table. Ilvriss nodded. Then he looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“Young Olesm and Watch Captain Zevara have done many calculations. I oversaw them and agree with the distribution of wealth. Many of the Gold-rank teams are eligible for one of the magical artifacts—perhaps even two. The other teams may combine claims or accept a monetary payout. However, there is an aberration.”

“The…Redfang Goblin team saved quite a large portion of Gnolls. Each one earns them a reward of two thousand gold coins. They saved thirty three before the final raid on the dungeon.”

“Thirty three. Then that means—”

Erin’s eyes went wide in genuine shock this time. Ilvriss nodded. He stood up.

“Normally I would award the coin in full. Or rather, issue a letter of credit if possible since providing all that coin up front would be tedious. However, that will not occur. Because the Goblins are not an adventuring team.”

The young woman froze as she placed gold coins back in her bag.

“What do you mean? They’re totally adventurers! Selys did the paperwork and everything!”

Ilvriss nodded. He took a deep breath and looked at the table.

“They are. But as a new team their paperwork was being processed during the dungeon attacks. And—sadly—it will appear that they were not registered until several days after the Raskghar were defeated. Thus, invalidating their claim for the gold.”

Ilvriss said the last of that in a rush. He waited, staring at his claws for a second, and then looked up. He saw Erin’s open mouth slowly close. The young woman stood up slowly. Her face was pale.

“That’s a lie.”

“It is not.”

Erin leaned over the table, putting both hands on the glossy wooden surface.

“That’s a lie. Selys filed the paperwork! Is this—is this some kind of joke?”

“Absolutely not.”

The Drake met her eyes. Erin stared at him, disbelieving, and then slowly looked around the room.

“Paperwork? That shouldn’t matter. This is—you don’t want to pay the Goblins, do you? They saved thirty three Gnolls! You’d have to give them sixty six thousand gold coins and you don’t want to! Well—okay, I understand that! But give them something—”

“As a matter of fact, I will be paying the full amount I promised to the pool the adventurers and Liscor may claim from. Money is not an issue.”

Ilvriss’ voice was steely. Erin stared at him.

“Then why—is it because they’re Goblins? Is that it?”

The Wall Lord nodded slightly.

“It would be politically disastrous for a Lord of the Wall to pay Goblins any kind of sum. Moreover, if their contributions were recognized, the other adventurers would surely riot. The Goblins have the greatest claim to the treasure and gold of any group. Thus…well, it is a regrettable accident, but their status as a Bronze-rank team will be certified by Liscor’s guild on the morrow.”

For a few seconds Erin couldn’t do anything but stare at Ilvriss. Her vision went red. She clenched her hands into fists.

“That’s so—I can’t believe—how could you? How dare you? They saved the Gnolls! They helped fight the Raskghar! They nearly died!”

“I know.”

Ilvriss looked at her calmly. Erin was at a loss for words. She struck the table, and then tried to flip it, but it was a huge table and she couldn’t budge it. Erin stormed around it.

“This isn’t right! This isn’t fair! You can’t just take away everything they deserve!”

The Drake didn’t flinch back as Erin shouted in his face. He folded his claws together.

“It’s done, Solstice. The decision was not mine alone. Liscor’s Council voted on the measure. And Olesm and Watch Captain Zevara helped…clarify the issue legally.”

“Olesm did?”

Erin stared at Ilvriss. She stepped back and looked around. Then she stormed over to the two bags of gold. Ilvriss saw her lift it up and braced himself. Erin hefted the bag of gold, and then hesitated. She stared at it.

“A thousand gold pieces. That’s a lot of money. Yeah. But it’s nothing compared to what they deserve. And this—”

She glanced up at Ilvriss, her eyes narrowed.

“My door helped a lot, but I bet it’s not worth a thousand gold. Is it? Is this your way of giving me money for the Goblins? A thousand pieces instead of sixty thousand? Is this right?

He didn’t answer her. Ilvriss’ tail was curled up. Erin lifted the bag as if to throw it and then slowly lowered it.

“I’ll take the money. But this isn’t right. And you know it! I thought you were—I thought you were better than this! More honorable!”

“Human.”

Ilvriss looked steadily at Erin. She turned angrily and stomped to the door, the bags of money in her hand. Ilvriss raised his voice.

“Human.”

“Don’t—”

Erin whirled, face ready. She was ready to pop. But she paused as Ilvriss reached down and pulled something up.

The golden axe with the green edge. Ilvriss put it on the table and pushed it towards her. Erin stared at the axe.

“What’s that for?”

Ilvriss gave Erin a blank look to match her own.

“That’s an axe.”

She opened her mouth, and then glared and hefted the bag of gold like a shot put. Ilvriss sighed.

“It’s a potent magical artifact recovered from the Minotaur. Calruz, I believe his name is. Unfortunately…I seem to have misplaced it.”

Erin stared at the axe and then at Ilvriss. Slowly, she lowered the bag. Her arm was getting tired anyways.

“Really? That’s awfully careless of you.”

Ilvriss bristled a bit.

“Well, I wasn’t the one to lose it. I was inventorying the artifacts recovered and found a discrepancy. And, naturally, I searched quite diligently for the artifact, but it was nowhere to be found. I naturally suspected a [Thief], but what high-level rogue would stop at stealing only one magical artifact? Perhaps it was lost in the recovery process from Liscor. It may well have sunk into the lake, or remained in the Raskghar camp by accident.”

He stared pointedly at the axe. So did Erin.

“That would suck.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately, the weapon was marked as lost. Not to be found again. And the record of it was—erased.”

Ilvriss carefully picked up a piece of parchment. As Erin watched, he tore it up. She stared at the axe.

“So this axe—”

“What axe? No weapon that has a magic jade edge which can enlarge itself into an enchanted blade was ever recovered from the dungeon. The records show that quite explicitly. This? This is a paperweight. And I don’t have time for distractions. I have artifacts to sort out. Human, your kind often deals in trash. Take this out for me as you go, will you? Toss it away somewhere. Or give it to the Goblins. They enjoy trash, or so I’ve heard.”

Ilvriss pushed the axe across the table to Erin. She stared at it. Then, slowly, she picked it up.

“Oof.”

The Drake coughed.

“You can put it in the bag of holding. Which I’ll need back, as I said.”

“Aw, I can’t have it?”

“No.”

Erin opened the bag and clumsily tried to put the axe in. To her surprise, the haft of the axe sank into the bag until only the head was visible. She popped it into the bag and stared at the plain leather sack.

“That’s a cool magic trick.”

“Indeed. Now, as to the Goblins. It’s regrettable, but they’ll have no compensation. As is only right. I will brook no objections, Human.”

Ilvriss folded his arms. Erin started, and then stared at him. She looked at the bag of holding and then Ilvriss. He waited for her to do…something. But Erin just stared. She grew still and Ilvriss began to feel uncomfortable as she looked him up and down.

At last, Erin made a sound like a laugh. She shook her head.

“I don’t know if that was nice or not. I think you’re a good person, Ilvriss, somewhere in there. But there’s still being fair and—well, bending the rules to do the right thing. There’s a difference.”

She looked at Ilvriss. He felt a spark of anger in his chest, surprising him.

“I do what I have to do for my people. Law and custom can’t be so easily ignored, Human.”

“No. I guess they can’t. But this? I don’t know if this is fair or just trying to make you feel better about doing wrong things. It’s not right. I know that. And I think you do too.”

Erin turned away. Ilvriss half-rose, stung. Then, slowly, he sat. He watched Erin walk over to the door. She paused there and looked back.

“Still. I guess you did do something. So—here.”

She turned and reached for a small sack at her side. She pulled something out of it and tossed it at Ilvriss. He caught the object reflexively. He stared down at it as Erin pulled the door open.

“Human—”

“Bye, Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

Erin smiled at Ilvriss. Then she closed the door. The Drake stared down at what was in his claw. A round, sweet-smelling disc of hardened dough winked up at him. It was a little cookie, burnt slightly around one edge. Ilvriss gazed at it. Then he looked at the open door. Erin was gone.

For a while, Ilvriss sat in his chair. He looked around at the room, full of treasures, and at the place where the bags of gold had sat. Then he looked at the cookie. He slowly bit into it.

“Bleh. Too sugary.”

Ilvriss put the cookie aside. He stared up at the ceiling, and his tail uncurled a bit. He didn’t feel good. But he didn’t feel terrible. He felt—

“Wall Lord?”

One of the guards poked his head into the room. Ilvriss glanced up.

“What?”

The Drake ducked his head.

“Apologies, sir. She did attempt to bribe us with those uh—”

“Cookies. I am aware. You did well pretending to be bribed. Keep letting her in.”

Ilvriss nodded to the Drake. The guards looked relieved and closed the door. Ilvriss sat back in his chair. What Erin had said repeated in his head.

“Not fair. But what should I do? The rules are there for a reason. Someday they’ll change. But today and tomorrow—”

He shook himself. Ilvriss leaned forwards again and pulled the parchment over to him. He went back to the bow, muttering.

“Someday, surely. But for now, fair must be just that. Just a small thing. Just…”

His eyes wandered back to the cookie. It wasn’t what he wanted. And it wasn’t that important, obviously. It was a snack. But he didn’t have to have it. And someone had given it to him. A moment of kindness. Ilvriss closed his eyes. He thought of Periss. What would she have done? The same as him, probably. No, she’d have kicked Erin out. But maybe—

The rain pattered down softly. Ilvriss forgot the magical items in front of him. He leaned back, the cookie in his claws. He didn’t like cookies. But Periss loved sweet things.

Ilvriss didn’t hum. He wasn’t happily humming anymore. The room was silent as he sat by himself. But the silence was good. And after a while, Ilvriss moved. The quiet of the room was broken by a single sound.

Crunch. Ilvriss chewed and swallowed. After a moment, he spoke to himself.

“You know, this might be quite passable with a bit of milk.”

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice walked out of Liscor’s City Hall and looked back at it. She stared at the rainy façade, and then at the two bulging bags at her side. She patted them gingerly and then looked around.

“Huh.”

She felt…odd. Not good. Not happy—not after hearing what Liscor had decided to do. But not entirely bad either. She should have expected that would happen, honestly. But she hadn’t predicted Ilvriss being—well, not a jerk. Erin started walking as the rain soaked the cloak on her back.

The sky was grey. The rain fell down. All these things were negative. But Liscor felt better. Truly, it did. Despite the rain, Drakes and Gnolls walked the street. And though they looked up and grumbled at the sky, they sometimes smiled.

The nightmare was over. The Raskghar were defeated. The exhilaration and palpable relief was gone from the city, the celebrations had passed Erin by. So what was left wasn’t joy and it wasn’t fear. It was…

Melancholy, perhaps. Not everyone smiled. Because Liscor had not survived without wounds. Drakes had died. Gnolls had been sacrificed. The Watch and Embria’s soldiers had died during the battle, as had Antinium. Adventurers had fallen.

There was grief there. Grief, relief…Erin walked down the streets, looking from face to face. And the Drakes and Gnolls looked back at her. So much had happened. So much death and violence. So much sadness.

But there had been happy moments too. Erin closed her eyes as she walked. What could you say after all of it? The bags of money weighed down her sides. But that was just gold. She thought of Mrsha, of Ceria. Of the Goblins. Things had changed. Was it better now? Surely it must be. The Raskghar had been defeated. The Goblins saved. There were scars, and yet—

“Excuse me? Miss?”

Erin turned her head. She stopped as pair of Gnolls came up to her. They were both female, both young. Teens, in fact. They were taller than Erin, but they looked far too young compared to Krshia and far too old compared to Mrsha. Erin smiled. She’d never seen Gnoll teenagers before. The two looked down at Erin. One had dark black fur, the other greyish.

“Hi there. Can I help you?”

The two teens sniffed Erin. The black-furred one looked uncertain, but then her friend spoke up.

“You’re…Erin Solstice, yes? The [Innkeeper]?”

“That’s me.”

The two exchanged a look.

“Good. We wanted to thank you. Humans shake hands, don’t they? Here.”

The two held out their hands. Erin stared at them and then awkwardly took both hands at once. The Gnolls shook her hands.

“I’m flattered. But why are you thanking me?”

The two looked surprised. The black-furred one shook herself slightly, spraying Erin with a few drops.

“Because you saved our friends! You helped defeat the Raskghar! We heard all about it. We—all the Gnolls—owe you a debt.”

“Liscor does.”

Her friend nodded. Erin turned red as she realized why they were looking at her so intently.

“Hold on, I didn’t do much! I just helped.”

“But you came up with the plan, yes?”

“No, well, yeah, but—I didn’t do much fighting!”

“But you did convince the Goblins to betray the Raskghar, right? We heard all about that.”

The two Gnolls nodded. Erin stammered.

“W-well…”

“I didn’t know Humans were that smart.”

“I didn’t know they were that brave. I heard you were just a troublemaker who kept dangerous monsters at her inn. People called you ‘that crazy Human’.”

“They did? I mean—who did?”

The two Gnolls looked at each other.

“Um…people. The point is, we’re really grateful. One of our friends was one of the people you saved. So, thank you. Really.”

“Yes, really. We work at a [Butcher]’s. It isn’t fun.”

The black-furred Gnoll nodded in agreement with her friend.

“Not at all. But come by and we’ll give you good meat. Cheap! Our boss wants to meet you too. He’s our father.”

“Yeah. Come by. Thank you again. Do we shake hands when we leave?”

The two Gnolls chatted with Erin a bit longer and then left. She waved at them, bemused and then looked around. Some of the other Drakes and Gnolls had paused to stare at Erin. A few waved. Some pointed. Erin blushed.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been stopped on the street. Somehow, she’d become a minor celebrity in Liscor. Or rather, she suspected Drassi had something to do with it. It wasn’t the first time Erin had been involved in something big, but this was the first time people came up and thanked her for doing something. She kept telling them she hadn’t done much, but—

It was embarrassing. But it felt good. Erin walked through the street, keeping her hood raised. She was still stopped twice more, once by a Gnoll, and then by a Drake. Trying to keep hidden was no good when you had neither fur nor scales and no tail. You tended to stand out.

Erin arrived at her destination as she talked with the Drake, a [Tailor] who walked along with her to Market Street. She was talking with him as she stopped to wait in front of a stand with a few customers.

“It was really the Goblins. Really.”

“But the adventurers did all the work. The Goblins helped the Raskghar.”

The Drake frowned impatiently. Erin nodded.

“Yeah, but the Goblins helped find the Raskghar camp. And they saved a lot of the Gnolls.”

“But the Goblins are monsters.

The Drake pointed that out as if he was saying the sky was raining. It was a fact. Erin paused.

“Maybe. But they’re not all bad.”

“What about the Goblin Lord? You do realize that the last Antinium War featured the Goblin King? He nearly destroyed the continent!”

The Drake looked expectantly at Erin. She nodded.

“That’s true. And there are bad Goblins out there. I’m just saying that there are good Goblins too, you know?”

“Good Goblins.”

The Drake savored the words as if they were new. He shook his head.

“If you say so, then I guess I’ll believe it. Look, I really just wanted to shake your hand. I knew one of the [Guardsmen] who got killed and—I’m glad you helped kill those Raskghar bastards. Your inn’s pretty popular, you know.”

“Really?”

“Well yeah. It’s like this attraction. Everyone knows about the crazy Hum—I mean, The Wandering Inn. Yeah. Ahem.”

He coughed as Erin gave him a flat look. The [Tailor] looked around.

“I’ll have to visit it sometime. Goblins or…well, I’ll visit. Thanks.”

He waved at Erin and trotted off. Bemused, she turned back to the stall. The customers in front of her had done their business. A female Gnoll leaned over the counter and grinned at Erin.

“It seems you’re quite well liked, yes, Erin?”

Erin made a face at Krshia. The Gnoll laughed and beckoned her closer so Erin could step beneath the stall’s awning.

“People keep coming up to thank me! Or tell me how they know about my inn. I think it’s my new uh, trait. I really do, Krshia.”

“Hrm. [Local Landmark]. I have heard that buildings can acquire such traits—or titles, yes? But it is the first time I have known someone with such a thing. Gnolls do not have many structures, so it is rare for us, yes?”

Krshia tidied up her counter, wiping away water with a cloth. Erin nodded.

“It’s so weird. But good! I really think I’m making a name for myself. And—well, guess what Krshia? I went to see Ilvriss and you’ll never believe what happened!”

“He gave you money, yes?”

Erin wavered.

“Well—okay, you might believe it. But listen—”

She began to tell Krshia what had happened in a hushed voice. Erin grew more indignant as she relayed the conversation about the Goblins. Krshia nodded as she wiped her counter and then wrung her cloth out. When Erin had finished she snorted, and then began to laugh.

“And you insulted him? A Wall Lord? You told him he was not fair? To his face?”

“Yeah.”

Erin watched as Krshia threw back her head to guffaw. She scowled at the Gnoll.

“Well, he wasn’t being fair! The Goblins deserve more than a crummy axe!”

Krshia shook her head.

“Erin. You are an amusing friend to have, yes? But also, I think, somewhat foolish.”

She flicked Erin’s hair with a claw. The Human bristled.

“Hey! What is that supposed to mean?”

Krshia fixed Erin with one large brown eye.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, he told you why he did what he did, yes? The Goblins cannot be paid. For a Wall Lord of Salazsar to do the paying? It would be embarrassing! It would admit that monsters did more work than any adventurer.”

“But that’s true!”

The [Shopkeeper] shrugged.

“True or not, I would not pay the Goblins a single coin. He is right, yes? It may not be fair, but he did give you an axe. A magical weapon of great power, is it not?”

“Yes, but—it’s still not fair. The Goblins probably deserve two artifacts! Or three!”

Krshia nodded reasonably.

“And if they had them, the other adventurers would riot. Is that better?”

Erin hesitated.

“No, but—”

“But? Will you say that they should not be upset, so it should be done anyways? Goblins would get nothing if it were not for you, I think. That they were given anything—a magical weapon­ no less is incredible.”

“Yeah. But it’s still not fair.”

Krshia shook her head.

“Fair? Fair is never something that happens. Erin Solstice, you complain of the Goblins being rewarded. Will you complain that they were not given a parade? Or praised by all? Look at things less from how they should be and look at them how they are. Is this not better?”

She waited as Erin bit her lip and mulled this over.

“A little better. Yeah, I guess that’s true. But it could be better.”

She looked down at the bags of money and felt Krshia flick her hair again. The Gnoll sniffed dismissively.

“But, but, but. You Humans are full of buts and ifs. Look at what you have. Gold. And treasure. Look around. People come to you and thank you. They listen to you when you say ‘Goblins are good’! We are grateful. You be too.”

She looked at Erin seriously. The young woman wavered, and then realized she was complaining a lot.

“You think I’m being grouchy, don’t you? Or silly.”

“Mm. Perhaps just a bit. But I understand you. And if you understand me—it is better. Erin. Is today not better than before?”

Erin looked at Krshia. The [Shopkeeper] spread her arms wide. Her stall was smaller than before. It was wet. But…Erin smiled.

“It is. You’re right, Krshia.”

The Gnoll smiled approvingly. And she and Erin stood together in the rain and the issue of the Goblins passed from Erin’s mind. She stood and chatted with Krshia as they had done once. Just as before. Everything was the same and different. Krshia smiled as she and Erin leaned on the counter.

“How is Mrsha?”

“Better. She doesn’t have nightmares every night. Lyonette’s giving her a tiny bit of faerie flower nectar with her before-bed milk.”

“Mm. That is good. I know Erill and the others have suffered. Perhaps I could buy some of their nectar for them? Do you have enough to sell?”

“Oh! That’s a great idea! I’ve got enough. I used to have only a few flowers, but they’ve really been growing of late. I can get a small bottle together—you don’t need more than a drop, really. No charge for the others.”

“You are kind. But I think I will pay you a bit so I might charge others. Not the ones who were rescued, but it would be nice to sell. How is the inn?”

“Busy. We’re putting on The Hubris of the Raskghar every night, and I think we’ll do The Glass Menagerie next. I’m uh, running out of plays to give the actors.”

“Mm. Well, I suppose they must make up more stories, then. Is that not how it goes?”

“Yeah, but there are classics.

“I see. And the Goblins? They do not cause trouble? You feed them?”

“Pretty much. The Redfangs are in charge and the Cave Goblins…they’re doing Goblin things. I check in on them, but I’m really busy so I haven’t seen much. The Redfangs are teaching them a bunch of stuff. Like how to fish. Speaking of which, I want to buy a lot of food from you. To feed them. I mean, they can feed themselves, but they really love salt and oil. And since I have all of this…can you get me a boat of food? I could get some from Celum, but—”

Krshia practically pulled Erin into her stall. The [Shopkeeper] shook her head rapidly.

“Celum? Why bother? We have enough food here, yes? And I can have as many boats visit your inn as needed. How much food did you say you wanted? I can have it within the hour. Meats, grains, drink, whatever is needed.”

“Oh. Well, in that case…”

Erin started placing gold coins on the table as she told Krshia what she wanted. The Gnoll’s tail wagged as she counted the shiny gold pieces. She promised Erin she’d have the goods as soon as could be and waved Erin way.

The young woman smiled as she walked down the street, her bag a bit lighter. She walked back towards the western gate where a little door had been placed incongruously against the far wall. A pair of Drakes and three Gnolls and a Human adventurer were waiting outside it. Erin sidled over and waited in line.

After a few minutes, the door opened and Drassi waved the waiting guests through. Erin smiled as Drassi grinned at her and stepped into her inn. The air was warm and the inn was cozy despite the common room being three times as large as it should be. People sat at the tables, eating and chatting. A little white Gnoll sat with a [Princess] at a table as a bee flew around their heads. Groups of adventurers looked up and a half-Elf waved at Erin. The young woman walked into her inn, smiling.

She was home.

 

—-

 

“Dead gods.”

Ceria stared at the pile of gold on one of Erin’s tables. She looked up at Pisces. The [Necromancer]’s eyes were raised as he levitated coins into a small tower. He inspected the magical axe lying on the table, and then glanced to his left. Jelaqua touched the axe head and whistled.

“That’s enchanted alright. I can feel it in my claws. Look—you can feel the hum.”

“True.”

Halrac touched the axe’s edge with one finger as well. He glanced at Revi who snorted. The Stitch-Girl poked the axe with a finger.

“Warriors. There’s better ways of testing the magic than how it feels. Typhenous, tell them.”

The [Mage] looked up. He’d been muttering spells.

“I can’t tell how powerful it is, but it’s certainly worthy of Gold-rank.”

“At least.”

Ceria muttered. She stared at the axe, remembering Calruz swinging it and cutting down infested. She reached for the handle and hesitated. She looked up at Erin.

“And he gave you that?”

“Yup. In exchange for not paying the Goblins.”

The adventurers looked at each other. They were crowded around in one of Erin’s rooms. On the third floor, in fact. Erin had decided against showing what she’d gotten from Ilvriss to everyone. He did have a point. So she’d called the adventurers up. The Halfseekers, Horns of Hammerad, and Griffon Hunt were the only teams she really trusted with this kind of information. The Silver Swords…well, they weren’t in the inn so it was a moot point anyways. Erin glanced around.

The room was packed with all the adventurers plus Lyonette and Mrsha. Moore had to sit outside, but he was glancing in. Mrsha peered over the table at the enchanted axe. She reached out with one paw and hesitated.

“No touching, Mrsha. It’s very sharp.”

Lyonette gently scolded Mrsha. She was mildly overprotective of the Gnoll now, but Mrsha bore with it well. She picked up a gold coin instead.

“A thousand gold. That’s…a lot.”

Pisces frowned.

“For an [Innkeeper] of Erin’s level? It’s not unheard of. I’ll wager that the Level 30 Drake in Liscor—Peslas, I believe—has at least that much on hand at any given time.”

“You think so, Pisces?”

“It’s not that large a sum. Consider how much Miss Solstice would usually pay just to renovate her inn without the Antinium assisting her. And given her contributions—I’d say it is less than she deserves.”

“Well, she only gets credit for her door, not the plan.”

Jelaqua remarked reasonably as she walked a gold coin over her claws. Seborn nodded. He was leaning against one window, letting everyone else crowd around the axe.

It’s as good as they’ll give her. I’m surprised they gave the Goblins anything. This isn’t worth sixty six thousand gold coins, but they were never going to get that.

“I guess.”

Erin made a face. Seborn shrugged.

That’s politics. They wouldn’t get anything in the north either. Besides, they probably got lucky getting one artifact guaranteed. Splitting the treasure never goes fairly no matter how it’s done. Believe me. I knew [Pirates].

Jelaqua rolled her eyes as Erin turned and gave Seborn a deeply interested look.

“Everyone knows that, Seborn. Don’t bore us with another story. Hey, Erin. Did Ilvriss tell you who’s getting what?”

All the adventurers looked sharply at Erin. She hesitated.

“Well, he said they’d decide in a few days. But nothing’s settled, I think.”

“Damn.”

Halrac cursed. Lyonette glared at him. The [Scout] looked away.

“We haven’t settled anything. Every team wants the best artifacts. I want that bow—”

“And we want the staff! Come on, Halrac. I could use that wind-blasting staff. Or one of the wands!”

Revi folded her arms. Jelaqua threw up her arms.

“And I want the armor! But Keldrass is going for the same thing! It’s a mess. We might only get a bucketful of gold and that would really suck.”

“What’s wrong with gold? You’ll probably get thousands.”

Erin looked at the others, mildly confused. Yvlon shook her head. She addressed both Erin and Ksmvr, who’d raised his hands, probably with the same question.

“The thing is, Erin, artifacts go up in value. Gold doesn’t. Plus, an artifact is hard to acquire since there’s limited numbers of them, especially good ones. Frankly, paying twice of what an artifact’s worth on the market is a better idea than just having the gold.”

“Especially Gold-rank items or better. Do you know how rare it is to find a piece of armor that blocks spells like that thing the Raskghar was wearing? It’s nearly as good as the Heartflame Breastplate—okay, it’s not, but we’ll own it and that’s what counts.”

Jelaqua grumbled as she kicked about the room. Erin nodded understandingly.

“Sounds rough.”

All the adventurers gave Erin glares that were only half mocking. Erin had seen them arguing with the other teams over drinks, trying to reach a deal for the last few nights. She could only shrug and gather up the gold coins.

“Lyonette, we’ve got money. But I’m going to feed the Goblins and give them what they want with some of it, okay? The rest we’ll have to hide. We should get a safe or something.”

Lyonette nodded.

“Hide it in Bird’s room. Maybe in his bed since he never uses it.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let us make an offer for that axe, would you?”

Revi looked pained as Erin shifted the axe aside. She gestured towards her belt.

“I don’t know about the other teams, but my summoned warriors could do with magical gear. And that axe is a Gold-rank weapon…”

Erin shook her head.

“Sorry. This is going to the Goblins. They earned it and they can decide what to do with it. Speaking of which…Pebblesnatch?

She raised her voice. The other adventurers turned to the door. They heard some shuffling and then Moore’s voice.

“Oops. Excuse me.”

The half-Giant moved out of the way. A little Goblin appeared in the doorway. Pebblesnatch’s belly was round and she was gnawing on some cheese. She was the only Goblin present in Erin’s inn. The Hobs were in their cave, managing the other Cave Goblins. But Pebblesnatch had refused to go with them and for good reason. She was eating nonstop in Erin’s inn, so much so that Erin was afraid she’d injure her stomach or something.

But the Goblin seemed to be able to eat without issue. She could certainly afford to put on some pounds. Erin saw Pebblesnatch pause as she stared at the room full of adventurers and then glance with interest at the axe. Erin smiled encouragingly at her.

“Hey Pebblesnatch. Can you go downstairs and tell the Hobs I want to speak with them? It’s nothing important, but I’d like all five of them to see this.”

The little Goblin nodded. She tucked the cheese under one arm and walked downstairs. Jelaqua shook her head.

“I swear, that Goblin’s eaten twice her body weight in the last few days. I envy that. Are you going to make her an employee, Erin? What about the Hobs? All those Goblins have to go somewhere. Are they going back into the dungeon or what?”

Everyone looked at Erin. She hesitated.

She’d lied to Ilvriss. She did know how many Goblins were in the cave. The answer was a lot. And the Redfang Warriors were training them. They’d already started teaching the Cave Goblins how to fight like they did. As for plans—Erin had none.

She knew that the Goblins were a problem for Liscor, but she didn’t know what was going to happen. They could go back into the dungeon, but it was so dangerous. Then again, if they stayed above, they’d quickly become a problem as soon as the rains stopped and people started travelling to Liscor. She wondered if the Redfangs had a plan.

If they did, Erin hadn’t discussed it with them yet. She shook her head at Jelaqua.

“Nothing yet. But they’re not causing trouble for now. They just fish and cook all the time. And poke Shield Spiders.”

“You should seal that nest. One of the larger spiders breaks through the wall and there will be a problem.”

Halrac grumbled. Erin nodded.

“I’ll tell the Hobs that. Speaking of which…”

She turned expectantly to the door. There was a pause, and then someone shuffled into view. Pawn scratched his antennae as everyone stared at him. He froze.

“Oh. Hello. I was looking for Bird.”

“Hi Pawn. Look at what I got paid!”

Erin smiled at Pawn, despite him not being five Hobs. The Antinium peered into the room and nodded.

“That is a lot of gold. I am appropriately envious and happy for you, Miss Erin.”

“Thanks. Hey, do you think the Antinium will get paid a lot? You guys did fight with everyone else. Are you trying to get an artifact or gold?”

Pawn paused. He closed his mandibles and lowered them in a frown.

“Paid. Ah, you mean the distribution of wealth. I do not believe the Antinium were offered anything for our assistance in the battle.”

“What? Why not?”

Erin stared at Pawn. The Worker raised all four arms.

“I believe Wall Lord Ilvriss objected to it. As did Liscor’s Council. And Wing Commander Embria. It does not matter.”

“But that’s not—”

Erin bit back an echo of what she’d said to Ilvriss. Pawn cocked his head to one side.

“It truly does not matter, Erin. The Antinium fulfilled our contract with Liscor. And we obtained what we wanted anyways.”

“Which was?”

Pawn turned to look at Pisces. He hesitated.

“Um…oh my. Look at the rain. I should see Bird.”

He edged back and out of the room. Erin stared at the space where he had been, mystified. She looked back at Pisces.

“What did they get?”

“One wonders.”

The [Necromancer] tapped his lips thoughtfully, studiously ignoring the glances his teammates and the other adventurers gave him. He glanced towards the doorway as he heard some rapid footsteps.

“Ah.”

This time the Redfang Warriors appeared as one, led by Pebblesnatch. The Cave Goblin pointed them into the room and the Hobs warily entered. They stared at the gold coins for all of a millisecond and then fixed their gazes on the axe. Shorthilt whistled. Headscratcher nodded at Jelaqua. The Selphid grinned as Halrac stepped away from the Hobs and the others edged back to give them room.

“Hey…Numbtongue?”

Headscratcher looked disappointed. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. He looked questioningly at Erin. She took a deep breath.

“Hey guys, I’ve got some good news. And bad news. You see…I went to see Ilvriss and…well, he’s not going to pay you for saving the Gnolls. I mean, not with everything you should get.”

The Hobs stared at Erin. They looked at each other. Badarrow scratched his head. Rabbiteater frowned. Numbtongue looked at Erin.

“What pay?”

The [Innkeeper] blinked.

“Your…gold. For saving the Gnolls? Two thousand gold pieces? It’s a lot of money. And you’re not getting it.”

The Hobgoblins stared at each other. They shrugged. Numbtongue turned to Erin.

“Okay.”

He looked around and noticed everyone was giving him puzzled looks. Erin wavered.

“Aren’t you upset? I mean, that’s a lot of money! And you’re not getting any of it! Isn’t that unfair?”

“Sure.”

Numbtongue nodded obligingly. Erin gazed at him. And then she understood something about Goblins. They really didn’t care. Not about money. And not about things being unfair. Because, to a Goblin, everything was usually unfair.

“Well, I got paid some. And I think it’s only right that some of it’s yours.”

The Hobs stared at gold coins on the table. They looked at Erin and back at the coins. It was as if she’d offered them dirt. Badarrow picked up one coin, weighed it on a finger, and shrugged. He flicked it into the air and let it bounce off the table. Erin stared at him and then at the Redfangs who clearly didn’t care. She tried another tack.

“I can buy you food with it. Or weapons.”

Instantly, all the Hobs looked up with interest. They stared at the coins and at Erin as if only putting together what the money meant for the first time. Headscratcher cleared his throat.

“Swords? More?”

He spoke awkwardly and with difficulty. Erin nodded.

“More swords! If you need them. Or other things.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. They immediately huddled together. Shorthilt looked up.

“Mace? Dagger? Chainmail? Shield?”

“Yeah. Or…food.”

Rabbiteater smacked his lips together appreciatively. But Shorthilt smacked him on the back of the head. He elbowed the others until they nodded impatiently. Then the Hob stepped forwards. He stood in front of Erin like a statesman giving a speech. He looked at Erin and spoke slowly and carefully.

“Helmets. Coif. Vambraces. Oil. Whetstone. Spear. Glaive. Zweihander. Scimitar. Bardiche. Buckler. Pauldrons…”

It was like he’d memorized a dictionary of words that only pertained to weapons and armor. Erin stared at Shorthilt began listing off an armory’s worth of items. She eventually cut him off.

“You want all that?”

“Some.”

The Hob nodded eagerly. The other Redfang Warriors nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Rabbiteater grumbled and made it clear that he wanted some food. But Shorthilt was adamant. Erin wavered.

“Well, I can get you some of that. Some. But the money will also go to food. For the Goblins?”

The Hobs nodded at that. They looked satisfied, punching each other on the shoulder good-naturedly. In fact, they looked quite happy. Erin stared at them, mystified, and then pointed to the axe.

“Ilvriss also gave you that. There’s only one, but it’s all he’s willing to give you. So…”

The Hobs froze. They stared at the enchanted axe. They looked at Erin. Numbtongue inhaled sharply.

“For us?”

Erin nodded. The Hobs stared at each other. Then as one they leapt for the axe.

“Whoa!”

Erin jumped back. The adventurers backed up as the five Goblins all tried to grab the axe. They fell, punching and kicking each other for it. Erin shouted and waved her arms for them to stop, but the Hobs didn’t listen. The first to emerge from the pile was Headscratcher. He pried Shorthilt’s hands off the axe and lifted it over his head, crowing.

“Mine!”

The Hobs all stared at him. Shorthilt groaned and smacked his forehead on the floor. Glumly, the other four got up and scuffed at the ground with their feet. Erin stared.

“Wait, that was it?”

Headscratcher nodded. He swung the axe carefully as the other Hobs glared at him. Apparently, they’d decided who would get the axe with the simplest of trials. Ceria looked at her team.

“Wanna try that for our next artifact?”

Yvlon laughed. Pisces just sniffed. The Hobs clustered around Headscratcher, disappointment forgotten as he let them try the axe. He looked at Erin and she was surprised to see a bit of moisture in his eyes. Headscratcher nearly teared up. He kept elbowing Numbtongue until the Goblin translated.

“Very good. Very good. He says thank you.”

Erin raised her hands.

“I didn’t do much. Look, Headscratcher, aw, don’t cry. I’m glad you like it. But it’s not what you deserve. You should get two more artifacts. OR gold!”

The Hobs stared at the pile of gold dismissively. They shook their heads. Numbtongue looked confused. He looked at Erin.

“Why so important? For buying?”

Revi raised her eyebrows. Jelaqua laughed. Erin nodded.

“It’s important! Very important. If you had more, you could buy…tons of good stuff! All of the others want it.”

The Hobs looked at the adventurers. They nodded. Halrac looked stonily past the Goblins. Jelaqua scratched her neck and sighed.

“Yeah, it’s important. We might not get anything good. And—hell, it is a bit depressing.”

“Why’s that?”

Lyonette held Mrsha up. The Gnoll sniffed Jelaqua as the Selphid shrugged.

“It’s nothing. Okay—look. It’s just that we might not get any artifacts. Or if we do, we get one. And it’s…well, it’s hard after fighting in the dungeon for so long, you know? After so much…”

She glanced at Griffon Hunt and away. The other adventurers nodded. Jelaqua spread her arms out.

“Sorry. I know I’m griping. But the other teams will get a share of the loot and that’s fair. But we—well, we were here first, you know? And we’re not getting much.”

Yeah.

Seborn nodded. Typhenous leaned on his staff.

“We have to agree. It is disappointing. Fair, but disappointing. I have no doubt we can negotiate for one artifact, but it might not be what we wish. As for the monetary costs…well, we’ll most likely have to forgo all the gold for a chance at one artifact.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Erin felt bad as she thought about that. It was true. The Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt had sacrificed a lot. They’d lost Ulrien. And now they had to gamble on whether they’d get anything worthwhile.

The Hobs stared thoughtfully at the adventurers. Then they looked at the gold. Badarrow picked up the gold piece again and looked at it. Then he bit it. He frowned at the faint teeth marks in the gold piece and showed it to Rabbiteater. The other Hob bit the coin as well and licked it thoughtfully. He showed it to Headscratcher who nodded, and true to his name, scratched his head.

“This is good?”

“Yup. This is what adventurers look for. This and gems and magical artifacts. And uh…”

Erin looked at the others. Jelaqua shrugged.

“Artwork. Vases, tapestries, old documents, books, magical and nonmagical. Gilding on the walls…”

Old maps can be worth a fortune. As well as correspondence. You can make a fortune on the right letters.

Revi smiled.

“I heard someone sold a love letter from an old [Archmage] of Wistram to a Chandrarian [Queen] for ten thousand gold pieces. It was worth more than the gemstones they found!”

The Hobs stared at her. Then they looked at each other. Headscratcher wandered over to the table. He picked up the empty bag of holding and peered into it. He dropped a coin inside and watched as it vanished. Then he tossed it to Numbtongue. The Hob grunted as he inserted his entire arm into the bag. He waved it at Erin.

“This thing. Can we take it?”

“Oh, no. Sorry. I have to give it back.”

The Hob nodded.

“We’ll give back. But borrow for little while?”

Erin hesitated.

“Well, sure. Why not? Do you need both?”

The Hobs conferred. They nodded. Numbtongue turned to the others.

“We go. Come back later. You wait.”

He waved vaguely at the room then walked out the door. The adventurers watched as the Hobs followed him. Ceria frowned.

“Does he mean wait here?”

Revi snorted.

“Bugger that. As Dawil would say. Come on, if they’re coming back I need a drink to wash the poverty off my tongue. Look, let’s all sit down and figure out who gets what once and for all.”

“I want that bow. You’re not talking me out of it, Revi.”

Halrac walked past her. Erin looked at Lyonette who shrugged and stared at the gold coins.

“They took the bags. We’ll have to haul this up by hand.”

“Ooh. Yeah. Well, maybe let’s leave it until they come back.”

The group went downstairs. Erin smiled as she walked into her common room. It was bustling, but for once she didn’t have much to do. Gnolls and Drakes circulated the tables, led by Ishkr and Drassi. They served food and drink and Erin could sit with Lyonette, Mrsha, and the adventurers as they argued.

Erin poured herself a cup of juice and sat with the others. She tried defusing the arguments that began to spring up. She was glad none of the other teams were here. They were probably cooling off. Last night had seen Keldrass and Jelaqua nearly come to blows. Even good-natured adventurers like Bevussa and Dawil had gotten annoyed by the arguing.

“All this over artifacts. I’m glad I don’t have a horse in this race.”

Lyonette nodded absently. She was bouncing Mrsha up and down as the Gnoll hugged her. The two looked happy, content just to sit around.

“I think it’s the bad weather that makes them angrier. This would probably go a lot more civilly if we had them sit in the sun.”

She glanced at Erin, and the young woman remembered that Lyonette was a [Princess]. She probably knew about negotiations.

“Why not? We can always rig up a door to the field. And Krshia said she wants to bring some Gnolls through. Let’s do that if things go south.”

“Or if you see any other teams walk in.”

The two nodded at each other. Erin turned her attention back to the arguing adventurers. She was just trying to explain to Ksmvr why challenging other teams to duels over the artifacts wasn’t a good idea—and the other adventurers were floating it as a legitimate option—when the door opened.

“The Hobgoblins are back! No one panic!”

Drassi shouted as the Redfang Warriors appeared again. They’d been gone for a good two hours, much to Erin’s surprise. They also looked slightly dirty and sweaty. Headscratcher waved to Erin and pointed upstairs. She rose.

“I think he wants us to go upstairs. Hey you guys, can you come too?”

“Fine! It beats arguing about dividing loot!”

Revi threw up her hands and stalked upstairs. Jelaqua and Seborn joined her, both looking upset while Moore tried to calm them down. Typhenous, Halrac, Yvlon, and Ksmvr followed them. Erin stared at their backs.

“They’re really upset.”

“It’s hard to negotiate. I don’t think we’ve got much of a claim, but even we’re tearing our hair out over what we want.”

Ceria paused, looking sympathetically at the Gold-rank adventurers. Pisces nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“This process does seem designed to involve the most amount of strife possible. The lottery is designed such that everyone may have a claim regardless of how small, which will create a great deal of uncertainty, even for a team with a larger claim like the Halfseekers or Griffon Hunt. Everyone may obtain what they want—but the odds are that at least one party will exit quite unhappy. As one might expect of the Drakeish way of dividing spoils.”

Ceria paused as she began to climb the stairs.

“So what you really mean is, it’s a mess, Pisces.”

“Succinctly? Yes?”

“Just say that next time.”

He sniffed. Erin grinned and followed them up the stairs. She found the Hobs had placed both bags of holding on the table. They also had two large, bulging sacks next to the table. Erin stared at them. She didn’t know where the rough hide bags had come from, but they looked positively filthy. She glanced at the adventurers who were looking annoyed.

“Um, Numbtongue, what’s this? What are the other two bags for?”

“Stuff. For adventurers. Bags of holding too small. Here.”

Numbtongue handed one of the bags of holding to Erin. She stared at it and then gingerly opened the bag. She peered inside.

“Huh.”

She looked up from the bag and put it on the table quite calmly. The other adventurers stared at Erin as she went over to the window.

“’Scuse me, Seborn. Hey Moore, come in and shut the door, will you?”

The half-Giant obliged her. Revi complained as he squeezed himself into the room. Erin was fumbling with the window.

“Come on! It’ll be cramped in here, no offense Moore. And what are you doing, Erin—”

She yelped as Erin opened the window. Rain blew in. Mrsha raced out of the way as a shower blasted Erin and Seborn and Ceria, who were closest to the window. Ceria ran for cover and the other adventurers edged back.

“What the hell, Erin!”

“Just one second. I have something in my eyes.”

Erin let the rain blow into her face. Then she shut the window. She looked around as water dripped from her face. The others stared at her. Then Erin walked over to the bag of holding. She opened it again. She glanced into it.

“Huh.”

She looked up at Numbtongue. The Hob was staring at her, mainly because of the water dripping from Erin’s body. She blinked some out of her eyes.

“Hey Numbtongue, is this real?”

He nodded.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A room below. Cave Goblins showed us where it was. Big collection spot.”

“Oh. So the Raskghar had a spot where they put all this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

Jelaqua frowned. She tried to see the bag but Erin was blocking it. Numbtongue nodded.

“Separate room. Too hard to carry everywhere.”

“Right, right. That makes sense. You wouldn’t bring this around. Huh. So…huh. Wow.”

The other adventures looked at each other. Now they sensed what Erin was feeling. Pisces stood up straighter. Moore leaned over. Ceria stood on her tiptoes.

“What’s in the bag, Erin?”

The [Innkeeper] started. She looked around at the curious faces. She looked at the bag—and then turned it over and emptied it onto the table.

 

—-

 

Ceria Springwalker had heard many sounds in her life. Insects crawling all over each other, the quiet of the forests, the sound of trees rustling. Her friends screaming as they died. Raskghar howling. The voice of her master as she bade Ceria goodbye. The sound of laughter. A song in an inn.

Happy sounds, sad sounds. Moments that Ceria would never be able to unhear, both joyous and terrible. But the sound she heard now was glorious. It was a high, lofty sound that indicated the shifting of fates, but an earthly sound. A familiar sound.

It was the chink, the cling and high pitched ringing sound of metal on metal. The half-Elf saw coins pour out of Erin’s bag of holding, in an unending stream. Coins, some golden, others faded. Many covered in filth or lichen. But the gold, oh, the gold shone through. Not just gold too. There was silver and bronze and other colors of metal, bright and seductive.

And that was only the coins. Other things tumbled from the sack. Bright gemstones, goblets made of gold, figurines of Drakes, some cracked and damaged. Necklaces of fine silver string with pearls, large rings with embedded gemstones, a scepter made of brass but inset with a ring of diamonds around the top—

The treasure poured from the bag of holding and onto the table. The gold and jewels and other riches rolled off the table and clattered onto the floor. The adventurers shouted and stared. Mrsha blocked a rolling emerald the size of her paw with her leg. Erin held the bag up as the treasures poured forth. At last, the flow stopped. She stared down at the table heaped with treasures and looked around. Riches lay on the ground, rolling to a stop. She looked around, shaking slightly. Everyone else stared at her with bug eyes.

All except for the Goblins. They grumbled as they kicked aside the gold and jewels. Rabbiteater stepped on a sharp little Drake statuette made of bright silver and rubies and cursed. He kicked it aside. Numbtongue complained to Erin.

“This is hard to pick up! We’re not doing it this time.”

She turned to stare at him.

“This was in the dungeon?”

He nodded.

“In a special room. Raskghar told Cave Goblins to put it there. They collect lots of it from other rooms in the dungeon. For some reason.”

He shrugged and kicked a pile of gold apart. Erin stared at the coins. Some of them were filthy, probably from sitting in the dungeon for so long. Other coins were bloodstained. Mrsha wrinkled her nose as she sniffed a goblet with a bit of blood on one side.

“And you have another bag of holding filled with this? And—”

She looked at the other two sacks. Rabbiteater nodded. He flexed his arms to show Erin how hard it had been to carry the non-magical bags.

“Heavy. Glittery stuff heavy.”

“I’d imagine so. This isn’t just gold coins like we use. Some of this—some of this is pure gold.

Revi’s hands trembled as she picked up a coin. She scored the soft gold with a knife, peeling up a sliver of gold. She showed it to Halrac. The [Scout]’s eyes were wide as he held it up.

“Oh dead gods. Someone tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Jelaqua looked at the treasure on the floor, blinking. She looked around. The other adventurers looked too stunned for words. She stared at the jewels lying at her feet.

“This can’t be real. Pinch me, someone.”

Moore did, pinching Jelaqua’s arm. The Selphid paused.

“I didn’t feel that.”

You’re a Selphid. Of course you didn’t.

Seborn stepped forwards. He bent and picked up a pair of tongs, which were made of silver and ivory. He opened and closed them.

This is a treasure haul. I’ve seen something like this only once. And that was—storms and salt. This is what the Raskghar had?

“Of course. Of course they had it. We just didn’t notice it because we attacked their camp.”

Ceria felt lightheaded. She spoke, feeling something like mirth bubbling up inside them. She looked at the others, a crazy smile tugging at her face.

“We were so busy attacking the camp that we never thought to—and Calruz never said—”

Yvlon shook her head.

“He probably didn’t know. The Raskghar might have kept it hidden. And the Goblins…”

She glanced at the Hobs, who were scratching themselves and looking pleased at the reaction they’d elicited.

“…they don’t care about treasure.”

“We care about artifacts. Not shiny things. They’re too shiny. Too heavy. Not useful. Good for adventurer traps, maybe.”

Numbtongue corrected Yvlon. The woman nodded and then stared at the treasure. Ksmvr glanced around.

“Am I to take it that this is all treasure for us?”

“No, it’s the Goblin’s—”

Erin turned to the Redfangs. They shook their heads.

“Not for us. You take.”

Headscratcher pointed at Erin. She opened her mouth to protest. Pisces cut her off.

“It’s no good to them, Erin. But in our hands, it can be, ah, delicately spent. I think this is a gift.”

“Mhm.”

The Hobs nodded. Numbtongue pointed at the adventuring teams, who stared at him, faces all as pale as Jelaqua’s.

“For fighting in the dungeon. For killing Raskghar. You did it. We don’t need it. So it’s yours. You have it. An adventurer’s treasure.”

The other three teams looked at Numbtongue, shocked. Typhenous was bending down, touching the treasure. He looked up. Revi had a circlet in her hands.

“For us? Just for us? You’re serious?”

Numbtongue nodded. Jelaqua shook her head.

“We should share it. This is—we should tell the others.”

The others looked at her. Yvlon half-nodded. Pisces frowned. No one else nodded. Revi looked at Jelaqua.

“I have an alternative idea: no. This is ours. There’s no way I’ll split this. Can I change your mind?”

The Selphid hesitated. She looked back at Revi and then nodded.

“Yeah. That was a terrible idea. Thanks for talking me out of it.”

“Anytime.”

The others went back to staring at the treasure. Erin felt a bit lightheaded. She looked at the other bags.

“So that’s all the treasure?”

The Hobs nodded. Numbtongue kicked one bag.

“All of it. There was a big pile in the room. No artifacts. Raskghar used those. We took all of it. You take it from us. Only your teams.”

He looked at the others. Revi was nodding repeatedly, as was Typhenous and Pisces. Halrac frowned.

“Why our teams?”

He looked directly at Badarrow as he said it. The [Sniper] glanced at him and grinned.

“Helped Goblins. Sometimes.”

That shut Halrac up. Erin looked at the treasure and then at Headscratcher.

“They did do a lot. But—why not the Silver Swords? They fought too.”

Numbtongue looked at his companions. He shrugged.

“We don’t like them.”

“Oh.”

After that came more standing around. The Hobs took a seat as the adventurers picked up the relics and gold pieces and tried to pile them on the table. They were almost afraid to open the other bags. Ceria kept pinching herself and Moore had to sit and breathe slowly with Mrsha in his arms. They were shocked more than exhilarated.

For the first ten minutes. And then a craze seemed to sweep over them. Jelaqua opened the second bag of holding, dumped it onto the ground, and began sorting the coins and jewels and other objects apart. Typhenous knelt with her, muttering about the cuts of gems and weight. Pisces began arguing with Seborn about the price of gold. Yvlon and Halrac tried to appraise the statues and so on and Ksmvr dutifully began adding it all up. In minutes, all the adventurers were on their knees, counting.

“We need parchment! Something to write this down!”

Pisces feverishly sorted through the gemstones, his face flushed. Ceria nodded.

“Put—put all the gems on the bed! We’ll count the coins and shove them into this corner—”

The Hobs watched as the adventurers scrambled to sort the treasure. It was getting hot in the room so Rabbiteater opened a door. Immediately he was nearly tackled by Seborn and Typhenous.

“Don’t open the door!”

Instantly, the ecstatic mood changed to paranoia. Moore was instantly assigned to watch the door and Lyonette and Erin were sent downstairs to get parchment and a quill and ink and to come right back upstairs. Under no circumstances was anyone allowed on the same floor. Typhenous and Pisces began frantically casting ward spells.

“We’ll need to store all this before we can deposit it! The Merchant’s Guild can hold it—but we’ll need to watch it day and night. If a [Thief] were to get wind of what we have—”

Revi was summoning her Stitch-Warriors to help sort the treasure. Halrac nodded.

“We can’t just deposit it in any guild, though. We need the best deal. I know someone in Invrisil who can change all the gemstones.”

“Right—there’s overheads we need to watch out for. The exchange rate on sapphires isn’t so good, but if we bank it and wait—”

“How do we split it? Thirds to each of us? What about Erin?”

Ceria knelt amid a pile of treasure. She looked up at Erin. The young woman backed up as the adventurers stared feverishly at her.

“I’m uh, good. I got paid. You can have the treasure.”

“You mean it? You can’t change your mind!”

Revi stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated, and looked at Lyonette. Mrsha was staring wide-eyed at the treasure.

“I’m…sure. I didn’t fight in the dungeon.”

“Right. Right. That’s true. We can give you a bit. But all of this? This is for us.”

Revi went back to the gold, standing over it almost protectively. Erin looked around. The Hobs were watching with interest. But there was something almost…scary about the way the adventurers were acting. Erin wanted no part of it. The three teams sorted the treasure nonstop for an hour, trying to calculate how much they’d earned. In the end they had a rough count.

“It could be off—the fluctuating market is always an issue. But assuming we could average the prices for each item—”

Pisces scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, ignoring the grime on his hands. Typhenous mumbled as he stared at the parchment with the figures scrawled on it. Ceria bounced on her feet.

“Well? How much? How much?

Pisces looked up and gulped.

“A hundred and ten thousand gold pieces? Give or take thirty thousand as a margin for error.”

A hundred and ten—

“Give or take? How much could we get?”

Jelaqua tried to add it up on shaking fingers.

“Per group? That’s….close to fourty thousand for each team! Thirty five thousand pieces!”

“And that’s assuming we don’t get more for the gems and whatnot. If we get a good price—”

The adventurers went quiet. They looked at each other. Then Revi laughed shakily.

“We’re rich. This is—this is a haul.”

The other adventurers nodded. Ceria sat on the ground as filthy gold coins spilled around her. Ksmvr stared at the treasure.

“So, does this mean our teams have achieved lucrative success, Captain Ceria? Have we struck it rich?”

“Very rich, Ksmvr.”

Ceria nodded at once. But it was Jelaqua who raised a trembling hand.

“Hold on. This is good, but it’s not everything.”

“What do you mean?”

Ceria stared at the Selphid. Jelaqua took a few deep breaths.,

“Okay. It’s great. If it was one team we’d be…well, thirty five thousand is a huge amount any way you cut it. But for a Gold-rank team? It’s good. It’s what we came here for. But if we can get more—”

She looked at Griffon Hunt. Halrac nodded.

“It’s what we came here for.”

“Right. We could do with eighty thousand gold pieces. Now that would be a real haul even for a Gold-rank team.”

Revi muttered to herself. She raised her hands as she got a dozen glares.

“What? This is great, don’t get me wrong! It puts our team back on the map. After what happened—”

She looked at Typhenous and Halrac. The [Scout] nodded. He sat on the bed, then reached down and pulled a topaz away with a grimace.

“After all our setbacks, this will…it’ll fund us for a long time. Get us better equipment if we need it. Help us get more adventurers.”

“Us too. We’ve had a few thousand gold coins in the bank, but nothing we could really rub together. This? This is security.”

Jelaqua stared at the mountain of coin. She looked up sharply.

“And we can use this in the lottery.”

The others looked at her in surprise. Halrac sat up and nodded.

“That’s true. We can cede all the money we’ll get, and ask just for an artifact. And then—”

“—and then we have gold and an artifact. Dead gods. Dead gods.

Jelaqua rubbed her hands together. Ceria blinked at Halrac.

“You want more? After this?”

She’d hit the limit of all the avarice in her body. But Halrac and the other Gold-ranks clearly hadn’t. The [Veteran Scout] nodded.

“I want that bow. Before, we were trying to get at least a few thousand gold pieces to cover the costs of all we’ve spent. But with this, we can aim just for the artifacts.”

“It’s a miracle. A miracle!”

Revi laughed and lay in a pool of treasure. Seborn had necklaces and bracelets draped over his arms. He grinned, the light of the gems flashing across his body. Erin smiled around, caught up in the genuine excitement this time.

“You did it.”

Yvlon paused. She held a gold coin up and stared at it.

“We did.”

The adventurers quieted. They looked at each other. The Halfseekers, the Horns, and Griffon Hunt. The elation that had filled them drained away for a moment. They remembered.

Ulrien. The original Horns of Hammerad. The Silver Spears. All the others. Ceria stared down at the treasure she held, slightly sick suddenly. It felt like so long. And she’d done it. She held a fortune, the fortune her team had dreamed of. And she felt…a bit empty.

“What now?”

Pisces looked at her.

“Now? I suppose we attempt to arm ourselves better for next time.”

“What next time?”

Revi looked at him, puzzled. Pisces frowned.

“The next foray into the dungeon, of course.”

“Why?”

The question stumped the [Necromancer]. Revi looked around. The Stitch-Girl looked calmer now. She gazed from face to face, ending on Halrac and Typhenous.

“Why do we have to go back into the dungeon? It’s dangerous. It nearly killed us more times than I can count. Besides…we did it. This is what we came here for. Not to conquer the dungeon. For this.

She gestured at the treasure.

“We did it. A wise adventurer doesn’t keep going in. They take the treasure and go. We did it, everyone. And as for me? I’m done with the dungeon.”

Everyone stared at her in shock. Then Jelaqua stood up.

“So are we. We got our gold. We don’t have to go back in. We’re going to have a holiday. We’re going to—we could go anywhere with this. We don’t have to go back.”

“We don’t?”

Ceria sat still, trying to imagine that. They could just walk away? But the dungeon—

Would be there. And other teams would try to claim its secrets and treasures. But they didn’t have to deal with it. Ceria looked at the treasure. She tried to imagine what twenty five thousand gold pieces could buy. Could it buy help for an insane Minotaur? A gravestone for the Horns? New robes? Spellbooks? Could it buy—

She looked up and saw Pisces staring at her. Yvlon and Ksmvr stood together, waiting. They were looking at Ceria. So were the Halfseekers. And Griffon Hunt and Erin and Lyonette and Mrsha. Ceria looked around. She stood up. She felt dizzy. Elated. Almost sick. But then she remembered.

A group of adventurers standing around in the inn. Ceria, Sostrom, Gerial, Calruz, Hunt…the Horns. A toast. For honor. Ceria blinked—

And she stood in the room filled with treasure. Different faces gazed at her, worrying, expectant, curious. Ceria looked around. She took a few deep breaths.

“I think—for now—at least until we’re ready—”

They waited for it. Ceria smiled. Her heart was beating fast. The world opened up. The dungeon would stay here, but now—

“We’re done with the dungeon!”

The others burst into wild cheers. Jelaqua hugged Pisces and Revi danced about Moore as the half-Giant high-fived all three of Ksmvr’s hands. Halrac shook Yvlon’s hands as Seborn and Typhenous slapped each other on the back. The adventurers laughed and danced and cried.

“We’re done with the dungeon! Done with the dungeon!

And the Goblins watched it all, amused and confused and happy. And when Erin had seen enough, she left the room and watched the Hobs file back to their little cave, nudging each other. Satisfied. They’d given away a fortune, but they stood straight. Happy.

That was the thing about Goblins. They cared not for gold, or glory, or gods for that matter. But they cared about what mattered. Warm food, a place to sleep, a shiny axe, and each other.  Erin looked back at the room full of celebrating adventurers and at the Goblins. She saw things to love about each side. So she stood on the stairs and called down at the Hobs.

“Hey!”

They looked back up at her. Erin smiled and beckoned.

“Come on. You deserve at least one cake for all that.”

They brightened up. It was the best gift Erin could have given them.

 

—-

 

Happy days. Presents that mattered more to different people. The Drakes were grateful for peace. The Gnolls rejoiced in victory over their ancient foe. The adventurers looked to the glitter of their wealth. And the Goblins? The Goblins shared three cakes in their cave and were happy. Which group was the most happy?

It was the Goblins. They lay about in a sugar-induced coma, the Cave Goblins experiencing the joy of frosting for the first time in their lives, smacking their lips. For once they weren’t hungry. The Hobs slept on beds imported from Erin’s inn, warm and comfortable. And one more thing happened that night.

A Goblin wearing a cape tossed and turned in his bed. His cape was magical. Sometimes it was water, or mud, or in one bad case, pee. But usually it was blood. He’d finally figured out how to make it stick and the blood cape looked coolest.

Goblins slept around him. They crowded his bed, although none actually intruded on the warm cotton sheets. But they clustered around this Hob more than any other.

Not because he was stronger than the rest like Headscratcher, or an expert shot like Badarrow. He wasn’t nearly as masterful with weapons as Shorthilt and he couldn’t sing or speak like Numbtongue. In fact, the other Hobs would have called Rabbiteater slightly unremarkable. So would he.

But that wasn’t what the Cave Goblins saw. That wasn’t what they remembered. They all remembered a figure standing in the darkness.

A Goblin unsheathed his sword as the Raskghar stirred in their camps. The Cave Goblins looked up and saw a toothy grin, and a Goblin wearing a red cape. Rabbiteater pointed at the Raskghar, his crimson cloak swirling around him. He charged and the Hobs followed, bringing salvation and hope into the darkness of the dungeon.

They had seen him leading the charge. And he was always smiling, always kind. The other Hobs were grumpy or bad tempered, or in Headscratcher’s case, cried too much. But Rabbiteater was nice. And he was learning to cook from Erin. In their minds, he was clearly the leader. More than a leader.

He was a hero. And hundreds…thousands…of Cave Goblins slept that night and believed it. And because they believed, it was true. Only, it was impossible for Rabbiteater to become a [Hero]. He was missing one thing. So he got the closest thing to it.

 

[Level 20 Warrior!]

[Warrior → Champion class!]

[Skill – Champion’s Gear obtained!]

[Skill – Grand Slash obtained!]

[Skill – Valor of Champions obtained!]

 

Rabbiteater sat up. He blinked and looked down at his body. He stared at his worn chainmail shirt and slightly dented sword as they began to glow. Rabbiteater saw the chainmail straighten, shed the rust, and take on a smooth, almost silky sheen. He drew his sword and saw it glow as the blade became straight, the edge razor-sharp. He looked around and waved his arms. All the other Goblins were asleep. So Rabbiteater took a deep breath and shouted.

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice was sleeping in her bed. In the kitchen. On the floor. She was used to it now and it was comfy. She was sound asleep, but she woke up when she heard the shouting.

It was coming from the magic door. Erin stumbled over to it and saw the red mana stone was glowing. Someone had opened the door from the other side by accident. She stumbled over and heard loud shouts. She cautiously peeked through the door and saw chaos.

The five Redfang Warriors were running about, shouting. The Cave Goblins were just as excited. But—wait. Erin tried to make sense of it all.

“Champion! [Champion]!

Rabbiteater crowed as he ran about, arms raised. His cape fluttered behind him as the Goblins cheered. But the Hobs weren’t happy. They were chasing about the Cave Goblins, shouting. They didn’t use words—well, except for Numbtongue, but Erin got what they were saying.

Why him? The Redfang Warriors were upset. They were happy, well, sort of, but they were indignant. Why Rabbiteater? After all, Headscratcher was stronger. Shorthilt was better with a sword! Badarrow never missed a target! And Numbtongue had a guitar! They argued with the Cave Goblins, slapping their chests and flexing their muscles. But the Cave Goblins stared at Rabbiteater who was posing with the cloak on his back.

Their hero. And as the other four Hobs lay back, crestfallen, Erin smiled. She looked at Rabbiteater, who was smiling ear to pointed ear. She whispered quietly to herself.

“And Hufflepuff takes the lead.”

Then she closed the door and went to sleep.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.50 G

Every species had a way of meeting. Not individually, but in large masses. For instance, Gnolls had no written law, but they still obeyed tradition quite scrupulously and they had a number of customs that related to interaction between two or more tribes.

When two tribes of Gnolls met, there were ceremonies to be observed. The Chieftains would meet and declare peace—or war. They would exchange gifts in the case of the former or part for one day in the case of the latter. Other species might scoff at these particular formalities, but they all had places of peace, and ways of meeting.

The Centaurs had gathering spots where no weapons were allowed to be brought, neutral ground where all might walk in peace, criminal and enemies alike. The Dullahans regarded steam baths as inviolate and would never sanction an [Assassin] to lie in wait there, or plan a trap of any kind.

[Ladies] had tea parties. Drakes (generally) didn’t fight under white flags, and even then, it was usually only punching each other in the worst of cases. Dragons tended not to do battle when one or more of their hoards were at stake. And Goblins? Well, Goblins had the sit-about.

Infighting between Goblins was rare. Usually one Chieftain would crush another by force or trickery and that would be that. However, larger battles and lasting animosity like the war between Garen and Tremborag’s factions with Reiss’ weren’t unknown.

And while it was unthinkable for them to share a confined space without one side attacking the other, the peace had been maintained by the Humans. Thus, the Goblins had declared a hiatus on killing each other and enacted a rare scene from Goblin tradition, the aforementioned sit-about.

It was simple. Two enemy tribes of Goblins found a big space and sat. One side faced the other, or in this case, since Rags was present and Garen and Tremborag were two different Chieftains, they formed into four sides, such that a square of space lay between them. From overhead it looked more like a rhombus, but no one was holding the Goblins to exact geometry at the moment.

A rhombus, with a bit of space between each Chieftain and the Goblin Lord. Each one sat at an inside corner, facing the others. And here was the curious thing about the Goblin sit-about; while the tribe of Goblins sat behind their Chieftain, eating and chattering and passing along what was said in the center, the actual amount of space that separated Rags from Garen and the other chieftains was only about five feet in any direction.

There she sat, on the grass. There he sat, five feet away, across a fire. Behind Garen, his entire tribe—barely more than eight hundred Goblins, all wearing the red stripes that marked them as ‘his’ Redfangs—sat. Rags glanced left.

A giant Hobgoblin, a massive blob of fat, chewed noisily on a dead cow’s haunch. Tremborag glanced down at Rags as he tore meat from bone, his eyes flashing with clear annoyance and hatred. Five feet separated them, but such was Tremborag’s size that he could reach out and strike Rags. He did not, because of the rules. And also because of who sat across from him.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord, sat to Rags’ right. He was cross-legged, with Snapjaw and Eater of Spears sitting just behind him. He stared at the crackling fire and glanced up. Rags saw his eyes flick towards her, but made no move.

The atmosphere was…well, tense was hardly the word for it. Rags had never been in a sit-about before. She only knew of it from looking back at other Chieftain’s memories. And what she remembered of the sit-about was that it usually didn’t end well.

During the sitting it was peaceful. Oh, the close proximity meant that sometimes Chieftains would shout or throw things at each other, but actual violence would be so wrong that their tribes would usually revolt rather than see one of their Chieftains break the peace. So the two Goblins, or in this case, four, would have to share one meal together, sitting practically cheek-by-jowl.

The violence was what came after. The sit-about was considered the last attempt for two tribes to make peace if one Chieftain refused to cede to the other. If they didn’t find some kind of common ground, then the next day they usually slaughtered each other. Rags didn’t know if that would happen here, but she was on edge.

Her entire tribe sat at her back. Pyrite on her left, Redscar on her right. Poisonbite sat on Pyrite’s left, Noears on Redscar’s right. Quietstab sat directly behind Rags, chewing on a bit of pan-fried beef. The rest of her tribe sat behind her lieutenants, chomping down and watching Rags from behind.

There was a bowl full of chopped and fried beef in front of Rags. Good, hot food that made her stomach growl. The Goblins had run across a herd of cattle on the march and so they were dining well tonight. Normally Rags would have been stuffing her face, but she knew she was being watched. Every Goblin would assess their Chieftain and the other Chieftain’s performance, weigh what they said. Thus, every move had to be made with care.

Rags thought like that for about five minutes. Then she gave up and began gobbling her beef because she was hungry. The fire crackled as it grew lower; it had been made right when the sit-about had been declared and no one had fed it yet. The four Goblins eyed the fire. It was Tremborag who broke the silence first.

“The fire’s getting low.”

The other three looked at him. All the Goblins looked at Tremborag. Some nodded. That was a neutral statement, a fact. A good opening. Garen glanced at Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“It’s low.”

He was agreeing with Tremborag. That was good. It meant the two agreed on something, however small. There were nods all around. Garen growled, not wanting to be left out.

“Should probably add more wood. Other Goblin should do it.”

His Redfang Warriors smiled decisively as if Garen had pointed out something no one else had. Rags rolled her eyes and didn’t comment. Tremborag tore off another chunk of meat. He spoke while chewing.

“Make the nameless child refuel it. She’s better suited to that than leading a tribe.”

The convivial atmosphere became glacial in a moment. Rags stiffened and her tribe sat up. Redscar half-rose, his eyes flashing, but Noears and Quietstab grabbed his shoulders in an instant. Rags had to be the one to respond. She glanced coolly to her left at Tremborag and replied.

“No.”

The Goblins stirred. Some of them, smaller ones and females, glanced admiringly at Rags for her confident reply. Tremborag’s eyes only narrowed. He waited, but Rags went back to eating.

“Why not?”

Rags glanced back up at Tremborag.

“Don’t want to.”

Tremborag smiled mirthlessly. He tapped one huge finger on the ground as a spark flew from the fire and died in the dirt.

“The fire will go out. Someone must tend to it. Why not you?”

It was a cunning philosophic trap, at least in Goblin terms. Why shouldn’t Rags refill the fire? But the little Chieftain was equal to the challenge. This time she looked straight at Tremborag and raised her voice slightly.

“I said no. Big fat Hob deaf as well as stupid?”

Tremborag’s jaw fell open. There was a guffaw from behind Rags and laughter from other Goblins. The gigantic Hob growled, but nothing could take away the amusement on Reiss’ face, or the way Garen was clearly trying not to laugh. Rags smiled to herself, then felt a poke in her side. Every head turned to Pyrite, who looked troubled as he withdrew the finger. Rags nodded.

“Sorry. Big fat, ugly Goblin. That better?”

She looked at Pyrite, who grunted with approval. Again, laughter came from behind Rags and from Reiss’ camp. Tremborag’s face was murderous. He swung around and the faint, stifled sounds behind him went instantly silent.

That had been a perfect riposte with Pyrite’s help as verbal duels went. Rags sat a bit straighter, knowing that if there was a score, she would be ahead. Tremborag was fuming, but unwilling to try to attack Rags again and Garen was recovering himself. Reiss chuckled and turned his head.

“Snapjaw.”

Instantly, the Hob with the metal teeth turned and waved a hand. She shouted.

Wood!

One of the Goblins behind her threw a split log. Snapjaw grabbed it and handed it to Reiss. He pointed at the log and flicked his fingers. The piece of firewood flew up and landed in the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks. There were murmurs from all sides and Rags saw Noears sit up with interest. She was staring at Reiss as well, trying to figure out how he’d done that. Pisces had tried to teach her telekinesis, but she hadn’t mastered it to that extent. Or at all really.

The fire crackled with the new fuel in place. Garen grunted and pointed. One of his warriors strode forth and dumped some firewood next to the fire, adding a few logs. The other Goblins watched. Obviously the fire hadn’t been the issue. It had just been an opening joust of words and actions. And Reiss had cleverly found a way to set himself ahead as well.

His trick with the firewood was a display of magic, meant to impress. And it did. Goblin [Shamans] couldn’t levitate objects, at least not as casually as [Mages] did. That set Reiss apart and more than a few Goblins were staring at him now. Tremborag, glaring, rumbled.

“Cute trick.”

His words were meant to be an insult, but Reiss just smiled slightly. He turned his head and stage-whispered to Snapjaw.

“Better cute than being big, fat, ugly, deaf and stupid.”

She laughed loudly and again, Tremborag turned a mottled shade of red and green. His huge claws clenched and unclenched. Rags watched him out of the corner of her eyes as she sipped some water from her cup.

He wasn’t good at this. Tremborag might have a commanding presence, and he was dangerous, but he had never really suffered challenges to his rule in the mountain. Thus, he wasn’t as nimble in places where words mattered more than power, like the sit-about. And Garen was likewise stuck. The Redfang’s Chieftain was no conversationalist and though he kept sitting forwards, he missed his chance to jump in time and time again.

Reiss glanced at the two fuming Chieftains, and then at Rags. He tapped his own bowl and then there was silence again. This time, his face was more serious as he looked at Rags.

“Why does your tribe fight Tremborag and Garen’s? I hear rumors, but not why. Chieftain Rags, tell us.”

Rags sat up. Now they came to the real issues. She glanced across the fire at Garen. His face was stony. Rags shrugged.

“My tribe was Garen’s tribe. He was mine. I beat his tribe.”

There was a rumble of protest from Garen’s side. Rags raised her voice.

He called me Chieftain! He advised me to go to Tremborag.”

“And you betrayed me!”

Tremborag interrupted. He thrust a huge finger at Rags.

“You were the traitor! I welcomed you into my mountain, offered you food! And you fled, coward, nameless Goblin! You fled with my treasures, my people! You are no Chieftain, but a thief! You dared not challenge me so you fled in the night!”

This time Tremborag’s words caused an commotion among the Goblins listening. Stealing was one thing, but stealing from a tribe that had welcomed Rags into their hold? Rags held up a hand, her heart beating faster.

“I left, yes. But for good reason! Your tribe kidnapped Human women. Did bad things to them. Sex things. Not-Goblin things.”

The Goblins went silent. Reiss stared at Rags in confusion, then his brows drew together. He looked at Tremborag with disgust.

“Rape? They captured Human women for…?”

He looked at Rags for confirmation. She nodded. The Goblins behind Reiss looked at each other, some uncomprehending, others like the ones sitting next to Eater of Spears, clearly appalled. The Goblins sitting behind Garen shifted and he stared at his lap, silent. And Tremborag?

He laughed. The Great Chieftain slapped his belly so his flesh rippled and laughed long and loud, so that every eye fell on him again. He laughed until tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes. He wiped one away and then looked around. His eyes fell on Rags and he leaned forwards.

“That was what you objected to? That? Yes, we captured Humans. So what? They are Humans. What does it matter what happens to them?”

His words provoked an uproar from the Goblins behind Rags. Redscar shot to his feet, as did many of the Redfang warriors. Some of the Goblins in Reiss’ camp also shouted. But the Goblins sitting behind Tremborag jeered and shouted back. For a few minutes there was chaos as both sides shouted at each other. And then Reiss raised his voice.

“Quiet.”

And there was. Rags heard the shouting Goblins go silent as if Reiss had cast a spell. She stared at him as the Goblin Lord turned to the silent Goblin. Garen Redfang. Reiss looked at the other Hob, who sat with both hands on his knees, bare-chested, his scars glowing in the firelight.

“Tremborag says raping and kidnapping Humans is meaningless. Rags says it is not-Goblin. I say it is wrong. But what do you say, Garen Redfang? You walked among Humans. Why did you stay when Rags and your warriors left?”

It was a cutting question. All the Goblins went silent. They fixed on Garen. He chewed his lip, then looked up.

“It is Tremborag’s tribe. He decides. Deal with it.”

His gaze passed right by Reiss as he stared at Redscar and his warriors, sitting across the fire. The Redfangs shifted. Redscar clenched his fist in anguish and shook his head. So did the others.

It was not a good reply. But it was the same one he had made before. Some of Garen’s warriors looked unhappy with it, but there was nothing more to say. Reiss just nodded.

“So. That is why your tribes are at odds. I see now.”

He cupped his chin in his hand. Rags stared at him. Reiss’ eyes flicked to her and to Garen. She stared at him. If the sit-about was just between her, Garen, and Tremborag it would already be over and they would be preparing for a battle. But Reiss was the unknown factor here. She looked at him, and then at Tremborag and Garen.

“Why are you fighting them?”

The other two Chieftains started. Tremborag glanced at Rags, and then his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Goblin Lord. Why do you attack your own kind? You talk of fault when it is you who attacked first! You came to my mountain and besieged it. You chased us out, brought the Humans here! If you had never marched north, then all our tribes—Garen’s, mine, and…the child’s…would be at peace! This is your fault!”

He pointed at Reiss. The Goblins behind Tremborag shouted agreement. They stared at Reiss with real anger. They had lost their home because of him. But again, Reiss was calm. He stared at Tremborag and then shook his head.

“I did not attack first.”

Tremborag snorted in disbelief. His Goblins began shouting. Reiss raised his voice.

I did not attack first. I came north seeking allies. I came to your mountain to seek you out, Tremborag. Your tribe, that I might fight the Humans. And you laid a trap when we met under peace. You attacked me first.”

His words caused a hush from the Goblins behind Tremborag. The Great Chieftain hesitated.

“You still came north, bringing attention on my tribe. If you hadn’t—”

“I was not the one who declared war first, Tremborag. Even before I marched on your mountain, my armies were under attack. I sent many north. Raiding parties, armies to fight the Humans. And they were attacked. By Goblins.”

This time Reiss looked at Rags. She bit her lip and glanced at Garen. The Goblin Lord’s forces. She remembered attacking at least two armies. It had seemed so obvious at the time, but—was all of this just a misunderstanding? Reiss held his gaze on Rags and then looked at Tremborag.

“I had cause, Tremborag. As for you—I am a Goblin Lord. You are a Chieftain. Great Chieftain, perhaps, but a Chieftain nonetheless. When I call, would you not at least give me the courtesy of speaking first? No. Instead, you attacked my people. You killed them.”

Tremborag’s eyes flashed.

“I killed a bare few. You were the one who brought war to my mountain.”

“Yes. For those you killed. For the dead slain by Garen Redfang.”

The Great Chieftain laughed incredulously.

“For a handful of Goblins? Are you a fool?”

Some of his Hobs laughed as well, but the rest did not. Rags did not laugh and no one behind her laughed either. Wasn’t that what a Chieftain did? Tremborag’s boisterous laughter died out as he realized all the other Goblins were just staring. Reiss slowly shook his head. His gaze, when it met Tremborag’s was dark. This time it seemed like the light retreated from him as he spoke.

“For one Goblin I would kill you, Tremborag of the Mountain. For one of my people I would bring ruin to your mountain and shatter your tribe. For the thousands that have died, I will make you suffer before you go.”

The sitting Goblins were silent. Tremborag’s face went still as he met Reiss’ eyes. Rags was still as she watched Reiss’ face. There was nothing amused about Reiss now. His pleasant demeanor, his educated speech—she forgot all about that when she stared at his eyes and saw the little white demons staring out from behind his pupils. Promising death.

And yet Tremborag did not look away. The Great Chieftain sat, the bones of half a cow in front of him. Grease and drippings covered his front. He looked down at Reiss. And then he changed.

Fat changed to muscles. His body contorted. His eyes grew wide and then sunk slightly into his face. His body shifted, grew. The Goblins edged back as a monster, a beast of muscle and sinew appeared where Tremborag had sat. This Goblin was not the fat, laughingly arrogant Great Chieftain of the Mountain. It was something else. Tremborag looked down at Reiss and his voice was quiet when he replied.

“I will eat you slowly, little slave.

Reiss made no reply. The two sat like that for minutes, perhaps as many as ten while the other Goblins sat around in silence. Rags felt sweat rolling down her shoulder blades. If any Goblin behind Tremborag or Reiss moved, she felt like there would be a battle, sit-about or not. She could see Garen tensed, hand on his blade, looking from face to face. Rags had no idea how to break the tension. Neither Reiss nor Tremborag were willing to look away first. The tension filled the air, growing worse by the second until—

Prrt.

Rags’ heart nearly stopped. She heard a loud, muffled fart coming from her left. She whirled, and saw Pyrite. He paused as every Goblin, Reiss, Tremborag, Garen, and the tens of thousands of others, looked at him. He fanned at his behind as Poisonbite choked and threw herself back and apologetically shrugged.

“Bad beef.”

There was a nervous titter from the Goblins, and then laughter. Tremborag relaxed and his features shifted back to normal. Reiss smiled and glanced away. The tension defused—somewhat. Reiss and Tremborag avoided meeting each other’s eyes, but the lingering threat was still there, just beneath the surface. Only, the danger of imminent violence had passed.

Thanks to Pyrite. Rags nodded at him as the Hob endured Poisonbite kicking his side. The Hob smiled at her and kept eating. After a little bit, the relieved laughter and other Goblins copying Pyrite’s example and letting off humorous farts quieted down. Rags found herself sitting in silence again, only this time all eyes were on her and Garen.

Negotiations had failed between Reiss and Tremborag’s forces. That was clear. But the sit-about wasn’t over yet. Garen and Rags had yet to state their positions and while Garen’s was clear, Rags was still up for debate. And it was she who decided to ask the burning question once more. Rags sat up and pointed at Reiss. Every eye turned towards her. The Goblin Lord looked at Rags. She met his eyes, ignoring the sense of unease his white pupils and black eyes provoked in her.

“He called you slave. Are you a slave?”

“No. I told you. I have a master. But I do not consider myself a slave.”

“Liar.”

Two voices said the same thing. Tremborag and Garen. They stared at Reiss. He looked back at them, and they glared. Rags looked from face to face and waved her arms.

“Stop glare! Explain! Why slave, why not a slave? What master?”

Reiss looked at Rags, and then around at the watching Goblins. He nodded at Garen and Tremborag.

“They call me a slave because they know my past, Chieftain Rags.”

“And what is past? Explain. Tell. Garen calls you not-Goblin. Why? Who is master?”

The Goblins sitting behind Reiss were troubled. Snapjaw poked Reiss and whispered to him, and Eater of Spears leaned down to converse as well. Reiss listened to his lieutenants, and then shook his head.

“No. Snapjaw. Let them hear the truth.”

The female Hob looked troubled, but she nodded and sat back. Rags was surprised.

“You tell? Just like that?”

Both Garen and Tremborag looked shocked as well. But Reiss just smiled. A trace of amusement reentered his gaze. He shrugged.

“It is not a secret. We are Goblins. If you ask, I will tell you my story. You want to know how I became a Lord? About how I knew Garen Redfang? You want to know about this?”

He pointed at his black eyes. Rags hesitated and nodded. Reiss sat back. He looked thoughtfully at the stars.

It was a clear night. The many campfires of the Goblin sit-about blew smoke into the sky, but you could still see the distant lights high above. To the north, the massive Human army’s fires were also bright, but above the sky was peaceful. Soft. Beautiful. Reiss sat with an audience of hundreds of thousands of Goblins around him. The ones behind Reiss seemed to know what he would say and sat back, relaxing, willing to hear the story again. The other Goblins sat, attentive, some wary, but all curious. Garen looked away and growled for more food. Tremborag spat and called for wine.

After a moment, Reiss began. His words were listened to and passed from Goblin to Goblin, so even the ones sitting on the very edges of the sit-about knew what he said.

“Once upon a time, there were two Goblins. One was a Hob. A wanderer with no tribe. The other was a small Goblin who knew magic. They met by chance, on a day when the winds and water blew a wyvern from its nest. The Hob found the small Goblin running, trying to escape the wyvern. He saved the small Goblin, and with his help, the two Goblins slew the wyvern.”

The Goblin Lord turned to look at Garen. The Hob sat back, not looking at him, staring up towards a cloud in the night sky. Rags held her breath. A wyvern? They’d killed a wyvern? And was Reiss the Goblin with magic? The Goblin Lord smiled and went on.

“The small Goblin had no name. But he impressed the Hob. They were the same age, despite one being smaller. And they talked. The Hob wanted to be a famous warrior. The small Goblin wanted to be a Chieftain and teach all Goblins magic. They were very different, but they liked each other. So the small Goblin took the Hob to his tribe. He convinced the Chieftain to let the Hob stay and the two worked together. They became friends. And after a while, they were like brothers.”

All of the Redfangs, both on Garen’s side of the fire and Rags’ sat up. They stared at their leader, their hero with eyes that shone. They had never heard this story. Garen didn’t deny any of it. Tremborag ate savagely, ears twitching, but listening. So did the others. Reiss drew a handful of dirt up and threw it on the fire. As smoke rose, he pointed his finger. And the smoke twisted into shapes, following his words.

“One day, the small Goblin became a Hob. And it was the best day ever. He and the other Hob, who called himself ‘Garen’, decided they were strong enough. So they challenged their Chieftain. And they lost!”

He laughed. The smoke turned into a pair of scrawny Hobs fleeing from an angry Chieftain and others Goblins chasing them.

“They fled, shamefaced. But they resolved to grow stronger. The problem, the Goblin with magic said, was that they did not know the world. They had not fought under the Goblin King. Humans had adventurers. Drakes had cities with magic walls. How could Goblins surpass them? The Goblin with magic pondered until Garen told him that he wanted to become an adventurer. To fight monsters. And then the Goblin with magic had an idea.”

“To learn.”

“To learn.”

Garen’s voice was an echo of Reiss’. In the sky, the two Hobs stood apart.

“It was not an easy choice. But to grow, to become the great warrior and Chieftain they wanted to be, they decided to split up. One would go north and become a famous adventurer in Human lands. The other would study in Drake cities and become a [Mage] like no other.”

“Just like that?”

The whisper came not from Rags, but from Pyrite. The Hob stared at the smoke with…a strange look in his eyes. Reiss nodded.

“They were fearless. Overconfident. The two Hobs thought they could do anything. So the one called Garen made a mask and wore a hood. The Goblin with magic taught himself an illusion spell. They swore to meet seven years later at this very spot.”

The two Goblins made of smoke pointed to the ground and then walked away from each other, waving. Reiss closed his eyes.

“The Goblin with magic did not see Garen for many years. He wandered Drake cities, sometimes being found out, other times staying for a week, a month. Learning. Fitting in. He could not go to the larger Drake cities, but in the smaller ones there was no [Mage] who could see through his spells. And he began to hear tales of an adventurer in the north, the strangest of things. A Goblin adventurer. And he worked harder than ever because he remembered his promise.”

The smoky Goblin sat and read books, reading, talking with Drakes and Gnolls. Rags was entranced. She stared at Garen’s face. The Hob pretended not to be paying attention, but he never took his eyes off the smoky shape that was Reiss. The Goblin Lord paused, and his smile faded.

“And then one day, nearly two years after he had set out on his quest, the Goblin with magic met a man who brought death. He came to a Drake village, posing as a [Merchant]. It was a peaceful place, a rare settlement without walls. The [Merchant] arrived bringing goods, asking for news. He met the Goblin with magic and stared at him because he saw through the Goblin’s illusions. But he pretended to be kind.”

A stranger made of smoke with a fake smile appeared, a wagon laden with goods behind him as the smoky Goblin and Drakes gathered around him. Rags felt a bit of unease. Even as a figment of smoke, there was something unsettling about the man’s smile. Reiss’ voice quietly went on.

“That night, the undead attacked. Zombies. Ghouls. Crypt Lords. And worse. They slaughtered the Drakes. The Goblin with magic fought them as the kind Drakes died. He would have run, but the man of death cornered him. He revealed his true face and they fought.”

The smoke spun into a confusing scene. A Hob fought with magic, leaving smoky trails as he shot spells at a laughing man surrounded by lurching shapes. Then the smoke drew together. The next scene was of a Goblin lying on the ground and the man standing over him.

“He lost. That was the first time I met my master. The man of death. The one who hated Drakes, Gnolls, Human, hated everything. He did not kill me that day. Instead, he offered me a choice. Serve him in life or serve him in death. And I chose to live. So I became his apprentice. The one student of Az’kerash. The Necromancer.”

Every eye was fixed on Reiss. Rags’ breath caught in her chest. Tremborag stared at Reiss and then crunched down on his bone.

The Necromancer. Rags had known someone powerful had to be Reiss’ master. But this? She looked around and saw shock on Pyrite’s face. Disbelief on Noears, Quietstab and Poisonbite’s. As for Redscar—he looked blank.

“Who?”

Quietstab leaned over to whisper. More than a few Goblins were confused. They did not know the history of Izril. But Rags did. Reiss let the whispers continue and then spoke.

“Yes, the Necromancer. The one who came from Terandria. He fought in the Second Antinium War. He battled the Antinium, the Humans, the Drakes. He even clashed with the Goblin King. He was alive. In hiding. But he had not lost his hatred. And he saw a chance in the Goblin with magic. A chance to create a Goblin King of his own. A weapon to strike the living with. That was his plan.”

Rags’ gaze swung back to Reiss in disbelief. The Goblin Lord looked at her and smiled crookedly.

“He failed. Or rather, even the Necromancer could not make a King. But his student did become a Goblin Lord. For five years he studied under Az’kerash, growing in power until he was stronger than any Chieftain.”

“Not any Chieftain.”

Tremborag drank from a wineskin. Reiss looked up at him.

“No, perhaps not. But stronger than most. Strong enough to fulfill his master’s plans. It was then that the Goblin with magic went back to fulfill his promise. He walked to the spot where he had sworn to meet his friend. His brother.”

The Hob made of smoke reappeared. He looked taller. Older. The smoke could not capture fine detail, but with every step, it looked like the Hob was moving faster. He arrived at the meeting place, a hill with a rock and waving grass and looked around. And another Hob was there, sitting on the rock. A sword was strapped to his back.

“His brother was waiting for him. He was a famous adventurer, then. So famous that the Goblin with magic had heard of him even in his master’s lair. The Gold-rank adventurer who was a Goblin. Garen. Garen Redfang of the Halfseekers.”

Garen stared at the smoke as the two Goblins embraced and sat down, laughing and talking. The Hob’s crimson eyes were distant. Reiss looked up at the smoke and clenched his hands.

“At first they were ecstatic. Both had fulfilled their promise. Both were alive. Garen wanted the Goblin with magic to join the Halfseekers. The Goblin with magic wanted something else. He told Garen about his master. And he showed him what he could do.”

In the air, the Hob with robes pointed. A zombie burst out of the earth, startling the Hob with a sword. He backed away, sword drawn. The smoky Goblin with magic pointed at the zombie, waving his hands. The Hob with the sword shook his head. He leapt forwards and slashed the zombie in half.

“Garen did not accept what the Goblin with magic had done. He called his brother a traitor. A slave. What Goblin would kneel to a Human, let alone a [Necromancer]? Goblins could not be slaves. And undead—he hated the undead.”

In the air above the fire, the two Hobs quarreled.

“They argued. Then fought.”

The Hob with a sword swung at the Hob in robes. Light flashed amid the smoke and Rags saw the Hob with magic firing spells. The two retreated.

“Garen could not accept that the Goblin with magic had a master. He did not wish to be part of the Necromancer’s plan—to make a Goblin Lord. He swore to oppose his friend, his brother, if he ever tried to carry out the plan.”

“Why?”

Rags stared up at the smoke as the two Hobs stared at each other. She looked at Garen. The Hob looked up at her. His red blade sat on his knees.

“Because of the undead. Because of him. The Necromancer. Because we are not slaves. Because of the undead.

The hate in Garen’s voice was physical. But Rags thought of Pisces and her heart hurt. She looked at Reiss.

“Just that?”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes were sad.

“Velan the Kind hated undead. And we are his people still. Garen refused to listen. He and the Goblin with magic separated. That was the last time they saw each other for years. The Goblin with magic went back to his master, heartbroken. In time he would leave and form his own tribe. Become Chieftain, and then a Lord just as he said. And Garen would go north. He would be an adventurer for another year until he betrayed his team and escaped to the High Passes. There he would form the Redfang Tribe and ride against his brother.”

The smoke showed two Hobs. They looked older and stood apart from each other. On one side, a Goblin in robes stood with shambling undead and undead at his back. On the other, a Hob with a sword pointed and Goblins mounted on wolves rode towards him. Rags felt her heart squeeze as the two met. Reiss and Garen looked at each other.

“We can still join together, brother. It does not have to end like this.”

“It does.”

Garen stared up at the smoke. He moved suddenly and his sword slashed the air. The illusory figures made of smoke vanished. Reiss lowered his hands and shook his head.

“I betrayed no one.”

“You claim that. But you serve the Necromancer. I lived while he destroyed the Humans in the north. I saw him, once.”

Tremborag spoke up suddenly. He leaned forwards, for once not sneering or furious. He looked at Reiss, one Goblin to another.

“He is not Human. He was once, but whatever that part was is gone. He is a monster and he will use you as a pawn.”

Garen nodded. He stood and pointed at Reiss. He had spoken little, but now his voice was loud. So loud that every Goblin heard it.

“You are a slave. Reiss! You betrayed Goblins! You served the Necromancer! You are not Goblin. You are a tool! Better to be dead than join you! Better to die than be undead! Better—”

He stared at the wisps of smoke trailing upwards. Garen’s voice grew quiet.

“—better not to be a traitor. Why did you have to betray us?”

He looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord’s eyes flashed. He stood as well, thinner than Garen, his magical robes sweeping about him.

“I betrayed no one! My master offered me a chance and I took it! Yes, he uses me. But he gave me power. The power to do this.

Reiss raised his hands. The fire went out. And something rose in its place. A spire of bone. No—an undead. It was folded up, compacted. But as the earth shook loose, it unfolded. A creature taller than all but Tremborag. Old, yellowed bone forming strange arms. It was humanoid, but the bones were oddly proportioned. Only when Rags saw the head did she realize.

It was a cow. A cow whose bones had been rearranged to make it stand upright. It towered over Garen as he raised his sword. The Goblins shrank back. Reiss shouted.

“Look at it! It will fight! It will die at my command! Instead of Goblins! How can that be so wrong? It’s just—just—”

He looked around. The Goblins of Reiss’ tribe looked at him, fearful. The others stared at the horror he had brought to life. The Bone Horror’s dark sockets burned with green light from within. A Goblin child hid behind Pyrite. Reiss faltered as he saw the terrified eyes. The Bone Horror collapsed silently onto the ground, amid the embers.

“Redfang called you traitor. He was right.”

Tremborag spoke in the darkness. The Great Chieftain was a shadow as he stared at Reiss. He pointed at the pile of bones.

“You serve something no different from that. Traitor indeed.”

“You think so?”

Reiss stared at the fire. He pointed and the fire burst back into life. The bones cracked as the sudden heat engulfed them. The Goblin Lord strode back to his seat and sat. He reached for his cup of water as Garen sat as well. Reiss drank and pointed at Garen. His face was twisted by anger and grief.

“If we’re speaking of traitors. You had a tribe, Garen. Not one of Goblins, but of adventurers. The Halfseekers were famous in Izril. They championed all races and they alone let a Hobgoblin enter their ranks. And you betrayed them. You slaughtered half of them and fled. You are the traitor as much as I.”

The Goblins turned to look at Garen. The Hob went still. His eyes burned as he slowly looked up at Reiss and shook his head.

“They were not my tribe. They never believed I was one of them.”

Reiss’ eyes narrowed as he gulped more water.

“But they were yours. They trusted you. And you killed them. For the key. Do your Redfangs know that? Garen killed his own?”

His Redfangs did. At least, Redscar did. But even his gaze was uncertain. They must have heard the tale from Garen. But Reiss had thrown that into doubt. Garen shifted.

“I did everything for Goblins. For Goblins.

“So did I!”

Reiss nearly stood again, but Eater of Spears patted his shoulder. The Goblin Lord visibly calmed himself and kept drinking from his cup. Garen copied him by eating from his bowl of meat. The two of them glared at each other, looking so alike in that moment that Rags could see them sitting together, just like they had in the smoke.

At last, Reiss sighed. He tore his gaze away from Garen and looked at Rags.

“So, little Chieftain. That is our story. That is our past. That is why Garen calls me slave and I do not. I have a master. I will not pretend he thinks of Goblins as anything but tools. But he will give us power if we fulfill his wishes. What other option is there?”

“Freedom.”

Garen spoke quietly. Tremborag crunched a bone.

“Pride.”

“So you say.”

Reiss looked back at the other two Chieftains. His gaze fixed on Tremborag.

“You sat in your mountain, ‘Great Chieftain’. The Goblin King called and you did not answer. You grew your tribe and it was mighty, yes. But for what? Are you content to hide from Humans forever? Why have you done nothing?”

Tremborag tossed aside the cow’s femur.

“You want to know my past? You want to know why I refused Velan? How I became Great Chieftain? The secret of my strength?”

He flexed one arm and muscle grew out of fat. Reiss nodded. The other Goblins leaned forwards. Tremborag gazed around.

“No. That story is mine. I am Tremborag of the Mountain and I will reclaim my home. I bow to no Goblin Lord. You traitors I will hunt down. That is the only story you need know.”

He pointed at Poisonbite, who jumped. Reiss shook his head. He looked towards Rags.

“So. The Great Chieftain refuses. Garen refuses. But do you see, Rags?”

“Yes.”

Rags did see. She saw pride in Tremborag, and that burning fury and loss in Garen as well as Reiss. The two were separate, but they had been—she hesitated. Rags looked from Garen to Reiss. Her eyes narrowed.

“One question. You two have sex? Lovers?”

Reiss choked on his water. Garen paused as he chewed on his meat. Both Hobgoblins stared at Rags. Then Garen dumped his bowl of meat onto the ground and spat out what he was eating. Reiss shook his head.

“No. We were never—no.”

“Oh.”

Rags shrugged. The Goblin Lord’s face was a mix of chagrin and amusement as he wiped his mouth. Redscar looked amused as well. Garen did not.

“Fah. That was your question?”

Tremborag eyed Rags as he found another wine flask. Rags shrugged.

“Important question.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Good to know.”

Tremborag snorted and glanced dismissively at Pyrite. His gaze found Pyrite’s face and then paused. The Great Chieftain frowned and put down his wine.

“Wait. I recognize the other traitors behind you. But you. Do I…know you?”

He stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob glanced up. He was breaking up bone and sucking the marrow out. He shrugged.

“No.”

Tremborag wasn’t convinced. He stared at Pyrite.

“I…do. You were of my tribe once, weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Reiss glanced between Pyrite and Tremborag with interest. Garen frowned. It seemed like a distraction, but Rags could see how Pyrite’s left foot tensed up as he stared calmly at Tremborag.

“You were in my tribe.”

The Great Chieftain insisted. Pyrite nodded at last.

“Small Goblin. No name.”

“Yes. A worthless little Goblin. But for some reason—”

Tremborag peered at Pyrite. Then his huge eyes widened.

“Now I remember! You were with him all the time. That decrepit old Hob. Grey…Greybeard! Yes, that was it! That useless fool and you were always together. Where is that traitor? Dead?”

All the Goblins in Rags’ tribe stirred. They looked at each other and then at Pyrite. Redscar sat up and stared hard at Pyrite. All of Rags’ lieutenants and Rags herself remembered. And Reiss sat up too. Snapjaw was poking Eater of Spears urgently and the huge Hob was nodding. Garen sat bolt-upright, his eyes widening as he realized who Tremborag was mentioning.

Only Tremborag himself didn’t notice. Pyrite glanced around and seemed to sigh. He nodded.

“True. I was with Greybeard. But not right name. He had another.”

“Oh yes?”

Tremborag smirked. He opened his wineskin with one claw.

“What was it? Was he an old Chieftain from another tribe? A wanderer who stole his name like the child? What did he call himself?”

“Greydath of Blades.”

The wineskin slipped from Tremborag’s claws. It landed on the ground, leaking wine. Tremborag stared at Pyrite.

“Do not lie.”

“No lie.”

Pyrite met Tremborag’s gaze. The Great Chieftain drew himself up to shout, and then, at last, caught the mood around the camp. The Goblins in his tribe stared at Reiss’ face, at Rags’ expression, at Garen and the other Hobs.

They knew. Rags remembered the grinning Hob with the grey beard. Tremborag’s jaw worked soundlessly.

Perhaps if he was Human he might have denied it. But Goblins seldom lied, let alone to each other. And the truth was written on every face. The Great Chieftain’s face changed from shock to fury to confusion and a host of other emotions as he tried to process that information. Then, at last, he croaked.

“Greydath? But he died—”

Pyrite nodded amiably. He fished around in his pile of bones for a new one. Looking unconcerned at all the eyes on him, he cracked another bone and hunted for the marrow.

“True. Greydath died in war. Probably like Necromancer. Probably was just imposter. All he had was rusty greatsword. Didn’t do much. Ate. Slept. Worked. Cut Griffon in half. Go poo. Talked. Taught me.”

“So that was Greydath who visited my tribe?”

Reiss stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob looked up and met his eyes. He shrugged at the Goblin Lord, which was incredible in itself.

“Maybe? Old Goblin? Beard? Cackle like this?”

Pyrite made a good attempt at Greydath’s crackling laughter. Reiss hesitated.

“He spoke to—what did he want? What did he teach you?”

Every eye was fixed on Pyrite. The Hob seemed reluctant to speak. He looked around, saw Garen’s burning gaze on him, scratched his butt, and then shrugged again.

“Names of rocks. Edible moss. Good bugs to eat. Bad bugs to eat. How to poo smart. How to make tweezers for splinters.”

Rags stared at Pyrite slack-jawed. Then her eyes narrowed. His ears were twitching slightly. She reached over to punch him in the side. The Hob blocked her fist effortlessly. He paused. Tremborag was glaring at him, as were the others. Pyrite sighed again.

“How small we are. How strong Humans are. What it means to be Chieftain. And…stories.”

“Stories?”

Redscar stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob nodded.

“About old Chieftains. Famous Goblin warriors. About Goblin Lords. And—about a key.”

He looked up, straight at Garen. The Hob froze. His hand clamped to one side. Every eye turned to him.

The key. Rags glanced at Pyrite. The Hob watched Garen carefully and then went back to his bone. His ears were still twitching.

He’d diverted the conversation successfully. But while that had fooled the others, it didn’t fool Rags. Or the other Chieftains or Reiss. All three glanced back at Pyrite, but now the focus was on Garen. Tremborag growled furiously at Garen.

“Redfang, you told them about the key?

“Didn’t tell.”

Garen defended himself. Reiss nodded.

“He didn’t tell us. I already knew. Besides, Garen is simply a bad liar.”

The Redfang’s Chieftain glared, but didn’t deny Reiss’ claim. Tremborag looked furious as he glanced swiftly at Reiss and at Garen, clearly worried. The only one in the dark was Rags. She threw a stick on the fire for attention.

“The key. What is it? Secret to Goblin King treasure? What treasure? How you know?”

Reiss looked at Rags. Instantly, Tremborag spoke up.

“Don’t tell her. This is a secret for true Chieftains, not mewling pretenders.”

Reiss ignored Tremborag. He glanced at Garen, who was giving him an unspoken look. Rags thought it was that which made Reiss decide to tell her.

“It is a memory, Chieftain Rags. A memory I saw. And Garen. When we were young, we were part of the Ghostly Hand tribe. We could not remember, but our Chieftain did. And our tribe was large so she looked back and saw the memories of Velan the Kind. Or rather, the months before he died.”

The other Goblins stared at Reiss. Rags did too. She had experienced Velan’s memories, but only in fragments, when he was younger. She had no idea what had made him go to war. He was so different from the Goblin that had set fire to Baleros and Izril. Reiss nodded.

“She was curious. So she looked. And she saw a strange thing. The histories of other species do not record this except in passing. In a book I read—it was written something like this.”

Reiss closed his eyes and recited from memory.

‘The Goblin King had rapidly moved south with a small force, entering the High Passes. There he vanished for eight days.’ That is all that was written in any account. For eight days the Goblin King vanished, and the Humans believe it was to clear the High Passes. But Velan did not clear the passes. Instead he hid something there. His treasure. And he locked it away with a key. Not just one key, in fact. Two. He gave one to Tallis and kept the other for himself.”

Keys? Treasure? When had this turned into fairy tale? Rags wanted to laugh. But then she remembered the key Garen had been so attached to. And he’d been certain that Tremborag would accept his and Rags’ tribe. Because of the Goblin Lord? Or because—

Rags glanced quickly at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain did not look happy. Reiss looked at him and Garen. He pointed at the hand Garen had clamped over his side.

“There are two. My Chieftain puzzled long over that mystery until she realized that. That is the second part of the secret. There are two keys that Velan hid, and his treasure cannot be found without both. Garen found one. But I wonder, do you know where the other lies?”

He looked at Garen directly, then shifted his glance to Tremborag. The Great Chieftain tensed up. At last, he spoke one grudging word.

“No. And if we did know, we would never tell you, brat.”

Rags studied Tremborag. But his face was unreadable. So instead she looked at Garen. So did all the other Goblins. The Hob looked past Reiss’ head into the sky, scowling. His face was one solid grimace, but—his ears were twitching violently.

“Have no idea.”

Reiss stared at Garen’s ears. Rags stared at Garen’s ears. All the Goblins present, including Garen’s own warriors stared at the Hob’s trembling ears. Tremborag uttered an oath.

“I’m going to kill you, Redfang.”

Garen looked confused. He didn’t seem to realize his massive tell. But it was Reiss who shook his head.

“One key is worthless. As for the other—if it were easy to obtain, you two would have taken it. But I believe that even with both keys, Velan’s treasure lies well hidden. Or else Garen would have found it after years of his tribe living in the High Passes.”

So that was why he settled there. Rags’ eyes widened. She glanced at Redscar and saw the Goblin’s mouth was agape along with the other Redfangs. Garen had been searching for the treasure all this time. The Hob looked extremely upset, but he wisely didn’t say anything else.

For a few minutes all the Goblins were thinking, trying to process all they’d heard. Then Tremborag spat and sat up.

“So. Keys. Promises between children. Betrayal. None of it changes the truth. You came to take our tribes. And you brought the Humans! To serve you is to serve the Necromancer. And why should we do that? Even the nameless Goblin can see what folly it is.”

His huge finger pointed at Rags and then Reiss. The ‘nameless Goblin’ glared at Tremborag. He wasn’t helping his argument by insulting her. But Reiss looked calmly at Tremborag.

“I told you, my master cares little for Goblins. But he knows the value of a Goblin Lord. And I am his apprentice. He would aid me, if only to hinder the Humans and Drakes.”

“And he will throw you away when you are done. Don’t fool yourself, brat!”

Tremborag laughed at Reiss. Garen nodded.

“You are a tool. Slave!”

The word seemed to nettle Reiss. He avoided looking at Garen as he stared at the dying fire.

“A tool. Perhaps. But this tool is not mindless. I choose which orders to obey. I have disobeyed my master once and I will do it again. He controls my actions, but he does not control me.

“A slave’s words.”

“Perhaps.”

Reiss’ voice was a hiss. He stared at Tremborag, his eyes burning. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears sat up behind him. Reiss calmed.

“But I will be a slave if I must. Because I dream. I dream of a city. You sit and hide, Tremborag, but I dream of a place where Goblins will be free. I dream of streets where Goblins walk about without fear. I dream of homes made by Goblins for Goblins. I dream of a nation. A kingdom of Goblins.”

“A what?”

Tremborag laughed. He upended his wine skin.

“You’re mad.”

“Am I? I did not become a Goblin Lord or sacrifice so much just for my master. I did not give—”

Reiss passed his hands in front of his black eyes.

“I did not give away what I did for power alone. I gave it for a dream. And now I am close. Look around you! There are hundreds of thousands of Goblins here! Enough to conquer all but the largest of cities! If the Humans were to falter, if you would follow me—”

“You would what, take a city? How long would that last? A week? Until the adventurers came for you.”

Reiss shook his head.

“I would take it and hold it. Let the people inside go in peace. Negotiate with the Humans or Drakes—”

Hah!

“Quiet!”

Snapjaw leapt to her feet. She glared at Tremborag, hands clenched. She was quivering with emotion. She spoke for the first time that night.

“Reiss can do it! Make nation! Make us safe!

“It will never happen. The Humans would turn their own cities to ash rather than let Goblins hold it.”

Tremborag sneered at Snapjaw. She took a step forwards, but Reiss held up a hand. He stared at Tremborag.

“It can. If enough Goblins are there. If they are strong enough to make attacking them impossible. If they make a deal. And if they have an ally.”

The Necromancer. Rags stared at Reiss, her jaw open. That was his plan. Reiss turned around to the staring Goblins, ignoring Tremborag’s derision.

“It can happen. My master is strong. If I take a place that can be held, he will support me. And with magic and fortifications, even the greatest of Human armies would not be able to break into my home. I came north for the army to make that dream a reality. If the Humans had not attacked the mountain, I might have taken that.”

“Really?”

Tremborag paused and looked up, eyes glowing. Reiss nodded, meeting Tremborag’s eyes.

“I would not copy you, Tremborag. I would not hide. I would make peace with the Humans, give them what they needed for peace—”

“Your head! And all the heads of the Goblins in the mountain! Don’t fool yourself! Your dream will never come true!”

Tremborag roared in frustration. Reiss was unmoved.

“It can. And it will. Any Goblin who dreams of peace, of a place where a Human will not burn them out of their caves or kill them for their ears—that is my dream too. And I will make it. What will you offer them, Tremborag? The safety of your mountain until it disappears? I have a dream. You have nothing.”

He looked at Tremborag and then at Garen. Then Reiss turned.

“Dream, my people. Dream. That is why I fight. For a dream. A home.”

The fire was dying behind Reiss. But at his words, the embers glowed one last time. A plume of smoke shot into the air. And a city formed there. A city as real as mist, as far from reach as the stars. But a city nonetheless. It hung in the air, tall houses hidden behind walls. And little Goblins stood in the streets, walked along the walls. The assembled Goblins looked up and saw Reiss dream for one glorious second, written in the sky in smoke and dying sparks.

For a second it took Rags’ breath away. A Goblin nation? A place where they could be safe? For one moment she tried to imagine it. Walls of stone? Houses, like the ones Humans and Drakes built? Roads? Goblin…adventurers?

For one second it was there, a glorious city shining in Rags’ mind. And then the dream fell apart. Rags began wondering how any nation of Goblins would survive. Surely the Humans or Drakes or even Gnolls would declare war. How could they protect themselves? Would they trade? Where would they make this nation? She shook herself and stared around.

Her tribe was staring upwards. Almost all of them. A few like Noears, were frowning. Some like Redfang were measuring the cost in blood. But many, even Quietstab and Poisonbite, were caught up in the vision. Rags understood that.

A place to be free. A place to be safe. Forever. It was such a tantalizing idea that it hurt. But only a child would dream of something like that. Every Goblin who’d lived for even a year knew it was an impossibility. But Reiss stood in front of that dream and shouted it would be true. And you almost believed—

Almost. Rags looked to her left and saw a pair of crimson eyes staring at her. Pyrite too had wrenched his gaze away from the city. He looked at her, and flicked his eyes to the city. There was longing in his gaze. But like her he saw the cracks.

And yet, the city of smoke hung in the sky, tantalizing, held there by magic and the wishes of a hundred thousand Goblins. Until a shape rose. A huge hand pushed through the city and it vanished. Rags started as Tremborag waved the smoke away. Every Goblin stared at him, hurt, furious, but the Great Chieftain paid no heed. He sneered down at Reiss.

“This farce is over. Your dream is just that, Goblin Lord. A dream. It will never come true. The Humans chase your great army. And your master has abandoned you. You may fool the child, and you may have a history with Redfang. But I will never make peace. We run in the same direction because of the Humans. Because of the Kingslayer. But when there is a chance, however small—”

He leaned forwards. Rags saw Reiss tense and his warriors grip their weapons. Tremborag breathed a foul mix of wine and meat fumes into Reiss’ face.

“—I will kill you, slave. And you, thief, nameless Goblin. You and all the traitors.”

He looked at Rags. Then he straightened and turned. He lumbered away, out of the Goblin sit-about. And like that, it was over. Tremborag’s Goblins hesitated. Some cast last, longing looks towards the fire, or towards Reiss. But they followed their Chieftain. Reiss stood, watching the Goblins go. He glanced to his right. At the Hob standing there. The Hob with the sword. Garen stared at the spot the city had been. Then he looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord smiled wearily at him.

“I have not changed, Garen. Have you?”

For a second, Rags saw Garen hesitate. For one second, the two Hobs stared at each other and the past swirled around them like smoke. But then Garen shook his head. He drew his sword and pointed it at Reiss’ chest.

“I am Garen Redfang. And you are my enemy.”

He turned away. Reiss nodded. He closed his eyes as Garen turned and whistled. His tribe followed him away. Reiss watched them go, and then turned to Rags. He said nothing. Just waited.

Rags stared at the fire. It was just dying embers now. Just ash. She looked around and thought of all she’d seen and heard.

So many stories. None of them were hers. Reiss and Garen had played their story out, been brothers and then enemies before she’d been born. And Tremborag—she felt like a stranger. But she was here too. And her tribe stood behind her, waiting to see what she would say. Rags looked at Reiss. At last, she shook her head.

“I am not yours. I am not Necromancer’s tool.”

He sighed. The army of black-clad warriors sighed behind him. Snapjaw gritted her teeth and Eater of Spears shook his head. Rags held up a hand. She pointed at Garen and Tremborag’s backs.

“I am not yours. But I think they’re stupid. We talk again. Goblins are not the danger here. Humans are.”

Reiss’ eyes widened. He looked at Rags, then smiled and nodded. She nodded back carefully. Then she turned. Her lieutenants looked at her. Rags shrugged.

“We talk.”

Pyrite crooked a smile.

“Talk is good.”

Rags nodded. She smiled and walked back. Her tribe walked with her as she moved back to her camp. She saw Reiss’ army doing the same. Rags lay down, her Goblins chattering. She stared up at the stars.

It was strange. For a while she’d forgotten that they were being chased by the Humans. For a while, she’d felt like this was a story about Reiss and Garen, of Goblins and their dreams. But then she sat up. She stared at the Human’s camp to the north.

Perhaps there was a story about Goblins here. But the Humans had their own goals. And Rags wondered if it involved any Goblins surviving. She looked to Garen and Tremborag’s camps. They were determined to fight Reiss to the end. But was he the enemy?

Rags wasn’t so sure anymore. So she rolled over and went to sleep. And in her dreams she saw a city made of smoke and chased after it. But the fire always went out no matter how many times she tried to catch it. And yet the city was still there in her mind. Always, always out of reach.

 

—-

 

Day 8

 

The next day, the Humans roused the Goblins by blasting sound spells overhead. The Goblins shot out of their beds and were marching within minutes. The peace and talk of last night felt like a dream, especially once the Goblins looked back and saw the wave of Humans following them, promising them death.

But it hadn’t been a dream. And the first effects of the Goblin sit-about were seen almost immediately. Tremborag and Garen’s forces marched together, both near the rear of the Goblin procession. Not by choice; it was just that Rags’ tribe was faster and Reiss’ army was too large to push past. Normally, Rags would have kept her people moving faster to stay ahead of Reiss by a comfortable margin.

Not today. Today, Rags raised a hand as her tribe moved ahead of the rest. Her warriors slowed. Rags hesitated, then pointed.

“Closer.”

She indicated the first rank of Goblins in black armor. Her tribe hesitated, but then it began to move towards Reiss’ army.

The reaction from the Goblins in black armor was immediate. A ripple went through the Goblin Lord’s tribe, and Rags half-expected the warriors to warn her tribe away with weapons or draw back. But then she saw Reiss himself appear in the sea of Goblins. He pointed and his tribe began to move towards Rags’.

Both sides halted before they crossed paths. A line of Rags’ warriors marched side-by-side with Reiss’ armored Goblins. They looked at each other warily, sizing each other up. Then Rags saw a huge Hob push his way through the Goblin Lord’s army.

Eater of Spears walked at the head of his warriors, head-and-shoulders above even the next tallest Hob. His muscular body strode forwards as he glanced at Rags’ Goblins, who edged away from him. But then a Hob from Rags’ side strolled forwards, battleaxe propped on one shoulder.

Pyrite took a spot on Eater of Spear’s right. The Hob moved into place as if he was just looking for a spot in the shade, which the huge Hob conveniently provided. Pyrite was chewing something. He glanced up at Eater of Spears and the Hob looked down at Pyrite. The two Hobs nodded at each other. After a second, Pyrite offered what he was eating to the bigger Hob.

It was a cluster of roots. Somehow, Pyrite had found some edible roots—or roots he deemed edible at any rate—and dug them up. He’d washed them, but hadn’t bothered to do anything else with them. Even the other Goblins looked askance at the hard roots, but Eater of Spears reached down and delicately took a few. He popped them into his mouth and began to chew. He nodded at Pyrite and the fat Hob nodded back.

And like that, the ice broke. Both sides were still wary, but the bolder Goblins pushed forwards. Poisonbite led her all-female squad into place behind Pyrite, clearly trying to intimidate the male Goblins. Her unit hooted and made rude gestures at the Goblins in black armor—until a group of Goblins riding horses replaced them.

Snapjaw grinned down at Poisonbite, who blinked up at her. The Goblin’s metal teeth shone in the light as she offered Poisonbite a hand. The smaller Goblin was deeply distrustful, but then she looked and saw that Snapjaw’s riders were mostly female. She took the Hob’s hand and was swung up into the saddle. The two females began chattering, and soon they were quickly laughing.

Rags watched her tribe begin to mingle with Reiss’. She kept her eyes on Pyrite and Eater of Spears, but to her surprise, they actually seemed to like each other.

It made sense. Both were naturally stoic, silent Hobs. And despite Pyrite being fat and Eater of Spears muscular, they shared a number of interests. Pyrite was particularly pleased to find a fellow connoisseur of all things edible in Eater of Spears.

Again, he needn’t have been. Like Pyrite, Eater of Spears understood the great importance of eating at all times to keep up a proper weight. Especially if you were a Hob and food was scarce. Surprisingly, he found that Eater of Spears actually admired Pyrite’s bulk more than his muscles.

“My tribe was not fortunate. We had to fight monsters often. Very tough. Very little food sometimes. Can’t build fat. All of it turns to this.”

Eater of Spears rumbled as he tapped one straining bicep. Rather than guttural speech, every word of his was perfectly enunciated and chosen. Pyrite grunted as he scratched at his belly.

“Can’t eat monsters?”

“They were Stone Starers. Big eyes. Stone skin. Strong arms, but little meat. Eyes tasted horrible. Partially acidic.”

Pyrite tsked sympathetically.

“Not good for eating. My tribe live in mountains too. Not see Stone Starers.”

“Your tribe rich. Fat Hobs, pretty stones. Must be good Chieftain. I was poor Chieftain. Only hit things.”

“Just need to look for good food. Can find lots of food in caves, underground. Trick is growing some food. Use stream. Make dripping along roof, plant mushrooms and lichen. Also attracts bugs and animals.”

“Mm. Very smart.”

Eater of Spears listened appreciatively as Pyrite spoke. The two Hobs ambled along as Snapjaw and Poisonbite laughed with each other. As for Rags, she held back until she saw Reiss appear on the back of his undead spider. Then she rode towards him.

The Goblins parted to let her pass. Rags stared at the Goblins in black armor until her Carn Wolf growled. She looked up and saw the headless undead Shield Spider crawling ahead of her. She waved.

“Chieftain Rags.”

Reiss bent down to smile at her. His eyes flicked towards the growling Carn Wolf and then to Rags herself. He nodded.

“Let me dismount. Animals hate undead.”

“Undead smelly.”

Rags commented neutrally. She leapt from her Carn Wolf and patted the animal, pointing back to her tribe. She and Reiss began to jog on foot, as his warriors moved back to give them space. Reiss ran easily despite his robes, watching as Rags jogged to keep up. Her feet hit the ground at the same time his did, but she seemed to travel further with each step.

“You have a Skill?”

“[Fleet Foot].”

“Ah.”

The two ran for a little bit in silence. Rags kept glancing up at Reiss. She was wondering what she should say.

Her decision to move her tribe next to Reiss’ didn’t indicate her sudden trust in the Goblin Lord. She had found the revelation of who his master was to be more and more troubling the more she thought on it. But Rags had also observed Tremborag and Garen and on the whole, Reiss was definitely the more cooperative and reasonable of the three. He hadn’t tried to kill Rags and it seemed like one of the things Garen hated most about him was the undead.

So she was giving him a chance. And she thought that Reiss understood that, because the first thing he did when he began speaking was to bring up his master again.

“I can contact my master, Az’kerash via spell. But it is possible for him to look through my eyes, even cast through me. I have been attempting to contact him for the last few days—ever since the Humans drove us from the mountain. But he has not responded.”

“He say nothing? Why?”

Rags was astonished. Reiss’ smile was grim.

“Ever since the death of Zel Shivertail, he has contacted me less and less. I believe he is attempting to create more servants, which is a time-consuming task. Even for him. He creates unique undead, beings that can think and act independently.”

Reiss expected Rags not to comprehend, but she nodded instantly.

“Oh. Like Toren.”

“…Who?”

“Talking, thinking skeleton. Works in inn. As [Barmaid].”

Rags saw Reiss stumble. He stared at Rags and poked one finger in his ear.

“What?”

“Tell you later. Your master. If he responds…you trust him to help?”

This time Rags watched Reiss’ face closely, wishing she had a truth detection spell. However, he was a Goblin and so was she, so the odds of him being able to lie to her were remote. She noted his hesitation, and then Reiss shook his head.

“No. I expect him to use me for his own gain. But it is in his interests to keep me alive. As a…tool, I am valuable. And as his apprentice, I have worth. If there is anyone to guess at what the Human’s plan is, it will be him. He may be able to stall Tyrion Veltras somehow.”

“He figure out what plan is? How?”

Reiss shrugged.

“He has informants all over the continent. Across the world, I think. More than one Drake in a position of power is his ally and there are a number of Humans he works with too. There is a Human conspiracy that he gives aid to, though they don’t know it is him—his ability to disguise himself with magic is second to none. He can even fool Gold-rank adventurers and his servants can cheat [Detect Truth] spells.”

Rags whistled. She wondered if she could learn an illusion of that magnitude. If she could enter a city—no, forget that. If she could disguise her warriors that perfectly, why not turn them into rocks on the ground? Or make them invisible? Reiss seemed almost apprehensive about his master, though.

“How much he aids us will depend on his mood. I have no doubt he will have questions. When he contacts me—he may wish to speak with you or the other Chieftains. Garen and Tremborag I cannot control, but mention nothing about the key to him.”

That made complete sense. Rags nodded. Reiss frowned.

“I wonder, though. The Humans have a plan. They have not attacked my army and they have the numbers to win. They are pushing us south quickly. I wonder what their goal is?”

Rags shrugged. She’d been brainstorming the same thing. She casually glanced ahead of them. She could see the mountains looming ever closer with each day.

“Going to High Passes. Maybe to Liscor?”

“Yes. That seems likely. I had wondered if this Tyrion Veltras wanted us to attack Invrisil, but we passed the city by without issue. If he intends to force us past Liscor—it’s raining, isn’t it?”

“Mhm. Wet. Lots of water.”

“That would stop his army. If he intends to take us into the High Passes we will know. Otherwise…Liscor is as far as he will go.”

That was true. Rags scratched her head. She frowned.

“Maybe he wants us to attack Drakes. Go to their lands. Cause trouble.”

Reiss smiled.

“He may try. But we are not mindless. He cannot force us to attack anyone. And if we escape his army, I intend to vanish. My goal was to create an army capable of founding a nation. And if the threat of the Humans vanishes…”

He glanced back, his eyes seeking out Tremborag and Garen’s forces. Rags shivered. If the Humans left them alone, it would be a war among Goblins. And if that was the case, she didn’t know if she trusted Reiss. She pretended to be nodding when Reiss looked back ahead.

“Good plan. Don’t know, though. Humans strange. Do stupid things.”

“No. I suppose we don’t. But there is someone who might know. Come with me. I wish to introduce you to someone. As a sign of trust.”

Rags eyed Reiss warily. She didn’t think following him deep into the core of his army was a good idea. But he seemed to understand that and ordered the mysterious person brought to them. Rags saw a stir in the crowd of marching Goblins, and then some rather tall Hobs appeared. They were blocking someone from sight. They parted as they neared Rags and Reiss, forming a circle shielding them from view. And in the center of the cluster was—

The little Chieftain’s jaw dropped. A Drake was marching amid the Goblins. Her clothes were dirty and she had shackles on the two wings sprouting from her back, but her arms and legs were free. She looked at Reiss and then at Rags with deep suspicion.

“Who’s this?”

Reiss motioned Rags to be silent. He nodded to Rags and pointed at the Drake. She had bright yellow scales and the spines on the back of her head were clear blue.

“This is Osthia Blackwing. Osthia, this is the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. Rags.”

That’s a Chieftain?”

The Drake peered incredulously at Rags. The little Goblin stared at Osthia. She looked at Reiss.

“Explain.”

“She was a captive from one of the Drake armies I faced. My master ordered her slain. I kept her alive for her knowledge of the Necromancer. Among other things.”

“You did it to defy him. I would have rather you killed me, but I have a duty to tell others about Az’kerash. Don’t think it means I won’t kill you if I thought I could get away safely.”

Osthia stared hard at Reiss. The Hobs around their Lord glared, but the Drake seemed used to it. Rags frowned at her.

“Why not chains? Could run away to Humans.”

Her words made Osthia snort. Reiss smiled.

“Apparently she doesn’t trust the Humans. And it would be hard for her to run. She is always among Goblins.”

“I don’t intend to run to the Humans, least of all Tyrion Veltras. I’m a soldier. An officer! I’d be interrogated and then executed. I’d rather wait and take my chances. We’re heading south each day, after all.”

Osthia folded her arms. She didn’t look a tenth as bad as the prisoners under Tremborag’s captivity. Indeed, she was jogging along with the other Goblins without even a hint of fatigue. Still, Rags was uneasy about any prisoners. She narrowed her eyes at Reiss and watched his and Osthia’s reaction.

“She prisoner, though. You have sex with her?”

Reiss nearly tripped again. He began to laugh. Osthia turned and gave Rags an offended look.

“I would rather die. Any Goblin—no, any captor trying to assault a Drake prisoner had better be prepared to have whatever they cherish most torn off. Or bitten off.”

She bared her teeth and all of the males around her edged back. Rags nodded.

“Just checking.”

She glanced at Reiss. The Goblin Lord stopped chuckling and nodded.

“You are a strange Chieftain. But I respect your beliefs, Chieftain Rags.”

Rags didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded like an empty statement, but Reiss looked anything but insincere when he said it. In the end, she just shrugged again.

“I am me.”

“So why am I here? To speculate on what Tyrion Veltras is trying to do?”

Osthia interrupted the two Goblins. Reiss nodded.

“Rags is an ally. I want to know what she thinks.”

“And can this…child talk about tactics?”

The Drake soldier eyed Rags. She received a similar look in reply. Rags jabbed a finger towards her chest.

I am smart. Are you smart? Can you play chess?”

Osthia stared at Rags. She opened her mouth, and then frowned. Reiss was frowning too.

“You can play chess? Will you teach me? Osthia refuses to teach me.”

Rags hesitated. It had been a long time since she’d played the game. But why not? She shrugged and smiled.

“Sure. But first—tell me more about Az’kerash.”

She looked sharply at Reiss. The Goblin Lord hesitated. His gaze moved to Osthia, who was watching him with unconcealed interest. He nodded slowly.

“I will tell you all that I can.”

 

—-

 

All day Rags marched with Reiss and Osthia. Her tribe moved with the Goblin Lord’s forces, talking, exchanging ideas, stories—talking. It wasn’t anything of great consequence. Neither Rags nor Osthia nor Reiss could make any definitive statements about what the Humans had planned and nothing monumental came of the other exchanges.

And yet, something did happen. Pyrite and Eater of Spears walked together in amiable silence for hours, chewing on whatever one or the other found. Poisonbite only left Snapjaw’s mount when the marching had stopped. And other Goblins like Noears had struck up conversations with [Mages] and [Shamans] in the Goblin Lord’s army. Even Quietstab had found a friend in another Goblin [Rogue].

Only Redscar hadn’t been socializing, and that was because he had been riding ahead. But the rest of Rags’ tribe had formed a tentative bond with Reiss’ forces. They pitched their camps a bit closer together that night.

The change was not lost on either Tremborag or Garen. In response, the two other Chieftains camped practically cheek-by-jowl. There was no thought of a sit-about tonight. And indeed, as the Goblins began preparing dinner, a familiar sound began echoing from Garen’s camp.

Redfang!

All of the Redfang Goblins in Rags’ camp looked up. The Goblin of Garen’s tribe were on their feet. They stomped and shouted.

Redfang!

It was the same as last time. Rags watched as Redscar and his Redfangs bristled. They formed up in a group of their own and shouted a reply back.

“Redfang! Redfang!

A shout of outrage issued from Garen’s camp. They shouted back, but Redscar and his warriors kept defiantly shouting the same word. Rags saw the Goblins pause, and then heard another shout.

Garen!

The Goblins in her camp went quiet. Instantly, the Goblins took up the shout.

Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Ga-ren!

It was exactly the same as last time. Rags saw Redscar glancing uncertainly at her, and then at the lone figure that stood in front of his campfire. The Goblin with the crimson blade. Garen faced his former warriors as his tribe screamed his name.

“Chieftain—”

Quietstab looked uncertainly at Rags. She held up a hand.

“Wait. Humans throw spells. Shut up soon.”

Her eyes were on Redscar. Rags could intervene, but this was his former Chieftain. His decision to make. She saw Redscar turn away from Garen, clenching his fists. Then he turned. He looked around wildly, and his eyes found hers. Redscar locked gazes for Rags for a few seconds and then thrust his hand up in the air. He bellowed a word.

Rags!

The other Redfangs jerked in surprise. They stared at Redscar, but then they turned to each other. There were nods, and then as one they shouted the same word.

Rags!

Rags felt her heart stop. She stared as all the Redfangs began shouting the word. And then some of the other Goblins took up the chant. Not Redfangs. Her tribe. They screamed the word, shocking Garen’s tribe into silence.

Rags! Rags! Rags!

It wasn’t just the Redfangs. It was all the Goblins. Rags saw Poisonbite look up, and Pyrite stopped digging in the ground. The Hob stood up and thrust his fist up. He roared.

Rags!

And then it was every voice. Hobs, small Goblins, children, Redfangs. Quietstab stood in front of Rags, shouting, his face alight with joy.

Rags!

The sound eclipsed the chanting from Garen’s camp. His tribe tried to shout Garen’s name, but they were outnumbered by the Goblins in Rags’ tribe. Both Tremborag and Reiss’ Goblins turned and watched as Rags’ tribe chanted her name. Rags stood in the center of her tribe, heart beating wildly, staring around.

Her. They were chanting her. Redscar looked at her as he raised his fist. And Garen—he stared at Rags. She couldn’t see his face, framed by the firelight as it was, but she could feel his shock.

The chanting went on for minutes, until a fireball exploded overhead. Then the Goblins scattered and everything was silent. But the memory lingered. Rags stood in the camp as the Goblins looked at her.

Just looked. They didn’t slap her back or cheer her afterwards. They just nodded and got back to eating or sitting about. But she remembered. And she stood taller still as she went to sit next to Pyrite. Rags watched him digging about, hunting for a mole. He didn’t say much and neither did she. But she felt like a giant. And she was smiling.

That night, the Flooded Waters tribe celebrated. Exactly what it was for wasn’t said. If they had to put it into words, they might have said it was the realization of Rags as their true Chieftain, the final acknowledgement of the Redfangs of who their leader was, or the bittersweet parting of ways with the past. If they had to put it into words. But some things were better left unsaid, and the Goblins were just happy.

They ate well and slept. Their camp hugged the Goblin Lord’s, and their guards were more relaxed. For the first time it felt like they had an ally, rather than an enemy on all sides. Even with the Humans, that was something.

Quietstab was particularly happy. He staggered past the sentries at the edge of Rags’ camp, towards the latrines they shared with Reiss’ forces. Rags had decided to put them outside of her camp after a few unpleasant incidents that involved sleepwalking Goblins last night. Quietstab navigated the short distance on unsteady legs. He was pleasantly sloshed.

Alcohol wasn’t an essential that Rags had kept on their frantic march, but Noears had the bag of holding and unlike Rags, he had a fine appreciation for some of the luxuries that Humans enjoyed. So did Quietstab. He’d followed Rags of course, but he still missed some of the things that Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe had enjoyed. Like alcohol.

The one downside of course was the need to pee. Quietstab nearly fell into the first latrines he came to. He wavered unsteadily at the edge, electing to pee standing up. The latrines were big and he was only missing half the time. He was so preoccupied with his task that he was quite oblivious to everything around him. That was until he turned, fumbling with his loincloth and saw the shape looming above him.

Tremborag stood over Quietstab, a mountain blocking out the night sky. He had appeared silently. Quietstab’s eyes went wide with terror. He backed up and nearly slipped into the latrine. He windmilled his arms unsteadily and Tremborag caught his arm.

“Hello, traitor.

The gigantic Great Chieftain lifted Quietstab up. The Hob opened his mouth to shout as he flailed with one arm at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain’s other hand shot out. He gripped Quietstab’s head and twisted.

Crack. Quietstab’s flailing arms went limp. Tremborag studied the Goblin for a second. Then he grinned and tossed Quietstab into the latrine. The Goblin fell into a heap. Tremborag turned. His crimson eyes glowed.

“Suffer, traitors. Suffer, child. I will make you weep before you die. You and the slave. I am Tremborag. See how I keep my promises.”

Tremborag laughed. He turned and walked back towards his tribe, smiling for the first time since he’d left his mountain.

And in her camp, sleeping amid the furs and blankets, Rags shot up with a cry of pain. She clutched her chest as she felt something snapping, the pain, and then the loss, the emptiness in her chest. She stared around blankly, not understanding what had happened as the Goblins around her roused, asking questions. She sat there, weeping, not knowing why.

Not until tomorrow.

 

—-

 

And as Tremborag walked back towards his camp and Rags sat amid her tribe and looked for the source of pain in her heart, someone moved next to the latrine. A patch of air resolved itself into a shape. Reiss stood frozen, halfway through doing his own business. He stared into the pit, at the broken shape that had been a Hob. Slowly, he stared at Tremborag’s retreating form and looked around for other witnesses.

There were none. Reiss knelt. He stared into the latrine and clenched his fist. But he made no move to raise the alarm, or retrieve Quietstab. He spoke softly.

“I’m sorry. But she is my ally now. Tremborag has Garen. I will have your Chieftain. And I will lead her tribe to a safer place. I promise you.”

He bent his head. Then Reiss turned. He whispered a spell and vanished, leaving only silence and death behind.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – Bird

(This story is on break until January 8th for Patreon readers, and January 11th for Public readers!)

 

It was a fated encounter, if you believed in fate. If you didn’t, it was still fated because Bird was Bird and there were only so many times Erin could distract him with a plate of hot fried duck, or an egg sunny side up. It so happened that the fated day in question was when Bevussa Slenderscale had stopped by Erin’s inn for another round of negotiations with the Halfseekers.

It wasn’t something the Garuda looked forwards to, so she’d ordered a dark lager of whatever Erin had on tap to take the edge off. The request had stumped Erin and she’d gone behind the counter to stare at kegs while Bevussa waited. The Garuda tapped the table, wondering when Jelaqua would appear and they could begin haggling. Apparently the Selphid was out and about Liscor, and Bevussa intended to drink until she came back.

Sparingly. Negotiations between Gold-rank Captains were a tricky affair and Bevussa needed a clear head, especially since alcohol ran through Garudas a lot faster than other races. Selphids were champions at digesting alcohol unfortunately, so Jelaqua could drink all she wanted and only get drunk if she chose. But Bevussa needed some kind of relief.

“Everyone’s so damn tense about what artifacts they’re going to get. And how much gold. I’m losing feathers over this, and I’m certain our team’s actually going to get an artifact.”

Bevussa complained to Erin as she sat at the table. She heard a muffled voice.

“Uh huh. It’s tough to negotiate?”

“Yes! I don’t know how Jelaqua is so calm about it all of a sudden. Now she’s playing hard—it’s like she’s not even worried about the gold! Something’s happened with her. And Griffon Hunt. Do you know anything about it?”

“About…what?”

“The way Jelaqua’s acting—”

The Garuda raised her voice and then gave up. No one was in the inn at midday—Erin’s inn still seemed to only have a rush around dinner, when the Players of Celum stopped by. Or maybe everyone was in Celum, experiencing the sunshine. She grumbled to herself instead.

“Everyone gets upset! And you can’t argue with Keldrass when he’s pissed—he just smokes you out! I know Jelaqua’s after the armor, but I was hoping she’d withdraw her claim on the light-spelled shortsword. Hey, do you have a lager? I can get another drink if you’re out!”

“Um…I think so! What color is a dark lager supposed to be? Purple?”

“Purple? No, it’ll be dark brown, blackish! Do you have a purple beer back there?”

“Well, the light’s not so good—maybe?”

“Can I try it?”

“Sure—ow! Hold on, let me get a mug!”

Bevussa sat back as she heard Erin bang about. She glanced towards both doors surreptitiously, but Jelaqua didn’t magically appear. Bevussa sighed, drummed her talons on the table, and then turned her head. She saw an Antinium Worker’s face two inches from her own.

“Hello, I am Bird.”

Ancestors save me!

Bevussa shouted and nearly fell out of her chair. She flapped her wings to keep her balance and heard Erin exclaim.

“What? What’s happening? Ow!

There was a thump as Erin smacked her head on the bar’s counter. Bevussa leaned back in her chair. Bird hadn’t moved.

“Hello, I am Bird.”

Bevussa cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

Bird nodded.

“Hello. You are a bird, yes?”

The Garuda stared at him. Then she turned her head.

“Uh, Erin? Your Antinium Worker is saying hi to me. And he’s asking if I’m a bird.”

Oh no. Bird!

Erin shot up from behind the counter. She waved the mug in her hands frantically.

“Put down the bow! Don’t shoot—oh good.”

Bird turned. The Worker was not holding his bow, as was customary. Instead he was holding something strange in his hand. Bevussa blinked. All four of the Worker’s hands were clutching a mess of…

“Goose feathers?”

“Yes. They are goose feathers. Would you trade them with me?”

Bird offered the feathers to Bevussa. She hesitated and reached out to take one, then stopped. The Garuda looked around, suspecting a prank. Erin on the other hand knew better and rushed forwards.

“Bird, no! Bevussa, I’m sorry. Let me handle this. Bird, you know what I said about bothering Bevussa.”

“But I put away my bow.”

“Yeah, but you can’t just—why are you holding feathers?”

“To trade. I am told trading is a perfectly acceptable form of barter. I wish to trade.”

“But—hold on, are those from the pillows in your room?”

“…Maybe?”

Erin stared at Bird. She scratched her head, stared at the feathers, then decided to drop the issue. She folded her arms and looked sternly at the Worker.

“Bird, I know you really like…well, birds. But Bevussa’s busy and you can’t bother her. Especially about birds.”

“Oh. I am sorry.”

Bird physically drooped. His antennae sagged and he turned around and began to shuffle towards the stairs. Bevussa, who was still completely confused, felt bad and called out.

“Hold on, Erin. Why can’t uh, Bird speak with me?”

The [Innkeeper] turned. She hesitated as Bird stopped hopefully.

“It’s complicated. Bevussa, I really don’t know how to explain this, but Bird’s…well, he’s not like the other Antinium.”

“That is correct. I am Bird.”

“Right! And I don’t want to alarm you, but he really like birds. And I thought that y’know, since you have wings…”

Bevussa laughed lightly.

“Oh come on. It can’t be worse than what I get from Drakes all the time. Let Bird sit with me. I’ll share a drink with him.”

Erin visibly hesitated. She looked from Bevussa to Bird and the Garuda got the feeling that Erin was doing some rapid risk-assessment.

“Are you sure? I mean, if you’re willing that’d be great. Bird really wanted to meet you, but me and Klbkch and Pawn and Belgrade and Anand all thought—if he says or does anything weird, you can tell him not to. And I’ll be over here…”

Amused, the Garuda waved Erin back to the bar.

“Sure. Just sort out which barrel has what. Come on, Bird. Sit down.”

“Are you sure? Miss Erin told me not to bother you if you are busy. Are you busy?”

Bird hesitated as Bevussa drew up a stool. The Garuda frowned as she gave Erin a quick glance. The [Innkeeper] gave Bevussa a mixture of hand gesture and facial expressions only a Goblin could interpret. The Gold-rank adventurer gave up on interpreting it and looked at Bird.

“I’m not.”

“Oh. Good. Then I will bother you.”

Bird sat down instantly in the chair across from Bevussa. He stared at her. He was still holding the feathers. Bevussa stared at them, and then at Bird. She coughed.

“So…sorry about that. Nice to meet you. We’ve never formally been introduced, have we? I’ve seen you around, I mean, but—I’m Bevussa, Gold-rank, and uh, second-in-command of the Wings of Pallass.”

Bird nodded.

“I am Bird. I am a Worker in the Hive only now I am an Individual. I work in Miss Erin’s inn.”

“I’ve…noticed. Have you worked here long?”

The Worker shook his head.

“No. I was assigned to Miss Erin’s inn by Revalantor Klbkch as a matter of security and to protect Miss Erin and to act in a capacity which I am not allowed to inform you about. I have only been here for a little while, but I have my own room and a tower to shoot birds from.”

“Birds as in…other birds. Not you, right?”

“That is correct. I am Bird. I hunt birds. With my bow. It is in my room.”

Bevussa blinked. She looked around for Erin and heard swearing as Erin tried to wrestle with a keg under the counter. Bevussa rubbed at her forehead and began to understand what Erin had meant.

“Okay, I think I get what you’re saying. Your name is Bird. But you’re a hunter.”

“That is correct. I am a [Hunter]. I hunt birds.”

“…Why did you name yourself Bird?”

The Worker shrugged.

“I like birds. Should I not name myself Bird?”

“Well, you have to admit it’s confusing.”

“I do?”

Bird tilted his head back and forth. Bevussa stared at him and then turned and called to Erin.

“Hey, how’s that drink going?”

“I dunno! Do you put wine in kegs? Cause this looks like wine!”

The Garuda debated asking for a glass regardless, then decided that she wasn’t that desperate. Yet. She turned back to Bird and tried to make sense of it all.

“You just liked to call yourself Bird, is that it? That’s fair. I guess.”

Bird nodded.

“Yes. But I am also named Bird after Henry Edward Bird, who played chess and was important. He was a Human who invented the Bird’s Opening and Bird’s Defense in chess.”

Bevussa put her head on the table.

“I’m so confused.”

She just wanted a drink. Bevussa’s head lay on the table for all of three seconds, until she felt a very tentative touch on the back of her head. She looked up immediately and Bird snatched his hand back.

“Don’t touch the feathers.”

“I am sorry. They were very pretty.”

“Yeah, and they’re mine. You don’t see me pulling your antennae.”

“I am sorry.”

Bird looked down at his hands. He seemed to shrink. Bevussa’s fury instantly cooled off. She stared at Bird.

“Hey, sorry. I just thought you were one of those creepy Drakes who—it’s okay.”

“But it is not because you said so. I am sorry.”

The Worker stared at his hands. Bevussa looked around helplessly. She was about to shout at Erin that she really needed her at the table rather than a drink, and then a few things clicked in her head. Something Erin had mentioned. She stared back at Bird.

“How old are you, Bird?”

“Oh. I am two. I will be three sometime in the fall.”

Bird brightened up. Bevussa stared at him.

“You’re three?

“Yes. I am old for a Worker. Most die when they are around two years old. Due to monsters eating them. We are rotated to the front lines often. I did not die, and now I am at Miss Erin’s inn, where there are monsters too sometimes. But I have not died yet, so that is good.”

Bird nodded happily. Bevussa stared at him. Then she sat back in her chair.

“Oh. Oh. And you’re—the Antinium are really—Ancestors, I had no idea! And—hey, can all Workers speak? Do they all have names?”

She looked at Bird. He shook his head.

“No. Most Workers have no names. If they did, they would be Individual. And if you ask them and they do not, they would be Aberration.”

“What’s that?”

Bird hesitated.

“That is a very bad thing. Aberrations kill other Workers. They say not-good things about the Queen and Revalantor Klbkch comes and kills them. Or Soldiers do.”

“So they’re criminals?”

The Worker hesitated.

“I…do not think so. They are just upset.”

“I see.”

The Garuda tried to square that with what she’d heard of the Antinium. Aberrations—yes, she’d heard of the Antinium going berserk, but that was in battle. And you almost never saw Antinium outside of their Hives, and obviously no one ever went near an Antinium Hive unless you wanted to die. Except in Liscor, the strange city that had welcomed them. She’d heard stories—

But Bird seemed alright. Strange as a shaved Gnoll, and half as sane, but for a two year old, she thought he was doing well. Armed with that knowledge, Bevussa smiled more comfortably at Bird.

“Okay, so you like birds. You enjoy hunting them?”

And like that Bevussa opened the floodgates. Bird sat up, his multi-faceted eyes shining.

“Yes. very much. I shoot birds all day. All night too. I have a new bow that my Queen gave me, and it is very strong. I have shot many birds with it, only I can only shoot them in Celum because there are not many birds in the rain. I have been hoping to see water birds which must surely exist, but I have not seen any yet. I think they may be invisible, and Belgrade tells me they do not exist, but then Pawn came over and said they may exist, and Erin said they might as well so I am still looking for them. Have you seen water birds?”

“Water birds? Do you mean…flying fish? Or—or swimming birds?”

Bird stared at Bevussa.

“There are fish that fly?”

“Yes?”

At this stage Bevussa wasn’t sure of anything in life. She sat back as Bird tried to describe what the elusive, and, Bevussa realized, probably imaginary, water birds looked like. She shook her head.

“I’ve never seen a bird made out of water. It sounds like something a [Mage] would summon.”

“Oh. Do you think I could find one to summon one for me?”

“To do what, exactly?”

Bird looked blankly at Bevussa.

“Shoot it of course. And then eat it.”

“That’s all you want to do?”

“Yes. I like shooting birds. And eating them.”

“But you call yourself Bird.”

“Yes.”

“And you…like birds?”

“Yes. They are my favorite things. I like all birds.”

“Then why—no, wait, I’ve done this before. Okay. You like birds. Hey, I like birds too. Except for the aggressive types.”

“Aggressive types?”

Bird sat up. Erin screamed as a keg rolled over her foot. Both Bird and Bevussa looked over, but since it wasn’t anything serious they turned back to the conversation. Bevussa waved a taloned hand, relieved to be on firmer ground. Or rather, in clearer skies as the Garuda would say.

“Oh yeah. There are tons of angry birds in the sky. I guess Liscor doesn’t have many aggressive birds, huh? Oh wait—you do have Razorbeaks, don’t you?”

“Yes. Erin calls them Dino Birds. They are very big and sit in the grass.”

“I bet they do. And they love to swarm wounded animals and people. Nasty things, but not too deadly if you’ve got any kind of armor. But other birds…hm, no, I guess you would be okay up here. Now, around Pallass we’ve got some nasty fliers.”

“Ooh, like what?”

Bird leaned forwards. Bevussa ticked off species on her talons.

“Aside from the regular birds—that is to say, the ones that don’t have a taste for meat or can’t shoot lightning? Well, southern Izril has Wyverns, those are the big ones everyone knows about. Are they birds? Well, they’re death in the air. One drops on you and you’re dead. But I can see a Wyvern from miles away and they can’t maneuver at all. No, if I’m in the air I’m watching out for Vaas Beils.”

“What are they? Are they birds?”

“I mean, if you want to be charitable, yeah. They’re these large freaks with two sets of beaks—and teeth—that hunt out of clouds. Now, you’d think they’re divers from how big they are, but they’re not. Instead they scream with both beaks. It’s awful. It messes with your sense of direction and then they’re on top of you.”

“Ooh. What do they taste like?”

Bevussa paused.

“I’ve never checked. I tend to stab them and let them drop. But I have tasted the other bird I have to fight a lot. Starlings.”

“Starlings? What powers do they have?”

Bevussa laughed

“Powers? They’re not monsters. They’re just little black birds. I bet you’ve seen them! Only, you’ve probably never seen a swarm of them before.”

“A swarm?”

Bird edged closer to the table. Bevussa nodded, grimacing as she ran a talon down her beak.

“Worst things for any flier to run into. I had a group of Oldblood Drakes—kids, really, barely able to get off the ground. And we were flying over a forest when a swarm of starlings took offense. That’s the problem, see. They’re usually not aggressive, but when there are monsters in the sky, starlings learn to attack. And this lot went after us. Now, they’re tiny birds like I said, but there were thousands of them attacking all of us, trying to smash us on the ground. I barely got the Drakes down before the starlings took us out of the sky, and I still have scars—hell, one of the Drakes nearly lost an eye and I got blamed for the entire thing!”

Bevussa grimaced. Bird didn’t pay attention to her, though. He was dreamily staring off into the distance.

“Thousands.”

“That’s right. And they’re not the only ones. A lot of birds learn to fight against monsters. Or run. It’s the only way they survive being wiped out. Ever seen a group of eagles take on a Wyvern? It’s not all about size in the sky. And believe me, there’s a lot you ground folk never see.”

“Like what?”

“Hah! Where should I start? How much do you have time for?”

Bevussa leaned back flapping her wings dismissively. But Bird edged closer. He fixed Bevussa with a pleading look.

“Everything. I want to hear everything.”

The Garuda woman stopped. She stared at Bird and saw in his eyes the purest and deepest interest she’d ever seen. Slowly she sat forwards.

“Well, alright. If you want me to talk about the sky—well, I’m a Garuda but I was born and raised by Drakes. They’re not good fliers, despite the Oldblood thing, but I’ve heard stories all my life and my family took me to the library. And I’ve met Garuda from Chandrar and they’ve got all the tales.”

“Tales like what?”

“Oh, of the sky of course! Wyverns and local birds aside, there are legends up there. Birds that hide behind clouds, special ones that only come out when the rainbows shine! Birds that can go higher than the tallest mountain, so high up they have to hold their breaths and fly with magic because the air’s too thin! And yes—even birds that live in the water. Some you have to fight, but others just…appear.”

“Appear? Like what?”

“Like, okay, there was this story I heard of a Garuda who got lost and found himself flying over the sea. He had no idea where land was and he was flying in circles, lower and lower, thinking he was going to fall and drown. And then he saw the air move and realized that there was something flying right beneath him! He looked down and saw something flash by. It went by so fast that he never saw it, but the slipstream dragged him for over ten miles, back towards the land!”

Bird sat transfixed, staring at Bevussa. He glanced out a window towards the rainy sky.

“Was it a bird?”

Bevussa nodded.

“Apparently. He swears it was twice as large as he was and had red slashes on its wings and a white body. And he’s not the only one who’s seen it. Apparently this bird travels around Chandrar, and there was a time when a bunch of Wistram Mages came to see if they could capture it. Hah, well, they didn’t get the attention of that bird, but they did manage to piss off one of the leviathans of the sky…”

She began talking. Telling Bird stories, some real, some made up, all told to her during her childhood and as she’d swapped tales as adventurers. It was strange. Bevussa had never met anyone else on the ground who loved tales of the sky as she did, but in Bird she found a greater fascination than even she had.

The Worker practically leaned over the table, drinking in every word she spoke. And when Bevussa’s throat ran dry, there was Erin at last with a dark lager and several bruises. Bevussa spoke for minutes, and then nearly two hours before she had to sit back.

“Whew.”

“And? And? What bird is next?”

Bird bounced excitedly in his chair. Bevussa looked around. Erin was cleaning up her mess behind the counter. The Garuda coughed. Her mug was long empty.

“I’m a bit tired, Bird. Maybe let’s hold off on more stories? Hey Erin, can I get a refill?”

She waved her mug. Erin turned.

“Coming! Damn, where did I put the lager barrel? Uh oh, I’m getting déjà vu!

Bird looked crestfallen. Bevussa felt bad, but she told herself not to fall for the Antinium’s disappointment. That was how he’d gotten the last fifteen tales out of her.

“I can always tell you a story later, Bird. And I’m sure the other adventurers have a few tales.”

“But you are an expert.”

“Because I have wings? Well yeah—”

“No, because you are a bird.”

Bevussa paused. She stared at Bird and checked out her blue and green plumage.

“Well, I guess if you want to be technical about it, Garuda are bird people. But uh…we’re not birds.”

It was actually a sore point with Bevussa. She’d been teased growing up and her species as a whole got too many bad bird jokes to count. No Garuda liked being called a bird. But Bird the Worker only cocked his head.

“But Miss Bevussa, you have wings.”

“Yeah.”

“And you fly.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Does that not make you a bird?”

Bevussa’s eyelid twitched. She took a few breaths.

“There’s more to flying and wings, Bird. Or rather, there’s a difference between—look, Garuda aren’t birds. We’re people! We’re not birds, just like a bat isn’t a bird.”

The Antinium digested that for a moment.

“Bats aren’t birds?”

“No!”

“Why not? They have wings. And they fly.”

“Yeah, but—what about the moths?”

“The moth-birds?”

Bevussa stared at Bird. He stared back with purest certainty in his eyes. Bevussa scrubbed a talon through her feathers and then looked at Erin.

“Make that two lagers, Erin!”

“You got it! I think. It’ll be there eventually!”

“Great.”

Bevussa turned back to Bird, shaking her head. Erin was a good [Innkeeper]—probably the best one around Liscor, although she’d be in trouble if she moved to Pallass and ran up against some of the good ones there. Still, she was friendly, helpful, and she had a magic door. But her knowledge of alcohol was distressing. She looked at Bird.

“You want anything? It’s my treat.”

“No, I am fine, thank you.”

Bird shook his head. As he did, he shifted and Bevussa saw that he was still holding all of the goose feathers in his four hands. She had to point at them.

“Are you still holding those? What are they for, anyways?”

“For trading. I thought I could trade them.”

“To who?”

Bird pointed at Bevussa.

“You.”

The Garuda paused.

“For what?”

“Feathers.”

Feath—

And then Bevussa realized what Bird meant. She stared at her brilliant feathers and then looked at the broken and worn feathers he held. She wanted to laugh. But then she noticed how Bird looked at her feathers.

“You really like my feathers that much?”

“They are beautiful. I would trade all my pillows for one feather.”

Bird stared at Bevussa’s feathers. The Garuda preened a bit. She couldn’t help it. She hesitated, and then did something she’d never done, even for the rare Drakes she’d dated.

“I don’t think I need all your feathers, Bird. But I would be willing to trade one feather for all the ones you’re holding.”

“You would?”

The Antinium looked at Bevussa. She nodded, seeing the shining light in his gaze. Slowly, Bevussa reached for a stray feather she knew she’d lose soon. She winced a bit as she plucked it, but then handed it to Bird.

It was slightly bent and not in good shape. But Bird instantly let go of the feathers in his hands and pushed them towards Bevussa. He reached out and, with trembling hands, accepted the feather. He held it up and stared at it. Bevussa smiled.

“Do you like it?”

“It is wonderful.”

That was all Bird said. He held the feather up, staring at it. Bevussa grinned.

“It’s yours. Think of it as a memento. From one lover of the skies to another. Keep your other feathers. I uh, don’t want them.”

Bird looked up. He looked at Bevussa and then bowed his head.

“I will treasure it forever.”

And that was the magic of Bird. Bevussa had no doubt he would. She turned as Erin approached with two tankards in hand.

“What’s that? Oh—Bird, did you ask Bevussa for a feather? Bevussa, you didn’t have to give it to him!”

“I decided to, don’t worry, Erin.”

Bird protectively covered his feather as Erin sighed and put down the tankards on the table.

“Thank you for telling Bird all those stories. I’m sorry Jelaqua hasn’t appeared yet. I think she’s ogling dead Raskghar or something.”

The Garuda coughed and waved a talon.

“It’s no problem. I actually really enjoyed myself. And speaking of which—”

She’d heard someone coming towards Erin’s regular door outside. Bevussa turned expectantly and both Bird and Erin looked over. The door opened and Relc stepped through.

“Hey everyone! I’ve got my day off at last! Anyone got any food?”

“Oh.”

Bevussa sighed. Erin smiled and Bird turned back to his feather. Relc looked slightly hurt as he wandered over.

“Hey, it’s me!”

“Hi Relc!”

Erin smiled at the Drake. He grinned.

“How’s it going? Hey, is that uh…Bird? And you’re—hey Miss, don’t I know you?”

The Drake grinned at Bevussa. The Gold-rank adventurer gave him a polite smile. Relc looked at Bevussa and then at Bird. His eyes widened.

“Hold on. This is the crazy one. And she’s—”

He pulled at Erin’s shoulder as she went to get him a drink. Bevussa frowned as Bird studied her feather. She could hear Relc whispering loudly to Erin as he pointed at her and Bird.

“Is that safe? Isn’t he like, y’know—”

Relc tapped the tide of his head. Erin smacked his arm down.

“Don’t be a jerk! He’s just Bird!”

“Yeah, but what does that mean?”

“What’s wrong with you meeting me, Bird?”

Bevussa looked at Bird. The Worker looked up.

“Miss Erin told me I am not allowed to bring my bow when I am around you. She says that if I hit you, I will be in big trouble forever. I cannot shoot at any of the Drakes either.”

“Hit us? Why would you—oh. They think you’ll shoot me because I’ve got wings! Because…I’m a bird? Oh, come on!”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Bevussa smacked her head, then wondered if Erin and the others were really that racist. Then again—she glanced at Bird and realized their fears were well founded. The Antinium nodded.

“You have wings. And you fly. Thus you are a bird. But Erin has explained to me why I am not supposed to shoot you, so I will not. Unless you want me to?”

He glanced at Bevussa. The Gold-rank adventurer idly wondered what would happen if she said yes. It could be funny. Then she recalled the image of Bird sitting with a dozen dead monsters lying around him, feathered with arrows. She sat up and looked Bird in the eye very deliberately.

“I would not like you to, Bird. Ever.”

“Okay, Miss Bevussa.”

“Glad we got that straightened out.”

Bevussa breathed a sigh of relief. Then she had another thought. She glanced at Bird and smiled.

“I get the worry, but I can dodge arrows just fine. Even Halrac would have trouble hitting me on the wing. Anyways, you’re an ant-man. Technically you should be worried about me.”

Bird paused. He looked confused.

“Why would I worry about you, Miss Bevussa?”

The Garuda smiled.

“Well, I’m a bird. And you’re…an ant.”

“I am not an ant. I am an Antinium.”

“But you have a carapace.”

“Yes. But I am not an ant.”

“But you walk around.”

“Yes, but I am not an ant.”

“Are you sure? Ants walk around and they have carapaces. And just so you know…I have been known to snack on ants.”

Bird froze. He stared at Bevussa and then looked down at his body. He seemed to process Bevussa’s statement. Then he glanced at the bird woman again. Nervously. Bevussa licked the edges of her beak. Bird stared at her for a long moment and then edged away.

“I am not food.”

“Sure. And I’m not a bird.”

The two looked at each other. Then Bird stood up.

“I must go for reasons I have not come up with yet. Goodbye.”

He scurried towards the stairs, glancing behind him at Bevussa every few steps. She grinned, and then felt a bit bad.

“I hope I didn’t scare him.”

Erin came over with a mug of her own lager. She tasted it and made a face.

“He’ll be fine. I think it’s a good lesson for Bird. Hey, you gonna drink your beer? Because I’m not. This stuff tastes bad.

Bevussa realized both of her drinks were in front of her, as yet untouched. She shook her head and lifted her mug to her beak.

“He’s not what I expected an Antinium to be. But I like him. He’s a child, but an adult. It—well, are all of them like him?”

“Not all. But they’re all a bit young and old at the same time.”

Erin stared sadly at Bird as he hurried up the stairs. He was clearly nervous, but he held the feather like the most precious thing in the world. Like his bow. The two women watched Bird disappear. Bevussa sat with her mug in her hands, thinking of the Antinium Wars, of all the Workers that no doubt lived in the Hives. She glanced at Erin. A hundred things raced through her mind, questions, statements, very few of which would change anything that was reality. She opened her mouth to choose one of them—

And a Drake slid into a seat next to Bevussa. Both she and Erin turned as Relc appeared. The Drake gave Bevussa a huge grin and flexed his arm a bit as he leaned over. He took a deep breath and then spoke in what he thought was a seductive tone to Bevussa.

“Hey, baby. Did you drop out of the sky? Because you look like a bird of paradise to me.”

He winked as he pointed two fingers at Bevussa. The Garuda stared at him, drink tilted towards her beak. Part of it began dribbling down her front as she and Erin just stared at Relc. He looked from face to face and then turned away.

“Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have given all the good lines to Embria.”

He scuffed away. And Bird sat in his room. At first he hid in his fortress of fluff, but then he was no longer afraid. He sat and grew sleepy, and when he dreamed, it was not of Bevussa, but of the wondrous birds she’d described flying through the sky. He dreamed he was flying too, flying with a gigantic bow and shooting birds as large as clouds. And the green and blue feather lay beneath Bird’s pillow, the most precious thing in the world.

 


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5.51 G

Day 9

 

She knew. Before the sun rose, Rags knew. It was a gaping hole in her heart, a certainty of loss. It was fury and grief. And tears.

Goblins didn’t cry. It was a waste of water. But despite knowing that, despite knowing that the Goblins clustered around her were watching their Chieftain, she couldn’t stop. Nor could she explain the pain in her to her anxious tribe.

She just knew, that was all. So she told them to search.

The first thing they did was run a check on the patrols. But nothing had disturbed the camp’s perimeter during the night. So Rags told them to search for something else. Pyrite, Redscar, Noears, Poisonbite, and the other Hobs did just that. Dawn was just breaking when they realized someone was missing.

Quietstab. There was nothing too unusual about that—Quietstab was a [Rogue] and good at hiding. But he hadn’t turned up and he would have with the entire camp abuzz with concern. That was when Rags knew.

She knew, but she didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. So she told the others to look for him. She busied herself with getting her camp packed up, readying her tribe for the day’s march. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The other three tribes were rousing themselves as well. Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe, Garen’s Redfangs, and of course the army of the Goblin Lord, Reiss. Rags could see Goblins staring at her camp. They could tell something was wrong, too. She saw Reiss’ warriors moving to relay that information to a senior Hob, and Garen’s warriors watching with clear confusion. But Tremborag’s Goblins were different.

They looked amused as Hobs and Goblins from Rags’ tribe started combing the camp systematically. They gathered, a vast mass of Goblins, the only group large enough to rival Reiss’ army, and watched and laughed. As if they knew something.

Dark fear and suspicion wormed its way into Rags’ stomach. She knew, but she didn’t want to put the pieces together. Not yet. The tears had stopped by the time the first [Fireball] exploded overhead. It was time to move.

But Quietstab was still missing. Rags strode around her camp, watching Reiss’ army take the lead and Garen’s small tribe begin to move as well. Tremborag’s Goblins were still watching. And her tribe—

“Chieftain, orders?”

Noears looked slightly nervous as he glanced at the line of mounted Humans beginning to approach from the south. More [Fireballs] were exploding overhead, warning the Goblins to move or die. Rags knew that the [Mages] would begin lobbing spells at them in minutes if they didn’t move. But she knew.

“Not yet. Wait. Find Quietstab.”

The earless Goblin [Mage] hesitated, but he didn’t argue further. Rags saw her Goblins glancing more and more rapidly at the coming Humans. Now even Tremborag’s tribe, usually slowest of the four tribes, was moving. The Humans were yet ten minutes away from reaching the spot where Rags stood at the speed they were travelling, but they were in range of the [Mage]’s spells. Any Goblins who got too close to the front line of advancing riders would die.

And yet, Rags refused to move. She waited, watching the glittering line of horses and humans draw closer. Her Goblins looked to her nervously. Now they were alone, a small group of stationary Goblins compared to the mass of marching Goblins ahead of them.

A spell exploded overhead, making Rags look up. She saw another spell—a long, sinuous cloud of green smoke—twist over the heads of the Goblins. It was shaped like a worm, but it had a Dragon’s face. It’s eyes were red and it roared at the Goblins, although the sound was silent. Below it, the Goblins backed away.

Poison. Or something close to it. The [Mages] were getting impatient. And still, Rags didn’t move. She saw her warriors spreading outside her camp, searching, calling out at each other. And then one group approached the latrines. And stopped.

Rags saw the ripple go through the searching Goblins without the need for words. The ones near the latrines waved their arms frantically as the Hob recoiled, his entire posture displaying shock and horror. And grief. In an instant, Pyrite was there. He stared down at something and then turned. Rags was already riding towards him.

“Chieftain.”

He met her halfway. The other Goblins were converging on the spot. But Pyrite blocked Rags’ Carn Wolf from going any further. She slid from the saddle, but Pyrite gently blocked her.

“Chieftain.”

“Is Quietstab there?”

Pyrite nodded. He blocked Rags with one huge claw. Rags looked up at him. Pyrite’s eyes were troubled. She took a breath.

“Bad?”

“Bad.”

“Show me.”

It was not an order. Pyrite hesitated, but then he moved aside. Rags strode forwards, pushing Goblins aside. Since she was smaller than most, they had to realize she was pushing them and move aside for her.

Goblins were crowded around the shallow ditch that was the latrines. Hobs, warriors, all looking down. All silent. Rags pushed a Goblin aside. She glanced down into the ditch and saw something lying down there. For a second her eyes didn’t put together the strange form that was lying there. It wasn’t dirt, or even a bad poo. It was green, twisted.  It almost looked like—

Rags recoiled. She stumbled away, her mind rejecting what it had seen. But just as quickly, shock became certainty. Rags heard pounding feet. She saw Poisonbite appear. The Goblin looked down and screamed in horror and fury. Noears was there, his eyes wide. Pyrite just looked down, his gaze finding the body that had been a Hob. Redscar rode forwards through the ranks of Goblins. He took one look and drew his sword.

And Rags knew. She looked down into the pit that held a body. The form bent, twisted. And the head had been turned around, snapped. But she recognized the face. Quietstab looked up at her, his expression terrified. Rags felt the empty spot in her heart.

But she had no time to look longer. She heard a scream and saw the poisonous serpent was swooping lower. Now she could feel particles of the gas spell drifting down, burning her eyes and skin. Pyrite blinked upwards and turned. He didn’t wait for Rags to give an order.

Run!

The Goblins around him started. They took one look at the Humans approaching and realized they were too close. They began to stream away from the pit, taking one last look. Poisonbite had to be grabbed by Noears. Redscar saluted the body with his sword, then rode away, shouting at the Goblins to move.

“Chieftain.”

Pyrite stood next to Rags. He spoke urgently, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the dead body. She didn’t move, even when Pyrite shook her. Only when he lifted her up did she react. Pyrite effortlessly heaved Rags up and onto the back of her Carn Wolf. He poked the wolf in the side and the animal growled. Pyrite growled back and the Carn Wolf bounded after the Goblins. Rags almost turned him back. Almost. But she didn’t have the strength to look at the miserable form lying there.

Quietstab was dead. It had happened so suddenly. As they all slept. It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem right. Yet Rags was certain she knew the moment he had died. And then the shock gripping her faded. She asked the second question that was growing louder in her head.

He had died. So someone had killed him. Who?

And she already knew the answer. It was obvious. Rags rode with her head bowed, hearing more shouts as her tribe began to rush after the others. She slowly, painfully put together the conclusion in her mind, checking it for errors. But there were none. She rode at the head of her tribe, passing by her Goblins, her people. They watched her anxiously. Because now they knew.

And then she looked up and saw him. He was marching in the center of his tribe, head and shoulders taller than the others. By his side walked his Hob liutenants, smug, wearing magical weapons and armor. And amid them was Ulvama, her nearly bare skin painted with symbols. But Rags had only eyes for Tremborag.

He was watching her. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain was looking at her, at the Goblins in her tribe, watching as Pyrite ushered them forwards. And then he looked at Rags as she slowed to stare at him.

Redscar drew up besides Rags. His sword was still bared. He peered at Tremborag. Yes, it was obvious. Tremborag wasn’t trying to hide it. He grinned with all his teeth, a massive face consumed with satisfaction and malicious glee. And then he laughed.

There were tens of thousands of Goblins between him and Rags. An army, his tribe. Enough Goblins to overwhelm her smaller tribe by sheer numbers. And there he was, bloated, obscenely gloating. Rags glared at Tremborag. He laughed at her and then said something. She could not hear him, far away as they were and with the [Mage] spells roaring behind her. The roar of her blood in her ears would have drowned it out. But she could read his lips.

See, child? Do you see?

And she did see. Rags focused on Tremborag. Redscar grabbed her arm, looking worried. But Rags had no eyes for him. She stared at Tremborag. And she knew then that she would watch him die, or he would watch her. And she would write that promise a hundred thousand times in blood if need be. Rags lowered her head and Redscar relaxed. Then she grabbed her sword and screamed.

 

—-

 

Reiss rode ahead, but he looked behind. At her. The small Goblin who was somehow a child and adult as any Hob at the same time. Rags, the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. He could scarcely believe it. She was only a child, even by Goblin standards. But she was a Chieftain, and her tribe impressed him. If she had been born at the same time he and Garen had, would she have become…?

No, not necessarily. Reiss shook his head. There was more to a Goblin Lord than just the size of a tribe. But there was something in Rags that hinted at that potential. It was raw, and she was too young. But Reiss thought he saw it. It gave him hope, or it had. But today, Reiss was guilty.

He had watched Rags’ tribe moving about in confusion as dawn broke. All the Goblins had. They could sense the trouble in the Flooded Waters tribe, even if they didn’t know the reason. But Reiss did. He watched in silent agony as Rags sent patrols searching her camp, and then as they found the latrine where Quietstab lay.

It wasn’t hard to understand why none of the other Goblins had spotted him in the early morning. They had all been asleep, and the pit was hardly a place where Goblins would investigate normally. But they found him. After that shock spread through their tribe. Shock and grief.

And rage. Reiss sat on the back of the undead shield spider, watching Rags. She was fixed on Tremborag. So she’d put together who was responsible. That wasn’t hard. What came next was important, though. Reiss forced himself to watch; he couldn’t reveal that he knew what had happened. Not yet.

Rags was very still as she sat on the back of her Carn Wolf. Reiss could see her looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain was laughing, surrounded by his warriors. And why not? It didn’t matter if Rags knew. His tribe was a sprawling mass of marching Goblins, lacking the discipline of Reiss’ black armored warriors, but too many to count. And he knew it.

There was another Goblin riding next to Rags. Small, not a Hob, but one of her lieutenants. Reiss tried to remember his name, but couldn’t. He saw the Goblin arguing with Rags, pulling at her arm. Reiss watched, a lump churning in his stomach. But Rags was too still. She lowered her head. And then she grabbed her sword and tried to charge.

“No. Stop her!”

The Hobs, Reiss’ personal escort, looked up at their lord in confusion. Reiss forced himself not to move. His claws dug into the palm of his hand as he watched. The other Goblin—Redscar?—seized Rags before she could charge at Tremborag. Rags fought him, but he was clearly strong and he shouted for help.

Hobs grabbed the Carn Wolf and slowed it. The fat Hob who knew too much, Pyrite, ran forwards. He knocked Rags from the saddle. She fought him and Redscar, screaming, though she was too far away for Reiss to hear. Her tribe encircled their Chieftain. And Tremborag and his Goblins watched the entire thing and laughed.

Reiss lowered his head. He felt sick, but at least Rags wouldn’t charge to her death. He’d wondered what her reaction would be. And it had been genuine. Reiss turned in his saddle and looked around.

The other Goblins could hardly miss what had occurred. They were glancing back at Rags’ tribe, clearly confused. Reiss turned and called, fighting the nausea.

“Snapjaw!”

One of the Goblins riding ahead of him turned. Snapjaw rode her horse towards Reiss. He eyed the ground and leapt from the back of his Shield Spider, landing with a grunt.

“Lord? Trouble?”

Snapjaw looked wary as she peeked at Rags’ tribe. Reiss shrugged. He glanced back at Rags’ tribe, pretending again not to know.

“Go to the Flooded Water tribe. Ask what is happening.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Snapjaw turned her mount and whistled. Immediately, several of the Goblins under her command—Goblins who’d mastered horseback riding—joined her. She raced back towards Rags’ tribe. Reiss knew it would take her a while to come back. He looked at the mindless Shield Spider, moving forwards blindly. He didn’t want to ride it and pretend in front of all of his tribe. So instead he looked around and made eye contact with one of his Hobs.

“Take me to her.”

The Hob nodded. He poked his companion and conferred. Then he pointed through the crowd of Goblins. Reiss nodded. He followed the Hob as the Goblins parted for their Lord.

There was no need for Reiss to say which ‘her’ he meant. The Goblin Lord walked through the ranks of his tribe, trying to smile at his subjects as they looked to him for reassurance, strength. He reached for something in his pocket, hunched his shoulders. He saw a group of burly Hobs part in front of him. And then he saw her.

Osthia Blackwing was marching in the center of the ranks of Hobs. Her wings were bound, but both her hands and legs were free. She’d insisted on it. She’d told Reiss plainly that if she had to sit in a covered wagon all day, she would bite her tongue off. So he’d let her walk.

“You.”

The Drake looked up and met Reiss’ eyes challengingly, as she did every time they met. Reiss nodded.

“Me.”

He glanced at the Hobs surrounding them.

“Give us space. Warn me if anyone approaches.”

They nodded and spread out, forming a bubble of space around him and Osthia. Reiss waited until they were all clear, and then outlined a space in his mind. He whispered.

“[Silent Air].”

Instantly, the world went quiet. The sounds of the Goblins marching, of metal touching metal, even the sound of the wind itself—vanished. Reiss and Osthia walked in a bubble of silence. The Drake looked around and then at Reiss.

“Worried someone will hear you?”

“Yes.”

The Drake blinked. It was still slightly amusing to Reiss how she reacted when he told her the truth. But Goblins almost never lied to each other and Reiss lied only when he had to. The Goblin Lord sighed.

“What’s happening?”

Osthia glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t see what had occurred with the Flooded Waters tribe, but she was sharp enough to pick up on the reactions of the Goblins around her. Reiss even thought she’d picked up a few words of the Goblin’s dialect. He shook his head.

“Tremborag killed a Hob from Rags’ tribe. Last night. They found the body this morning.”

The Drake went still as she processed that. Her eyes flicked to Reiss’ face, and then she craned her neck, trying to see over the Hob’s heads. That was impossible. Her wings flexed a bit in their constraints.

“I see. Tremborag’s the huge Hob you showed me. And Rags is—the small one?”

“Yes.”

“What’s she doing about it?”

“Nothing. Yet. She tried to charge his tribe alone when she found out.”

Osthia snorted contemptuously.

“Idiot.”

Reiss ignored that comment. After a moment, the Drake glanced at him.

“Well? What are you going to do? I assume that this Tremborag violated some kind of Goblin law, didn’t he?”

“It was not good. But there aren’t any ‘laws’ against it. His tribe will celebrate it and the other tribes will be furious. Especially the Flooded Waters tribe.”

“Which is…?”

“Rags’ tribe.”

“Ah. So they’ll want revenge. So what will you do? Unless you’re coming to me for advice.”

The Oldblood Drake glanced sidewise at Reiss. She was his enemy. And she hated him, but she hated his master more. That made them unlikely allies; Osthia would help Reiss, if only so that she could survive and escape when the time was right. Reiss had consulted her for advice, and the Drake had good ideas, even if she lied to him more often then she told the truth. Reiss shrugged, knowing she was trying to find out everything she could from him.

“I will do nothing until Snapjaw comes back and tells me Quietstab is dead.”

“Why would she do that?”

Reiss turned his head slowly to regard Osthia.

“Because I do not know Quietstab is dead and that Tremborag murdered him. Rags knows just now. I knew last night.”

The Drake frowned. Her brows snapped together.

“You knew? How?”

For a second Reiss debated not telling Osthia. It was a risk. But he—the knowledge burned in his gut. He felt guilty, so against his better judgment, he confessed.

“I watched him die. I could have stopped it. But I did not. Because one Hob’s death will help me save tens of thousands of lives.”

Osthia’s eyes widened. For a moment she was surprised. But then contempt replaced surprise. She was not shocked. It was almost a relief. She had no expectations of Reiss.

“I see. You were there?”

“Invisible. I watched it happen. It was a necessity. It will make Rags’ tribe and my army allies.”

It was an excuse. And it was the truth. But sometimes it felt like he was becoming more like his master with each passing day. Reiss closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Osthia was still looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“I see. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. Goblins betray even their allies, it seems. Just like your race.”

For some reason, that nettled Reiss. He looked over at Osthia.

My kind does not sacrifice their own. I learned that from Drakes. I studied your wars. You send a hundred to hold a gap and know they will die. You kill your own for advantage, just like me. I did not learn such things from Goblins.”

He regarded Osthia coldly, basking in his anger for a moment. The Drake bristled, and her manacled wings stirred with anger.

“Drakes—our leaders know when sacrifice is necessary. But that doesn’t mean—”

“Spare me.”

Reiss turned his head. He heard Osthia inhale and altered his spell. The world around him grew silent for a minute. Reiss was alone with his thoughts. He bowed his head.

Quietstab had died in front of him. He had been there, on a nightly errand when he’d seen Tremborag stalking the Hob. He had watched the confrontation. The rapid murder had surprised him. But he could have stopped it. If he had so much as raised his voice or revealed himself, Tremborag would have retreated. If he had cast a spell—

He hadn’t. Reiss was sure, quite sure, that even his best spell wouldn’t kill Tremborag outright. He was a [Necromancer] and lacked the raw power of other [Mage] classes. So he had let Quietstab die because it would benefit his tribe, convince Rags to ally with him. It was necessary. But it was such a Human thing to do. Reiss felt the guilt gnawing at him. What was he doing. Was he really becoming—

He saw a flicker of movement and turned his head. Osthia punched Reiss. He staggered and saw a Hob roar soundlessly and charge Osthia. The Goblin Lord raised a claw and dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell.

“Stop!”

The Hob skidded to a halt before he could slam into Osthia. The Drake was ready. She glared at Reiss as he rubbed his cheek. That had hurt. But it was no less than he deserved. And he’d forgotten how touchy Drakes could be.

“Leave us.”

The Hob hesitated, and then moved back, giving Osthia the evil eye. Reiss reapplied his silencing spell and then looked at Osthia.

“Punch me again and I can’t guarantee my Hobs won’t seek revenge.”

The Drake sneered.

“All they do is poke me with sticks. Ignore me again and I’ll hit you somewhere else.”

“Fine.”

Reiss looked around. He couldn’t see over the top of the tall Hobs he’d selected to screen Osthia from sight, but he knew that Snapjaw would be returning any moment with the dire news. Reiss shook his head.

“So you’re going to use this to tie that little Goblin’s tribe to you. What next after that?”

Osthia looked at Reiss. He glanced at her, and then sighed. His shoulders felt heavy. But cold certainty filled him.

“He killed her subordinate. So I will help her bring him down. As allies.”

The Drake’s eyes widened. Reiss nodded. It was time. Whatever the Humans had planned, it would surely mean the end of his tribe. But if he could face them with combined forces—

Garen was an obstacle, but his tribe was small. Tremborag was the real threat. If he fell, his tribe would splinter. That was Reiss’ chance. The Great Chieftain had to die. Somehow.

That reminded Reiss. He fished in his pocket and pulled something out. He turned and offered it to Osthia. She blinked down at the thing he was holding.

“Here. I made it at last.”

It was a ring, a white band of wood. It had been carved carefully and it shone in the daylight. Osthia hesitated. Reiss pushed it at her.

“Take it.”

“I don’t want—”

“Take it. I told you what it does. I didn’t lie.”

The Drake suspiciously took the ring. She turned it over, although Reiss knew she had no ability to detect magic.

“If you enchanted it with anything but what you said—”

Reiss nearly growled. That was the problem with Drakes. They were touchy and suspicious.

And kind. Some of them could be—he growled, pushing the memories back.

“I did not. Put it on or I will make you wear it.”

Osthia glared at him, but she slipped the ring on with ill grace. She blinked at the ring.

“It’s a perfect fit.”

“Obviously. It was made for you.”

The Goblin Lord sighed. He shook his head as Osthia growled. Maybe he should have made a necklace. He’d forgotten how touchy Drakes and Humans were about rings on fingers. Didn’t it mean something when they put it on a certain finger?  Oh well. He dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell a second time and heard the hubbub around him. Snapjaw must have returned. The Goblin Lord glanced at Osthia.

“I must go now.”

“Don’t stay on my account.”

Osthia growled. Her face was irritated, but her tail curled up a bit, betraying her true emotions. Reiss had learned to read Drake’s emotions in their tails. He pretended to be scratching an itch as he read her body language. She was lonely. Lonely, bored, and…worried. For him?

Of course not. Reiss nodded.

“I will let you know what happened tonight. Or sooner if Rags wishes to talk.”

“Yes, yes. Go away.”

The Drake turned her head. Reiss nodded to her and turned. The Hobs parted before him and closed, creating a wall of black armor. Reiss strode back through his tribe. Snapjaw was waiting for him, anxiety clearly written on her face. In response, Reiss quickened his footsteps. But only half of his mind was on the act. As he moved, he raised his right claw and pressed a fingertip to his temple.

Master? Are you there?

He heard nothing. As usual. Reiss held the connection open, waiting. But there was no response. At last, Reiss lowered his hand. He met Snapjaw and Eater of Spears as they came to him. He became Reiss, the honest Goblin Lord. He was shocked, enraged, and then concerned. He sent Snapjaw back to speak with Rags, played his part so well that for a moment he really was burning with righteous fury. But that faded as Reiss climbed onto the back of his Shield Spider. Thereafter he sat, half miserable, half calculating as he studied the other tribes.

All the Goblins were marching. Reiss’ army moved ahead smoothly, although he could sense the ripples spreading as the Goblins told each other what had happened. There was shock, anger, sympathy—but generally, the Goblins just kept marching. They knew there would be battle with Tremborag’s tribe in time, and Quietstab’s death changed nothing. It had just happened.

The other tribes reacted differently, though. Garen’s warriors rode ahead of Tremborag’s forces, back straight with fury and indignation. Some were arguing, but the ones around Garen Redfang were deathly quiet. Sullen. They stared at their Chieftain’s back and Reiss could almost hear their thoughts. Again, the pride and warrior spirit that Garen had taught them went at odds with their alliance with Tremborag. Some were even glancing at Rags’ tribe now and then. That was unexpected. And promising.

And Rags’ tribe? Well, they marched fast, catching up with Reiss’ forces. Their postures were tense, their expressions dark. They were furious. Reiss saw some pausing to poop in the path of Tremborag’s tribe, but the rest just kept moving, because there was no other option.

And Tremborag’s tribe marched in the rear, as always. They laughed, in the best of spirits and their Great Chieftain was loudest of them all. He walked amid his Goblins, proud to have killed his fellow Goblins. Reiss watched him, thinking dark thoughts. He promised himself it would be soon. He told himself that it was necessary. But he still couldn’t forget Quietstab’s gasp and the sound in the night. Reiss lowered his head.

Some days he wondered if Garen was right. But he had come too far to stop now. Reiss waited for his moment. He waited and waited and watched Rags. Waiting for her to see what had to be done.

 

—-

 

Tremborag was laughing. His huge voice boomed across the heads of his tribe as he laughed. He was eating and drinking as he walked. His feet hurt and he considered using a healing potion. But though the Great Chieftain normally resented being forced to march with a burning hatred, he was in good spirits. He chewed on the salted beef and drank wine, feeling some run onto his chest.

“Look at them run! Cowards! Weaklings!

He bellowed, pointing at Rags’ tribe. They were moving ahead of his tribe, marching fast. The Goblins around Tremborag laughed and jeered as well. They all knew what had happened last night and they were all happy.

Well, most. Some who knew Quietstab hadn’t been pleased. But Tremborag didn’t care. A traitor was a traitor and ending that wretched Hob’s life had shown everyone the truth. Sit-abouts? Working together? It was all meaningless. This was all that mattered. Defeating your enemy. Crushing them. Hurting them. The slave Goblin Lord, Garen, Rags—they could all see the truth. Tremborag felt his spirits rise.

“Look at them, running to hide behind the Goblin Lord. They’ll hide in their camp tonight. Plot and scheme like the—the cowards they are. Conspire with that slave who pretends to be a Goblin Lord. Pretend to be friends. Hah!

Spittle flew from Tremborag’s mouth, spraying the Goblins in front of him. He could see Ulvama flinching out of the way. His [Chief Shaman] looked displeased as Tremborag waved her closer. The Hob continued, reaching for another wine flask as he walked forwards.

“The Goblin Lord will probably take the child’s tribe in. Only, she won’t be his Chieftain. She’ll be his puppet. He pretends to be concerned with the good of Goblins. A kingdom? Peace with Humans and Drakes? There is no peace. There is no working together. There is only killing your enemies. Redfang should know that. Where is he?”

Tremborag looked around vacantly. Garen’s tribe was marching far ahead of them and to the left, keeping pace with Reiss’ forces. Tremborag scowled.

“Fool. If he was half the warrior he claimed to be, he would have slain his traitors already. Ulvama, bring him here. And give me a healing potion.”

The [Shaman] made a face.

“Great Chieftain, Garen Redfang is angry.”

“So?”

“He will not come. And we have only a few hundred healing potions after—”

Tremborag turned and Ulvama flinched. The Hobs around him drew back warily.

“Redfang. Healing potion.”

The Great Chieftain’s crimson eyes flashed. Ulvama nodded rapidly. She beckoned and a Goblin raced over with a healing potion. Tremborag fumbled with it, watching as a group of Goblins were sent racing ahead to summon Garen Redfang. He noticed Rags’ tribe had slowed their pace somewhat.

The small Chieftain had actually tried to charge him. Tremborag had nearly died of laughter when that happened. If she had tried to attack with her tribe, he would have been only too happy to rip her apart. Her tribe was a speck compared to his. Her fancy pikes and crossbows were useless against his warriors. She’d even deployed her pikes to her rear, as if she was afraid he’d charge her. That was an amusing idea. Maybe he should try that.

For a second Tremborag contemplated the thought, but he knew that would be a mistake. Killing Quietstab was one thing, but if it came to a battle, Reiss and the damned Humans would intervene. But if he could send Ulvama or one of his stealthier Goblins to pick off another of Rags’ lieutenants…and what could she do about it?

Tremborag was so caught up with the idea that he didn’t notice that Rags’ tribe was slowing even further. Only when he noticed the gap between them was shortening from a few hundred paces to less than a hundred did he frown. He saw the back of Rags’ Goblins with pikes marching ahead of him. Tremborag raised a lazy arm, about to order his tribe to push the Goblins forwards faster. And then he heard a shout.

The back rank of Rags’ forces turned. The lines of Goblins with pikes turned to face Tremborag’s oncoming tribe. And then the pikes lowered. A wall of spikes faced Tremborag’s front ranks. The Goblins froze, and the ones behind bumped into them. Tremborag halted. His jaw opened. What was—

Loose!

He heard a scream ahead of him. Then he saw a flicker run through the Goblins behind the ones with pikes. A black hail flew up from the ranks of Goblin’s tribe, and then fell towards Tremborag’s tribe. He gaped as they struck the Goblins in front of him. He saw a Hob raise a hand, and then jerk as one of the black shapes struck him. The Hob blinked down at the crossbow bolt that had impaled itself through his hand. And then more bolts were failing, like rain—

Tremborag looked about wildly as he heard Goblins screaming. His tribe froze in their tracks and his celebrating warriors grabbed for their shields, tried to back away. All around Tremborag was chaos, confusion. Disbelief. This couldn’t be happening! But it was.

They were under attack. The first deadly rain of crossbow bolts left hundreds wounded or dead. But before Tremborag could blink, the Goblins with crossbows had reloaded and sent another arc of deadly missiles into the air! Tremborag blinked as more fell around him, and then felt a stinging pain in his shoulder. He looked down and saw an arrow had penetrated his shoulder. It had barely gotten through the first layer of his fat, but the pain woke him up. He gawked at Rags. Then he roared.

Kill them!

His warriors flinched and came out of their trance of stupefaction. They surged across the grass and churned up soil towards Rags’ forces, roaring. A wave of crossbow bolts cut down the advancing Goblins. And then the pikes were there. Rags’ pikes charged the first rank of Tremborag’s warriors and skewered them. The twenty-foot long pikes impaled Goblins, knocked others off their feet. And what few Goblins made it past the jabbing, deadly tips found Hobs and Goblin warriors waiting for them. Tremborag saw his warriors backing away as the second rank met the same fate as the first. Rags’ pikes advanced, threateningly.

But they didn’t go further than a dozen steps before they suddenly retreated. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe planted themselves firmly in the ground, pikes raised, Hobs fighting or loosing arrows among the smaller Goblins. And the crossbows fired again, and then again, reloading and sending hundreds, over a thousand bolts into the air each time. Tremborag roared in fury.

Push into them! Cowards! Push!

He whirled as his Hobs tried to force the Goblins in front of them to charge into certain death. Tremborag took a huge breath and bellowed.

Ulvama!

The [Shaman] was there in an instant. Tremborag pointed.

“Break their pikes!”

The female Hob nodded. She grabbed her staff and strode forwards, protected by two Hobs with massive tower shields. She raised her staff and aimed at the front rank of pikes, perhaps to enchant Tremborag’s warriors or destroy the pikes directly. Either way, she never got the chance to cast. As she raised her staff, a bolt of lightning shot towards her. Tremborag saw Ulvama’s eyes widen and she swept her staff up.

The jagged lightning curved up and Ulvama screeched and threw herself to the ground as the bolt earthed itself just past her. Tremborag saw a Goblin standing amid Rags’ tribe. He threw another bolt of lightning that blasted one of the Hobs and sent the smoldering body crumbling to the ground.

“Kill that mage!”

Tremborag roared, but his Goblins were in disarray. They finally managed to loose arrows of their own, but by that time the Goblin had disappeared.

Chieftain! What do we do?

One of Tremborag’s lieutenants screamed at him. The Great Chieftain snarled and backhanded the Hob. He bellowed so his entire tribe could hear him.

“Advance! Kill the traitors! Any Goblin who runs I will kill myself!”

Slowly, his warriors advanced. They battled the pikes, pushing forwards slowly. Tremborag whirled and ordered his archers forwards. Now his Goblins began exchanging arrows with Rags’ crossbows. And yet, his advance was stymied once again by his warrior’s pragmatism.

It was one thing to loose arrows back at the other Goblins, but charge into a wall of pike tips? Tremborag bellowed and struck his Hobs, but even they couldn’t motivate his warriors to pay the price in blood to take the pikes. And the Great Chieftain wasn’t willing to stay within range of the crossbows. Five had already struck him and the lightning mage had sent two bolts at Tremborag that Ulvama had barely deflected. So Tremborag took the only other option he could think of.

“Shields up! Archers, kill them!”

Thousands of Goblins with bows raced into place behind Tremborag’s warriors with shields. They began loosing thousands of arrows. At last, Tremborag saw Rags’ tribe begin to waver. His tribe didn’t have the disciplined ranks of crossbows, but they outnumbered Rags’ forces practically ten to one. Rags’ warriors started falling as arrows showered them. Slowly, they began to pull back.

Kill them! Cover them with arrows and slaughter them by the thousand!”

Tremborag was howling with glee. He could see Rags’ tribe faltering as his massive tribe began to outrange them in the archery duel. The Great Chieftain was impatient, pacing behind the lines of his stationary Goblin warriors. He would kill her for this. That child dared to attack him? He’d break her tribe and send his warriors to claim her. Alive. Garen thought she was smart? She was a fool. She’d attacked the wrong foe. No matter what she did, there was no way she could win—

The Great Chieftain felt the heat before the screams. He turned and saw the gout of flame a moment before the burning wheel of flames engulfed a group of Goblins at his rear. Tremborag blinked. Then a [Fireball] blasted apart another section of Goblins, sending burning body parts flying. He saw a glowing comet smash into his warriors. At the back.

The back? But how had Rags’ tribe done that? Tremborag’s face went slack for a moment. And then he realized what was happening. Slowly, he looked up and saw the Humans. They were approaching from the north, a line of riders. And mages. They were the ones lobbing spells at him, forcing the Goblins to move. Only, they couldn’t move. And so the Humans had stopped firing warning shots. Now the spells were striking his tribe.

Tremborag saw a serpent made of poisonous gas descend on his back ranks as more spells began striking his warriors. He stared at Rags’ tribe, hunkered down in their path. They were fighting, holding his warriors at bay, firing their crossbows. And meanwhile, the Humans were blasting apart Tremborag’s rear.

 

—-

 

“That is strategy.”

Reiss eyed the two battling tribes with something akin to awe. Not at the plan, but the daring of it. The way it worked. Rags’ tribe was holding Tremborag’s in place, less than ten thousand facing Tremborag’s full army. They would perish in a moment in a pitched battle. But all they had to do was stall Tremborag for a few minutes. Already the Humans were blasting Tremborag’s rearguard apart.

And she’d done it herself. Without speaking to him. Within two hours of Quietstab being discovered. Was she mad or overconfident? Or—

Reiss’ forces had stopped marching. So had Garen’s. Both tribes were watching the conflict to the north. Reiss stood with his two top lieutenants, Snapjaw and Eater of Spears. He turned to them.

“She’s slowing him down. And the Humans are chewing him apart from behind. They’re willing to kill a few thousand Goblins to force Tremborag to move.”

Snapjaw looked impressed. Her jaw was open slightly, revealing her metallic rows of teeth. But Eater of Spears looked worried. He shook his head and rumbled.

“It is a bad idea. Tremborag has no choice but to advance.”

Snapjaw glanced up at Eater of Spears, surprised he’d said anything. But he was right. Reiss looked back at the conflict and nodded slowly.

“They’re going to be overrun. Unless they retreat.”

It was true. Despite the pikes, Tremborag’s warriors were pushing forwards, realizing that there was no safety in staying still. Reiss saw several points in Rags’ rear opening up. But before Tremborag’s forces could overwhelm her, he heard a horn blow. Instantly, Rags’ tribe began moving again.

“They’re running!”

Snapjaw’s addition to the commentary was to point out the obvious. The female Hob hopped up and down, watching anxiously as Rags’ tribe disengaged. They retreated, running after Reiss and Garen’s forces. Thanks to Rags’ [Fleet Foot] Skill, they outdistanced Tremborag’s desperate Goblins.

“They’ll have to run fast. Tremborag will chase.”

Eater of Spears frowned, eying Rags’ tribe. Reiss nodded. If she’d wanted to anger the Great Chieftain and give him a bloody wound, she’d done it. But she’d have to run fast. He began calculating her trajectory, wondering if he should put his tribe between hers and Tremborag’s.

“He has to get free of the Humans, first. No time for fighting.”

“Mm.”

Tremborag’s tribe was moving as more spells rained on them from behind. They surged forwards, following Rags’ tribe. Reiss saw both groups of Goblins coming at him like a green wave—and then Rags’ tribe halted again. They turned, and he saw the small Chieftain raise her sword.

“Is she—”

The Goblins with crossbows raised their weapons and loosed another wave of bolts. Then they turned and kept running. Tremborag’s forces wavered as the crossbow bolts landed among them. Some tried to return fire, but they were still under attack from behind! And the sudden attack had slowed them. Rags’ tribe ran for another fifty feet with ease. They turned, bent to reload their crossbows, and fired again.

“Hm. Good plan.”

Eater of Spears grunted approvingly. Reiss just watched. Rags was fighting on the move! That too wasn’t surprising as a tactic, but—he focused on the small Goblin. What was she doing? Was she really trying to kill Tremborag’s entire tribe? She couldn’t. It was impossible. And yet, the small Goblin turned and waved her sword again and again, and her tribe continued loosing quarrels. And Tremborag’s Goblins had no choice but to advance and die or die.

 

—-

 

Loose!

Rags screamed the word at her warriors. She pointed, and saw the crossbows rise. Her Goblins cocked their crossbows, slapped bolts into place, and fired. Then they turned and ran after her as she wheeled her Carn Wolf and raced forwards.

It was a rhythm, a deadly rhythm that sang in sync with her heart. Stop, turn, loose, and run again. Rags pointed at Tremborag as his warriors surged towards her tribe, ignoring the sporadic arrows flying towards her tribe and screamed.

Kill him!

A hundred crossbow strings snapped in agreement. The bolts soared up and fell around Tremborag. Rags saw him raise a huge hand to shield his face and roar in fury. She saw a dozen bolts strike him, but none penetrated deeply. They were too far away, the crossbows were too weak, and he was too big. But he was hurt. Rags raised her own crossbow and fired.

The arrow shot up and arced toward Tremborag’s face. At the last moment it snapped in midair. Rags saw a Hob with a staff pointing and recognized her. Ulvama waved her staff urgently, chanting. Rags growled as she waved her staff.

The spell the [Shaman] cast made Tremborag and the Goblins around him flicker and turn hazy. Rags saw multiple Tremborag’s appear and then felt her eyes slide away as he became a green, indistinct blob. The Goblins with crossbows around her wavered; it was hard to even look in his direction.

“Move!”

Rags ordered them. Her tribe ran, turned, and loosed. This time they aimed at Tremborag’s front ranks. More Goblins fell. Rags heard them screaming. She didn’t care. Her blood was on fire. It was only when she heard a shout that she looked up and saw the falling fireball.

This was no ordinary fireball, the size of a torso, or even a [Grand Fireball], which was a ball of roiling flames as tall as a Human in every direction. This was like a second sun. Rags had seen it once before. It was falling towards her tribe, almost lazily. Her eyes widened.

Run, run!

Her tribe ran, scattering before the fireball could land. When it did, the explosion kicked Rags in the back and made her Carn Wolf howl in pain. She looked back, wondering if it was a missed spell. But then she saw more spells falling from above. The Humans were beginning to lob spells at her warriors now as well.

“Chieftain! We have to run!”

Redscar pulled up beside Rags. He was staring at the sky. Rags knew he was right. She turned and waved at her tribe.

“Run fast! Fastest! Don’t look back!”

The Goblins hesitated, but Rags urged them onwards. She kept her eyes on the sky, and Redscar’s mounted warriors did the same. They screamed orders and the tribe split to avoid the falling spells. Rags rode with them, racing ahead. Reiss’ army was on the march and as soon as they drew close to them, the spells stopped falling. Rags turned and saw Tremborag’s tribe was running in their wake, also free from attack for the moment.

“Humans saw what we were doing.”

Noears gasped as he jogged over, his face sweaty. Rags nodded. She looked around and saw her tribe was gasping for air. All of them were tired and many were hurt. She looked back and saw a trail of bodies behind her. For a second she felt numb. Then she looked up and saw Tremborag’s tribe.

They were hurt. But he was still there. Rags glamced at the huge Hob who was running, bellowing at his Goblins to move faster. Then she turned as she heard a commotion from the front.

“Chieftain! Goblin Lord coming!”

Poisonbite shouted. Rags nodded. She saw Pyrite wearily approaching from the rear, holding a wounded Goblin and waved at him. The Hob laid the Goblin with an arrow in his leg on a wagon and strode forwards.

“Rags.”

Reiss rode towards her on his headless, undead Shield Spider with Snapjaw and Eater of Spears flanking him. He stared at Rags for a moment as if he’d never seen her before, and then looked at Tremborag’s approaching forces.

“You attacked him.”

“He killed Quietstab.”

“I know.”

Reiss nodded slowly. He looked at Rags.

“But you attacked him.”

She nodded.

“Because he killed Quietstab.”

Reiss stared at her. After a moment he nodded uncertainly. Rags nodded as well, conscious of the eyes on her. That was all there was to it. He killed Quietstab and so he had to pay.

“You bloodied him. He won’t forgive that easily.”

“So?”

The question threw Reiss. He glanced at Tremborag’s tribe again, and then at the Humans.

“So you can’t attack him. The Humans will force you to stop.”

“Stop? Why? This is not stopped. This is waiting.”

Rags glared at Reiss. He opened his mouth, flicking his eyes to her, then to Pyrite, Redscar, and the others. They all stared at him silently.

They weren’t going to stop. Not until Tremborag was dead. Why would they stop? He killed Quietstab. One Hob, yes. One Goblin. But he had been of Rags’ tribes. He had been her subordinate, her trusted aide and lieutenant, even if he wasn’t the greatest of them. He had been her friend. And he was dead. So she would kill Tremborag or die trying. It was a simple as that.

Her tribe understood all of this without Rags having to say it, but Reiss didn’t seem to. He opened his mouth again and his black eyes fixed on Rags’ face.

“What will you do?”

“Keep marching, stupid.”

The answer made Reiss frown in vexation and Snapjaw grind her teeth, but Rags was in no mood to bandy words. She turned and pointed at Pyrite.

“Get wounded in wagons. Ready to march. Use healing potions on bad hurt—so not die. Not full heal. Get food and ready rear. We march fast, ahead of Mountain City tribe. Get more bolts for crossbows and get ready.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Another fight, Chieftain?”

“Not now. Tonight. He dies tonight.”

Reiss inhaled sharply. Rags ignored him. She looked around.

“Redscar, Pyrite, Noears. Can you win if fight?”

They hesitated. Poisonbite bristled, but Rags ignored her. Pyrite looked back at Tremborag. He shrugged.

“Probably not.”

“Chieftain Rags. Are you serious?”

Rags turned and stared at Reiss. The look in her eyes was all the answer she needed to give. She turned back.

“How many Hobs you need? Or Redfangs?”

Noears glanced at Redscar. The warrior was frowning and checking the edge of his blade. Noears shrugged.

“Lots. Tremborag is strong. Saw him kill six Hobs in a fight once. When he gets big, too strong? Need Pyrite to hit hard. Or Redscar stab in eyes?”

The mounted Goblin nodded.

“Good plan.”

Rags nodded slowly.

“Lots of Hobs, then. And get free of others. Poisonbite and I will hold off others. Have to kill fast. Surprise attack.”

Chieftain Rags.

She turned and glared at Reiss. He was staring at her.

“What?”

He hesitated. He looked so…surprised. Why? The instant Rags had known that Quietstab was dead and Tremborag was to blame she had sworn to kill him. Why would she wait? For a better moment? For the right time? Those were Human ideas. Rags would kill Tremborag. And she wouldn’t stop. Ever.

Reiss finally understood that. Or he realized it was fruitless to argue. His eyes flickered as he stared at Rags’ tribe, and then glanced at his lieutenants. Then he stared past Rags at a small group of a few thousand Goblins, who had watched the conflict without intervening.

Garen Redfang sat on his Carn Wolf, staring at Rags and Reiss. The Goblin Lord pointed at him.

“If you continue to fight, Garen will intervene.”

“Probably.”

Rags gritted her teeth. She was trying to figure out how to catch Tremborag off-guard tonight. Could it be tonight? Or did they have to wait until he’d lowered his guard somehow? His tribe would be on alert, but if she could figure out a way to poison their supplies or take them off-guard somehow—how could she slow Garen and keep him from intervening?

“If you plan to attack at night, you’d have to cut into Tremborag’s camp and attack him in the center of his warriors.”

“Only if I have stupid plan.”

Rags muttered under her breath. Reiss paused.

“If you need a distraction, I will help you. My warriors can attack Tremborag’s tribe from the side while yours cut in. I will help you kill Tremborag.”

The small Goblin froze in her saddle. Then she looked at Reiss and narrowed her eyes. The Goblin Lord met her gaze steadily, unblinking.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Tremborag has no…he is not-Goblin. I will help you. I can stop Garen myself. As for Tremborag—I can lend you Eater of Spears and some of my best Hobs and the Draug I have remaining for the battle.”

Rags blinked. Eater of Spears and Hobs and Draug? She remembered some of the hulking undead she’d seen. If she had those—she glanced at Pyrite, who raised his eyebrows. Redscar was frowning, but Rags had mastered her face when she looked back at Reiss and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you. We will fight together.”

“Good. Tremborag must fall, after all.”

Reiss smiled at Rags. She nodded, but didn’t smile. She saw the Goblin Lord’s eyes shift towards Tremborag. His gaze was cold as he fixed on the distant Great Chieftain. Rags knew—she thought she knew—that he was serious about aiding her. Tremborag dying would help Reiss, after all. And Rags would accept his help. But all the trust she’d had in Reiss was teetering on the edge of sudden doubt.

Not because she suspected him of lying to her. And not because she thought he’d betray her. No, it was just because of how surprised he was. Of course it was insane to attack Tremborag’s tribe. Of course it was strange, suicidal even. All of his reactions were normal.  But while those reactions were normal, they were what Rags would expect from someone like Erin. Reiss was acting more like a Human than a Goblin. And that, more than anything, bothered her.

Rags turned her Carn Wolf and pointed ahead. Tremborag’s tribe was catching up at last.

“Come. We move. And plan attack.”

“I will ride with you. Snapjaw, lead my army. Eater of Spears, take a thousand Hobs to the rear of Chieftain Rags’ tribe.”

Reiss immediately snapped at his Goblins. They nodded and disappeared. Reiss rode next to Rags, looking down at her and clearly wondering how they should talk with him several feet above her head. Rags ignored him as her Carn Wolf padded forwards. Her mind was racing, trying to fit Reiss’ forces into a plan that would end with Tremborag’s death with the least amount of cost.

Because it would cost her. Who would die killing him? Redscar? Noears? Pyrite? No. Rags’ heart hurt at the very thought. But she also knew she couldn’t not kill Tremborag. He had killed Quietstab. He had killed her Goblin. Her friend. For that, she would set everything ablaze and slaughter his tribe to the last.

Like last time. Like the Humans.

Rags remembered a burning house. She remembered screaming Humans, the smell of blood, and a blind [Emperor]’s words. And she hesitated. It was the same and not the same. For a second Rags wavered. But there was only vengeance and death. That was what she had to do.

As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done. Rags felt something familiar about what she was doing and felt uneasy. She saw a pattern in her mind, a pattern that she had seen play out again and again. But it faded as she looked back and saw him. Tremborag.

Her blood was rage, her heartbeats pain. She looked at him and knew one truth.

He had to die.

 

—-

 

Lord Yitton Byres found Tyrion Veltras standing next to his mount. Yitton was on foot himself, having left his mount with a [Groom] during the break. The main company was moving onwards, pursuing the Goblins, but Tyrion had called a halt to assess the situation in light of the morning’s events.

It was something Yitton would have liked time to think on himself. He shook his head as he strode towards Tyrion. The man was alone and several of his aides were keeping a wide space around him. From the way his lips blurred and the way Yitton couldn’t hear a thing he was saying even as he approached, he was probably under several anti-spying spells as well.

One of the men assigned to keep everyone back hesitated when he saw Lord Yitton. But for whatever reason he let Lord Yitton past. That was a curiosity in itself, but Yitton Byres had accepted that Tyrion Veltras held him in some esteem. At least enough to let Yitton into the protective spell bubble and hear Tyrion speaking.

He was conversing with his personal aide, his [Mage], Jericha. Yitton paused with both hands behind his back. Tyrion glanced at him and gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement, then returned to speaking with Jericha.

“And the number of dead?”

“Our [Scouts] estimate it at around eight thousand dead, Lord Veltras. Mostly from the ah, Great Chieftain’s tribe, although several hundred were killed in the…Flowing Waters tribe. Mainly from arrows, not the spells cast by our mages.”

“I see.”

Tyrion grimaced, although Yitton had only the barest inkling of an idea why. By all rights, eight thousand dead Goblins should be a step in the right direction. But the man had plans, and if what Lord Erill had told Yitton over their cups last night was true, then the man would want as many Goblins alive as possible. If it were true.

Yitton had no intention of asking Tyrion that. He stood patiently with both legs braced as Tyrion kept talking. The head of the Byres family kept one ear on the conversation while he thought about what he’d witnessed. Goblins laying traps for one another. Using formations. That had been a classic pike wall with crossbows firing over. And then one of the tribes had used mobile harassing tactics!

It bothered Yitton to see anything like strategy coming out of the Goblins. But those Chieftains seemed every bit as dangerous as the Goblin Lord. What he couldn’t understand was what had set them against each other. Yitton frowned, and then realized that the topic of conversation had shifted when he hadn’t noticed. Jericha was perusing a piece of parchment in her hands.

“We’ve received several concerned [Message] spells inquiring about your grand strategy, Lord Veltras. Nothing that merits a reply, but I have just received a missive from Lady Magnolia Reinhart, and ah—”

She paled for a second as she read the transcribed [Message]. Lord Tyrion raised one eyebrow.

“Pass it to me.”

The [Mage] hesitated only for a second before handing the parchment over. Tyrion read impassively. Yitton saw his eyebrows raise just once. For the man, it was as good as an exclamation. Tyrion stared at the parchment, then folded it up and handed to Jericha. She silently burned it in her hands with a small spell. Tyrion shook his head.

“That was surprisingly direct. Give Reinhart my regards, Jericha. Inform her—politely—that I will not be swayed from my course. Any attempts she may make I will counter to the full extent of my ability.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

“Good. I will peruse all the other [Message] spells tonight. And have we received any [Messages] from the Drakes?”

“Nothing but polite inquiries from the [Strategists] of some of the Walled Cities, sire.”

“Good.”

Tyrion closed his eyes for a moment and folded his arms. He nodded once, and opened his eyes.

“Keep me informed of any changes. Now, onto more pressing matters. Lord Yitton?”

He turned briskly to the other man. Yitton Byres snatched one hand down from his beard.

“Lord Tyrion, the company is continuing to pursue the Goblins. They’ve stopped fighting although our [Mages] had to fire more warning spells, but both tribes are keeping a distance now.”

“Excellent. And?”

Yitton grimaced.

“I’ve consulted with our [Scouts] familiar with Goblins. They’ve given me their assessment and I agree—those two tribes are about to clash and one of the Chieftains is going to kill the other by night’s end. I intended to ask if you wished to separate them to prevent a conflict.”

Tyrion’s brows drew together. He drummed his fingers restlessly against his side while keeping still. Then he shook his head.

“No. Splitting up the Goblins would only increase the complexity of our task and make it likely that one tribe would attempt to escape. Did the [Scouts] have any speculation about why the two tribes began fighting? The conflict was between—”

He glanced at Jericha. The [Mage] raised her head briefly.

“The Mountain City tribe led by the Grand Chieftain and the raiding tribe that assaulted Riverfarm, Lord Veltras.”

A spark of interest entered Tyrion’s eyes.

“Yes, I recall that tribe. And that Chieftain. Lord Yitton?”

Yitton hesitated, frowning.

“The [Scouts] drew the conclusion that it was the death of one Hob that sparked the conflict, Lord Byres. They observed the Flooded Waters tribe gathering around a dead Goblin that had been hidden in a latrine. The [Scouts] speculate that he was killed by a member of the other tribe, which sparked the conflict. Our [Strategists] disagree, however. They believe it was a conflict over resources, as this Mountain City tribe has consistently consumed far more of the supplies we’ve placed in their way than the other tribes.”

“I see. Well, the reason matters not. This fighting will wear down both sides, especially if the Goblin Lord involves himself. As for the delays—unacceptable.”

Tyrion shook his head. Yitton waited. Jericha looked up, having sent her [Message] and frowned.

“Lord Veltras, we may be able to force both tribes to move and camp separately. It would require our [Mages] to create a neutral zone and enforce it, but—”

She broke off as Tyrion raised a hand. The [Lord] was staring at nothing, frowning. Then he looked up.

“No. This may serve our purpose, Jericha. Rather than tire out our [Mages], I intend to solve the matter directly.”

He turned and looked at his aide.

“Summon the Gold-rank adventurer captains immediately, to meet me at the front within twenty minutes. Provide them with mounts if they are marching with the foot.”

Jericha nodded and raised a finger to her temple.

“And Miss Arcsinger?”

A flicker of expression passed across Tyrion’s face, so quickly that Lord Yitton couldn’t read what emotion it had been. Tyrion shook his head briskly, his face impassive.

“No. We have an arrangement. Let her continue onwards—I will request her use of Skills as needed. That will be all. Lord Yitton, I would value your input if you would ride with me.”

He strode towards his mount and briskly mounted himself. Yitton looked around, cursing and wishing he’d kept his horse nearby, but it was already being brought. Tyrion watched as Yitton swung himself into his saddle and then the two [Lords] were riding quickly to the front. Yitton saw the ground flash past him as he rode under the aegis of Lord Tyrion’s Skills.

“You have a plan, Lord Tyrion?”

“I do, Lord Yitton. I intend to send the Goblins and our watchers a message.”

Yitton glanced sharply at Lord Tyrion as the man calmly surged up and down in his saddle with his horse.

“A message, Lord Tyrion? Of what kind?”

Tyrion looked back at the older man and almost smiled.

“The simplest of messages, Yitton. The kind even Goblins understand.”

 

—-

 

“Can’t win with spells. Bad idea.”

Pyrite grunted as he jogged along with Reiss, Rags, and a cluster of the other high-ranking Goblins in both her tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army. The Hob pretended not to notice the glares both Reiss and Noears gave him.

“Why not? I can weaken Tremborag with death spells.”

“Can try.”

Eater of Spears nodded as he stumped along. Smaller Goblins and Hobs stared up at him as they ran around him. Both Rags’ tribe and Reiss’ army were marching far ahead of Tremborag’s tribe, and quickly too. The Humans had pushed them hard and the Goblins were tired despite it being just past midmorning.

Rags wasn’t tired. Her mind was buzzing with ideas. The impromptu war council was deliberating hard about how to attack Tremborag successfully. She looked at Pyrite.

“Why no spell?”

“Bad idea.”

Pyrite ducked as Snapjaw threw a pebble at him. He rumbled, and explained as he fished out a speckled blue egg and began to eat it raw, shell and all. He offered one to Eater of Spear, who took it with a grunt of satisfaction and popped the entire thing into his mouth.

“Tremborag is old Hob. Very strong. Knows how to fight adventurers. If [Mage] casts spell, may hurt. Won’t kill. Then Tremborag comes and tears head off. Very quick.”

He gestured at Noears and mimed the very action. Noears felt at his head, looking concerned. Reiss frowned.

“I could fight Tremborag myself.”

“Could try.”

Pyrite glanced impassively at Reiss. This time Snapjaw growled and leaned out of her saddle, ready to punch Pyrite. Poisonbite tugged her back and Reiss frowned. It was Rags who nodded.

“Too risky. Can’t have one or two. Better to have Reiss fight Garen.”

“Why? Goblin Lord not strong enough?”

Snapjaw challenged Rags angrily. She just shrugged.

“No. Garen too annoying. Reiss stop Garen. That easy. Hard part is get Tremborag alone. How about—”

She glanced up and frowned. So did the other Goblins. They turned as they heard a horn blaring behind them. Only, it wasn’t a Goblin horn. It was coming from the Humans riding behind them.

The difference in sound was minimal, as both Goblins and Humans made the same instrument. But it was the oddity of the sound that bothered Rags. She stared as first one horn blew, and then two, then a dozen.

And then a hundred. The advancing line of cavalry stopped as all four Goblin tribes halted and stared back at the Humans. The flanking parties of Humans riding to either side of them paused as well. Rags stared as, in the distance, she saw the lines of Humans part.

“What’s going on?”

Reiss stared hard at the Humans. He looked around and Rags saw his undead Shield Spider crawl towards them. No one else moved as Reiss swung himself up into his saddle for a better look. Rags saw the Humans part. And then someone appeared between the lines of riders. A flash of golden hair. And a silver bow. Though she was far away, Rags could see the figure had pointed ears. And when she looked up—

Fear. It ran through the Goblins like a physical thing. They shuddered as they remembered. Golden hair. A bow. A fallen King.

Elia Arcsinger. Kingslayer. She stood at the head of the ranks of Humans. And someone else rode up to join her. A man with dark hair, his armor gleaming. He looked like any other Human in one sense, but Rags recognized him.

Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] regarded the mass of Goblins ahead of him. Rags could see Reiss reconsidering his vantage point and swinging himself down into the safety of the mass of his warriors who surged forwards to put themselves between him and Elia. But it was not at the Goblin Lord who Tyrion looked at. His gaze swept past Reiss, past Garen who sat on his Carn Wolf, teeth bared. He looked at Rags first and she felt a shudder. She thought that Tyrion was smiling, but she couldn’t see his expression so far away. And then the [Lord] looked down, at the sprawling tribe of Goblins, half of whom were sitting, imitating their Chieftain.

Tremborag, Great Chieftain of the Mountains, sat on the ground, footsore, furious. His skin was healed and the crossbow bolts had been plucked out, but his gaze was still malevolent fury as he stared at Rags. He ignored Tyrion Veltras and the Humans, his back a solid mass of contempt. He was not afraid of them, or so his posture said. So he never saw Elia Arcsinger raise her bow. He never saw the arrow.

It struck Tremborag in the back. A single arrow, fired hundreds of feet. It flew straight and true and embedded itself in Tremborag’s flesh, just above his shoulder. He howled, more from shock then pain, and whirled. His eyes widened as he saw Elia Arcsinger lower the bow, and his hand reached up, trying to grab the arrow.

“She shot him?”

Reiss’ voice was incredulous. The arrow had struck the Great Chieftain precisely, and Rags couldn’t imagine she’d missed. But it hadn’t done more than wound Tremborag slightly. Frankly, it wasn’t even a good shot if the half-Elf had been trying to kill him. But as Tremborag yanked the arrow from his back and stared at the red, dripping point, Rags felt terribly uneasy. She looked up and saw Elia Arcsinger turn away. And Tyrion Veltras pointed.

At Tremborag. The Great Chieftain froze, his expression outraged and confused at once. Another person, a woman, a [Mage], stepped up besides Tyrion. Rags watched her, feeling her pulse thudding in her ears. She saw the [Mage] link arms with two others, a woman and a man, and then saw the fire.

This was how she spun the fireball. Out of air a wisp of fire appeared, a thin tendril. Then it thickened, curled in on itself and other strand appeared. Like yarn, it knitted itself together, twisting into a ball of fire, only this ball was ever-shifting, the cords of flame shifting around together. And the blaze grew until the fireball was as large as the woman, larger, as large as a horse. Larger still.

The Goblins watched in silence. Tremborag slowly got to his feet. He stared at the [Mages], incredulous. Rags stared at him and then at Tyrion. At the Humans. They were all looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain looked around. Now the fireball was floating overhead. He backed up a step, his face written with incredulity.

He did not want to believe. He did not want to know. But it was too late. The [Mage] let go of the other’s hands and pointed. The [Siege Fireball] shot forwards, a blazing inferno as bright as the sun. Tremborag turned. He began to run. The Goblins around him ran too. Rags heard not a word from them. They just ran, streaming away from the spot. And then the fireball touched the earth where Tremborag had been, as the Great chieftain tried to flee. Rags saw a flash—

Then she felt something kick her in the chest. Hot air blasted Rags’ face and she heard cries as the Goblins were bombarded with light, heat, and sound. When Rags could see again, she saw Tremborag lying on the ground. He was alive. He’d dove to avoid the blast. As he got to his feet, shakily, a horn blew. Rags turned and saw the Humans advancing. Only, it wasn’t a steady trot.

They were charging. [Mages] standing behind the ranks of Humans on horseback began throwing spells. Crackling lightning and shards of ice rained down from the sky, as the earth broke underfoot. Goblins screamed and ran, but Rags stayed where she was. So did her entire tribe. Because the onslaught was not aimed at them. The center of the storm, the one figure that the Humans encircled, cut off from his tribe and threw spells at was the huge figure, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain.

Tremborag.

He looked around, bellowing in fear and fury. He turned to run, but a line of [Riders] and [Knights] cut him off. He shouted for his Goblins, but his warriors who rushed to surround him were blown to pieces, feathered by arrows, cut down by swords. Tremborag roared. He turned and saw the watching Goblins, the three tribes who stared at him.

Tremborag went still. His eyes went to Reiss, who stood amid his warriors, his face impassive, to Garen Redfang, who looked shocked. And then to Rags, who met his eyes. Tremborag looked back at the Humans who were attacking his tribe, sending his warriors fleeing further and further away from their Chieftain. He looked around and saw Tyrion Veltras, riding towards him. And then he knew.

 

—-

 

“They’re going to kill him.”

Reiss breathed the words incredulously as he watched Tremborag’s tribe disintegrate before his eyes. The Mountain City tribe had scattered in the face of the first spell. Now they were trying to reform, but the wave of Humans that crashed into their backs forced them to keep running. Spells hammered the ground, enforcing the imminent threat of death behind them. The Goblins turned and ran, but they could hardly ignore the bellowing voice behind them.

“Warriors to me! Protect your Chieftain! Ulvama! Kerist! Qent! Where are my Hobs?”

Tremborag shouted, running, thrusting aside Goblins, trying to put anything and everything behind him and the Humans racing to cut him off. He was fast, and he barreled through a rider and horse, knocking both aside, though the impact made Tremborag stagger. He ran forwards, trying to get away. But the Humans were aimed only at him.

“They are going to kill him.”

Noears stared at the scene with amazement and delight. He and the others watched as Tremborag’s tribe fled towards them. Rags could see tens of thousands of Goblins streaming away from Tremborag. Few turned despite his shouts. And those that did—died.

It wasn’t a fair battle. It wasn’t even a battle. If a Goblin or Hob turned to strike or cast a spell, a [Knight], a dozen [Knights], would ride down on them and hack them to shreds. Or a [Lord] would use an artifact, or an adventurer loose an arrow, or a [Mage] a spell. No matter what Tremborag said, no matter how he threatened and ordered, he couldn’t force his Goblins to turn and fight that.

“Stop! Obey me! Turn and fight for your Chieftain! Fight for your tribe!

Tremborag caught a Goblin warrior who was fleeing. He stared at the Goblin’s terrified face, and then hurled her at the oncoming Humans. The Goblin disappeared with a scream beneath the oncoming horses. Tremborag looked around desperately.

Ulvama! My Hobs!

There they were, fleeing ahead of him. Tremborag roared at them and for a moment they turned. Ulvama with her staff, the Hobs wearing their precious, looted gear. They looked back at their Great Chieftain as he labored to run after them. Tremborag raised a claw, calling. Imploring.

And the Humans were behind him. Surrounding him. They formed up at his back, and on his sides, creating a passage edged by steel. They held their position there, daring the Goblins to run back. There was a clear path between them and Tremborag. But if they went back—the Goblins of the Mountain City tribe stared at the lines of Humans. They looked at death and death looked back.

Ulvama stared at Tremborag. He looked at her, his face desperate. It was an expression few of the Goblins in his tribe had seen. They looked at their Great Chieftain. And then Ulvama turned away.

She was the first. Then one of the Hob lieutenants turned his back. And then a warrior. And then a child. Tremborag stared as his Goblins turned and began streaming further away.

All of them. Ulvama, his Hob sub-Chieftains, his warriors—they fled as the Humans raced past him on horseback. They pursued the Goblins, chasing them towards the other three tribes that were watching Tremborag. And then the Great Chieftain was alone. He stared around at the Humans. They watched him, faces hidden behind visors, mask of hatred. But they didn’t attack.

More movement. Tremborag started, whirled as the Humans in front of him parted. He stared in disbelief as the lines of Humans moved aside, giving him a path towards the Goblins to the south. He looked in disbelief at the Humans, and then narrowed his eyes. A trick?

No. The Humans drew back, waiting. Tremborag turned as a man in armor rode up behind him. Lord Tyrion Veltras drew his sword and pointed past Tremborag, towards the waiting Goblins. The Great Chieftain turned and saw his tribe staring back at him. Along with the other Goblins. A [Fireball] exploded over their heads and the Goblins started, began to run. South, again.

Then Tyrion pointed at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain met his eyes, snarling, defiant. But Tyrion didn’t order the attack. Instead he raised one hand and shouted an order.

“Advance at a trot!”

The Humans around him moved. Their horses began to trot forwards, at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain backed up. He turned, and looked at the Goblins moving swiftly south. Then he looked at the Humans, advancing behind him, slowly. And then it became clear.

They wanted him to run. To run until he fell. Tremborag’s claws clenched. Red fury rose in his eyes and for a second he turned back to the front ranks of Humans. For a second. Then the fury dimmed. He looked back at his tribe, so far away in the distance. And he turned and ran.

 

—-

 

At first, it was one mile. Rags and her tribe raced across the rocky landscape until it turned to grass. Then it was two miles. She heard the scream of spells overhead, saw her tribe start to mix with the other Goblins running. They couldn’t help it. The Humans drove them onwards faster than they ever had before. Rags saw the wagons jolting as the animals strained to keep up, saw Goblins trip, fall, and be trampled or blown to bits.

And then it was five miles. Six? She lost count. The Goblins slowed after a time. The frantic pace eased. Because the Humans weren’t chasing them. Not just them. It was the figure in the distance, always a thousand feet or so behind that they were concerned with.

Tremborag. He ran as hard as he could, his body heaving with effort. He stumbled and fell and got up, he gasped for air. He ran, but the Goblins ahead of him were always out of reach. The Humans forced them to keep away from the Great Chieftain. And he was tiring. Of all the Goblins, he was the largest. And his footsteps grew ever more slower, his breathing harder.

He collapsed after the eighth mile of running. The Hob fell to his knees as the Humans slowed to a snail’s pace behind him. They threw spells over his head, blew their horns. But he could run no further. Tremborag panted, so dehydrated that the sweat had stopped rolling off his body. He looked behind him and saw the Humans approaching slowly, so slowly, at a leisurely walk.

Like hunters moving in for the kill. Tremborag turned and bared his teeth.

“You damned Humans. You think that this—”

He tried to heave himself up and failed. Tremborag sprawled onto his back. He stared up at the sky and made a noise. It might have been a growl of frustration. But it sounded like a sob.

“Like this? Like this? Without my tribe? Those cowards—like this? Impossible. I cannot die here. Not like this. It should have been—I should have—”

He scrabbled at the grass and dirt, trying to pull himself up. He stared at the Goblins, who’d paused to look back at him, no longer hounded by the Humans. Tremborag stared at his tribe, at the faces in the distance. He tried to shout, but his lungs were too exhausted.

“Damn you. Cowards! Traitors, every one! I am your Chieftain! I am Tremborag! I—”

His voice faltered. Tremborag sagged. He stared at the Goblins. They made no move to help him. They watched, as the Humans drew closer in the distance.

All except one. She kicked her Carn Wolf forwards, ignoring the warnings of her tribe. She raced past the Goblins who tried to catch her. A small Goblin riding a Carn Wolf. Tremborag’s eyes widened as he saw Rags riding at him.

She had a black crossbow in her hands, a short sword and buckler at her side. Her eyes blazed as she stopped her Carn Wolf in front of Tremborag. She raised her crossbow.

“You.”

“Me.”

Rags agreed softly. Tremborag stared at her. Then he pushed himself up. He sat back and laughed.

“So! The child comes in the moment of my death. Not Redfang or the slave, but the child. How pathetic. How fitting, isn’t it? For this?”

He waved a claw back at the Humans. Rags narrowed her eyes. She raised her crossbow and aimed at Tremborag’s chest.

“Didn’t come here to talk.”

“No. You came to kill me before the Humans did.”

Tremborag grinned at Rags, his chest heaving painfully. He tapped his chest.

“Well? Go on. Shoot me. Kill me! End the Great Chieftain of the Mountain here, child! End it! I have outlived our last Goblin King! I have built my tribe, seized the home of Dwarves and seen the rise and fall of legends! End it with one pathetic little piece of wood and metal. And ride away until it is your turn. Know the truth.”

Rags raised her crossbow.

“Truth? Truth is that Humans won. You die.”

Tremborag laughed hoarsely. He sat forwards, his shoulder drooping. The Great Chieftain looked beaten as he shook his head.

“You think so? This—this was never about Humans. This was about Goblins. About pride. About our destiny.”

The small Goblin paused. Rags had been aiming carefully, choosing her shot. She stared suspiciously at Tremborag.

“Destiny? What destiny? This is your fault. You lose mountain, fight Reiss. You run, now Humans kill you for trouble. You die.”

Tremborag chuckled.

“You think so? This started—all of this started with that damned Goblin. Greydath. You met him. You know what he’s capable of. Do you think he couldn’t have stopped the Humans? Or—or challenged Reiss to battle? Or led the tribes? But no, he stayed in my mountain. Hidden. It was only when you appeared. You and Redfang and the slave. When you came, he had no more use for me. So—it ends.”

He gestured around aimlessly. Rags frowned.

“Greydath did? How?”

“By doing nothing.”

Tremborag hissed. His chest was fire. He clutched it, trying to breathe more steadily.

“Do you think—he was just sitting in my mountain, pretending to be Greybeard—for nothing? No. The world is vast. You think this army is frightening? I have known greater. Far greater. And our King—even he was not enough to face it all. See the truth, child. The Goblin Kings are pawns. Not of Humans or Drakes—but of the Goblin Lords.”

Rags had settled on Tremborag’s nose. Her finger hesitated in the trigger.

“Goblin Lords?”

Tremborag heaved one pain-filled breath, and then another. He sat forwards as Rags uncertainly moved her Carn Wolf a step forwards, and then back.

“Yes. But not like the slave. Reiss is a lord, but the true ones…why do you think Greydath sat in my mountain for so long after his King’s death? When the others died? No—the true Lords—don’t trust them. They are not Goblin.”

He breathed hard as Rags hesitated. Was Tremborag insane? But he was speaking urgently now, leaning forwards and despite herself, Rags listened.

“What do you mean?”

Tremborag’s breathing was weaker. He gestured Rags closer, gasping for air.

“Greydath. The true Lords search for a King. Not because we need one, but because they can use them. You do not remember. You—Curulac listened and they used him. Velan did not and he died less than a year after becoming a King.”

Rags shook her head.

“Curulac? But he lived only hundred days. Curulac of Hundred Days.”

“Hah!”

Tremborag sat back, and laughed once, hoarsely.

“You think that was all he lived? You have not seen his past. He lived longer than Velan. For years! But when they were done with him, the Lords—they betrayed him. They turned him against the Humans for a hundred days of war! That is the fate of kings. But Velan didn’t listen. So they sent only one of their number with Velan. Greydath of Blades. The other lord were lesser. Not like Greydath.”

“What?”

None of that made sense. Rags knew of the Second Antinium War, at least, parts of it. She remembered.

“Other Lords were strong. There was—Tallis. Stormbreaker.

He had been powerful. But again Tremborag laughed. He scooted forwards, coughing, looking at Rags. The Humans were drawing closer now. Rags could see them watching her and him. Her attention wavered between the riders and Tremborag.

“Tallis? Tallis wasn’t one of them. He could have been. But he rose at the same time as Velan. He was Velan’s friend. He told me the truth. And I begged Velan to reconsider. But he didn’t. And the Lords conspired. They let him die.”

Tremborag’s voice was softer. Rags drew closer, ignoring the warnings ringing in her mind that she should run before the Humans reached her. She stared at Tremborag. He had known this? Why didn’t he tell the others? Or was that why Greydath had been in his mountain for so long? He had begged—

Tremborag? Beg? Rags wavered. She opened her mouth and realized Tremborag was right in front of her. Then she saw the Great Chieftain look up and his eyes flare blood-red.

He lunged. Rags yelped and her Carn Wolf leapt back, barking in surprise. Tremborag swiped at her and the tips of his claws nearly caught Rags. Nearly. She felt the wind as they missed her and turned her Carn Wolf. It leapt back as Tremborag cursed and swiped at her again. But the wolf bounded back and Rags paused, panting, twenty feet away.

“Damn you!”

Tremborag coughed and roared at her. Rags raised her crossbow in one trembling claw. Nearly. He’d nearly got her. She stared at Tremborag with pure hatred.

“You are a stinky wolf poo! Was it a lie? All?”

She waved her free hand angrily. Tremborag was lying on his back, covered in sweat and dirt. He stared up at the sky. When he spoke, it was angrily.

“A lie? What does it matter?”

He heaved himself up, panting with effort. Tremborag glared at Rags, ignoring the crossbow aimed at his eye.

“Why do I need to tell you anything? Truth? Lies? I owe you nothing, child! Why do you need to know my past? I am Tremborag! And you are worthless. Just like that traitor. Quietstab.”

Rags felt the word strike her like blow to the chest. She reeled, and her eyes narrowed.

“You are not-Goblin.”

“Am I? Then kill me, nameless child! Shoot me! Or are you afraid?”

Tremborag grinned at Rags. He lowered his voice. The Humans were so close now. Rags could see their faces, looking at her like Tremborag. Like monsters. And Tremborag was whispering to her.

“You think Quietstab was loyal? He told me everything about your tribe before the end. Everything, every scrap he could before he perished, to save his miserable neck. Should I tell you about how he begged me when he died? How I made him suffer at the last?”

Rags saw flashes of red. Her finger trembled on the crossbow’s trigger. Tremborag spread his arms, daring her. He was right there. She could kill him. It didn’t matter if she died. She just wanted to hurt him for hurting her. Hurt him and hurt his tribe. And then they would attack her, and she would kill them, and—

She barely saw Tremborag’s claw sliding into the ground in time. Rags shouted and pulled the crossbow’s trigger. Her bolt went wide, but Tremborag jerked and the handful of soil he was about to hurl at her and Carn Wolf missed. He lunged again, but Rags danced back.

“You—you—”

She shouted at Tremborag, trembling. He just laughed.

“Come on! Strike me! You coward! You traitor with no name!”

He wanted her to kill him. He wanted her to attack. Because if he did, he could kill her. And Rags would gladly do it. But she could see the future, not because of a Skill or magic, but just because she knew what would happen. She would kill Tremborag. Or he would kill her. And then his tribe would try and kill her, or the Humans would kill him. It didn’t matter who killed who. Someone else would do more killing.

Just like Riverfarm. Just like the burning. Like the [Emperor]. He killed her Goblins. So she burned the Humans. And so he sent his army to kill her. It was what the fate of Goblins. Kill and be killed and kill again.

As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done. Rags’ eyes opened wide. She looked Tremborag, who was watching her, teeth bared. Then she looked around. At the Humans, at the watching Goblins. And slapped her forehead.

“Oh. A circle.”

“A what?”

Tremborag blinked at her. Rags stared at him blankly, then looked down at her crossbow. It wasn’t even reloaded. She absently patted her growling Carn Wolf on the head and looked around.

“Okay. Going now. Bye.”

“What? No! Come back and finish this!”

Tremborag looked incredulous as Rags turned her mount. He rose up, managed to get to his feet. He stood straighter and Rags realized he’d been pretending to be more tired than he was as well! Tremborag’s voice grew deeper and he shouted at her.

“You coward! Don’t you want to see me dead?”

Rags shrugged. She stowed the crossbow on the holster on her back.

“Humans will do that. I don’t need to.”

“You—is that how you fight? Hiding behind Humans? Running? I challenge you, Chieftain to Chieftain!”

The huge Hob pounded his chest. But now Rags looked at him and didn’t feel angry. She shook her head as Tremborag lumbered a few steps towards her and kicked her Carn Wolf, keeping a distance between him and her. She spoke slowly and deliberately to Tremborag’s snarling, desperate face.

“Tremborag. You are big. And fat. And stupid. And ugly. And smelly. And have bad breath.”

He looked at her. Rags met his eyes and for a moment the two Chieftains just glared at each other. A child riding a wolf and the exhausted Goblin of the Mountain. For a moment Rags thought she knew Tremborag. Because she recognized the terrible fear and desperation in his eyes. She looked away.

“Sorry. Goodbye.”

Rags kicked her Carn Wolf in the side and it bounded away, towards the Goblins in the distance. Tremborag watched her go. He stared at the distant shape, a bounding red wolf and green rider. Then he turned.

The Humans had stopped to let him finish his conversation with Rags. Perhaps they’d been hoping she’d kill him. Humans loved stories like that. Now they rode forwards. Tremborag saw a group of Humans dismount from their horses and spread out. He saw glowing armor, grim faces. Tremborag glanced over his shoulder at Rags.

He wished he could have killed her. The Great Chieftain’s claws clenched as the Humans spread out. More were dismounting, regular [Soldiers]. And he could see a winding column behind them, moving fast. The Human’s infantry, armed with spears, swords. So many of them. An army far too large for even a Goblin Lord. Or at least, one of Reiss’ caliber.

That struck Tremborag as funny. He laughed and then wheezed as the blood in his lungs made him cough. He wiped at his mouth and glanced around. There were two dozen men and women, all armed with magical artifacts encircling him.

Gold-rank adventurers. Tremborag saw the first, a man with a bow, step forwards. He looked like any other Human, really. Save for the enchanted gear, Tremborag wouldn’t have recognized him as different from the others he’d killed over the years. Even his voice was the same.

“We remember you, Goblin. We owe you death a hundred times over for our friends. So this will be slow.”

Tremborag sighed. He turned and looked back at Rags. She was still riding towards his tribe, towards her tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army and Garen Redfang’s warriors. But he thought she was looking at him. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain stared at Rags and imagined crushing her head between his claws for a second. Then he felt a sharp pain in his arm.

He looked back. The Human had shot him! Tremborag glanced down at the arrow. It wasn’t enchanted. Stupid Humans. He plucked the arrows from his arm.

“Goblin—”

So this was how it ended. Tremborag looked back at the distant Rags, tuning out the Humans again. He looked at his kind, watching him, and felt the Goblin Lord, sitting there like a mountain in his mind. But the true mountain was ahead of Tremborag. He looked over the angry Gold-rank adventurer’s head at the mountain far off in the distance, so far away.

His home. How far he’d come. Tremborag glanced back at Rags again, and growled. So the child fled. Fine. But let her see one thing at least. Let her look. He turned as the Gold-rank adventurer, indignant at being ignored, raised his bow.

He was ten paces away from Tremborag. Ten Human paces. Or a single bound for the Hob. Tremborag leapt. The sweaty fat on his body rippled. Muscles grew and his face contorted. A claw reached out and seized the Human before he could leap back. Tremborag bent and pulled. The Human’s head screamed and screamed before it crushed between his fingers. Tremborag dropped the body and looked around.

Gone was the fat Hob that had stood there moments before. A monster rose, teeth shining, muscle and flesh rippling. Tremborag’s voice was booming as he turned to the shocked Humans.

“Slow enough for you, Humans?”

They backed up away from him, and then remembered they were here to kill him. The Gold-rank adventurers raised their weapons and the [Soldiers] aimed bows and trained spears on Tremborag. The Great Chieftain of the Mountains laughed. He spread his arms.

“Let me show you fear.”

Then he leapt. The tip of a spear pierced his stomach. The adventurer hacked at his arm. Fire faced down his body and light exploded in his eyes. Tremborag roared and bit the Human in two. He swung his arm and sent soldiers flying. He pounded a Human with a shield to paste and flung another screaming into the air. The Gold-rank adventurers swarmed around him, but they were slow. Their magic was weak. He grabbed them, tore their arms off. Then they fled. The soldiers attacked Tremborag from all sides, but their arrows were weak. Their steel bent.

The [Mages] burned him. They struck him with missiles made of light. Tremborag charged one and felt his body shiver as it struck a barrier. He broke it and bore the mage to the ground, biting him, tearing him apart. The soldiers drew back. Tremborag flung the guts at them, roared—

And then saw them pull back. The flames burning him went out. Tremborag turned, his blood boiling, and saw him.

Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] sat on top of his mount, lance in hand. For a moment the Great Chieftain hesitated, then he grinned savagely. Better than the child. He made a mocking bow.

“Greetings, Lord Veltras.”

The move surprised Tyrion. The Human stared at Tremborag as his soldiers pulled back, forming a ring around Tremborag.

“You know of me, Goblin?”

Tremborag grinned. He was bleeding. But he made his voice mocking.

“Even we wretched Goblins heard of the mighty Tyrion Veltras. And his fallen wife. Did she trip off the balcony, boy? Or did one of your enemies push her? And do you fill your bed with another woman or do you sleep alone?”

His insults struck home. Tyrion’s cold face twisted into fury and the Humans behind him shuddered. The [Lord] slowly reached up and lowered his visor. His voice, when he spoke, was barely controlled with fury.

“There is nothing you know of me.”

Tremborag grinned.

“I know how you bleed. Come, boy. Show me how strong Humans are with your enchanted weapons and magic.”

He spread his arms. Tyrion didn’t wait. He kicked his mount forwards and sped at Tremborag, lance aimed for his heart. But the Goblin was ready. He turned and struck like lightning, trying to punch Tyrion off his mount. The [Lord] raised his shield and the fist met the enchanted metal.

A thunderous impact made the watchers wince. The horse reared and Tyrion reeled back in his saddle. Tremborag roared as swiped again, but Tyrion lashed out with his lance.

“[Repel Point]!”

The lance tip struck Tremborag’s raised arm. But instead of sending the Great Chieftain flying backwards, it was Tyrion’s mount that was thrust back. The horse reared and danced, but the [Lord] fought it down. He circled Tremborag, checking himself as the Great Chieftain growled.

“Was that it? Come on, boy. Save your life with another Skill. Did you fail to save your wife? Or was she a nuisance?”

He expected Tyrion to charge again, but the [Lord] didn’t. Instead, he rode his mount back towards the edge of the circle. There he turned and set himself. He was going to charge. Tremborag grinned. He made a fist.

One Skill. One Skill would do it. He waited as Tyrion lowered his lance. Then the [Lord] charged. He came at Tremborag from the left, his lance aimed at Tremborag’s shoulder. Before he was in range, Tremborag roared.

[Great Slash]!

He cut at Tyrion and his horse with a blow that severed the air. The ground tore. Tremborag saw Tyrion raise his lance and he heard a calm voice. As calm as ice.

“[Lightning Hooves].”

And his horse blurred. Tremborag saw it blur around his claw. Tyrion appeared on his left, circled, charged again.

So quick. Tremborag lashed out once more, but his claws were so slow. And Tyrion’s lance flickered in his hands. He changed directions as he switched his grip. Suddenly his horse was galloping right and his lance was aimed—

A cold tip pierced Tremborag’s chest, just above his heart. For a second Tremborag blinked at it, watching the lance move slowly. So slowly. He looked up and saw two blazing eyes staring at him through the visor. Then time returned.

The lance went through his chest, shattering bone and piercing flesh. Tremborag stumbled. He raised a claw, gasped. The pain was—he tried to grab Tyrion, but the [Lord] had one hand on the lance. He twisted it and pulled it from Tremborag’s chest. And the Great Chieftain fell. His knees struck the ground and he lay on his back.

So quick. It had been just like—just like—like—

 

—-

 

“Tremborag. Join me.”

Velan the Kind stood in Tremborag’s throne room. Alone. His Goblin Lords had left him. His legions of warriors were camped outside Tremborag’s mountain. That left only Tremborag with Velan, and the Goblin King was small, barely taller than any other Hob, really.

But it didn’t make Tremborag feel any less small. The Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe hesitated. He was huge, a giant among Hobs. Or perhaps something else. Velan had brought other Goblins like him, Goblins who were more than just Hobgoblins. Hulking creatures of muscle and teeth, as close to half-Giants as anything else. Like him.

But for all his strength and height, Tremborag felt crushed by the Goblin King. Velan stood in front of him, looking up and looking down on Tremborag all at once. He repeated himself.

“Join me, Tremborag.”

“No.”

Tremborag’s voice trembled with the effort of saying it. He had nearly quailed in the face of the Goblin Lord. To say it to the Goblin King was a thousand times harder. But he had his reason.

He did not want to die. And he was prepared to grovel or argue to beg or bribe. But Velan just nodded.

“Very well.”

He turned away. Tremborag gaped at him. Velan looked around the grand throne room, centuries of neglect and filth turning rich Dwarven work into a Goblin’s home.

“Will you stay here?”

“Yes. I will not march. I will hide from the Humans. This mountain will be my home. Forever.”

Again, Tremborag expected Velan to argue, to call him a coward. To say anything. But all the Goblin King did was smile as if he was pleased.

“Good. Hide here. It will not be many months, before it ends, I think.”

He looked around the throne room again. Tremborag gaped at him. The question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

“Why are you doing this? What is the reason for this war? What is our purpose?”

“Purpose?”

Velan turned back to Tremborag. His gaze flickered and Tremborag quailed. A memory of Velan’s rage made him look to his doors. If he were to be engulfed in his fury, only the Goblin Lords would be able to calm him. But Velan did not rage. Instead, he looked up at Tremborag and shrugged. It was a very Goblin thing to do.

“We have no purpose. This war is not to create or fill any task. Just to end. Just because must be.”

Tremborag stared at Velan.

“Then why—why fight? You made peace on Baleros. Why fight?

Velan didn’t answer him. Not at first. The Goblin King looked up at the ceiling and at Tremborag’s throne. And there was sadness in his eyes. Sadness, and a regret that haunted Tremborag’s dreams ever after.

“We fulfilled our oaths long ago. We were there when the world betrayed itself. And we brought death to the world in return. We won that war, though it cost us all. Our family, our people, our King—all of it was worth the price. And now, what remains is vengeance.”

“Against what?”

“Everything.”

The Goblin King gazed past Tremborag, straight through him. He touched his eyes and shook his head. When he looked at Tremborag, dark rage filled his eyes, a rage so hot that it could burn Dragons.

“Rage consumes me. Stay in your mountain. Let the children hide here. The children and the next. I have failed. All I can do is plant the seeds for the next. If you would be one of them, seek these out.”

He turned abruptly and reached for something at his side. He showed Tremborag the keys. They were ordinary, apparently made of steel. But they captured the light. Velan looked at them sadly.

“One day there will be a King again. And they will follow in my footsteps. Forever. Until all Goblins perish or all others do. We cannot help it. We cannot forget. But maybe next time…”

He trailed off. Velan turned towards the doors and walked away. Tremborag sat on his throne, feeling small. He half-rose and shouted after Velan.

“What should I do, then? What is my purpose? To hide? To wait? To seek?”

Velan turned at the doors. His eyes captured Tremborag’s and he shook his head.

“Live, Chieftain of the Mountain. Just—live.”

And then he was gone. Tremborag never saw Velan again, but he remembered the keys. He remembered the past. And he wondered—

He wondered if Velan had known all along how it would end.

 

—-

 

Tyrion Veltras shook blood off of his lance as he slowly rode back. Cheering filled the air and the Humans raised their weapons and shouted wildly. The gigantic Goblin lay on the ground, a bloodied mess. Tyrion was checking his mount and offering his lance to Jericha when the body stirred.

The cheering stopped. Slowly, Tremborag sat up. He blinked down at the hole in his chest and touched the blood running to the ground like water. Tyrion paused as Tremborag rose to his feet. The Great Chieftain stared at the [Lord]. Tyrion spoke calmly.

“You are dead, Goblin.”

Tremborag laughed. He shook his head and bared his teeth at Tyrion. His voice was hoarse. His face pale. But he stood and opened his claws.

“I am Tremborag. And only I decide when it is time to die.”

Tremborag took a step forwards. Bows twanged and arrows sprouted from his body from all sides. He laughed as more struck him and Humans rushed forwards. He turned and brought his claws down, crushing metal and bone. He raised his arms as a fireball exploded, burning away part of the flesh on his chest.

“Come, Humans! Come with your armies! Bring your thousands against me!”

He swept the Humans away. He crushed them with his feet. He bit and roared as they cut at him.

I am TREMBORAG! Chieftain of the Mountains! Come! Show me death!

And they tried. They brought steel by the hundreds, piercing his flesh. They shot arrows into him, seeking his heart. Tremborag rampaged through their lines, leaving crimson in his wake. Bleeding it.

Fire rained from the skies. They broke the earth. Spears of magic pierced his flesh. Metal shattered his bones. Tremborag felt none of it. He burned, cutting, snarling, tearing. And a thought grew in his mind.

Is this what you saw, Velan? Is this the fate of Goblins?

There were so many. Every Human he killed seemed to spawn another one. But there was one Tremborag was looking for. His eyes were filled with blood. Then one was gone. But he could see Tyrion Veltras at last. Standing in front of him, sword drawn. There were…Humans in front of him. Tremborag strode towards him, ignoring the pain, the shadows that tore parts of him away.

A little bit further. A little bit. The Human was standing in front of him, surrounded by steel and spell. But his eyes were only for Tremborag. The Great Chieftain lurched forwards, teeth bared. He had to do it. Show them what a Goblin was. What a real Chieftain was.

Show them—show them—

Show who? Tremborag looked around. He couldn’t remember who he was trying to show. And now he was alone. He couldn’t see anything anymore. It was all dark.

Why was he here? Tremborag tried to remember. He blundered around. And then he saw it. Sitting there, just a little bit away. A giant heavy thing. Something to focus on. A beautiful piece of stone.

His mountain. His small home. Why wasn’t he there? Tremborag belonged in his home.

He walked forwards, stumbling. The world had gone quiet around him. He walked towards the mountain, stumbling, falling, getting back up. He was getting tired and the mountain was so far way. Why had he left it?

He was so tired. Maybe if he had a nap, he’d feel better. Tremborag looked around. It was so quiet. So dark. So…peaceful. He sat down and closed his eyes. He’d just sleep a little bit. Until he could wake up. His mountain wasn’t going anywhere. And Tremborag would return. He would. He had made his home there. A place to live. He sat, exhausted.

The air was so warm—

 

—-

 

At last he stopped. Rags saw the Goblin, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain, sit down. His back was to them. The bloody, torn figure wasn’t green anymore. It was black. And it looked nothing like a Goblin. Nothing like anything, really. Arrows covered Tremborag’s body and mages and warriors had torn him apart. But still he’d fought.

Now he sat, facing north. Away from the Goblins. Away from the Humans, who’d just let him walk away. Tremborag sat, what remained of his head bowed. Facing a small shape on the horizon. A mountain.

He didn’t move. He didn’t stir as the Humans stared at his back. At last, one of them shot an arrow into his back and another approached and stabbed him in the back. Tremborag didn’t move.

He was dead. He had been dead for a while. But somehow he had kept moving. Now he’d stopped. It still took the Humans a long time to believe it. The bloodied Humans surrounded Tremborag, until one of them climbed up and removed his head. Then the head was raised with three Humans holding it and the army cheered raggedly. Desperately, as if to say it was worth it.

But the blood that stained the grass told a different tale. And the Goblins who watched saw the Humans turn away after cheering briefly and mourn their dead. But the Goblins could not enjoy that either.

Because they were weeping. Rags was, at least. She couldn’t see through the tears. And though she brushed the water away, it kept coming.

It made no sense. Tremborag had been a monster. He had deserved to die. But she couldn’t help it. She wept, not for him, but for Goblins. And she saw the same tears in the eyes of her tribe.

Reiss did not weep. Neither did Garen. The two Hobs stood facing each other, at the head of their tribes. They waited, and eventually the Goblins realized there was a choice to be made.

The Mountain City tribe had lost their Great Chieftain, but they were intact. The Humans had spared almost all of them to slay only Tremborag. Now the tribe looked and saw the two Hobs, standing on either side.

Garen and his Redfang Warriors. And Reiss, the Goblin Lord and his army. Two kinds of Goblins stood, waiting. The Mountain City tribe looked from Garen to Reiss as the Hobs waited, expectantly. And then all eyes turned to Rags.

She wiped tears from her eyes as she stood on the back of her Carn Wolf. She looked at the Mountain City Goblins, at Ulvama who was weeping too, at the Hobs who she had tried to kill and the Goblin warriors who wept for Tremborag. She raised her voice and shouted raggedly, pointing at Tremborag’s body.

“This is Goblin! This is our end! We kill Humans and they kill us! Drakes kill us and we kill them. But they come back. Every time. This is how Goblins die.”

The Goblins looked up at her. Despair made Rags’ throat close up, but she forced herself to keep going.

“Tremborag was not-Goblin! But he died as Goblins do. As Goblins always do. But it is not how we have to die.”

They looked at her, disbelieving, but waiting for her to go on. Rags closed her eyes. She thought of burning houses, of the blind [Emperor], and of Tremborag. Then she opened them.

“I have seen our past and future. And it is a circle. It goes around and around. But if Goblins want to live, they cannot go in a circle. They have to change. They have to—stop.

The Goblins of the Mountain City tribe stared at Rags. Her Flooded Waters tribe gazed at their Chieftain. Garen’s Redfangs looked up at Rags. And the Goblin Lord’s army looked at the small Goblin. Reiss’ looked shocked, Garen incredulous. But slowly, the Goblins moved. The Mountain City tribe slowly streamed towards Rags.

Not all of them. Maybe just over a half. But while some went to Garen and some went to Reiss, the rest went to Rags. They spat hatred at the Goblin Lord and shook their heads and turned away from Garen. And they flocked around Rags who wept for the Great Chieftain of the Mountain. And the Goblin Lord turned, furious and shocked and confused at once and saw a Drake was standing to one side, staring at him.

“Does she mean a cycle?”

Osthia Blackwing pointed at Rags. Reiss nodded. The Drake’s expression cleared.

“Ah. That makes a lot of sense. Looks like they trust her more than you.”

She paused, smirking at Reiss, then frowned.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“That was what he said.”

Reiss spoke softly. Osthia frowned.

“Who said?”

“Velan the Kind. Before he became the Goblin King. He called it the cycle that bound all of Goblinkind, of violence and retribution. He tried to break it.”

The Drake’s eyes went round. She looked at Rags and suddenly her expression was worried. Wary.

“Do you—do you think she’s like him? Could she have the potential to—Reiss?”

Reiss didn’t look at Osthia. He’d gone completely still. The Drake looked back at Rags, then at Reiss. Her nerves turned to anger.

“Well? Is she like Velan? Could she be a Goblin King?”

He didn’t respond. Angrily, Osthia reached out and shook Reiss. And then he turned his head. His eyes were black and the pupils white, as always. But someone else gazed out through the white pupils, as if they were a window.

That child? She is nothing like the previous Goblin King.

Osthia recoiled. Reiss looked around. Only it wasn’t Reiss who spoke. His voice was completely different, as was the way he moved. And looked at her. The person who wore Reiss’ body turned and regarded Osthia coldly.

I recall you, Drake. I ordered my apprentice to slay you. Another failing. Another moment of disobedience.

That voice. Osthia remembered it. She couldn’t forget it. Her claws tightened into fist. Her tail thrashed.

Az’ker—”

Reiss’ finger rose. He pointed at her chest.

[Deathbolt].

A ripple of darkness shot from his finger and passed straight through Osthia’s chest. She gasped, and then, soundlessly, collapsed. Az’kerash, or Reiss, or some mixture of the two, idly kicked her onto her back.

Osthia Blackwing lay on the ground, her eyes opened wide in surprise. Her mouth was slightly agape. Her face was pale, almost white. Drained of life. One of her claws—the one with the black ring on it—was clenched into a fist. Az’kerash, wearing his apprentice’s face, studied the body dismissively and then looked around.

I see much has changed since we last communicated, my apprentice. Walk with me and tell me what has occurred.

Slowly, jerkily, Reiss began to move. He walked past the Goblins clustered around Rags, head turning to inspect the fallen form and the Human army. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears stared at their leader, and the Goblins around Reiss drew back. Garen turned his head and bared his teeth. He reached for his sword.

 

—-

 

Lord Tyrion Veltras stood in front of the misshapen head that had been Tremborag. He regarded the shape, wrinkled his nose at the burnt smell of flesh and turned away.

“Enough. Jericha, allow the soldiers to parade the head about if they wish. I doubt any of the nobility would care for it as a trophy in its current state. Now, prepare a short missive to be sent to every city in the north.”

“At once, sire.”

Jericha readied the spell as Tyrion stood surrounded by his army. Tyrion Veltras waited until she signaled she was ready and spoke curtly.

“The Great Chieftain of the Mountain is dead. He was slain by Human hands, on Human lands. Let his death be a message to all those who would threaten Izril. The Goblin Lord is next.”

He nodded to Jericha. And that was it. The [Message] spell was sent to every Mage’s Guild by magic, and within moments it was speeding to Drake cities, across the world. The news was distorted as it went from person to person, even with magic. It captured some of the meaning, lost some of the nuance. But it was ever the same.

The Great Chieftain is dead.

Tremborag has been slain.

The Great Chieftain of the Mountains is no more.

Tremborag of the Mountain has fallen. The Goblin Lord flees ever onwards. And the Great Chieftain of Dwarfhalls Rest, the Goblin who knew Velan the Kind, the Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe, Tremborag, is gone.

Just like that.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.52

Erin Solstice was sleeping, and then she woke up. That was generally how her life worked. She squirmed about comfortably in the blankets that were her bed in one corner of the kitchen, and then opened her eyes. Sleepily, she changed clothes beneath the sheets, grabbing freshly laundered clothes from the neat pile lying next to her bed. Ishkr was good at washing things.

Next, Erin got up. She looked around, yawned, and then opened a cupboard for breakfast. Normally, in her world, she would have pulled out a box of cereal. Or a sugary pop tart. Or, if she was really energetic, she’d go to the fridge for some eggs or find some bread to toast. But in this world, Erin reached into the cupboard and pulled out a steak, seared to perfection and glazed with a bit of butter and sauce. She stared at it and shook her head.

“Nah.”

She put the plate back in the cupboard and peered inside. After a second, Erin came out with a ham and cheese roll. She licked her lips, and went over to her oven.

It took Erin seconds to light the fire and find some tongs to warm the roll up over the fire. Soon it was steaming hot and she juggled it as she bit into the warm sandwich. She looked around, opened another cupboard that she’d labeled ‘drinks’, and pulled out a pitcher filled with milk. She filled a cup as she chewed, and had herself a breakfast on a stool in the kitchen.

Life was good. Erin hummed as she got out more food for breakfast. She’d been thinking of introducing the wonders of muesli and fruit into the lives of her guests. It was certainly healthy, but she feared she’d have a riot on her hands from Ceria, Jelaqua, and Mrsha, who all loved meat. And since Erin had had a roll, she decided she’d postpone her tyranny via oats for another day and got out more premade sandwiches and began to toast them one by one.

The trick to using her [Field of Preservation] Skill was to know if the food she was making needed to be rewarmed or if it was going to be okay cold. Because if it needed to be warmed up, it wasn’t a good idea to toast it ahead of time. Then you’d just burn the bread. Without a microwave and with only a fire, Erin had learned a lot about which foods could be reheated without drying out or catching on fire.

The cold sandwiches quickly became hot, delicious meals on a big plate. Erin carried it out to the living room and heard rustling above her head. Lyonette and Mrsha were probably getting up about now. Erin smiled and hummed louder to herself, ready to face the day.

Which reminded her. Erin went over to her magical door and checked the little wooden bowl filled with mana stones. Green, red, yellow…they shone different colors as she picked up the red mana stone, ready to open the door to the Redfang’s cave. It wasn’t hard to figure out which mana stone led to which location; they were color coordinated after all. But Erin did wish she could make the magic of her door automatic.

“I guess that’s the difference between a movie and real life. Yep, yep. The only difference.”

Erin nodded to herself and then grinned. She was about to open the door to the Redfang’s cave when she remembered that she did occasionally get the early-morning visitor from Liscor and Celum. And they tended to get stroppy when she left them waiting at the door in Octavia’s shop or in the rain for a few minutes…or hours. She wasn’t sure which was worse, standing in Liscor’s ever-present rains, or having Octavia try to sell you something as the fumes from her potion shop seared your sinuses.

“Probably Octavia.”

Erin sighed and found the green stone for Liscor. She slapped it on the door, opened the door, and stared into the wet and dark streets of Liscor just before dawn. No one there. She shrugged, closed the door, plucked the green mana stone off and found the blue stone for Celum. She placed it on the door and then opened it.

A Dragon stared at her through the doorway. His eyes were bright yellow and his head was taller than she was. His nose was inches from Erin’s face. She froze.

He was standing in a massive cave. Where was Octavia’s shop? The question fled Erin’s mind as the Dragon opened his mouth. Red and orange flames licked around his teeth as he spoke.

Human girl, do not be afraid. I am—

Aaah!

Erin screamed and punched the Dragon straight in the nose. Instead of connecting with his scales, her fist passed through the Dragon’s face. Erin felt her fist connect with something else, though. Something that went crack. She heard a yelp and a crash.

The Dragon vanished. Erin blinked as Octavia’s shop, cluttered but familiar, appeared. And lying on the hardwood floor was a man with bright green hair. He was dressed in colorful blue robes decorated with magical symbols and mystical monsters like the dragon in gold, and he looked like he was in his mid-thirties. He was also lying on the ground, clutching a bleeding nose.

“What the heck?”

Erin stared at the man, and then looked around. Octavia’s shop was right there, as it always was. And sitting behind her counter as Octavia, frozen in the middle of eating her breakfast—a stale piece of bread with mold growing on one corner.

“Octavia? What’s going on?”

“You punched the magician.”

The Stich-Girl stared at Erin and then slowly bit into her piece of bread. Erin stared at her, and then heard a moan from the ground. She looked down. The [Mage] was getting up.

“E-Eltistiman Verdue, Miss. At your service. I do apologize for the scare. Ooh…”

He covered his bleeding nose. Erin stared at him.

“You were a Dragon. Why’d you do that?”

He winced.

“I rather hoped it would have impressed you. Scared—but impressed. I had an entire lineup ready to go, but I didn’t expect you to punch a Dragon in the nose. I’m terribly sorry. Just let me—”

With one hand covering his bleeding nose he fished in his robes and came out with a handkerchief. He covered his nose with that and then bowed slightly to Erin.

“As I said, my name is Eltistiman Verdue. I am a [Magician]. Do I have the honor of speaking to Miss Erin Solstice, proprietress of The Wandering Inn?”

“That’s right? You’re a [Magician]? Are you some kind of illusionist? A performer?”

Erin was starting to regret punching the man in the face. Sort of. What kind of a person sprang a Dragon on someone in the morning? Well…someone like Eltistiman, apparently. He nodded, trying to tilt his head back, pose, and speak all at the same time.

“I do tricks and wonderful illusions for all to see. I heard your inn was a gathering place for a wonderful new show—by the Players of Celum? I had hoped to audition to join them as part of the attraction, but I fear my first attempt was somewhat off-putting. I beg your forgiveness.”

“No, I’m really sorry. I uh, just have a thing about Dragons. Actually, I’m really sorry I punched you.”

Erin looked around frantically, then called out to Octavia.

“Um, Octavia? Can I buy a healing potion?”

The [Alchemist] brightened. So did Eltistiman. Erin beckoned him into the inn, flustered, embarrassed, and slightly amused all at once.

“Sorry. Have a seat and a healing potion, on me.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“No, really. You said you do illusions? I’m sure the Players would love to meet you, especially because Pisces has a job. You come over too, Octavia. And stop eating that bread! Is that the penicillin mold I wanted you to cultivate?”

“Nah, this one’s a bad batch.”

“Well, stop eating it! Have some breakfast in my inn. I have hot rolls. Come on—uh, Eltistiman you said? You can eat here. Do you like rolls? And what kind of illusions can you do?”

Erin beckoned the bemused [Magician] into her inn as Lyonette and Mrsha appeared at the top of the stairs, the [Princess] holding a sword. They were soon followed by Jelaqua with a flail, who relaxed as soon as she saw there was no danger.

Erin sat Eltistiman down as her guests filed down the stairs, a bit early to breakfast and carrying weapons. The [Magician] apologized as he sat down for breakfast, and Erin found herself going into the kitchen for more rolls and some coins for Octavia, who wanted payment in advance.

That was how she started her day. And apart from that, it was fairly ordinary. For her, that was. For other people, the day began as ordinary but quickly became quite interesting indeed…

 

—-

 

There was a lot Olesm could say about the culture around Drake [Tacticians] and [Strategists], and the way that Drakes made decisions, both militarily and politically. If pressed, he might even be able to say something complimentary. However, for all the chaos and infighting that went on between the Drake cities, it had to be said that they weren’t all idiots.

When the news of the Goblin Lord’s rout at Dwarfhalls Rest had reached the south (practically within minutes of it occurring thanks to the wonders of magic and paid informants), the Drakes had taken note and begun waiting for news of a pitched battle. But it never came.

Then they heard the Goblins were on the march with the Humans pursuing. A few suspicions had been raised, but there were countless reasons why Lord Tyrion’s force might not have chosen to engage just yet and so the Drakes had kept an earhole open while tending to their business. So a day had passed, then four days. And then eight.

By the ninth day, it was clear that the Humans were up to something. The Human army mustered by Tyrion Veltras had been pushing the Goblins at a breakneck pace, but they had yet to engage in any major clashes. The [Strategists] took a serious interest and came to a series of rapid conclusions.

“They’re trying to push the Goblins into our lands.”

Olesm handed out a sheaf of transcribed reports to Zevara, Embria, and Ilvriss as they sat around a meeting table. All three Drakes sat up at once and Zevara stopped yawning. She snatched the scroll from Olesm. The analysis from Zeres’ top [Strategist] had been supported by five other Drake [Strategists], hence the mass of notes and addendums to the report itself. Her eyes flicked back and forth rapidly as Embria and Ilvriss read their reports as well.

The newly minted [Strategist] of Liscor hovered nervously until he realized he should take a seat. He’d read the contents of the report already and he’d come to the same conclusion. Tyrion Veltras wasn’t going to fight the Goblin Lord. He was going to push the entire army straight through the High Passes or around Liscor so they could cause more havoc in Drake lands.

“That scaleless, fleshy bastard!

Embria was the first to react. She hurled the report onto the table and stood up. She began striding about the conference room, her claws opening and closing as if she wished she were holding her spear. Ilvriss looked up and glowered.

“Swifttail, do you concur with this analysis?”

“I do, sir.”

Olesm gulped and sat up straight. He felt comfortable around the other Drakes normally—okay, he’d avoided sitting in the same room as Embria after she’d tried to invite him out for drinks and Ilvriss was still a Wall Lord—but right now he was in his official capacity and this had a direct impact on the safety of Liscor. He cleared his throat and his tail curled around his chair leg.

“I um, completely agree with the report. There’s no reason why Tyrion Veltras wouldn’t have attacked the Goblins already if he was intending to destroy the army. He outnumbers them both in quality and quantity of his troops, which is clearly overkill.”

“Clearly.”

Zevara muttered, still reading. Olesm nodded again. His leg jittered under the table, making the entire table vibrate slightly. He stopped and flushed.

“Sorry. It uh—yes, clearly he could have won at any time. But he delayed attacking for so long and he’s marched an entire army so far, at great expense I must add! If you factor in the cost of feeding so many soldiers and paying them, not to mention taking them away from their posts…”

Ilvriss was nodding.

“Clearly he has a plan. And this is it. In true Human fashion, he intends to push the threat of the Goblins onto us.”

“It’s sound strategy.”

That came from Embria. The red-scaled Drake looked like she was stepping on hot coals, but she nodded grudgingly as she went back to sit down. She looked at the other Drakes as she spoke.

“That Goblin Lord’s already destroyed two armies and taken out a pair of [Generals]. The Humans can let him rampage across our lands so that we’re weakened. Maybe they intend to beat us during the annual battle at the Blood Fields, or maybe this is part of something larger. Either way, the Goblin Lord is their weapon to do it. They can run him south and claim he ‘got away’.”

“No one would buy that, surely.”

Olesm protested weakly, but Ilvriss shook his head. The Drake ground his teeth together.

“The excuse would be flimsy, but it would work, politically. We have an accord with the Humans that prohibits unprovoked assaults onto Drake sovereignty. So long as they can pretend that they have no direct hand in what the Goblins do, they can claim they’re upholding the treaties.”

He grimaced. The other Drakes sitting at the table went silent, and then Zevara spat a lick of flame.

Politics.

She rolled up the scroll and tossed it at the table. Then she looked hard at Olesm. When she spoke, it was with the sharp edge to her tone that she used in battle. Olesm was relieved to hear it. Ilvriss might be a Wall Lord and Embria was technically his superior and an officer of Liscor, but Zevara was the Watch Captain. She held the walls and she was the one who made the decisions that kept Liscor safe.

“Olesm, you’re convinced the Goblins are headed south. The question I have for you is this: are they coming through the High Passes, or past Liscor?”

Olesm frowned and tapped the tips of his claws on the table.

“The report gives it seventy-thirty odds that they’re going through the High Passes rather than Liscor. The Goblins can probably survive marching through the base of the High Passes with minimal casualties—well, they’d probably get at least half across with the Goblin Lord leading them.”

“But you disagree?”

The [Strategist] hesitated. His mind was working hard now.

“I’m considering that they might come through Liscor, yes. And if they do, we’ll know soon.”

He went over to the map of Izril he’d brought to the table and pointed out Tyrion’s current position on the map.

“They’re four days away if they keep marching this fast. Maybe five or six if they hit delays, but four’s my estimate. If it’s the High Passes though, we’ll know tomorrow. They’ll have to change course and they’ll be there two days from now.”

Embria eyed the winding gap that marked the only other entrance point between north and south in the High Passes.

“Assuming they do that, there’s little we can do. They’ll pop out far further west. But say they come to Liscor.”

She tapped Liscor on the map and pointed out the basin that Liscor lay roughly in the center of. Embria shook her head.

“It’s foolish to try pushing the Goblins across the water while Liscor is flooded.”

“If they try to push the Goblins across the water, they’ll die by the tens of thousands to our archers on the walls and the monsters and fish in the waters. We can range them, if not with bows, then with spells. And they won’t have boats. They’ll be sitting ducks!”

Olesm nodded. That was what the [Strategist] from Zeres had written. But still—he frowned.

“That’s true Wing Commander Embria, but the High Passes are just as deadly. It might be safer to dare crossing the basin, especially if Rock Crabs and assaults from Liscor are the only dangers. We have limited arrows and even if we slew—what, forty thousand? How many arrows can our archers put out per minute? What if the Goblins travelled around the edge of the basin? That’s still a huge force if this Goblin Lord can keep it alive. And more if they link up with the Goblins from the dungeon.”

Embria paused. Ilvriss sat up slightly.

“You think Tyrion Veltras is aware of the Cave Goblin situation and intends to grow the Goblin Lord’s army?”

Olesm shook his head.

“I doubt he knows, Wall Lord. But it might complicate matters if he finds them there.”

Ilvriss nodded slowly.

“I have given much thought to the situation. There may be a few thousand Goblins living in the dungeon still, at least several hundred. Like all of the monsters that plague Liscor, they must be dealt with.”

Olesm’s stomach did an unhappy belly flop. Ilvriss sighed.

“It is my duty to say they should be eradicated without mercy. But to slay them outright…it sits ill on my conscience.”

“Yes sir. I completely agree.”

The Goblins had helped save the citizens of Liscor. More than that, Olesm had gotten to know the Redfang Goblins living in Erin’s inn and he couldn’t fathom the idea of killing them. Embria clearly didn’t share the same opinion, however.

“They may have served Liscor once, but they are monsters, Wall Lord. If you wish to reward them, give them an hour to run and then send the Watch and my soldiers after them.”

Ilvriss glanced up.

“You think you could rout an army of two thousand Cave Goblins, Wing Commander Embria? With your 4th Company?”

There were barely more than a hundred soldiers in her company. Olesm blinked, but Embria nodded confidently.

“Give me a thousand Level 10 [Soldiers] and I could take on an army twice as large. Against Goblins? Four times. My company and I were deployed to hold Liscor. If the Goblin Lord comes through Liscor by water, or these Cave Goblins need to be dealt with, the Watch supplemented by my soldiers can deal with either issue.”

The red-scaled Drake smiled confidently. Ilvriss nodded slowly and Zevara frowned, but didn’t object. As for Olesm, he nodded slowly as he did the calculations. Embria wasn’t lying, or boasting—much.

A hundred of her soldiers plus a thousand members of Liscor’s Watch could do just what she said. They’d proven it in the dungeon against the Raskghar; with low-level recruits and part of Liscor’s army, they could take on threats vastly above their level. All thanks to Embria and her officers.

It was Liscorian strategy—that was to say, a way of forming armies unique to Liscor. Liscor had an army of a few thousand strong at all times, a small army given how large the city was. Even smaller Human cities in the north half as large as Liscor had an army of at least five thousand! But the Watch was equivalent to any militia, and Liscor’s regular army didn’t need numbers to win battles. They had a trick, an open secret anyone in the military could figure out, really. And the secret had to do with classes.

At birth, each citizen of Liscor was formally conscripted into Liscor’s army with a small ceremony. It was a trivial detail for most, but it was mandated by law. None of Liscor’s citizens had to join the army, mind you. It was a formality, but that formality mattered very much for how Liscor’s army operated. Because it allowed them to promote their soldiers with impunity.

You couldn’t have an unlimited amount of officers in an army. That went against common sense and military protocol. There was no way you could have two [Generals] in the same army, obviously. In the same way, higher-ranking officers required a certain amount of [Soldiers] serving under them or they couldn’t change classes, even if they were promoted in rank. That usually posed a slight problem in other armies, but not in Liscor’s army.

Olesm wasn’t sure of the numbers, but if one [Sergeant] was promoted to command eight soldiers…or sixteen, or even thirty two….there was a finite number that could be fielded in any army. And smaller armies of a few thousand would have a few hundred sergeants at most. But if every citizen of Liscor was technically a soldier…

It was the trick that made Liscor’s army so deadly in small numbers. They had only a few thousand regulars in the army. But they had so many [Sergeants], [Captains], [Lieutenants], and even [Wing Commanders] that they could turn a group of low-level [Soldiers] into an army of war demons.

That was how Liscor fought. They kept an elite core of high-rank officers and constantly recruited soldiers who would fight under the effects of a dozen Skills at once. That was why a hundred or so of Embria’s soldiers and officers could actually turn the tide of battle if they fought with the City Watch. That was how General Sserys had held the Antinium in the first Antinium War at Shivering Falls Pass, and it was why Liscor’s army was famed throughout Izril.

Embria wasn’t wrong to think she could beat an equal or greater force with help from the Watch, but Olesm knew Liscor’s army wasn’t invincible. It had suffered defeats like any other force, and the Second Antinium War and the assault on Liscor by Az’kerash had shown just how weak Liscor’s army was to an enemy with powerful magical support…

“Olesm? Olesm!”

The Drake jumped. He looked around and realized Zevara was looking at him. He flushed and sat up.

“I’m sorry, what was that, Watch Captain?”

Zevara ignored his lapse as she tapped the map in front of her.

“So the Goblin Lord will be pushed through the High Passes or go around Liscor. That’s the contents of the report. What do you believe the reaction of the other cities will be?”

“Naturally, to ensure the Goblin Lord does not pass into Drake lands and disappear.”

Ilvriss frowned. Olesm nodded.

“I believe that the Walled Cities will put forward a motion to gather a truly large suppression army at Pallass. Or Zeres, if the Goblins move through the High Passes instead of Liscor. They will attempt to meet the Goblins and force them back to the Human lands in turn—or destroy them where they were.”

He grimaced, imagining how difficult it would be for all the cities to send the required number of soldiers to Pallass in time to repel the Goblins. Zevara just nodded.

“In that case, we can only wait to see what the Humans do. But if they come to Liscor, I’ll make sure the Goblin Lord’s army turns the waters red. I’m going to check our ammunition stores and recheck the status of the enchantments on our walls. Wall Lord Ilvriss has agreed to communicate with the other cities and Wing Commander Embria will do an inspection of our walls for weak points, if any. Is there anything else we should be doing?”

Olesm shook his head.

“No, I’ll ah, continue monitoring the progress of the Humans. I will of course report to you all when I have any information—”

He got up, trying to gather all the reports. Zevara nodded and turned. Embria was already striding out of the room. Ilvriss slid his report to Olesm. The older Drake sighed.

“Another damn complication. It seems like every other week a disaster strikes Liscor. I should have known this one was coming; trust a Human to make our lives difficult.”

“Yes sir.”

Olesm couldn’t argue with that. The enmity between Drakes and Humans was usually nothing pleasant, but he’d grown used to Humans, living so close to their lands in Liscor. But this Tyrion Veltras was known for his anti-Drake stance and he’d personally fought against Liscor in the annual battles in the Blood Fields many times. If anyone could be considered an enemy among the Humans, it was him. Ilvriss sighed as he put his claws behind his back and faced the rain-spattered windows.

“I think Watch Captain Zevara is overstating the danger. The Goblins may pass by our walls, but they’ll be no threat. For once, Liscor may relax.”

Our walls. Olesm noted the words, but all he did was nod.

“Yes, Wall Lord. But I thought I should bring it up given the situation.”

“Oh, of course. We must be informed at all times. You do your job with commendable attention, Swifttail.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ilvriss smiled fondly at Olesm, as an uncle would to a nephew. Rather like how Olesm’s uncle Lism would puff up with pride, come to that. It wasn’t a favorable comparison. The Wall Lord frowned suddenly as Olesm was rolling his map up securely.

“That reminds me. Young Olesm, I know you’re an acquaintance of Miss Shivertail. Would you pass the results of the lottery to her or Guildmistress Tekshia in person? I would send a Street Runner, but I wouldn’t put it past some adventurers to waylay any messenger in hopes of altering the results.”

Olesm jumped. He stared as Ilvriss pulled out a folded bit of parchment and proffered it to the [Strategist]. Olesm took it nervously.

“Oh—the lottery’s finished?”

“It was decided by random lots yesterday. Fairly. Most of the teams acquired some manner of magical artifact or other and the rest will receive adequate gold as compensation. As will Liscor. Please inform the adventurers that they may begin picking up their shares here. In an orderly fashion.”

Ilvriss sighed as if he was already anticipating angry mobs. Olesm nodded.

“I’ll give it to Selys at once, sir.”

“Thank you, Swifttail. Now, I must inform Salazsar. Excuse me.”

Olesm left Ilvriss in the conference room. He stowed the reports and his map in his office and hurried down the stairs  and out of the city hall. He paused and stared up at the rain as it instantly soaked his scales, but he didn’t bother going back for his cloak, which he’d forgotten in his office. Instead, he just tucked the parchment Ilvriss had given him into his waterproof belt pouch and hurried through the streets, grumbling about the rain.

“I can’t wait for all this water to stop. When’s it going to end? It has to be next week at the latest, right?”

The [Strategist]’s aggrieved comments drew little notice from the Drakes and Gnolls hurrying about on their business in the wet streets. Complaining about the rain was practically a tradition in Liscor. That and moaning about clogged sewers or Quillfish. Then again, comments about the sewers had stopped due to a sudden improvement in the drainage system underneath Liscor, much to the displeasure of those who liked to groan about such things.

Olesm paused as a torrent of water from above nearly missed him. He shook a fist at a Drake who was unapologetically emptying a bucket from a balcony above, and wondered when he’d see the sun again. Maybe if he went to Celum after visiting Selys. It would be nice to see clear skies.

Clear skies. Olesm paused as he stared up at the cloudy, rain-sodden skies. When would Liscor have clear skies? It had to be…how long had it been raining? A month, now? He paused, and then picked up his pace. But this time he was staring up at the sky. The rain had to stop soon. Olesm felt that way as any native of Liscor did. But how soon? When, exactly, would it change? There was something about that thought that disturbed him greatly.

 

—-

 

Day ???

 

She dreamt she was floating in a sea of clouds. As high up as she could go, and resting on a cloud as soft as cotton. But then she felt a hideous pain in her chest. She looked around and realized she was falling. And suddenly she was bleeding, and she saw a Goblin staring at her with eyes like crimson fire—

Durene shouted as she woke. She sat up and cried out in pain as whomever was standing next to her went flying. She heard a shout, and then someone rushed into the room. Durene was too busy clutching at her chest. It hurt! But the pain was illusory—as soon as she touched her chest she felt only rough skin. Raised skin. A scar.

Durene?

The half-Troll girl looked up. A young woman with a pointy hat stood in the doorway.

“Wiskeria? What’s going on? Where are the Goblins? Where—”

Durene tried to swing herself out of bed. She heard an exclamation and reached down, unthinking. She pulled up a terrified woman dressed in white. A [Healer]. She had both herbs and healing potions at her belt. Durene stared and slowly lowered the woman to the ground.

“Where am I?”

“In Riverfarm. You’re safe.”

Wiskeria reassured the young woman as the [Healer] fled out the door. Now Durene was getting her bearings, she could see that she was in a house. It looked like…one of the many houses that Laken had ordered built for the villagers, but wider, more open. Not her cottage. And when she looked down she saw she was lying in a newly-made bed, made wider and longer to hold her. She looked around. Bright sunlight was streaming through the windows.

“Where am I?”

“In a hospital. That’s what Laken called it anyways. It’s a place for the [Healers] to work. You’re in a private room. In Riverfarm.”

Wiskeria repeated herself slowly. At last her words sank in. Durene stared at the [Witch]-made-[General].

“What about the battle? There were Goblins. I was—”

Again, she touched her chest. She realized she was bare from the chest up—the [Healer] must have been tending to her. Durene looked down. Her dark grey, cracked skin was whole in most places, but there was a red wound on her chest, right between her breasts. It ran from just below her chin down nearly to her navel. It was nearly closed, but it was red. Puffy. It hurt. Durene touched it and felt a flash of pain. She put her head down.

“I got hurt.”

Wiskeria nodded. The [Witch] tugged the hat brim lower on her head.

“You…took a bad injury. We had to evacuate you from the battlefield and so the didn’t completely heal when we used the healing potion. There were also complications. If we’d had a better one—”

“It’s fine. It’s not as if it makes me uglier.”

Durene spoke numbly. It was not fine. She ran her fingertips down her chest, feeling the scar again. Then she looked up sharply.

“But what about the battle? We won, right?”

They had to have won. How else would they be here? Durene remembered the battle, hearing the soldiers screaming around her as they fought the Goblins. So many Goblins. It had felt like they were pushing the entire army back, but Durene had held her ground and swung her club again and again, trying to hold them back. Until the fat hob with the battleaxe had appeared. She looked at Wiskeria, hoping. But the [Witch] only looked away.

“We…lost. After you fell, Benoit charged to your rescue. That Chieftain took him down too. I called a retreat and we ran. The Goblins nearly ran us all down.”

“All? Did they kill—”

Durene’s heart sank. Wiskeria shook her head hurriedly.

“They didn’t get a chance. Another group of soldiers charged them. A group of cavalry led by Lord Pellmia. They came here with Tyrion Veltras himself.”

The name stirred a thought in Durene’s head. Veltras? Wasn’t that one of the Five Families? She stared at Wiskeria.

“How? I mean, how’d they know to—what happened?”

Wiskeria hesitated, then sat on Durene’s bed. The half-Troll girl found there were clothes folded near her bed—her clothes from her cottage. She dressed silently as Wiskeria told her what had happened. First the army from Riverfarm had been routed, then Lord Pellmia had broken the Goblins in turn. They’d disappeared, hunting the Goblins while Lord Tyrion himself had ridden to rescue Riverfarm.

All of that had happened as she slept. It was too much to take in. Durene put her head in her hands.

“And I was out for all of it?”

Wiskeria nodded.

“You lost so much blood. Even the healing potion wasn’t enough. And the [Healer] told us that you needed rest, so they put you here. You woke up a few times, mainly to use the toilet, but you were practically a zombie.”

“How long was I asleep?”

The [Witch] hesitated. Durene raised her voice.

“How long?

When she spoke loudly, people tended to listen. Wiskeria didn’t pale or freeze up, but she answered after a second.

“Nearly a week.”

“A week!?”

Again, Durene tried to get out of bed. Wiskeria held up a hand.

“You were practically dead when we brought you to Riverfarm! If you hadn’t been as tough as you were, I think you would have been dead. Benoit had armor on and he still nearly died! You took a blow from an enchanted axe to your chest and survived.”

“But we lost. And I lost. We lost the battle.”

Durene felt completely adrift as she stared at Wiskeria. She saw how the [Witch] looked down, and a wave of despondency swamped Durene. She looked around frantically. She had to see him.

“Laken. Where’s Laken?”

Part of her hoped he would be nearby. But Wiskeria didn’t meet Durene’s eyes.

“He’s not in Riverfarm. He wanted to stay, Durene. He refused to leave your side, but Tyrion Veltras insisted. So he left. He was here every day until—”

She yelped as Durene grabbed her. The half-Troll lifted Wiskeria into the air as easily as a kitten and brought her closer to her face.

“Where is he?”

“He left! He rode out with an escort two days ago! He wanted to stay! But Tyrion’s messenger gave him no choice! Durene, put me down!”

Durene realized she was shaking Wiskeria. She stopped and let the [Witch] drop. Wiskeria gasped as Durene took a step back.

“Why?”

The [Witch] shook her head.

“I don’t know exactly. All I know is that Laken struck a deal with Lord Tyrion Veltras. But he wouldn’t tell me or Prost or Rie what it was for. He had the entire village of Riverfarm working these last few days. Now he’s gone, and so is Gamel and Tessia and over thirty of the villagers. They’ve taken—”

Durene didn’t hear the rest. She slowly sat down on the bed. Gone. Laken was gone, just like in her worst nightmares. And he’d left without her.

She didn’t know what to think. She’d lost. For the first time she’d actually lost a fight. She remembered the Goblin looking down at her as he swung the axe. She’d lost.

And Laken was gone. Durene bowed her head. Then, suddenly, she looked up.

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where are they?”

Wiskeria wavered.

“I don’t know exactly. Durene, you’re in no condition to move just yet. If you’re thinking of following them, forget it. They had Skills and horses. They were trying to catch Tyrion Veltras, I think. And if he’s where I think he is—”

“Just tell me where! In what direction did he go?”

Durene covered her face. She wanted to cry. Nothing was right in the world. She heard nothing for a moment, and then Wiskeria sat next to Durene. She put a hand on the Troll girl’s shoulder and Durene felt it trembling. She looked up and saw the desolation in Wiskeria’s eyes too. They’d failed. The two sat together for a moment, and then Wiskeria spoke.

“South. They’ve all gone south.”

 

—-

 

Olesm stood in the Adventurer’s Guild and felt every eye on his back. He felt more in danger here than in a room full of zombies. There was nothing like having a dozen Gold and Silver-rank teams eying you from behind to get your heart racing. As casually as he could, he leaned over the counter.

“It’s uh, good to see you, Selys.”

“Yeah. What brings you here, Olesm?”

The [Receptionist] looked unusually strained as she smiled back at Olesm. She was manning the desk in the Adventurer’s Guild as always. But from what Olesm understood, that was not an enviable task at the moment. All the adventurers in Liscor had been fighting over who would get what from the lottery Ilvriss had created. And the fighting wasn’t just verbal. Olesm could feel suspicious eyes on his back and he was conscious of the slip of paper in his claws.

Ilvriss hadn’t understated things. Olesm wondered if he’d actually be jumped if he mentioned that he had the list of who got what in his claws. So, conscious of eyes on him and the various Skills that the adventurers had that would aid their senses of sight and hearing, he leaned forwards and pretended to smile.

“I was actually hoping you could help me, you know, in my capacity as a [Strategist]? I need some information about Liscor’s weather and your grandmother’s one of the oldest Drakes I know.”

Selys smiled, but her eyes flicked to the piece of paper Olesm covertly showed her. She looked at Olesm and her tail twitched slightly. She knew. But she kept her face straight like the best of [Actors].

“Really? Well, Grandma is old, and apparently she knows a lot about Liscor. She won’t shut up about how things worked in her day, at any rate. What do you need to know?”

Olesm shrugged casually.

“Nothing much. I’d just like to know when the rainfall usually stops.”

Selys frowned.

“The rain? I’d say it’s due to stop soon, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but when, exactly? Are there patterns? If Guildmistress Tekshia could tell me herself, or point me to any books or reports on the subject, I’d be grateful.”

“Oh, well in that case I can take you to her. Why don’t we go now?”

“Sounds good.”

The two Drakes slid away from the desk and casually walked towards the stairs, bantering lightly. Olesm saw the Flamewardens, the Wings of Pallass, and two other Gold-rank teams sitting by the stairs. He could feel sweat rolling down his scales as the adventurers stared at him.

“Hey, Olesm, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes?”

Olesm and Selys froze as they passed by the not-leader of the Wings of Pallass, Bevussa. The Garuda smiled at him.

“We met during the battle. And the baseball game. How’s it going?”

“Oh, well. You know how it is. I’m just on business for Liscor.”

“Yeah? You work with Wall Lord Ilvriss, don’t you? Any news about who got what yet?”

The atmosphere sharpened to a razor’s edge. Olesm saw Keldrass of the Flamewardens look up, and a Gold-rank Gnoll slowly sniff the air. He tried to keep his tail from tying itself in knots.

“T-the lottery? I’ve got no idea. Wall Lord Ilvriss is making his decisions. If I knew anything I’d let you know, sorry. I’m uh, just going with Selys—”

The [Receptionist] tugged Olesm and he stumbled towards the stairs. Bevussa half-rose as her eyes narrowed, but the two Drakes practically ran upstairs. Selys pushed Olesm towards the end of the hall where Tekshia’s office was. Only when they were a few feet from the doors did she finally slump.

“Ancestors, Olesm! You are the worst liar I’ve ever met! And I’ve talked to the Antinium!”

“I’m sorry, I panicked!”

Olesm wiped sweat from his brow, then he froze.

“Can they hear us…?”

Selys shook her head.

“No, there’s an anti-eavesdropping spell around Grandma’s office. They can’t hear a thing. Is that really the list of rewards?”

“That’s right.”

Olesm showed Selys the parchment. She snatched it from him and unfolded it.

“Hey!”

“Shut up. Let’s see here…oh wow. Griffon Hunt got their first pick, the bow, the Halfseekers didn’t get their armor, but they did get a mace, the Wings got a sword and the Flamewardens got the armor—this isn’t good.”

“It’s not?”

Olesm craned his neck to see the neat scrawl. Selys tsked as she read.

“No, but it was going to be bad no matter what. All that fighting—why couldn’t Ilvriss have hurried up? Well, I guess either way…there’ll be a huge brawl when the adventurers hear who got what, you mark my words. Grandmother’s probably going to have to get them to leave the city before she tells them or something. Otherwise they’ll wreck half the guild.”

The [Strategist] winced.

“Well, that’s none of my business. I’m just the messenger.”

“Right, message received. I’ll get this to Grandma. You can go.”

Selys waved a claw at Olesm. He hesitated.

“Actually, I was serious about the rainfall question.”

“Really?”

“It may be a matter of Liscor’s security.”

“Why? No, wait, I don’t want to know. Let’s just get this over with. Grandma’s not going to be happy about the Halfseekers, though.”

“Why? Does she favor them?”

“No, but she has a thirty-gold bet they’d get the armor. Hold on. Grandma?”

Selys raised her voice and knocked on the door. Olesm heard a muffled sound from within, and then jumped as he heard a thump. It sounded like someone had thrown something heavy against the door. Selys frowned, and then the door opened and a pair of people spilled out.

“Revi? Yvlon?”

The two women scrambled out of Tekshia’s office as if they were being chased. They paused and stared at the two Drakes. Revi was smiling more widely than Olesm had ever seen her, and Yvlon looked pleased. However, both adventurers quickly shut the door behind them.

“Selys, Olesm, I didn’t realize you were outside.”

Yvlon nodded at the two of them. Revi just kept smiling. It was quite eerie compared to her usual scowl. Olesm blinked. Selys folded her arms.

“What’s going on? I thought you two were meeting Grandmother on adventuring business.”

“We were. Just a casual update for Liscor’s guild.”

Revi pointed back to the door. Selys rolled her eyes.

“In that case, why did she throw her spear at you? Don’t lie—I recognize that thump.”

Yvlon and Revi exchanged a quick glance. The armored woman was the first to answer.

“Your grandmother’s insane, Selys. She could have hit us!”

“Only if you really made her mad. Sounds like she was trying for it anyways. What happened?”

“Well…we drew the short straws, so we had to meet her.”

Revi and Yvlon exchanged glances. They didn’t seem too displeased despite their brush with death. Selys frowned.

“About what?”

Yvlon coughed and Revi shrugged. The two looked too happy. Olesm narrowed his eyes. Selys made a displeased hissing sound.

“Just tell me, would you? You told my grandmother—she’ll tell me.”

“Oh, but we didn’t tell her—”

“Shush!”

Revi nudged Yvlon. The Stitch-Woman smiled at Selys.

“We can’t give out details, Selys. But you know how adventurers have to report income to the Adventurer’s Guild?”

Both Selys and Olesm nodded. Adventurers generally owed ten percent of everything they made to the guild. Normally that was pre-deducted in cases of requests, but when adventurers found treasure in dungeons they were required to pay a tax on what they earned, both to the Adventurer’s Guild and the city if the dungeon was on their lands. Olesm knew Selys would have to fill out a myriad of forms after the Raskghar’s treasure had been divided up.

“Everyone knows that. What, did your groups find some more treasure in the dungeon? If you did, you’ll have to pay up just like everyone.”

The two adventurers grinned giddily. Now Olesm was seriously beginning to be weirded out. He took a step behind Selys as Revi replied.

“Oh, we know. And normally we’d have to disclose everything. But ah, not this time. We were just stopping by to let Guildmistress Tekshia know that our teams—that is, Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad—received a huge amount of income. And we’re not paying for any of it. She was just testing us with truth spells.”

What? But you have to pay! Grandmother wouldn’t let you two off unless—that’s illegal!”

Selys stared at Revi and Yvlon. Again, the adventurers shook their heads.

“Not if it’s a gift. Gifts aren’t taxable under the Adventurer Guild’s laws. And it just so happens that we got a huge ‘gift’ of treasure the Raskghar left behind. So it’s all ours and we don’t owe the guild a copper coin.”

Revi smirked. Olesm raised a hand timidly.

“But that’s just a technicality. If it was in the dungeon, it’s still acquired loot. You can’t just claim it’s a gift to be exempt. If you found it—”

“But that’s the thing. We didn’t find it, so it wasn’t adventurer’s loot. We got it from the Goblins. They had all the treasure. All of it.”

“The Redfang Goblins did? But they’re adventurers too!”

Selys looked astounded. Revi’s smile only grew wider as she shook her head.

“That’s what we thought. But guess what? Apparently, Erin told us that they were made a team yesterday. Funny thing, that. I thought they were supposed to be regular adventurers already, but it sounds like someone confused the paperwork so they wouldn’t have to give the Goblins any of the treasure we got.”

Olesm blanched as Selys shot him a quizzical glance. He remembered that discussion with Ilvriss and Zevara. They’d fudged the paperwork so that the Redfang Goblins would be exempt from the lottery.

“T-that, how do you know that?”

“Oh, we don’t care. And they don’t either. But that means they were just random…Goblins until yesterday. And they gave us all the treasure three days ago. So…guess what?”

Revi assured Olesm. She was still smiling. Slowly, Olesm began to put the pieces together. He paled.

“You don’t mean—”

“That’s right! Your Guildmistress nearly strangled us, but we checked the law and we’re in the clear. She can’t claim that’s dungeon treasure, not if the Goblins had it first and they weren’t adventurers. So all of this is a private donation by individuals unaffiliated with the Adventurer’s Guild or Liscor to us. Which means we owe you nothing.”

Olesm’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know how much Revi was talking about, but the huge grin the Stitch-Woman wore and the pleased expression on Yvlon’s face told him everything. Selys stared at Revi as well. The [Summoner] wore the evilest, smuggest smile Olesm had seen on any face, Human, Drake, or otherwise.

“And Grandmother let you live?”

“She nearly got us with that spear. But we’re in the clear. If she wants to argue, she can try, but we don’t have to tell you what we got. We’ve done our duty by disclosing the rough amount and we’ve been checked under truth spell. Now we owe you nothing. See you!”

Revi waved at the two Drakes and then practically bounced down the corridor. She was actually singing to herself. Yvlon smiled and paused before following her.

“Sorry, but that’s how it is. It’s…good seeing you two. Keep it a secret, okay?”

She followed Revi. The two Drakes stared as Yvlon and Revi walked down the stairs. Slowly, Selys looked at Olesm.

“Grandmother’s going to have a heart attack. If I walk in that room she’s going to be dead—or about to blow her scales off.”

“And Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Council will have my tail.”

Olesm groaned. He was putting the pieces together now. The Redfang Goblins—or rather, the Cave Goblins must have known about the Raskghar’s treasure stash! Of course they wouldn’t have kept it in their mobile camps! And Revi was exactly right—it wasn’t taxable! By preventing the Redfang Goblins from earning their reward, Liscor had just lost…

The [Strategist] was about to smack his head repeatedly into a wall when he noticed Selys smiling. He looked suspiciously at her.

“What’re you happy about? This is a disaster!”

Selys smirked in a pretty good replica of Revi’s expression.

“For Liscor, and the guild, probably. But did you forget? I’ve been leasing the Heartflame Breastplate to the Halfseekers. Under our agreement, I get 30% of whatever the Halfseekers make. It’s no scales off my tail.”

Olesm’s jaw dropped. He opened his mouth to protest, but Selys just opened the door to Tekshia’s office. She called in cheerfully.

“Hi Grandma! Lower your spear, it’s just me. The adventurers are gone. Bad news, huh? I’ve got more! Ilvriss finally gave us the lottery results and there’s going to be a fight! Oh, and Olesm is here with a question for you. He’s one of the people who helped make it so the Redfang Goblins got registered at the wrong time, by the way. Olesm?”

She waved at Olesm. The [Strategist] felt his scales go white. He stared at Selys as he heard a guttural hissing sound coming from inside the office. He wavered at the door and then he slapped himself and focused. He had to know about the rains. He stepped inside—

Below the office, the adventurers who weren’t Revi and Yvlon were sitting together, glaring at each other and speculating about why they looked so happy. They looked up as one as they heard a shout of terror. They saw Olesm Swifttail dash downstairs, crash, roll, and spring to his feet and run out of the Guild’s doors. He was pursued a moment later by an angry old Drake holding a barbed spear.

Olesm ran frantically and felt Tekshia’s spear graze his shoulder. He ducked and ran faster as the old Drake hurled obscenities at his back. He resolved not to go near the Adventurer’s Guild for a month. As Olesm ran, he felt the immediate, temporary fear of Tekshia’s wrath subside and a truer, deeper panic set in. Because in between the Guildmistress’ fury and his flight, he’d learned what he needed to know.

The rains would stop any day now. And when they did—

Well, Liscor would still be safe. In theory. But now Olesm was worried. He ran straight towards the Watch Barracks to find Zevara. And to warn her of an impending brawl at the Adventurer’s Guild.

 

—-

 

Lord Yitton Byres had lived for over fifty three years. He did not consider himself a humble man, but he did consider himself somewhat practical. And he did not think of himself as a good man, a failing often found in genuinely good men. Or realists. But he had lived as honorably as he could for over five decades and faced more than his fair share of monsters despite never having taken up arms as a [Knight].

He thought he had faced enough beasts and creatures of evil in his life. But the night after Tremborag had fallen, Yitton Byres found himself pouring an uncharacteristic first, second, and third cup of wine to steady his nerves. Yitton tossed down the third cup of the strongest and cheapest wine he’d been able to buy from the [Quartermaster]. It didn’t help.

He could still smell the burning flesh. He could still hear Tremborag’s howl, a sound that hadn’t ceased even when they tore open his chest and cut him to the bone. Yitton closed his eyes. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain had not died, though he had been speared through the heart, though they had torn him practically to shreds.

“Dead gods. I thought I’d seen the last of such monsters in the Second Antinium War. How many more beasts like that roam the earth? Hidden in mountains. Underground?”

His blood chilled at the thought. And it grew colder still to think of one of his offspring, Ylawes, for instance, facing a beast like that alone. Six Gold-rank adventurers had died or been maimed in the battle. Six. Yitton was proud of his son and ranked the Silver Swords highly even among the continent’s Gold-rank teams. But Tremborag was a monster worthy of a Named Adventurer.

“Why didn’t Arcsinger bring him down? She didn’t fight. If she had—no, Veltras had his reasons. And perhaps he would have killed her.”

That was a troubling thought. Yitton hadn’t ever laid eyes on the last Goblin King; he’d fought to protect his home and faced off against a Goblin Chieftain and even laid eyes on a Goblin Lord, but he had not seen the Goblin King. As far as he was concerned, though, Tremborag had been every bit as terrifying as a Goblin Lord.

“Silver and steel. I should [Message] Ylawes. I haven’t seen him in too long. And Yvlon—where is she? Ylawes swore he’d bring her back, but I’ve not heard word from him or her. Are they—”

Yitton was pouring himself another cup when he heard a knock at his tent’s flap. He turned.

“Enter.”

Lord Erill, one of the richer [Lords] and newly come to his nobility, pushed himself through the tent. His expression was a mirror of Yitton’s own; pale, somber. For a camp that had just brought down a Goblin Chieftain, the mood was terribly quiet. Yitton rose at once, although he found himself stumbling slightly as the effects of the alcohol hit him. He was not a strong drinker.

“Lord Erill, greetings.”

“Yitton.”

Erill nodded to him. It was not a slight since Yitton had requested the informality, but the patriarch of the Byres house couldn’t help but use the man’s title. Far too many other [Ladies] and [Lords] tended to slight Lord Erill and Yitton abhorred that kind of disrespect. At the moment however, Erill shivered as if he’d like nothing more than to be a [Merchant] a thousand miles from here. He looked at Yitton, opened his mouth and spotted the pitcher of wine.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Yitton? Wine?”

“Yes. Cheap stuff, though. I’d offer you a drink but it’s practically vinegar.”

“I’d drink that if I could forget today. Will you offer me a glass?”

“Of course.”

Yitton poured Erill a full cup and after a moment of thought, did the same for himself. Erill drank his cup as fast as Yitton. Some of the color ran back into his face.

“Dead gods.”

“I warned you.”

The other man shook his head.

“No, crude is what I need. I could use another cup, in fact. Thank you. I still can’t unsee that monster. I’m no [Warrior], Yitton. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m still terrified of that beast, headless or not.”

“You’re not the only one.”

Yitton gulped down his wine. He shook his head briskly, feeling the liquid warm him from within. Erill breathed out slowly.

“To think it took that long to bring him down. When we had archers and mages and—I thought he was done for when Tyrion ran him through with a lance, didn’t you? But he survived that. Are they truly heartless, those Goblins? Or did he have several hearts, like some monsters?”

He looked quizzically at Yitton. The older [Lord] shook his head. He nearly poured himself a fifth cup and then stopped himself. He still had to ride tomorrow.

“No. He was dead the moment Veltras struck him. We just didn’t believe it. And he tore us to pieces before we had the sense to leave him alone.”

“True.”

The two men stood in silence for a while. That was the irony of it. The soldiers had assaulted Tremborag relentlessly, attacking him from all sides and they had paid the price in blood. But when they’d drawn back, the Great Chieftain had seemed to lose track of them. He’d just…walked away. Northwards. Towards his mountain. And stopped.

“It doesn’t feel like a victory.”

“No. I think we underestimated this Tremborag. It was worth the price to see him fall, but I can’t call this a triumph. A necessity perhaps, but…no, not a victory.”

Yitton shook his head. Erill nodded. He tilted his cup up, realized it was empty, and set it on Yitton’s plain table. It was cheap wood; Yitton hadn’t brought a bag of holding with him and so his furnishings were part of the camp’s supply.

“You live simply, Yitton. I’d offer you a spare tent of mine if I thought you’d take it. But I’ll spare such pleasant negotiations for another night. Right now I’m remembering why I came here.”

“Not to poison yourself on my wine?”

Erill almost smiled.

“I didn’t think you had a sense of humor, Byres. No. We’re to meet Lord Tyrion for a late-night repast. I should have gotten you right away, but I got distracted.”

“Lord Tyrion wants us?”

Yitton was surprised. He set down his cup and strode towards the tent flaps. Then he checked himself.

“I’m filthy.”

“He won’t mind. We should be there soonest. And I’ve got a Wand of [Cleansing] somewhere on me—I’ll find it as we walk. Come on; if I can’t drink in your tent I suppose we’d better meet him.”

“By we, do you mean you and I? Or a gathering of all the nobility?”

Yitton followed Erill out of the tent. The camp was busy as always; torches and [Light] spells clearly illuminated the area for patrolling sentries. But there were more people out tonight than usual; Yitton saw more than a few men and women in the shared camp for officers and the nobility drinking and sticking together. He understood the urge.

“Not just us, no.”

Lord Erill walked briskly ahead of Yitton, rummaging in a bag of holding at his side. He turned back and glanced at Yitton.

“Two of our peers have been invited to this very select gathering. Any ideas who they might be?”

Yitton didn’t have to think.

“Gralton and Lady Ieka.”

“Correct. The same group that went to so boldly challenge Tyrion to his face. He’s summoned us and apparently has a surprise in store. It’s a smart move; I doubt the other nobility will whine more than usual since it’s we four.”

“They won’t? But I’m not—I could understand Tyrion’s mistake, but me?”

Yitton was baffled. He wasn’t an important noble! House Byres probably earned in a year what Erill’s estates could make in a month. No, a week! And Yitton was hardly as accomplished a [Lord] as, say, Pellmia. But Erill just laughed.

“Think on it, Yitton! We’re the best representatives to see whatever Tyrion’s cooked up! Can’t you understand why?”

“I’m afraid not. Kindly illuminate me.”

Erill shrugged. He found his wand at last and tossed it at Yitton. The [Lord] carefully ran the wand down his smudged and muddy tunic, blinking as he saw the wrinkles and stains vanish and the mud slough off. That was a lot of money just to enchant an entire wand to clean clothes. He carefully handed it back to Erill. The [Lord] flicked it into his bag of holding and responded.

“Each one of us is important in our own way. Tyrion could have invited two dozen nobles, or all of us, but he’s chosen to have an intimate gathering. Less chance of interruptions I suspect, and he has our measure.”

“Go on. Why we four especially?”

“You don’t see it? Gralton’s an excellent fighter and leader, in his own way. He might be a hothead and smell like wet dogs, but he can evaluate good strategy when he sees it. Lady Ieka is both a [Mage] and one of the most powerful [Ladies] I know. My money commands authority, if not respect.”

“And my estates are neither large nor powerful or influential. Where do I fit in this gathering?”

Erill smiled. It wasn’t the charming smile that Yitton had seen him using in public. Instead, Erill’s true smile looked sardonic. Not at Yitton, but the world in general.

“Why, you’re the honest one, Yitton. Every secret gathering needs at least one honest man. Who would they trust if not you? Gralton? Ieka? Me? Or take Tyrion at his word? No, but they’d trust Yitton Byres.”

That paused Yitton, but only for a second. He strode forwards to catch up with Erill.

“I see. I don’t consider myself particularly trustworthy, though. And if it’s honorable Tyrion wants, he would be better served by a [Knight].”

“Spoken like a trustworthy, honorable sort. Besides, Tyrion seems to like you. Honorable men must not be something he encounters every day. A shame he couldn’t find an honorable woman while he was at it, but I suppose you can’t have everything. Come, Yitton, you understand my point.”

Yitton did, but he was troubled by the implications on a few levels. He bit back any response though; he had to admit that he was slightly pleased by Tyrion Veltras’ trust in him. The man was hard to like on some levels, but there was much to admire as well.

The two [Lords] walked in silence through the camp, listening to the noise and horns blowing for the dead, as was the tradition for some cities. Yitton had been present when the corpses were cremated; some of the adventurers or ranking officers’ bodies had been preserved for burial in their homelands. After a while, Erill spoke.

“Still, that Goblin Chieftain…it makes you think that Tyrion really knows what he’s doing. Sending the Goblins into Drake lands, that is.”

“You think that’s his plan?”

“Something like it. I think he’s realized keeping it secret’s pointless now. Everyone knows what he’s up to, Drakes and Humans both.”

“That’s true.”

If there was one thing you could say about Izril’s Human nobility, it was that they employed people who weren’t idiots. And some of the nobility were fairly intelligent, too. They’d come to the same realization as the Drake [Strategists] quickly enough when they’d tracked their progress on a map. By now the entire camp knew what Tyrion Veltras was doing: sending the Goblin Lord and all the Goblins into Drake lands.

The idea had shocked Yitton the first time it had been suggested. He was no lover of the Drake people, with all their pride and hotheadedness and provocations, but he had grown used to the idea of the peace they had between north and south. True, tempers flared occasionally and then both races would send an army to fight in the Blood Fields during a preselected time, but that was different from this. This was tantamount to war, but it wouldn’t be because of politics.

Few shared his reservations, though. The hostility towards Tyrion’s mysterious behavior had all but vanished when the nobility learned what he was intending. In fact, many of the nobles had begun to treat it as if it were some glorious prank, the height of cunning.

‘A present for the Drakes.’ Yitton Byres had heard others saying it, almost as a joke. But he wasn’t laughing.

“We don’t know that’s what Tyrion intends.”

“Well, we’ll know soon enough. We’re almost here. Good evening Lady Ieka, Gralton.”

Erill raised a hand and Yitton saw they’d arrived at Tyrion’s personal tent. It was certainly large enough to host a gathering, and the two nobles standing outside the tent looked like they were dressed for the occasion. Each in their own way.

Lady Ieka wore a semi-translucent gown of enchanted fabric that looked scandalous at first—until you realized that the outer layer was simply there to highlight the darker inner blue, so that the transparent outer layer looked like water moving over a dark ocean, flecked by distant stars. The effect was beautiful and mesmerizing.

By contrast, Gralton wore his travel gear and he hadn’t bothered to use any spells. He looked dirty from riding and he seemed as if he could sit down at a rowdy banquet and begun quaffing at any moment. Both nobles stood far apart from each other. Gralton sniffed Yitton and Erill.

“You’re late.”

Yitton opened his mouth to apologize, but Erill smoothly cut in.

“Apologies. I delayed in picking up Yitton. I was tempted by the idea of drowning my thoughts, but then I recalled that we were supposed to be here, enjoying Lord Tyrion’s social graces, which he is of course known for. Have we any word of who our mystery guest might be?”

“You mean the one that’s been housed in the finest tents? And the mysterious influx of commoners? Not a clue. But he’s inside. And it is a he.”

Lady Ieka raised two perfectly shaped eyebrows. She stood with the three men in a circle as they spoke. Yitton glanced towards the tent flaps.

“Should we announce ourselves?”

Ieka sighed.

“Don’t bother. He knows we’re here. Tyrion’s kept us waiting until you two arrived. Childish. And don’t bother knocking. There’s a powerful anti-detection spell on that tent. He’s taking this seriously, at least.”

“Going to tell us what everyone knows? That we’re giving the Goblins to the Drakes with a bow on top? Feh. I don’t need to listen to that.”

Gralton spat, which earned him a reproving glance from Erill and Ieka. Yitton just frowned. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but then Tyrion’s tent flap opened. Jericha, the personal [Mage] and Tyrion’s aide, opened the tent flap.

“My lords and ladies, I apologize for the delay. Lord Veltras welcomes you to a minor repast. Please, enter.”

The nobles exchanged a look and then they entered, Ieka in front, Gralton, and then Erill and Yitton bringing up the rear. He swallowed the words he was about to say as he entered the tent and saw the dining table set up with expensive cutlery and porcelain dishes. There was more than a light repast set on the table, and six chairs had been set around the table.

If the nobles had listened to Yitton a moment longer, they might not have been so surprised later on. For Yitton had his own opinion of what was going on. He was no [Strategist], but he knew Tyrion if by reputation alone. Simply pushing Goblins into Drake lands? It couldn’t be that simple. And when he saw the young man standing next to Tyrion, he was certain.

His eyes were closed, so Yitton could not see the color of his pupils, but the young man was thin, and his hair was flaxen, slightly darkened, and his skin pale. His clothes were simple, far too plain for any [Lord], even a poor one. His eyes were closed. They remained closed as the nobles entered the tent and stared at him. And Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] stood next to the young man, as if they were equals.

Yitton stared at the youthful stranger. Even Erill was older than him by at least a decade. He could have passed for a commoner with his garb. And yet, he had a presence. Yitton saw the young man tilt his head towards the four nobles. And still he did not open his eyes.

“Lord Tyrion. We’ve come at your request. Who is this?”

Lady Ieka did not waste time. She peered at the stranger, her eyes narrowed as she flicked her gaze to Tyrion. The [Lord]’s face was impassive as he indicated a chair.

“I apologize for the delay, Lady Ieka. Please have a seat.”

Then he turned to the young man standing beside him.

“Your Majesty, I present to you Lady Ieka of House Imarris, Lord Gralton of House Radivaek, Lord Erill of House Fienst, and Lord Yitton of House Byres. They serve as representatives to the larger gathering of nobility and are among those I trust to keep the nature of tonight’s conversation secret.”

Ieka froze in the middle of sitting down. Yitton felt his knees quiver. Did Tyrion just say ‘your Majesty?’ He saw Gralton snort in surprise and Erill’s eyebrows raise. The merchant [Lord] cast a sharp glance towards the young man. Yitton saw the closed eyes turn towards him. And still, the stranger had not opened his eyes. Yitton felt a chill as he recalled a rumor he’d heard.

A blind man. A foreigner carrying jewels and gold who appeared in Invrisil. A stranger who had attracted the attention of Magnolia Reinhart.

The Unseen Emperor.

Yitton stared at the young man. Lord Tyrion nodded. He met Yitton’s eyes briefly, then looked around the tent. He spoke softly.

“Lady Ieka, gentlemen, I present to you [Emperor] Laken Godart of Riverfarm. Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

 

—-

 

“It’s all part of his plan. Tyrion Veltras, that is. He’s going to take the Goblins to Liscor. And when he arrives—in a few days—the waters will be gone.”

Olesm shook as he reached for a mug. He’d ordered alcohol despite it being only early morning. He needed a drink to steady his nerves. He didn’t know why he’d dragged Zevara to The Wandering Inn, but something about it reassured him. And he didn’t want to discuss this in the Watch House, not if he was wrong.

Zevara drummed her claws on the table, eying Olesm as he sipped from his mug. It was a dark lager, which Erin seemed quite proud of for some reason. It tasted normal to Olesm, but Zevara had ordered the same.

“When you asked me out for a drink, I didn’t think we’d be talking about strategy.”

Olesm looked up sharply. Zevara grinned sheepishly at him. He didn’t smile back, and the Watch Captain leaned forwards. She coughed.

“Okay, bad joke. Are you sure, Olesm? The waters will recede around Liscor in four day’s time? Right as he’s getting here?”

The [Strategist] nodded. He saw his claws steady on his mug as the alcohol went down. He took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. It was just—

“He’s timed it perfectly, Zevara. Any day now the rains will stop. And when they do, Liscor has only a few days before the waters drain. You know how fast the water levels go down. After that Liscor’s surrounded by mud, but you can fight in mud. Or lay siege in it.”

“And you’re sure it’ll be then? How can you be certain?”

“Tekshia thinks it’ll be around then. I asked her before she nearly gutted me and she told me that there is a pattern to when the rains start and stop. It’s not precise, but you can get within a few days of when it’ll occur. And—it’s too much of a coincidence. First Tyrion camped his army without moving and only now he makes his move? He’s timed this, I’ll bet my class on it.”

“Damn.”

Zevara scowled and sat back in her chair. The two Drakes stared at each other in grim silence—for all of a second. Then they heard Erin breeze past them.

“Fries! Here’s your fries, Olesm! And for you, Zevara, a bowl of fish flakes?”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Thanks, Erin.”

Olesm looked around. Erin’s inn wasn’t exactly hopping, but it was doing good business. The young woman had Gnolls and Drakes and Humans eating in her inn, a few of which Olesm recognized as regulars.

There were a few new faces like the [Mage] with the gaudy robes sitting at a table just next to Olesm’s. And was that a Cave Goblin walking in and out of the kitchen? Olesm spotted Numbtongue sitting at a table, playing on a guitar. He shook his head and focused back on Zevara.

“The waters will fall. And he’ll march the Goblins straight in here. It’s safer than the High Passes. And if they’re not swimming, they can run right around Liscor with minimal casualties. Or there’s a worse option.”

“Go on.”

Zevara’s grip tightened on her mug. Olesm took a deep breath.

“They make the Goblins assault the city.”

He stared at Zevara for a few seconds in grim silence. The Watch Captain blinked, and then she laughed. She drank from her mug and chewed down a few fish flakes.

“You had me worried there, Olesm! That’s not going to happen.”

“You’re sure?”

Olesm’s racing heart finally began to slow. Zevara nodded, chewing her food with good humor.

“There’s no way. Even if a hundred thousand Goblins attacked our walls tomorrow, we could hold them. This isn’t like the moths. There were probably at least a hundred thousand of them and they could fly. The Watch is thousands strong and we have enchantments on our walls, Embria’s company, Wall Lord Ilvriss…and the Antinium.”

“That’s true, but I was considering the timing and I thought—”

Zevara shook her head. She indicated the fries and Olesm realized he hadn’t touched his food. He began to eat as she replied.

“No, you’re dead right about the Goblins moving through Liscor. Damn, they’ll get past with far less casualties this way. But there’s no way they can take the city. Not even if the Goblin Lord brings his entire force to bear. I’m certain of it. Don’t worry about that, Olesm.”

The [Strategist] sagged in relief. He’d been running through scenarios in his head, but if Zevara said so, he could relax. He was about to ask more when Zevara coughed. She glanced at Olesm and then leaned back in her chair.

“So, how’ve you been lately?”

The change of conversation was as jarring as Olesm could imagine. For a moment he stared, and then realized what Zevara was doing. He jumped and remembered that he had asked if she was free. And they were eating at Erin’s inn.

“Oh, nothing much. It’s been work as usual, you know.”

“We do see a lot of each other.”

“Yeah. And uh, I haven’t had much free time what with the Raskghar and all the reports.”

“Right. We’re uh, overdue for time off.”

“Yep.”

That line of dialogue died fast. The two Drakes stared at each other. Then Zevara shifted.

“I heard there was something interesting happening over here the other day.”

“When is there not?”

“Hah. But I meant this game that Relc played. Apparently it was in Celum? And it involved hitting a ball and running around in a circle?”

Zevara looked hopelessly at Olesm. He smiled.

“A diamond, actually. It was this fascinating game that Erin introduced us to. It’s called baseball. I wish you could have been there. You see—”

“Olesm, is that you? I haven’t seen you in—oh.”

The Drake broke off as Zevara was leaning forwards. He turned and winced. Of all the times…Zevara leaned back and her smile vanished. Ceria Springwalker paused as she realized what she’d walked into.

“Uh, hello. Ceria.”

“Hey Olesm. Sorry, I didn’t see you were busy.”

Ceria stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain crunched down on a fish flake.

“Don’t mind me, half-Elf. I’m just sitting with a fellow co-worker. Talking about business. Together.”

“Right. I just wanted to say hi.”

The [Cryomancer] stared cautiously at Zevara, and then turned to Olesm.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Yeah. It’s uh, good to see you.”

Olesm shuffled his feet. He was about to leave it at that, when he saw the man across the table from him raise a hand and throw a bunch of sparks into the air. They floated upwards, turning into tiny phoenixes which flew about, flaming birds dancing in every color.

“What’s that?

Ceria turned. She blinked as she saw the tiny birds and then shrugged.

“Him? That’s Eltistiman Verdue, a [Magician] who just came through from Celum. He showed up this morning pretending to be a Dragon when Erin opened the door. She punched his lights out and he’s been performing here all morning as an apology.”

“Eltisti—who? He got here this morning?”

The half-Elf nodded. She leaned over the table, ignoring Zevara’s irritated look.

“Yup. He knows a lot of illusion spells. Some of them are pretty impressive. He and Pisces had a competition this morning. You should have seen it. Erin’s over the moon about him. I think she likes him. And she’s guilty about punching him in the face, which was hilarious.”

The half-Elf smiled. But Olesm felt a bit irritated. Not necessarily about Eltistiman, but about how so much happened around Erin that he never got to see because of his work.

“Why haven’t I heard about him being here?”

Ceria gave Olesm a flat look.

“Like I said, he arrived this morning. You aren’t here all the time.”

“True. I have work—”

“—Which is very pressing, isn’t it, Olesm?”

Zevara jumped into the conversation. She leaned around Olesm, not quite nudging Ceria out of the way. The half-Elf glowered at her. Olesm cringed.

He’d had a brief fling with Ceria until she’d essentially prevented him from joining the Horns of Hammerad. And Zevara had a not-so-subtle interest in him. It didn’t take a [Strategist] to tell that he shouldn’t be here. But now Ceria had locked gazes with Zevara.

“It’s a shame he’s so busy. But Olesm’s not on duty right now. Can’t he chat?”

“He’s discussing private information. With me. I’m sure Olesm will have plenty of time to talk when he’s free for trivial pursuits.”

The half-Elf’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that so?”

Zevara breathed out a puff of smoke.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Olesm was just about to pretend to choke on a fry when salvation appeared in form of Ksmvr. The Antinium walked over and waved a hand.

“Hello, Olesm. Hello Watch Captain Zevara. Hello, Captain Ceria. May I join your conversation?”

All three stared at him. Ksmvr looked from face to face and only now seemed to pick up on the underlying tension.

“Ah. I perceive my presence is unwelcome. Am I being a nuisance? Please inform me directly when I am and I will take note of my behavior.”

“No, Ksmvr—I mean, yes, Ksmvr—look, I’ll explain it to you over here. Sorry, Olesm. I’ll talk to you later.”

Ceria hustled Ksmvr off to one side. The Antinium kept asking what he’d done wrong. Sheepishly, Olesm and Zevara turned back to each other. After a moment Olesm brought up the only thing he could think of.

“So, about the Redfang Goblins and this huge amount of money the adventurers have gotten…”

Zevara groaned. She fished around in her bowl for more flakes and found there were none. She sighed and took a sip of her drink instead.

“There’s not much we can do about it. Those adventurers will raise all kinds of hell if we try and reverse what’s happened. I want to nail my tail to a wall but—at least we don’t have to worry about the information leaking. Imagine the riots we’d have if that got out. This is classified and buried.”

Olesm nodded. Zevara sighed.

“And on the subject of Goblins, did you hear what Ilvriss was suggesting?”

Again, Olesm nodded. This time he traced a pattern on the table.

“It’s…not something I want to consider. They saved those Gnolls, Zevara.”

She tilted her mug up. It was already empty.

“They did. But you know they can’t stay here forever. Maybe—no, maybe it’s best if they leave with the Goblin Lord. By accident. Or maybe they can be ‘encouraged’ to leave ahead of time. They’ve got a grace period while the waters are up, but if the citizens of Liscor see a huge tribe of Goblins suddenly roaming the plains…”

“Could they stay in the dungeon?”

“If they do, they’re on their own against adventurers.”

“Right.”

The two Drakes sat together. Olesm scrubbed a claw through his spikes.

“It’s really not up to us. There’s only one person who can get them to move. I can speak to Erin. Drop a few hints.”

“About what?”

Both Drakes jumped and turned around. Erin paused with a bowl of soup in one hand, and a spoon in the other. She delicately tasted the soup. Olesm stared at her and felt sweat rolling down his back for the umpteenth time today.

“Uh, Erin! How long have you been there?”

Erin shrugged.

“I just heard my name so I came over. What’s up?”

Olesm and Zevara exchanged a quick glance. Olesm cleared his throat.

“Nothing…but how’re the Goblins, Erin? Uh, have the Hobs been in your inn recently? Are they…doing well?”

“They’re doing great, thanks for asking! The Hobs aren’t in my inn so much—they’re busy with the Cave Goblins. You know, leading them and teaching them how to survive and stuff. Numbtongue’s over there. Actually, he’s about to go back to their cave. I just need to give him this soup. I think it’s done.”

Erin pointed with her spoon at the Hob. She tasted the soup again and smiled.

“Yup, it’s done. Hey, Numbtongue! Order up!

She shouted at Numbtongue. The Hob looked up and abandoned his guitar. He walked over and Olesm saw the same Cave Goblin trot out of the kitchen with a huge pot in her hands. He stared as she waddled over with it. The soup was steaming and gave off a fishy, yet enticing aroma.

“This is Pebblesnatch. You remember Pebblesnatch, right, guys?”

“Charmed.”

Zevara spoke flatly as she eyed the soup. Erin offered the bowl to Numbtongue. He grunted with approval and tasted the soup before nodding vigorously at Erin. She smiled.

“I’m teaching the Goblins how to cook as well as feeding them meals. It’s actually sort of fun! You see, they really like to cook and all I have to do is show them how to make something and they copy me. Sometimes they get it wrong, but there’s a few promising [Cooks] among them! Pebblesnatch has been watching me work.”

She patted the small Cave Goblin on the head. Pebblesnatch grunted and put the pot on the floor. Erin offered her the bowl to sip from as well. She pointed at it as she spoke to Numbtongue.

“This is fishy minestrone soup with a side of hot garlic bread. Share it; Pebblesnatch can teach the others how to make more, okay? Oh, and take some baking soda. And some flour. Krshia just sent me a shipment via boat. And you’ll need some vegetables. Oh, and pepper. And do you have enough plates?”

The Hob grunted and sighed. Erin began dragging over bags and eventually the Hob had to drag everything through the magic door into a cave filled with Goblins. Olesm caught one look of a dozen Goblins swarming Pebblesnatch, peering into the pot as she hit them with her ladle before the door closed. Erin walked back into her kitchen as Olesm looked at Zevara. The Watch Captain shook her head.

“That Gnoll must be making a killing providing so much food for the Goblins.”

Olesm nodded. He recalled a report that had landed on his desk.

“Apparently someone’s bought enough food to drive up prices in the city. I’d have spoken to you about it, but since we have access to Celum’s markets, I didn’t think it was cause for alarm.”

“Oh really? Well, I can handle that.”

Zevara smiled slightly. Then she leaned back in her chair and shouted towards the kitchen.

“Oi, Human! Buy your food from Celum instead of Liscor! We don’t have unlimited supplies, you know!”

“Aw! Fine!

The Watch Captain grinned as she sat back and looked at Olesm.

“Problem solved. Now where were we?”

“Can we talk about Liscor and the Goblins? Er, I mean, the Goblin Lord. I was going to ask you how certain you are. I hate to keep harping on about it, but…”

Olesm twiddled his claw thumbs together. Zevara nodded. She sat up straighter and leaned forwards, lowering her voice.

“It’s not a concern to me because I know our numbers, Olesm. A siege isn’t easy and there’s no wood around Liscor—at least, not in enough quantities to help in besieging our city. Our gates are nigh impregnable and even if the Goblins had siege towers or ladders…the Watch numbers in the thousands. We have Embria and her soldiers and they’re worth something. So is Ilvriss. But what really reassures me are the Antinium. Don’t let anyone know I said that.”

“Really?”

There was a lot Olesm knew as Liscor’s [Strategist], but some things were still above his pay grade. At least, they had been as a [Tactician]. Zevara nodded. She lowered her voice even further, although no one was listening.

“Officially, the Antinium have three hundred Soldiers they can bring to our defense if necessary. Unofficially…we could hold off a hundred thousand Goblins even if all of them had ladders. We can fill the walls with bodies, make it practically unclimbable. And the Humans have to know that.”

Olesm whistled. Obviously a single defender could repel multiple attackers, but Zevara was speaking about hard numbers here.

“So we’re safe?”

She nodded.

“If they want to besiege us, they’ll have to take our walls just like the Goblins and we won’t fall so quickly. It’s my opinion that you’re right and the Humans are pushing the Goblins past Liscor, but not attack it. With that said, keep listening.”

“Will do.”

“Good. Keep me informed.”

Zevara fished in her belt pouch and stood up. She tossed a few coins onto the table and strode towards the door. Olesm saw her pause there and waver. After a moment she stomped back over, blushing.

“Sorry, I guess this was a work discussion after all. I’d stay and talk, but I need to tell Embria and Ilvriss and file a report with what you’ve told me.”

Olesm stood up, flushing with embarrassment.

“Of course. I’m sorry, this was my fault.”

“No, no, it was good. And important. It’s just that—”

“Duty calls. Right. Another time, then?”

“Naturally.”

They stared at each other for a second, and then Zevara turned away. She strode towards the door, so flustered that she took the bridge to Liscor rather than the magic door. Olesm sat back in his chair. He looked at his practically uneaten fries for a second, and then noticed he had an audience.

At some point a furry little Gnoll had crept up to the edge of his table. Now two big, round eyes stared at him. Olesm turned red.

“What?”

Mrsha stared sympathetically at Olesm. Then she grabbed his fries and dashed away. He leapt up, outraged, and then flinched as Apista buzzed over his head, stinger raised.

“My fries!

He watched Mrsha dash upstairs, resigned, as Apista triumphantly followed her. Olesm stared down at his nearly empty bowl, and then saw someone turn towards him. The [Mage] with the fancy robes who’d cast the illusionary phoenixes raised a mug and saluted Olesm with it.

“She got mine too. Same trick, even. Fearsome things, those giant bees.”

Olesm sat back down, looking sadly at a wimpy fry at the bottom of his bowl. He raised his mug in turn to the mage.

“Sorry, she’s part of the inn. She’s usually less trouble, but she’s a food thief. Erin’ll probably replace your food if you complain. My name’s Olesm.”

The Human smiled. He threw his mug up and Olesm winced, but it vanished liquid and all. He’d been holding an illusion! He winked at Olesm.

“Eltistiman Verdue, [Magician], at your service. I was told this inn was the place to visit if I wanted an interesting time, and I believe it! You wouldn’t happen to know when the ah, play is starting, would you?”

“Sometime tonight, sorry. Why, are you here for it?”

Eltistiman smiled.

“I’m here to join it, if I can. I was wondering how much time I had. I was hoping to go to Pallass, actually. This wondrous door can send me there in an instant, can’t it?”

He indicated the door, which had the glowing red mana stone on it. Olesm nodded.

“It can do that, but the magic is limited. It can only send two people at a time.”

“Ah, that is inconvenient. But natural given the distances.”

“Right, but there’s more complications too on Pallass’ side. They don’t just let you walk through like, uh, Liscor. You’ll have to fill out a request. I’m sure it will be approved, but it will be at least a day before you can go through.”

Olesm looked apologetic, but Eltistiman didn’t look too put out.

“Ah, a pity. I’ll inquire about the details later. Thank you for your help, sir.”

He smiled at Olesm and turned back to his table. The [Strategist] sat back down and tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted more fries…no! He stared at the table, thinking hard.

“Something’s not right here.”

His conversation with Zevara had reassured him on a lot of points. But still, something didn’t sit right with Olesm. He knew she’d probably run countless simulations, but he wasn’t reassured. The timing, the way everything was falling together…was Liscor in danger? The least he could do was think it out. Olesm sat at the table, pondering hard as his brain ran through possibility after possibility. After a few minutes he looked up and called towards the kitchen.

“Hey, can I have another plate of fries?”

“Coming!”

 

—-

 

The late meal was elegant despite being held in a war camp. Almost ridiculously so; Yitton eyed the gilded plates and silver silverware with deep concern for the priorities of whoever had packed the camp’s supplies. There was no need for this.

Then again however, it suited the gathering. Emperor Laken Godart sat next to Lord Tyrion, dining carefully. He was blind. Yitton had met men blinded in battle and Laken behaved as they did, although there was a surety to his movements that he had that the men had lacked.

The young man sat stiffly, head slightly tilted towards Tyrion. He moved slowly, but not randomly, carefully finding his plate and food with knife and fork. He was able to eat with only a minimal amount of inconvenience. But his presence disturbed the others. He bothered Yitton too.

“Tyrion, how is it that an…an [Emperor] is sitting among us? Your Majesty, I hate to be rude, but the presence of any sort of royalty on Izril is unheard of. Let alone for someone of your station to appear here…”

Ieka glanced between Laken and Tyrion, her face torn between suspicion and incredulity. Lord Tyrion looked up from his meal—carefully prepared scallops adorned with so many little toppings that they quite outnumbered the seafood itself.

“I requested Emperor Godart’s company, Lady Ieka. The need for his presence will soon be made clear. As for his origins, that remains for his majesty to reveal. I have not pressed him on the matter.”

“You aren’t curious?”

“I consider the information superfluous. Emperor Laken, would you care for more wine?”

“No, thank you. My stomach’s still unsettled from the ride from Riverfarm these last few days. I’ve discovered that I don’t care for horses.”

Laken replied calmly. Yitton tried to remember where Riverfarm was. He must have been riding nonstop and with powerful Skills to have caught up. He was about to ask something—Erill had been uncharacteristically silent—when Gralton interrupted.

“I don’t care for games. Are you an [Emperor] or not, boy? And where the hell did you come from?”

The table went silent. Laken Godart slowly turned his head in Gralton’s direction.

“Is that Lord Gralton?”

Tyrion opened his mouth, looking displeased, but Gralton interrupted. The man had all the manners of a savage.

“That’s me. Izril has no [Emperors]. We have no [Kings]. Where did you come from so suddenly that not even a she-weasel like Ieka knows of you?”

Yitton held his breath with the table. Ieka narrowed her eyes. Tyrion did not look inclined to intervene, and so everyone stared at Laken. The young man calmly speared a scallop.

“That is none of your business, Lord Gralton.”

What?

That was the wrong thing to say to Gralton. The man half-rose and uttered a low growl, like the dogs he raised. The sound made Yitton’s hair stand on end. Consumed by his class. He eyed Gralton warily, wondering if he should say something.

But Laken Godart didn’t flinch. He calmly chewed his bite and spoke.

“Heel.”

Yitton’s blood ran cold. The sound Gralton made was all beast now. He rose from his chair.

“Gralton.”

Erill sounded wary. The [Lord] looked at him and Erill backed up in his seat. Gralton leaned over the table.

“I’ve killed men for lesser insults.”

“And will you try again tonight?”

Laken’s voice was glacial. He looked towards Lord Gralton in complete silence, his eyes still closed. Gralton’s eyes narrowed. If the man had a dog’s ears, Yitton thought they would have been laid flat against the back of his head. The intensity between the two ratcheted up another notch. Gralton began to snarl.

Yitton could sense the impending violence in the air. He held his breath, his body tensed to move. If Gralton leapt, possibly not even Tyrion could save the [Emperor]. But the air was heavy, and it wasn’t just the threat of violence that hung there. Yitton felt something heavy pressing down on his shoulders. And he was not the center of Laken’s focus. The young man sat in place, head turned towards Gralton. And then he took another bite of the scallop.

The snarling abruptly abated. Gralton sat back down. Suddenly the wild look was gone in his eyes. He laughed. Yitton stared, but Gralton roared with laughter.

“So you are an [Emperor]! At least that is true.”

“As I said.”

Laken Godart smiled coolly. Yitton remembered to breathe as Gralton grabbed a scallop himself with his bare hands. Only now did he sense the air lighten. And only now did he place the strange emotion he’d felt coming from Laken the entire meal.

He seemed irritated. Impatient, as if he did not want to be here. It was such a simple emotion that it surprised Yitton. For a moment he was like one of Yitton’s offspring, clearly unhappy about being here. But at the same time he had faced down Gralton and even now exuded an air of…assurance. Confidence manifest.

Pride. And it was Laken who put down his fork and turned to Lord Tyrion.

“Thank you for this meal, Lord Tyrion. But I believe your guests and I have come for the same reason. Would you please explain what your grand aim is with the Goblins?”

He sat back in his chair. Lord Tyrion inclined his head.

“As you wish, Emperor Godart.”

He was respectful, but Yitton was sure that Tyrion used Laken’s titles out of a desire to be correct, not out of any sense of deference. And he was just as sure from reading Laken’s expression that the young Emperor Godart knew exactly what Tyrion was about to say. Yitton stared at Laken and then turned his attention to Tyrion.

For all an [Emperor] sat next to him, Tyrion Veltras commanded the room. He did not speak loudly or make grand gestures. He simply stood and spoke without wasting time.

“I am aware of the rumors and gossip swirling about in the war camp. And I am also aware that many of the nobility have deduced the destination to which we travel. But in the interest of transparency, I intend to share with you all the full scope of my war plans tonight. Lady Ieka, gentlemen, our destination is Liscor. And I intend to use the Goblins as a first weapon to strike against the Drakes.”

A sigh ran around the table from the other nobles. Satisfied, resigned, dismissive. Yitton looked from face to face at Gralton, Erill, and Ieka. They didn’t look shocked, or even surprised. He glanced at Tyrion. Erill mused into his wine glass.

“So the rumors were true. We are indeed fighting a war by proxy with the Goblins as our instrument.”

“I suppose it is somewhat worth the effort. But all the cloak and dagger nonsense could have been avoided to save us all distress, Tyrion. Just say we’re sending the Goblins into Drake lands and we’ll all support you. Well, most of us.”

Ieka sighed as she lifted a fork to her mouth. Tyrion smiled. Yitton glanced at Gralton and noticed the man hadn’t made a comment either. Like Yitton, he was watching Tyrion. It was his eyes. They betrayed the man’s burning heart.

“I am afraid that you are wrong in that regard, Lord Erill, Lady Ieka. My aim is not to simply send the Goblin Lord into the south as a marauding force. Rather, I intend to aim at a specific target. I told you we march to Liscor. And it is Liscor I intend to take.”

For a moment Yitton was convinced his ears had betrayed him. He half-rose from his seat. War. Gralton was grinning madly. Ieka and Erill were frozen. Yitton uttered a strangled sound and Tyrion looked at him.

“Lord Yitton?”

It took Yitton a second to make words come out of his throat.

“Lord Tyrion, you cannot be serious! War has not been declared with the Drakes! To attack Liscor would be—”

“I do not intend to declare war. Nor do I intend to violate the terms of our treaty with the Drakes in any way. We will take no direct action against the city of Liscor. But it will be taken.”

“How?”

Erill leaned over his plate. His eyes were sharp as they studied Tyrion. He spoke plainly, dispensing with formalities.

“How, Tyrion? The Goblin Lord may be weaker than our army, but he is not a mindless tool. Goblins are not entirely suicidal. Do you intend to force him to attack Liscor? I fear he would rather march around the walls and take his chances fleeing rather than face certain death. Liscor cannot be taken by an army so quickly, not without preparation. And not while the waters have risen.”

Tyrion nodded. His eyes flicked amusement towards Erill, though his face was stoney.

“That is true, Lord Erill. But the waters will fall shortly. By the time we arrive, Liscor will be assailable.”

“Not by Goblins, and not without an even larger army than the one you brought! Their walls are enchanted! We’d need dedicated siege mages, not the ones we’ve brought. And ladders! Siege towers, dozens of them! Erill is right, an assault is suicide! You might as well kill the Goblin Lord and be done with it—he’ll never risk an assault!”

Ieka glowered at Tyrion. He shook his head.

“I intend to offer Liscor to the Goblin Lord as a prize, Ieka. By making it a target easy to take.”

“Impossible. No one can break the walls with magic or with steel. The Necromancer hurled his undead against the walls and they held. The Goblin Lord’d never get over before the Drakes reinforce the city. But go on.”

Gralton grinned. Tyrion smiled coldly.

“I happen to have a way to open Liscor’s walls, Gralton.”

“That would be where I come in, wouldn’t it, Lord Tyrion?”

Laken looked up casually. Tyrion nodded.

“Yes, your majesty. As you surmised, your help is essential.”

He began to rise from his seat, but a strangled noise interrupted him. Tyrion looked to Yitton. The [Lord] was on his feet. He looked around the room, from Ieka to Erill to Tyrion to Gralton—and then at Jericha. Finally he looked at Laken, though the young man could not return his gaze.

“Lord Tyrion, everyone. Are you serious? Are you truly contemplating an attack on a sovereign city? Unprovoked?”

He stared around, but saw no wavering in any of the gazes that came back to him. Just cold calculation in Erill’s eyes, a burning fever in Gralton’s, curiosity in Ieka’s. And in Tyrion he saw that burning excitement.

Only Laken Godart didn’t respond with his eyes, because they were closed. But he shifted slightly, looked down. If he could have met Yitton’s eyes, what would he have said? Tyrion interrupted Yitton impatiently.

“We are at war with the Drakes, Yitton. We have been for centuries.”

“In name only. Surely this—”

“If the Drakes thought they could push into our lands, they would. Since we are strong, we have repelled such attempts. But I do not intend to wait until that day comes. Liscor falls, Yitton. And I would ask that you refrain from voiceing your objections until I have finished speaking.”

Slowly, Yitton sat. He was trembling. Tyrion waited a beat, and then went on.

“Yes, Liscor has been my target from the beginning. Ever since I began mustering this army. I would not have informed any of you of my plans until the moment was at hand. It is not that I do not trust any of your personally; I trust no one at all with my plans. But it seems Magnolia Reinhart is determined to sabotage me regardless of the cost. She has sent a message informing the Drakes of my plans.”

“Magnolia has?”

Ieka breathed in sharply. Erill stirred and Gralton muttered a word not fit for polite company. Or any company, really. Tyrion nodded coldly.

“She is determined to keep the false peace in place. So she’s warned the Drakes.“

“And that’s ruined your plans, hence you telling us? Or must we move quickly, alter this plan you’ve yet to tell us?”

Erill raised his glass and looked at Tyrion sharply. The [Lord] smiled.

“On the contrary. I’m choosing to tell you all because it’s too late for her to stop me. Too late for her, or anyone else.”

 

—-

 

Erin peered across her inn. So far her day had been pretty normal, aside from punching Dragons before breakfast. She’d made some soup, hung out with her friends, scolded Mrsha for stealing food…now she was a bit worried about Olesm. He’d been muttering to himself for the past hour and people were beginning to stare at him.

Olesm was sitting at the table, head in his hands, muttering to himself. Since that was how he tended to behave when he played chess against her, she didn’t worry too much. But she did make sure he got his fries, and sent a plate to Eltistiman the [Magician] as well as an apology.

She was about to go over and talk to Olesm when she noticed Jelaqua coming in from Liscor. She noticed because the Selphid was dripping wet and holding something behind her. A bulky, cloth-wrapped something. Seborn was holding the other end. It looked like a body.

It was.

“Jelaqua, what’s that?”

The Selphid turned. She’d clearly been trying to sneak upstairs, but she was about as good a grave robber as…well…Erin had no frame of reference. She smiled guiltily at Erin.

“Hey Erin! What’re you talking about?”

“That. What’s that you’re holding?”

Erin pointed at the clearly large, clearly dead body. A furry paw was sticking out from underneath the cloth.

“Nothing.”

The Selphid tried to hide her end of the covered body behind her. Erin folded her arms. The Selphid wavered.

“Okay, maybe it’s a dead Raskghar. But its dead, see?”

She poked the body and lifted the cover. Erin recoiled.

Why are you bringing it into my inn?”

Jelaqua winced.

“I was going to store a few in my room. You know, just in case? Or…I was thinking we could use the basement. There’s only food down there, and you don’t have rats. And it’s nice and cool.”

“No. Absolutely—why do you need multiple dead bodies?”

“Spares in case my body gets damaged? To try out? Emergency food supplies?”

For fun?

Seborn raised his end of the Raskghar. Jelaqua and Erin stared at him. The Drowned Man shrugged.

That’s what you told me.

“Seborn!”

“I’m not having dead bodies in my inn. They’ll rot. Okay, maybe they won’t with the [Field of Preservation] but—rats will eat them! If I had rats. I—I’m just not having them here! No way!”

Erin raised her hands. Jelaqua nearly dropped the dead Raskghar and held up her claws imploringly. Seborn swore as he tried to prop the body up.

“Come on, Erin. Please? I never get extra bodies and these ones are so—do you know how prestigious it is to be the first Selphid to wear a new body? You won’t notice them at all, I swear! And we’ll pay you.”

“There’s no w—how much?”

The iron wall of refusal Erin had built up turned out to be rusty. She hesitated and edged over to Jelaqua.

“I mean, okay, I’m pretty rich from all the gold I got from Ilvriss right now. I can buy a lot of potatoes or…nails…but if you’re giving me money—not that I’m saying you have lots of money to give or anything—”

The two conferred for a minute. After a little bit, Jelaqua shook Erin’s hand.

“You won’t regret this. They won’t go anywhere, I promise. Unless I’m in them! Come on, Seborn, we’re taking these guys downstairs!”

Good. Hurry up. Moore says the other ones are getting drenched in the rain.

The Halfseekers stomped down into the basement. Erin looked around sheepishly. All of her patrons gave her a long stare. She coughed and sidled over to a table. She leaned on it and then spoke to Eltistiman.

“Sorry about that. That doesn’t happen all the time.”

The [Magician] blinked up at Erin. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out for quite some while. And Olesm still muttering.

“It can’t be that simple. This Tyrion Veltras can’t be that stupid. He had to know a Goblin Lord’s army couldn’t take Liscor, not with the Antinium and the Watch and enchanted walls on our side.”

He was doing calculations on a scrap of parchment. Erin had banned him from using the table. Olesm frowned as he muttered.

“What if they tried linked casting? If they linked every mage they had—assuming all the Gold-rank adventurers he’s hired, and if you assume…what, one high-level [Mage] per thousand [Soldiers]…”

He had to consult a [Mage] on that. Unfortunately, only Falene and Pisces were present. They had been playing an unfriendly game of chess, but the half-Elf paused to give her opinion on how feasible that would be.

“Linked casting is certainly a powerful technique. However, it requires immense concentration and discipline on the part of the casters. It cannot be performed with totally untrained mages—in Wistram, only students of the fourth year or older would learn to cast together. Of course, any true graduate of Wistram would know how to perform such a spell.”

She looked pointedly at Pisces. The [Necromancer] rolled his eyes. He interrupted Falene with a sneer.

“The problem that Falene has yet to point out, Olesm, is that linking does not allow [Mages] to cast spells they do not already know. They could boost an existing spell several times over—the classic example is using [Siege Fireball], which is simply an overcharged version of [Grand Fireball]—but unless the lead mage knows a Tier 6 spell or higher, the effort is usually pointless.”

“I get it. So there’s a limit.”

“And unless there’s a truly powerful Gold-rank team—no, they’d be Named Adventurers. Or you’d know of the [Mage] by name if they were coming your way.”

Falene nodded grudgingly. That left Olesm with an answer. Of sorts. He went back to his table and continued calculating.

“Okay, so assuming they don’t have that many powerful spells or Tier 6 is the absolute limit…they might be able to do that. But we have anti-spell wards. We could take at least a few hits from a Tier 6 spell, and [Siege Fireball] wouldn’t be enough to damage our walls. Right? And those [Mages] are in danger of being killed if they’re in range. It’s not a sensible idea. We held off the [Necromancer], after all…”

There was no way Tyrion Veltras would try something with so many risks. And his army wasn’t that mage-heavy. Olesm crossed that idea off his list. That should have made him relieved, but he wasn’t. He felt like he was missing some crucial piece of information. Something important that would put it all together.

And then it came to him. Not as an idea, but as a letter. The door to Celum opened and someone appeared in the doorway. Olesm paid no notice at first. He vaguely tuned out Erin exclaiming and greeting a tall Human [Runner] who Olesm only barely recalled.

“Fals! Why are you here?”

“I’ve got a letter, actually. It came by regular mail. Took a while to get here, due to a few delays—an idiot sprained his ankle, and it would have taken several more days, but someone paid more for a faster delivery. So here I am.”

“Is it for me? Wait, is it from Ryoka?”

“No. It’s to…”

“Olesm?”

The Drake looked up. He saw the Human offering the letter to him. He blinked at the delicately scented stationary.

“Oh, it’s a fan letter to me. For my chess newspaper. I haven’t run an issue in a while. I—thank you. I’ve got my seal around here. One second…”

Absentmindedly he gave Fals his personal seal and a tip. The [Runner] left the letter with him and went to chat with Erin. About Ryoka. Olesm left the letter on the table for a while as he mentally struggled with the puzzle he was facing. And then, since he was tired and out of sorts, he opened the letter.

It was indeed fan mail, or at least, that was how it began. The delicate cursive made Olesm blink, as did the gold-nibbled edges of the card. It looked expensive. It even smelled expensive, but then he’d received a lot of letters from famous [Strategists] and chess fans. Even Niers Astoragon. He read the letter slowly.

“To Olesm Swifttail of Liscor, I am a deep admirer of your ‘chess newsletter’ that seems to have spread across much of the continent recently. I must confess to having only a passing interest in the game, but I am acquainted with chess and found the games rather fascinating. They are also, apparently, games of the highest caliber according to a rather grumpy friend I regularly correspond with. He has since become vaguely interested in your newsletter and that is quite an accomplishment in itself. I do hope you will continue releasing the game…hope that you will consider sending copies north…mhm…”

Olesm scanned the rest of the letter. It seemed like what he regularly got. He vaguely wondered who was writing this and checked the envelope. Sometimes the writers sent him gold or trinkets. One time he’d gotten a clawful of powdered silver. Weird stuff like that. Olesm found nothing else, but he noticed something on the bottom of the card.

It was a single sentence, underlined and circled repeatedly. It stood out from the rest of the writing, and it made him freeze. It was a strange sentence, that didn’t mesh at all with the rest of the letter. But it mattered. It was the same sentence, word for word, that was sent via Courier to the top [Strategist] in Zeres, and to other Drake [Strategists] via [Message] spell and Runner. Three words. But they made Olesm shout and leap up from his table. He overturned his chair, ran for the door to Liscor and raced out it, shouting for Zevara. It changed everything.

When Olesm’s wild shouting had died off, Erin unfroze and walked slowly over to the table. She picked up the card he’d dropped and turned it over. She skimmed the message until she reached the bottom and saw the underlined word. Then she frowned.

“He has trebuchets.”

She looked up at the staring customers. Erin stared at the card and then looked around. She scratched her head.

“Who does?”

 

—-

 

“Trebuchets.”

Yitton sat at the table. He tried to picture the word, but he had only seen one in a book. He’d heard what they could do, of course. They were siege weapons, designed to take down enemy walls from afar. But none existed in northern Izril. They were impossible to make unless you were an [Engineer]. Who would contemplate building such a thing? Who would know how other than someone who had a class?

An [Emperor], that was who. Laken Godart sat at the table and nodded, calm as could be. The staring nobility finally remembered to close their jaws at last.

“You know how to make trebuchets?”

“Of course. I’ve taught my [Engineers] how to make them as well. We had two when Lord Tyrion rescued Riverfarm. But at his request, we’ve been working on duplicating them as fast as possible.”

“And now? How many do you have?”

Lord Erill leaned over the table, ignoring the food that smudged his expensive clothing. Laken paused for a second and then nodded.

“We have thirteen trebuchets, eight of which have been tested. My [Engineering] team will continue testing the others and constructing more on the march.”

Tyrion nodded.

“I’ve conscripted every high-level [Carpenter], [Blacksmith], and [Builder] into working on the trebuchets. I intend to have at least twenty by the time we arrive at Liscor. If I can contrive, it, forty.

Forty—but how many [Engineers] do you have?”

Yitton choked on the thought of so many. Laken just sighed.

“Only a pair for now. But the class doesn’t matter, Lord Yitton. It is not the class which brings knowledge. It is understanding. And I understand how trebuchets work. I do not need a Skill or time to experiment; I can order my people to replicate the design a hundred times. A thousand times, if need be.”

“And you brought thirteen of them. To besiege Liscor.”

Yitton repeated the words slowly. He tried to remember if he’d heard any rumors of strange weapons arriving. How big were they? They had to be massive, surely. Erill frowned.

“Where were they kept? I heard nothing about any trebuchets arriving—”

Ieka laughed softly. She fanned herself, glancing at Tyrion with something akin to admiration.

“He’s using bags of holding, obviously. You’ve got all the parts stored neatly away. And ammunition, I shouldn’t wonder. Nothing to see. Or sabotage. How quickly can they be set up and operated?”

“It will take time, but Emperor Laken assures me that his people can train others in the operation of the weapons. And with them, taking Liscor becomes a reality.”

“How?”

It was the same question, but there was urgency in it this time. Now all the nobles looked at Tyrion, not with incredulity, but wanting to know exactly how it would be done. Yitton pointed out the obvious with a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Attacking Liscor will still violate the terms of our peace.”

“Not if the attack was incidental.”

“You mean—an accident?”

“Yes. An unfortunate misunderstanding. Poor aim as our army finally assaults the Goblin Lord.”

Lord Tyrion’s eyes glittered. He had a cup in his hands. Now he put it down to speak.

“Our army has been pursuing one purpose and one alone: to slay the Goblin Lord. He has escaped us for many days, but at last, we will have cornered him at Liscor. To attack his army, we will deploy trebuchets, a powerful weapon which will surely be his downfall. Unfortunately, on the day of the assault, the trebuchets will misfire. And strike Liscor instead.”

Erill shook his head.

“There is absolutely no way the Drakes will accept that.”

“No? Accidents occur. Regardless, the trebuchets will continue firing until Liscor’s walls are breached. And then, naturally, they will stop. The army will advance upon the Goblin Lord as is our mission. And the Goblins—”

“—Will storm the city through the breaches. Of course.”

Ieka sat back in her chair. Yitton nearly vomited. That was the plan? That? A lie barely disguised? Destroy the walls and let the Goblins pour through? Tyrion was still talking, outlining his plan to the others.

“It is not an offensive action against Liscor. The trebuchets are a terrible mistake. All the bloodshed and the taking of the city itself would be the fault of the Goblins. Naturally, once they sack the city, it would have to be retaken.”

“By a conveniently placed Human army?”

Gralton snorted with amusement. Tyrion nodded.

“If one happened to be nearby.”

“And you think you can take Liscor? Just like that? With trebuchets?”

Ieka eyed Tyrion sardonically, but her hands played with a fork rapidly. She was excited. Tyrion nodded.

“Trebuchets are a rare weapon, one that Liscor was never designed to withstand. Magic, yes, but trebuchets? No. They have enchantments on their walls, but no siege weapons themselves either. Drakes are naturally possessive and that technology resides solely in the Walled Cities, and [Engineers] capable of constructing such weapons have been practically impossible to find—until now.”

“But Liscor was designed to be unassailable. The Necromancer—”

Tyrion held up a hand, forestalling Erill’s argument.

“Liscor’s walls are spelled against magic and physical harm, but how strongly? A [Mage] will tire, but a trebuchet? How many stones will the wall endure before the magic runs out? Forty? A hundred? Liscor is no Walled City. The Necromancer could not take it with his magic, but that was his arrogance. I place my trust in stones and wood. What is real and will not evaporate or disappear.”

“And which you can replicate. Clever.”

Ieka gazed at Laken. The [Emperor] didn’t notice her glance. He was staring ahead. He did not look happy. Tyrion did. He nodded.

“We have the weapons to crack Liscor’s walls, and an expendable army that will see the city as their only salvation. By the time we reach Liscor, I have no doubt that the Drakes will be marching a force north from Pallass to keep the Goblins out of their lands. The Goblin Lord will have no choice but to assault Liscor and hope he can hold the walls.”

Erill nodded.

“And when he does, Liscor falls. And we take the city. We outnumber the Goblins. But wouldn’t they know it’s a trap?”

Gralton grunted.

“Better trying to hold a city than fight a Drake army or a Human one out in the open. And Liscor is what you want, isn’t it, Veltras? That’s what all this is for. Liscor.”

He looked at Tyrion, not as a rabid dog might, but with sharp cunning in his eyes. Tyrion smiled in response. He had a map of Izril and he brought it out now. His fingers traced Liscor and moved ever south, pointing out lines of attack and defence that all ran through one spot.

“Liscor’s value as a strategic location cannot be understated. In the past, our armies have traditionally fought in the Blood Fields as a matter of course; we cannot hope to take and hold Drake Cities further to the south with Liscor at our backs, able to cut our supply lines in half, so we fight at a prearranged location with the Drakes. But if we hold Liscor, we may mount as many southern offensives as need be, at our leisure. The city is practically impregnable if defended correctly.”

“This is insane. It would be the first prelude to a full-scale war. The Drakes would never let Liscor fall so easily.”

Yitton felt like he was alone in the room. The others barely glanced at him, but Erill did look up.

“Yitton has a point, Tyrion. If Magnolia Reinhart has warned the Drakes, they’ll be marching north as fast as they can. But they don’t have to wait. They have that magic door. You recall, from the siege of Liscor?”

Lady Ieka snapped her fingers, frustrated.

“Of course! I recall that thing! They could continually reinforce Liscor, send an army through before we got there! If they do that then—”

“Calm yourselves, that issue has already been accounted for.”

Tyrion’s voice was unperturbed. Erill’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair as he glanced at Tyrion. The [Lord] did not elaborate.

“I’ve already made a move in that regards. Moreover, I suspect that door cannot transport legions of soldiers without great cost. But it is another reason why I intend to take the city. A doorway that would allow us to reinforce the city or transport an army would be of considerable strategic importance.”

“Not to mention economic.”

“Of course. Liscor is a gateway city. And in times of peace, it would be valuable to hold.”

“Lord Tyrion. All of what you’ve said is an open declaration to the Drakes. If you take Liscor, they will declare war. A true war that will split our continent in two once more.”

Yitton spoke through numb lips. He stared at Tyrion. How could he have misjudged the man? But then—he hadn’t. Tyrion had always been aiming at this. He hadn’t lied to anyone. If he’d done the trickery, it was by hiding his intent until the last moment. But he’d shot towards his goal. Straight as an arrow. And just as deadly. Lord Tyrion looked at Yitton, and for a moment his gaze softened. Perhaps he wanted Yitton to understand, but the Lord Byres couldn’t. At last, Tyrion shook his head.

“This is not an act of war. This is an unfortunate accident that will lead to the fall of Liscor. The Goblins will sack the city. And we will clear them out. We will not violate our treaties; nor will we kill a single Drake. Naturally, Liscor must be occupied and so our army will rebuild it stronger and populate it once more.”

Just hearing the way Tyrion phrased it made Yitton feel as though he’d swallowed muck. He bit his tongue rather than shout, but then he heard laughter. It was coarse, boisterous, almost mocking. Lord Gralton stood up. He pointed down at the map and looked Tyrion in the eye, challengingly. His bloodshot gaze promised death, but his words were surprisingly measured as he spoke to Tyrion.

“And if the Drakes don’t buy your twisted words? What if they march their armies north and demand Liscor back at the point of the sword? What if they take it back by force of arms? What then?”

Tyrion Veltras paused. And then he smiled.

“They can try.

 

—-

 

Olesm stood in the conference room of Liscor’s city hall. He was panting, out of breath. For a second Ilvriss, Embria, and Zevara stared at him and the same horror in his chest painted their faces. Then Ilvriss moved. He turned and roared an order at his aides, who were staring into the meeting room.

“Get me a [Message] spell to the Walled Cities now! I want every report on Liscor’s rainfall sitting in front of me!”

They ran. Ilvriss swore and grabbed at his scrying orb. Embria’s voice shook as she looked around.

“I need to find a [Mage]. Now. I must inform the High Command!”

“Them? What can they do?”

Olesm looked incredulously at Embria, but the Wing Commander was already gone. He turned back to the map that Ilvriss was already pouring over.

“If they can break our walls, it’s not a question of holding out. If they can breach the walls, the battle will be swift. How many Drakes can we call up north? How quickly?”

He turned to Olesm. The [Strategist] measured the distance between Pallass and Liscor and shook his head. His claws trembled on the table.

“It’s a four day march from the Blood Fields to Liscor! From Pallass—even with Skills, they won’t make it on time! And that army’s massive! Pallass can’t field—”

Ilvriss turned away from the map.

“The door, then. How many soldiers can we pull through per day?”

“It can barely hold two—but if we use [Mages]—”

Zevara was staring out a window, at the walls of her city. Her voice was very distant as she spoke.

“We’ll need thousands to hold the walls if they can create a breach. Are you sure they have trebuchets? How many? If it’s just a few—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. If they have an [Engineer], they should have one. Two at best! But if Tyrion has multiple [Engineers] somehow—the letter said trebuchets.

“It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t come without enough to do the job.”

Ilvriss slowly sat down at the table. Olesm stared at him. The Wall Lord looked tired. And grim.

“He’ll break open the walls and let the Goblins come through. Then he’ll take the city and pretend it was all an accident. The fault of the Goblins.”

“But that’s such an obvious lie.”

Olesm whispered through numb lips. That was the part he hadn’t understood. Why lie about it? Ilvriss was convinced that was how it would occur, but why did the Human have to pretend? But the Wall Lord just shook his head.

“Of course it’s a lie. But it’s a splendid little lie the Humans can shout. We’ll know its true, and our people will know, but what about Humans who only hear what Tyrion Veltras says? What about other nations? The lie will become truth to many. And it’s the lie that will start a war that Tyrion Veltras wants. It’s…a reason. Humans need reasons to go to war. Even if they’re lies. They want to believe they’re in the right.”

“Then it’s happening. He’s going to besiege Liscor. The Goblin Lord’s coming to destroy the city.”

“Yes.”

Ilvriss didn’t move. Olesm looked at him, and then at Zevara. Both Drakes were very still. And then Zevara turned. She looked older than she had this morning. Older and tired. But fire burned in her. She spoke it as she turned.

“Someone get me Klbkch. Tell him I need to speak with his Queen now. Tell him—Liscor may be in mortal danger. Summon the Antinium and rouse the Watch. Send word to the cities.”

She looked at Olesm and Ilvriss. Both Drakes slowly looked up. Zevara clenched her claws into fists.

“Tell them. And tell the damn Humans. Tell Tyrion Veltras. Tell the world. Liscor hasn’t fallen yet.”

 

—-

 

The dinner party ended with drinks and a toast, as was custom. Yitton could have thrown his drink down, but he stood mechanically as Tyrion addressed the others. The honorable man stood and watched as his peers toasted. And he knew that he was not an honorable man.

An honorable man would have found a way to stop the bloodbath. An honorable man would have fought, rather than stood silently. But for all Yitton feared a war between Drakes and Humans, he had not the courage to try and stop what was occurring. He knew he could not.

So he stood and listened as Tyrion spoke. The Lord of the Veltras family smiled, a cold smile while his eyes burned. He looked from face to face as he raised a wine glass.

“Prepare yourselves accordingly. I will make a formal announcement two days hence, although I suspect the news will already have been leaked in some fashion or other. Regardless, it matters not. In four days we will reach Liscor and the Goblin Lord will begin his siege of the city. In four days, Liscor falls.”

He drank and the others toasted him. Three [Lords], a [Lady], and an [Emperor]. Yitton looked at Laken Godart. The young man raised his goblet but didn’t drink. And though he could not see Yitton, though he was blind, his head turned slightly towards the [Lord]. And Yitton thought he saw a similar expression cross Laken’s face. He was an [Emperor]. But in that moment he and Yitton were the same.

Trapped.

 

—-

 

It was another ordinary day. That was how all days were. Ordinary, until they weren’t. Erin stood outside her inn and stared up at the sky. Normally she would have been drenched in a moment and water would have pelted her upturned face. But for the first time in what felt like ages, Erin didn’t feel the downpour. She felt light and she turned her gaze up to see a bit of sunshine poking through the dark clouds.

“Oh. The rain’s stopped. That’s wonderful!”

She smiled. The rain had stopped! Maybe it would be only for a moment, but people had been saying it was about time for the weather to change. She hoped it would be sunny soon. She couldn’t wait for the summer. She tilted her head back up, smiling, and then heard it.

A strange echo of the falling rain. A distant patter, a thumping heard far off. Like a heartbeat. Or drums, heralding war. Erin shook her head and rubbed at her ears, wondering if there was water caught in her inner ear. After a moment she shrugged and went back to her inn. That was the last she thought of the sound.

But he heard it too. The Goblin crouching on a distant hilltop, nearly invisible in the grass, raised his head and looked northwards. He could sense the thunder in the distance, growing louder and louder. He looked back to the inn, and at the closing door and the young woman who disappeared inside. The old Goblin stroked his grey, tangled beard.

“What do I see? An army of lost children and five who walk Garen Redfang’s path. What will you do, for all those who play games with Goblin lives? And who is she?

Greydath of Blades stared at the inn, and then his gaze twisted north, to a cave where he sensed the strangeness that had drawn him south. An unexpected twist to all this. There were some things even a Goblin Lord couldn’t predict. Well, he would see what it meant soon enough.

He grinned and his eyes burned crimson. Greydath stood up and leapt into the water. He disappeared with a splash into the murky depths and the fish swimming around him fled. After a few minutes a dark shape darted closer. The waters became violent for a second, and then blood began to rise up like an underwater cloud.

No one noticed. The people of Liscor looked up as the rain stopped, and they saw something wonderful as Erin went back to her window. The end of the rains had brought something special to the skies over Liscor. A rainbow. It shone down from the heavens, a beautiful light that stretched from mountain to mountain. Erin smiled and hummed to herself as she stood outside and the sun finally showed itself.

It looked like it might be a beautiful day.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.53

Happy. Of course, Goblins had a word for the feeling. They understood happiness as well as any other race, no matter what other species thought of them. They had a word for happy and more words for grief and anger than could be expressed in the limited language of the common tongue. But they had only one word for happy.

That was because happiness to a Goblin was ever fleeting. It was not a long term state of being; to them it could not be. They could be happy, but they were aware that it would never last. Even if a Goblin tribe was strong, or had hidden from enemies, even if they were safe as safe could be, someday, they would be found. Someday they would die.

So their word for happiness wasn’t a blanket statement. To a Goblin, happy was a temporary, fleeting moment of perfection. A moment of paradise in the darkness. A second where everything was right. Happy was not forever, and so it was all the more precious because of it.

And the Redfang Goblins were happy. Madly, deliriously happy. So much so that they expected each day to wake up and for it all to be a dream. But it wasn’t.

They lived in the Dropclaw bat cave now, which was now free of Dropclaw bats and filled to the brim with Cave Goblins. In fact, they weren’t just occupying one cave. After it had become clear that only so many Goblins could sleep on top of one another before someone died of suffocation, the Goblins had gone scouting nearby and found more caves.

It wasn’t as if Liscor lacked for caves. Given that the city and the surrounding area was a basin formed in the center of the High Passes, there were hundreds of smaller caves that opportunistic monsters or animals could lair in. And while many had flooded with the rains, there were still many more that remained above the water line.

In fact, the road north had several good spots to hide out in, although as you went north and eventually passed by Esthelm, the pass would widen until you left the mountains behind entirely. The Cave Goblins hadn’t bothered to go that far; they’d found two other caves with ample elbow room and settled there. They had to evict the former occupants; a group of very upset Face Eater Moths who were even more upset when their burgeoning nest was smashed into oblivion and they themselves became dinner for hungry Goblins.

And now the Redfang Hobs woke each day with small Goblins around them. They ate, and then trained. And the Cave Goblins followed them and learned.

Were they Chieftains? The Hobs had no idea. They felt as though they were in a sense. They taught the Cave Goblins and gave them orders and there was no question they were in charge. But none of them had gotten the [Chieftain] class and they all considered themselves part of Garen’s tribe. Too, there were five of them and even if Headscratcher was their leader at times, he was only the first among equals.

They’d discussed the issue multiple times but given up because it was a headache and besides, it didn’t matter. The Redfangs instead focused their energy on doing what they did best: training. They hadn’t even meant to train the other Goblins at first. They just went around their daily routines until they noticed that there would be hundreds of Cave Goblins watching them and copying them at any time. And so the Redfang Hobs had begun teaching the copycats, just like Garen Redfang and the older Hobs had once trained them in their youths.

Each taught the Cave Goblins according to his strengths. There was no planning to it; the Redfang Goblins had no idea how to lead a tribe, so they just did what they’d always done, and the Cave Goblins followed them about. In that sense there were five mini-tribes, all of whom coexisted peacefully in the cave and dungeon. Cave Goblins came and went using the secret passages known only to them.

The Shield Spider’s nest had been carefully altered to make a walkway for easier passage to and fro from the surface to the dungeon. Sometimes Goblins still fell, and when they did, the Shield Spiders feasted. But the invisibility that protected the Goblins hadn’t dissipated with the defeat of the Raskghar. And now that they were free, more and more looked to the surface.

To the Hobs. If you were a newcomer Cave Goblin, who’d just made the long journey to the surface, there were five splendid camps you could choose from. It was a difficult choice but once the Cave Goblins committed, they didn’t switch leaders. In that sense it was very much like a separate tribe, and each one had their nuances.

Those who followed Headscratcher, the [Berserker] with the enchanted axe and the ability to burst into tears while watching a play in Erin’s inn were fighters to the core. They trained relentlessly, following the Hob as he exercised and fighting much like Headscratcher did, creating crude axes out of stones or using looted weapons in training.

They had the closest bonds and fought like brothers. Or like sisters. Like a family. The Hob told them stories of his family, the fallen. Bugear, Grunter, Leftstep…and he trained them as hard as he’d been trained. Harder. So they would never stand alone.

On the other hand, if you were a Goblin who eschewed simply hitting things as hard as you could, you went to Shorthilt’s mini-tribe. The Goblins who flocked to him were warriors as well, but of a different kind. Like the Hob, they believed in finding the sharpest, most effective weapons to use in battle and even thought about things like ‘tactics’ and ‘strategy’ in battle.

They were both armorers and weapon smiths. Shorthilt had gotten a small armory of weapons from Erin and the best Goblins used those. The rest created a terrifying arsenal out of wood, bone, and rock. With Shorthilt’s help, they learned that you could put an edge on an entirely wooden axe that could cut as finely as any metal one. His Goblins trained and worked on their weapons for all five tribes, although they only used blunt weapons while sparring. Because no one wanted to lose an arm.

If those two were the frontline warriors factions, the other three Goblins occupied more useful roles, at least when it didn’t come to the fighting. For instance, Badarrow’s group was comprised solely of [Archers]. While it was the smallest of the five factions due to the Hob’s grumpy nature and the complexities of wielding a bow, Badarrow and his archers did almost all of the hunting. They could kill fish with their arrows and any bird flying overhead was soon a pincushion.

In his quest for the perfect arrow, Badarrow and his tribe slowly knocked down every tree in the area, obsessively fletching and shooting the precious arrows at targets both night and day. Badarrow could usually be found on the roof of the Dropclaw bat cave, shooting arrows at targets with his students. If you were lucky, he’d slip up and you’d catch him smiling.

While Badarrow’s faction was the smallest, the largest by far was the group of Goblins that followed Rabbiteater. Like the other Goblins, they learned to fight Redfang style, but that wasn’t the focus of their group. No, instead they cooked.

Yes, cooked. Rabbiteater spent more time copying Erin’s food and learning from the master herself than he did training. As such, his Goblins wielded the ladle and spatula and learned how to debone fish, fry bird meat, and wash their hands before every meal.

Rabbiteater also taught them how to look for traps, forage for food, weave nets, and make the most comfortable beds, as befitted a Goblin who had truly been the jack-of-trades among the five Hobs. Now of course he was a [Champion], but to his admirers, the ability to produce tasty food and create dental floss far outweighed mere combat. Rabbiteater’s group was thus envied and scorned by the other four factions, although no one complained when it was time to eat.

And the last faction was Numbtongue’s. Unlike the others groups, they didn’t spend their time copying the Hob’s every action. Rather, they generally just sat around and listened. And learned.

Numbtongue sat in his cave and played on his guitar. He had an audience; hundreds of green bodies sat around him. Crimson eyes followed his claws as he played a song he’d learned from Erin. But no one made a sound. The Cave Goblins listened as Numbtongue played a classic from Erin’s world. Or something close to it.

“I don’t know exactly how it goes. But it uh, sounds like this. Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo…no, that note’s a bit higher. Hey, do you want me to write this down?”

Of Erin’s many talents, writing sheet music and playing instruments weren’t one of them. But she could at least hum the melody and Numbtongue would spend hours recreating the songs. Now he strummed the guitar and brought a song from her home into this cave. It was a melancholy song if you were sad. Or a beautiful one if you weren’t.

His guitar sang. Sparks of electricity shot from the chords and danced across Numbtongue’s fingers as he played. The battered, twice-repaired guitar echoed in the cave. The bass was deeper than it should be for the size of the instrument. The notes echoed as Numbtongue sped up, switching to another song. And his audience listened, captivated.

Curiously, none of the Cave Goblins joined in. They just listened as he played. When Numbtongue stopped they’d make music. His group had begun hitting rocks together, making crude drums, and trying to replicate the guitar without success. They’d kept the other Cave Goblins up at night with their racket. But when Numbtongue spoke or played, they just listened.

It bothered the Hob, to be honest. Because his Cave Goblins were acting much like he did around Erin. He had a deep suspicion that they’d listened to every word he’d said to Erin—and everything the Human said on her daily visits to the cave. His faction was probably at least semi-fluent by now, but like Numbtongue, they refrained from speaking except when excessively poked.

Music, speech, and obviously, fighting. Those were his Cave Goblins. And they were his. Numbtongue had never felt as protective of a group of Goblins before. They were like children, although some of the Goblins were older than he was. But he was a Hob and they looked at him like…like…

Like he’d looked at Garen. As a small Goblin looked at a hero. Someone who they aspired to be like. That bothered Numbtongue because he knew he was no Garen. But no matter how many times he tried to shoo the Cave Goblins away, they kept following him. So in desperation he tried to be the leader they expected of him.

He should probably show them how to hit things now. Probably. But Numbtongue played on. His fingers danced along the guitar strings. It was so unlike the rapid, brutal way of fighting he’d learned. That was an art too, but a violent one, with sudden starts and stops and blood. This—this was beautiful.

The cave was dark. Rabbiteater had moved his cooking fires outside because of all the smoke. But the flashing electricity illuminated the cave each time Numbtongue played a chord. That was why he was given a respectful distance by his audience. Numbtongue didn’t know why he’d gained the [Electric Chords] Skill or, as he’d become a Level 25 Bard, [Lightning Melody]. Both Skills were clearly related to his class, but why were they electricity-based?

Erin had speculated that it was because Numbtongue had been playing the songs she’d taught him on the guitar. Why or how that mattered was a mystery, but apparently Humans played on guitars that used lightning all the time in Erin’s home. She’d tried to explain it to Numbtongue, but her words had made no sense.

No sense, unless you noticed how sometimes Erin would say things about her home that everyone else paid attention to. Pisces, Ceria, Typhenous…all the Antinium…they knew something about Erin. And the Hobs knew that they knew, although they didn’t know what it was they knew. She came from somewhere far off. Somewhere unlike anywhere in this world. From…another world? How? And why?

Thoughts like that made Numbtongue’s head hurt so he played another riff on his guitar. Fine, [Electric Chords] was a good ability to have, even if using a guitar in combat wasn’t the smartest of life choices. But [Lightning Melody]? How would that work?

He’d woken up to hear the glorious announcement in his head today. Unlike the other Hobs, Numbtongue and Rabbiteater had been leveling fast; both had gained two levels this week alone somehow. It was probably because they were fulfilling the requirements of their class. Shorthilt, Rabbiteater, and Badarrow could train, but they didn’t level nearly as fast as they would fighting monsters. On the other hand, Numbtongue had all the time to play his guitar in front of an audience. And Rabbiteater…well, he might just be leveling up by existing.

And now Numbtongue had another Skill. Was [Lightning Melody] a powerful one? He thought it was. Part of him had been worried he wouldn’t get any useful Skills for fighting, but his new Skill seemed to indicate he could summon lightning. Like a [Mage].

But surely it wasn’t that easy, right? Numbtongue frowned and shifted his grip on the guitar. He shifted up the tempo of his playing and chose a fast-paced song. If Erin had been present, she would have recognized the tune Numbtongue was shredding on the guitar.

Fast. Faster. Numbtongue imagined calling the electricity flying from the tips of his guitar and into the instrument. He could hear Rabbiteater cooking outside, smell roasting fish. On the roof of the cave Badarrow was shouting at his students as they fired arrows—

No, focus. Draw in energy into the guitar. Numbtongue’s clawed fingers flew across the guitar. Electricity shot from his hands, making the nearest Cave Goblins flinch back. Sweat began to bead on Numbtongue’s forehead. He reached the climax of his solo and shouted as he raised the guitar up over his head.

Hiyah!

All the Goblins in the room ducked. A few errant sparks of electricity shot from Numbtongue’s chords and hands, but nothing happened. The Hob stared at his guitar, and then looked around. His students stared back at him. Sheepishly, Numbtongue lowered the guitar. He began to strum a gentler song, coughing in embarrassment. Maybe he needed to sing? He knew all the words to a lot of the songs Erin had taught him, but it was embarrassing to do it in front of an audience. Especially if they joined in.

There was still a feeling of tension in the guitar, though. Numbtongue frowned as he played on. It did feel like the electricity was gathering, but how was he supposed to unleash it? Maybe he needed this ‘electric guitar’ Erin kept talking about?

The Hob played five more notes and lightning shot down from the sky, blowing Badarrow off his perch and sending his students fleeing. Numbtongue looked up when he heard the screams and raced outside with the others. He paused when he saw Badarrow lying on the ground, weakly waving his arms and legs and stared at the smoldering crater that marked the spot where lightning had struck.

Uh? Uh?

That was all Badarrow said for a while until the color came back to his face. When he did finally manage to sit up and got an explanation from the babbling Goblins around him, he chased Numbtongue about, shouting and kicking at his back. By the time Badarrow had vented his considerable pique, Headscratcher had returned with his group. The Hob slowed to a stop as he ran towards the crowd of Goblins. Sweat was covering his bare chest and he was naked save for a pair of pants and the enchanted axe on his belt.

He’d taken his group on a run. Headscratcher stared at Numbtongue’s guitar as they explained what had happened, and then he nodded.

“Sit?”

The four Hobs present looked at each other. They nodded. Numbtongue looked around.

“One of you find Shorthilt. Tell him we are going to have a war meeting.”

 

—-

 

War meeting. This was another thing they were teaching the Cave Goblins, something the Redfangs had learned from their tribe. The five Hobs sat in their cave while Goblins crowded around them. Many had to sit outside, but whatever was said or done was instantly conveyed to them.

Numbtongue shifted uncomfortably as he sat next to Shorthilt and Rabbiteater. This was an old practice. It was a Redfang tradition after encountering a tough foe in the High Passes. The entire tribe would sit together, just like this and come up with a plan to defeat their enemy—or avoid them. It was just like this, except it wasn’t like this.

Normally Redscar would be…there. Right across from Garen Redfang himself. The best warriors and Hobs would be sitting in the center, with the weaker ones slowly radiating outwards. Instead, it was the five Hobs sitting in the center and all the Cave Goblins watching. It felt different. Wrong. And yet, it was all the Hobs knew.

Headscratcher opened the war council up by clearing his throat. The Hob couldn’t speak the common tongue well, so he defaulted to the Goblin’s tongue and sign language. Only Numbtongue spoke in common for the benefit of his faction.

Lightning attack good. Is good Skill. Not hurt Badarrow is good too.

The other Hobs nodded. Badarrow growled.

Stupid Skill.

Good Skill. Powerful. Like Silver-rank spell. Tier 3.

Shorthilt shook his head. He nodded at Numbtongue who nodded back. Badarrow folded his arms and grunted moodily. Rabbiteater grinned.

Powerful! Can do again? Many times?

No!

All the Hobs reacted when Rabbiteater pointed to the guitar. Numbtongue shook his head.

“It takes a while to work. The Skill is not…convenient. But I think I can do it again. It’s probably stronger on cloudy days.”

The Goblins glanced towards the cave entrance. The rainclouds that haunted Liscor were still pouring. It was definitely a phenomenon of the weather; in their cave outside of Liscor they often got showers, but only in the floodplains were the rains ever-present. Headscratcher nodded.

Is good. Skill good. Could hurt Gargoyles with lightning.

Mm.

The other Hobs nodded. That would be useful. Shorthilt looked around in his seat at the watching Goblins.

Gargoyles tough. But new not-tribes strong. Maybe enough to fight in High Passes?

The other Redfang Warriors considered the question. They glanced at their factions, assessing. Of course, they were all regular Goblins and thus a lot weaker than a tribe with Hobs, but Numbtongue thought that was a temporary situation at best. Recently, several Cave Goblins in his faction had begun eating far more than the others. And some were getting…big.

My warriors strong. Could beat regular Goblins in fight.

Headscratcher nodded decisively. Shorthilt raised his brows.

Good. My group could kill Eater Goats. Maybe.

The two Hobs stared at each other appraisingly. Badarrow rolled his eyes.

Going to High Passes?

He interrupted the beginning of an argument. Both Hobs quieted down. At last, Headscratcher shook his head.

Good food here. Nice…place.

The other Hobs nodded in agreement. This was a nice place. And yet—what came next? They’d agreed on the essentials. Their Goblins were getting stronger. Numbtongue being able to call down lightning however sporadically was good. But what came next?

Fight in dungeon? Hunt down hiding Raskghar? Eat fish? Train?

Rabbiteater counted down their options. The Hobs nodded. Each option sounded good. And yet they knew that these were all transitory activities. Numbtongue was the one to say it.

“When the rains stop, what will we do next? We’re in the middle of the road and close to the city. And Erin cannot feed us forever.”

The other four looked at him with expressions of resignation and dismay. Numbtongue felt guilty himself. Why did he have to say it?

None of them wanted to think about what would happen soon. They knew this wasn’t sustainable; despite Rabbiteater’s faction constantly fishing and Badarrow’s group bringing in food (and Headscratcher occasionally killing something while on his runs), Erin was essentially paying to feed all the Goblins. She was constantly bringing in bags of flour, produce, and so on  through her magic door. And while she claimed she was ‘good for it’ thanks to the bounty Ilvriss had paid out, Numbtongue was aware of how much she had to be spending per day.

“It’s a lot of money.”

He hunched his shoulders. Headscratcher nodded slowly. He looked towards the far end of the cave. There, propped up against the wall, was the door. While the Cave Goblins had placed bedrolls and supplies practically everywhere else, the spot around the door was kept clean and no one was allowed to sleep there. It was like a shrine, although the Goblins had no understanding of what a shrine was. But they venerated the spot nonetheless because of where it led.

Can find more shiny metal in dungeon. Probably.

How much?

Shorthilt wrinkled his nose. The Goblins knew in abstract how much gold was worth, but they hadn’t placed any value on it. The reaction of the adventurers had told them what they’d given away, but the Goblins couldn’t bring themselves to covet the useless, glittering stuff. Headscratcher frowned.

Don’t know. Numbtongue find out? Go get food and check?

He looked carefully at Numbtongue. So did the others. Numbtongue froze.

“Why me?”

The other Hobs rolled their eyes. Only Numbtongue could read, obviously! Rabbiteater kicked Numbtongue in the side and Badarrow leaned over to poke him. Numbtongue growled, but in the end nodded.

“Fine. I’ll see what the menu says. Or ask.”

He stood up. The other Goblins moved back as Numbtongue moved to the door. He glanced back at the other four Hobs as they began to discuss more training and the idea of hunting something bigger down, like a Rock Crab. But that was all for show. He knew that Headscratcher’s idea about finding money to pay Erin with was just that: an idea.

It still didn’t solve the problem. It still didn’t change the fact that there were too many Goblins and they didn’t know what to do. Numbtongue knew that and it weighed on him. Soon, very soon, they would have to do something. He placed his hand on the door and felt the trembling that told him it was connected. He wished, at times, that he wasn’t the only one who could speak Erin’s language. Because that meant that  someday, perhaps very soon, he would have to be the one to tell Erin goodbye.

But for today at least…he stepped through the doorway into The Wandering Inn and inhaled slowly. The air was warm and the inn was bustling. Gnolls and Drakes waited tables while a smattering of people sat and ate. Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, all looked up when Numbtongue stepped through the door. There was a moment of hesitation, but just that. Then they turned back to their food. No one screamed. No one grabbed a weapon. And Numbtongue felt safe here.

That was happiness.

 

—-

 

“Numbtongue! Are you here for today’s lunch? Sorry, it’s not done just yet. I’m showing Pebblesnatch how to make it. Mind waiting for a bit? Can I get you a beer? I have a dark lager.”

“A what?”

“Um…a kind of beer? Here, I’ve marked the keg so I know exactly which kind it is. Hold on, Ishkr, toss me a clean mug! We’re all out over here!”

Numbtongue blinked as Erin waved energetically at a Gnoll heading out of the kitchen. He saw Ishkr toss a mug in a lazy arc at Erin. The [Innkeeper] jumped up for it. And missed.

“Uh oh—”

The Hob snagged the handle of the mug and handed it to Erin. She smiled sheepishly at him.

“Thanks, Numbtongue.”

“You’re…welcome.”

The Hob felt awkward, but Erin just grinned and filled the mug with the dark liquid. She handed it to Numbtongue.

“There. Have a taste and let me know how it is. I think it’s awful, to be honest. But I don’t drink alcohol. [Immunity: Alcohol], you know. I could disable the Skill of course, but what’s the point of drinking alcohol anyways? Fruit juice tastes better.”

“Mm.”

Numbtongue sipped from his mug as he leaned against the bar. The dark lager was indeed not nearly as sweet as an ale or fruit juices, but he thought Erin was doing it a disservice. It was certainly better than stagnant pond water or drinking blood. Actually, if that was your standard than a lager was the greatest drink in the world.

“How’s everyone doing in the caves? Eating enough? Do you need me to go on another supply run? And by me, I mean getting Ishkr and the guys to do it?”

Erin stood and chatted with Numbtongue as they looked at her busy inn. She was busy but not at the same time; there were any number of people Erin could chat to, and she could cook in her kitchen or help wait tables, but she didn’t have to do anything. Her inn staff was now large enough to take on all the roles needed and Lyonette was cooking more and more of the dishes with Mrsha as a ‘taste tester’.

“They’re…good. I learned to play another song.”

Numbtongue decided not to bring up nearly frying Badarrow with lightning. Erin smiled.

“Ooh! Which one?”

“The one about fire.”

“You mean, I See Fire? By Ed Sheeran?”

“Mm. Yes, that one. Good song. Relaxing.”

“You should have seen the music video. It was made for The Hobbit, you know. I really liked those movies, no matter what everyone else said. They’re so long that I could play chess and just watch them on my laptop…but you don’t understand what I’m talking about, right?”

“Nope.”

Numbtongue leaned back, mug in hand. He tried not to smile. Erin’s ramblings were enjoyable to listen to. But he didn’t want to let her know he enjoyed them. The [Innkeeper] shot him a sidelong glance.

“Okay, I know this is a lot, but I’ve explained electric guitars to you, right? Well, you see, movies are these things that run on electricity. Sort of. They’re these pictures that appear on a screen. Like magic. Actually, that’s the best way to describe all of this. It’s all these magic moving images with sound that tell stories. And the Hobbit’s about…oh, hey Pawn!”

Erin broke off and waved. Numbtongue looked over and saw that the magic door had opened to let Pawn and several Soldiers in. Drassi waved them through and then adjusted the door to Celum. She opened it, checked for waiting visitors, and then closed the door. Erin had come up with a rotation system so that no one would be left waiting longer than ten or so minutes in any location. Now Erin smiled at the rain-soaked Antinium.

“Sorry Numbtongue. I’ll be back. Hey Pawn! How are you doing? And hi Yellow Splatters, who’s this pink guy?”

The young woman walked over to greet the Antinium Worker and Soldiers. Numbtongue stayed where he was, sipping his drink and watching. He saw Erin usher the Antinium over to a seat and call for food. Then she began pointing back at him. He saw her return.

“Sorry about that! Where were we?”

Numbtongue blinked at Erin. He glanced at the Antinium, who were alternatively looking at Drassi who was heading towards them with a trio of steaming bowls of soup and at Erin.

“You aren’t going to stay with them?”

Erin frowned.

“Well, yeah, of course I’ll go back to chat. But I was talking with you. We don’t see each other anymore; the least we can do is chat for a bit. You want a snack while we’re chatting?”

“No. Thank you.”

The Hob blinked at Erin. She smiled and took a seat on a bar stool.

“Okay then. Where was I? Movies, that’s right. Let me know if I’m boring you. Or you want to talk. But the thing about movies is—”

She began telling Numbtongue a strange story about small not-Dwarves going on a mission to steal treasure from a Dragon. Interspersed with her commentary, Erin kept interrupting to give Numbtongue context about her home, about a place called Hollywood and why everyone didn’t like the movie as much as the original movie, which was about a bunch of small not-Dwarves going to deliver a ring to a volcano. Numbtongue listened, grunting where appropriate. He was enjoying himself and couldn’t help smiling, so he covered it by drinking two lagers in quick succession.

After a few minutes of chatting both Erin and Numbtongue simultaneously realized they had company. Goblin and Human turned to look at Pawn, who was silently standing behind the bar. Listening to them.

“Uh, hi Pawn. Is something wrong?”

The Worker shook his head. He glanced sideways at Numbtongue.

“No, I am just standing here, Erin. Listening. Please continue.”

Erin wavered. She looked at Pawn and then at Numbtongue.

“Well—okay. But I’m sort of talking to Numbtongue here. It’s not anything secret but—I’ll come over to talk with you guys soon, okay?”

Pawn nodded. He didn’t budge. Erin looked at him.

“Pawn?”

The Worker folded all four of his arms.

“What? I am standing here. I would not wish to take away time from Numbtongue. So I will simply stand and listen here until you have time to join us. Please ignore my presence.”

Erin and Numbtongue exchanged a slow glance.

“Do you want to speak with Lyonette, Pawn?”

The Antinium shook his head.

“She is busy. And I have spoken to her already yesterday. I am perfectly content not speaking with Lyonette. I will just wait here until you are done, please.”

His tone was surprisingly hostile. Numbtongue eyed Pawn warily. He’d never really talked to the Antinium, and the Worker was giving him a long look. Erin narrowed her eyes as she looked from Pawn to Numbtongue. And then, suddenly, she blinked.

“Are you…jealous, Pawn?”

“…Maybe.”

The Worker shuffled his feet. Erin gaped at him, and then laughed.

“Why? I’m only talking with Numbtongue!”

Pawn looked down at his feet.

“Yes. But you talk with the Goblins often. And sometimes it feels as though you speak more with them than with us. Statistically, you spend 271.08% more time with Goblin individuals as a whole than with Antinium.”

“That’s because I talk to the Hobs when they come over, Pawn. And you always bring a crowd. Your statistics are a lie!”

Erin threw up her hands, visibly amused and bemused at the same time. She looked helplessly at Numbtongue.

“I didn’t know the Antinium resented me talking with you guys. Pawn, why didn’t you say anything? And why are you jealous? It’s not like I don’t spend lots of time with you all!”

The Worker looked embarrassed. He muttered as he looked down at the floor.

“It is just that we were the only species you spent time with before they came. Now there are Goblins and we wonder which group you like more. Evidence points to the Goblins being the preferred group.”

What evidence?

“…Circumstantial evidence? You give them beers.”

“That’s because it’s made of wheat! For the love of—come on, Numbtongue, Pawn. We’re going to settle this right now.”

Erin marched the two over to the table with the Soldiers and sat them down. Numbtongue suddenly found himself staring at a bunch of very large Soldiers who were silently eating from their bowls. The largest of them, Yellow Splatters, stared silently at Numbtongue. The Hob had the distinct impression he was being seized up and immediately did the same. He didn’t like what his brain told him.

“Okay, we’re all sitting together now. Goblins and Antinium, see? No one’s being left out.”

Erin sighed as she looked from impassive face to face. Pawn sat in his chair, defiantly sipping from his bowl of soup. The Worker shook his head as he stared at Numbtongue. He had no eyelids, but his look was definitely a glare.

“I don’t think we’re alike. There is very little to support your claims, Miss Erin.”

“Come on, Pawn…at least try.

The Worker hunched his shoulders at the reprimand in Erin’s voice. At last, he opened his mandibles grudgingly.

“We play chess. Do you play chess?”

Numbtongue shook his head. Erin had taught some of the Cave Goblins how to play and Shorthilt had expressed an interest, as had Badarrow, but the game wasn’t for him.

“No. I play music. On the guitar.”

Pawn nodded. He looked at Erin and folded two of his arms.

“There. The judgment is clear. There is no relationship at all.”

Pawn…

The Worker looked huffy but said nothing. But Numbtongue wasn’t gazing at him. He was staring at Yellow Splatters. The Soldier was just inspecting him now. And strangely, Numbtongue thought he did share something in common with the Soldier.

He had heard of the Antinium battling the Raskghar from Erin and Pebblesnatch. He knew not all of them had survived. And in Yellow Splatters he sensed a kindred spirit. The Soldier had no lips. He had no eyelids. He had no nose or eyes that could shed tears. But Numbtongue sensed that he too was a fellow warrior that had seen the battlefield. So the Hob hesitated, and then broke his cardinal rule of standoffishness. He looked at the Soldier—at the other seven Soldiers sitting at the table and spoke slowly.

“Dying hurts. Friends dying…hurts.”

Pawn and Erin both froze. The Soldiers just looked at Numbtongue. As one, they lowered their bowls of soup. The Hob nodded.

“You fought Raskghar. We respect that. They killed many, many Goblins. Soldiers killed many Raskghar. Fought bravely. Respect.”

He tapped a fist against his chest. Yellow Splatters stared at Numbtongue. Then, suddenly, the Soldier brought up his fist and copied the gesture. His chitin clicked softly as it met his chest. Pawn gaped.

Numbtongue eyed Yellow Splatters’ bowl. The Soldier hesitated, then pushed the bowl to him. He heard a gasp from Erin, but didn’t hesitate. Carefully, Numbtongue raised the bowl and took a sip.

It was good. A hearty fish broth of some kind, made very spicy. Numbtongue found a chunk of fish and chewed it. He slid the bowl back to Yellow Splatters and nodded.

“Food is good.”

“It is.”

Pawn spoke quietly. His animosity of earlier was forgotten as he stared between Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. The Hob and Soldier sat together. Then Numbtongue smiled. Yellow Splatters’ mandibles moved up slightly. Erin held her breath. Pawn looked between the two and his entire posture relaxed. He seemed to sigh, and then raised his voice.

“…Did you say you played music?

 

—-

 

Half an hour later, Erin circled her inn, waiting on tables, talking to Olesm and Zevara who were quite busy for some reason, and glancing at the table with the Goblin and Antinium. They were engaged in a conversation that was as much sign language as verbal communication. They’d been talking non-stop for a while now, and Erin had to admit, she was a bit lonely.

After they’d broken the ice, Numbtongue and Pawn had begun to talk so much that she’d barely been able to get a word in. And they’d been so engrossed that they had barely noticed when she’d left.

“Huh. That’s actually sort of hurtful.”

Erin muttered as she walked into her kitchen. She looked around and saw a Cave Goblin standing at the stove. Pebblesnatch was stirring the pot with a big spoon. The Cave Goblin was wearing a big chef’s hat that Erin had bought for her and an apron. Erin smiled.

“Pebblesnatch, how’s the soup?”

The Goblin looked over and grinned at Erin. She held a clawed thumb up. Erin went over and smelled the soup.

“Ooh. That’s good. Yeah, we’re ready to send it back. Can you take the pot? You’re sure? It’s not too heavy? Okay, then.”

She walked back into the inn. Numbtongue was playing guitar at his table, much to the amazement of the enraptured Antinium. Erin felt bad, but the soup was hot and she knew the other Goblins got upset if they had to wait. Reluctantly, Erin raised her voice.

Hey, Numbtongue! Order up!

The Hob looked over. He reluctantly abandoned his guitar and came over. The Antinium stood as well.

“I’m sorry guys, but I’ve got lunch for the other Goblins.”

“We understand. But perhaps we could come back tomorrow? To talk?”

Pawn looked at Numbtongue. The Hob smiled. So did Erin.

“I’m sure the Goblins could join you at any time. But for now—Pebblesnatch?”

The Cave Goblin trundled out of the kitchen holding the big pot between two gloves. Erin let her come over and offered Numbtongue a bowl of the soup.

“This is fishy minestrone soup with a side of hot garlic bread. Share it; Pebblesnatch can teach the others how to make more, okay? Oh, and take some baking soda. And some flour. Krshia just sent me a shipment via boat. And you’ll need some vegetables. Oh, and pepper. And do you have enough plates?”

Numbtongue grunted an affirmative and sighed as Erin began grabbing things to hand him. He glanced back at the Antinium and saw Pawn wave. He waved back and then began balancing the mass of objects Erin wanted him to carry through the door.

“Sorry, I know you wanted to chat, but I remember you telling me how there was a big fight last time the food was late. If you want to come back, I can open the door—”

“No. We talked enough. They will come back and we will talk more. With the others.”

Numbtongue grunted. His arms were trembling a bit despite himself. Did Erin have to make him carry everything at once? The [Innkeeper] fumbled with the mana stones in the bowl.

“Okay. I’m really glad you two liked each other. Hold on—the door’s nearly open. Give my best to the others! Tell them to come through sometime! Obviously not with all the Goblins but—hey, we should do a Goblins-only night at the inn sometime!”

“Yes. Good idea. Goodbye.”

Numbtongue edged through the open door. He heard Pebblesnatch follow him and then he was immediately beset by all sides.

“Food!”

Headscratcher roared as he lifted a sack of flour from Numbtongue’s arms. He passed it to a group of Cave Goblins who spirited the sack to Rabbiteater’s waiting cooking team. Pebblesnatch growled and spat and kicked to keep the other Cave Goblins clear of her bowl.

“You know how to make?”

Rabbiteater looked at Pebblesnatch as she put down the pot in the center of the room. The Cave Goblin adjusted her hat importantly and nodded. She marched out of the cave importantly, already screeching orders at the others. As the one Cave Goblin allowed to stay in Erin’s inn, she was practically as important as the Hobs.

“What is?”

Shorthilt pointed with interest at the multi-colored soup as other Cave Goblins jostled for a look. Numbtongue shrugged.

“Minestrone soup. With fish. Also garlic bread. It has garlic in it and butter.”

The Hob chortled as Numbtongue showed him the buttered bread. Immediately all six sat down and began dividing the bowls amongst themselves. Some of the other Cave Goblins fought for a place, but they let the Hobs fill their bowls and grab the hot bread first before taking their share.

That was how it worked. Erin brought some freshly-made food for the Hobs and some of the Cave Goblins and let Pebblesnatch disseminate the recipe for the rest of the Goblins to cook in a huge batch. The Hobs began eating greedily, tearing into the bread and dipping it into the soup, trying to both savor the food and scarf it down at once. As they ate, Numbtongue related his exchange with the Antinium to his interested audience.

“Good fighters.”

Headscratcher nodded as he chewed a big mouthful. The Hobs practiced speaking the common tongue with Numbtongue when they could. Headscratcher smiled when Numbtongue told him the Antinium could read Goblin sign language almost as well as Goblins. And he smiled wider when Numbtongue told him about Erin’s fascination with dark lager.

“We get keg? It taste good?”

“I’ll ask at dinner. It’s tasty.”

“How much cost? In coins?”

Numbtongue froze. He swallowed slowly and avoided meeting Shorthilt’s eyes.

“Um…I forgot to ask.”

The Shorthilt tsked. He reached over and jabbed him in the side. The others laughed and chucked tomato bits at Numbtongue. Numbtongue yelped and glared, but endured the Hob’s laughter and ribbing. Rabbiteater sipped from his bowl and frowned.

“Good. But add more salt?”

“No. You put in your bowl. Stupid.”

Badarrow slapped Rabbiteater’s claws away from pot. Sighing, the newly-minted [Champion] added the coarse grains of salt to his bowl. The other Hobs kicked him silently. Rabbiteater liked things too salty. Headscratcher filled up his third bowl, smiling with delight.

“Good. Make more!”

His comment was aimed at the cooking team who was already hard at work gathering water, deboning fish, and so on. The Hobs kept eating, listening to the loud chattering and Pebblesnatch shouting orders and sometimes insults at the Goblins as they prepared the meal for the others—until suddenly, everything went silent outside.

All five Hobs froze in place. The sounds of Goblins cooking and milling about had cut off abruptly. Something was wrong. Headscratcher set down his bowl and Numbtongue reached for his sword and guitar. The others stood up and the Cave Goblins scrambled for their weapons as well. They stared towards the cave entrance. Had the Goblins spotted something? Monsters? Or an adventurer? If it was an attack they’d be fleeing inside and screaming. But what—

Something moved at the mouth of the cave, blocking the sunshine. It was tall, and moved forwards slowly. Cautiously. The Hobs held still as they waited. Numbtongue’s claws hovered over the strings of his guitar. Badarrow slowly put an arrow to his bowstring. And then they saw whatever it was step into view. All five Redfang Warriors, all the Cave Goblins, paused.

A Hobgoblin stood in the entrance to their cave. He was tall, as tall as Headscratcher and lean. His muscle stood out on his bare chest  and he wore only a long-hanging loincloth and belt. His body had many scars and the Hobgoblin carried a greatsword on his back, a steel blade notched and dinged in places but still straight as an arrow. But what stood out about him most was his beard.

It was grey. And long. It ran down onto his chest in a wispy point. It was slightly matted and dirty from the road. But it was a beard.

The other Goblins stared. They had never seen a Goblin with a beard. Not the Cave Goblins or even the Redfang Warriors. They had never seem a Goblin with facial hair of any kind, to begin with. Some had hair, but a beard? It was so strange.

For a second the Redfang Warriors were amazed. But then they were wary. They stood up slowly as the Hob stood in the entrance to the cave. He wasn’t making any dangerous moves, but there was only one thing he could be.

A wandering Hob. They were rare, but it did happen. Goblins who left their tribes or were the only remnants of a tribe destroyed would wander about, looking for new homes. Generally they would be killed or assimilated into the first tribe willing to have them, but wandering Hobs were different.

Some were outcasts who had challenged their Chieftain and failed. Others were simply independent by nature and trusted to their own strength to live alone. In any event, they could be dangerous as they obeyed no Chieftain of their own. Garen Redfang had been challenged by many wanderers searching for fame or wanting to control his tribe. Had this one come to steal the Goblin’s supplies or fight them for leadership?

All eyes fixed on the old Hob, waiting for him to make the first move. He looked around slowly, not reaching for the greatsword on his back. The Hob caught sight of the five Redfang Warriors and raised his claws. Slowly, he reached for his belt and pulled something off it. He tossed the bag towards the Redfangs Warriors. It landed with a soft thump, scaring away the Cave Goblins near it. The bag was open slightly and from it leaked a familiar odor. Numbtongue was closest. He carefully walked over and bent to pick it up. He opened the bag and pulled out what was inside.

A wheel of goat’s cheese. It was soft, crumbly, and a slice of it had been cut out. It must have been the old Hob’s food on the road. He was giving it to them as a peace offering.

It wasn’t a challenge. The Goblins relaxed as one. Numbtongue looked at Headscratcher. The Hob blinked and realized he was being asked to say something. So he spoke.

Old one, come. Eat.

The bearded Hob had been looking warily at the Hobs, but at the invitation his face broke into a smile. He walked over and took a seat, bowing his head and cackling thanks as Numbtongue offered him a bowl. The Cave Goblins watched the old Hob warily, but they soon picked up on what was happening.

The Redfangs made room and offered the Hob a seat around the steaming pot. Numbtongue broke the cheese and placed it in his bowl with some bread. It went well with the garlic bread. Meanwhile the old Hob was smiling as he received a bowl of soup loaded to the top and a big heel of bread.

Very kind! Chieftain is generous!

He smiled and bobbed his head to Headscratcher. The Hob blinked, but didn’t correct Greybeard right away. He hesitated and looked at his companions, wondering what to say. It was Shorthilt who took the lead this time.

Old Hob is wanderer? I Shorthilt.”

“Greybeard. Yes, this old Hob wanders far. You have name? Is good name.”

He grinned at Shorthilt, showing a few missing teeth. The other Redfangs introduced themselves. Greybeard nodded to each in turn.

Did not think tribe would be here! Saw Goblins cooking, came by. Many days travel! Hungry for good food! This best food!

He gobbled his soup, smacking his lips loudly. The Redfangs nodded proudly. This was indeed the best food they’d ever had, bar none. Garen had kept the tribe fed, well, most of them, but he hadn’t bothered with cooking much.

What brings old wanderer down here?

I travel far. No tribe. No home. So I go south. Hear of big fight north. Bad-death north. Many Goblins running from Humans. So I go south. Hear strange things of Goblins in dungeon. Come here.

Greybeard explained as he refilled his bowl. He pointed at the soup, still agog.

Good food! You make?

The Redfangs exchanged a quick glance. Numbtongue lied for them.

Yes.

It was too hard to explain Erin to another Goblin. Greybeard didn’t seem to notice the moment of hesitation.

Amazing! Good-good food! Best tribe food I ever eat! What is this tribe? Never knew one was here. Thought Flooded Waters tribe was, but Flooded Waters is gone.

The Redfangs froze at the mention of Rags’ tribe. They exchanged a quick glance. What was their tribe? Numbtongue thought quickly.

 “This is…Wandering Inn tribe. New tribe. Very new. Many Goblins come. From dungeon?

From dungeon? Where?

Greydath listened with opened mouth as the Redfangs gave him an abridged version of events that had led to them taking control. He shook his head.

Bad not-Gnolls? Big dungeon full of invisible-death? Too much for old Hob like me. But young Hobs very strong! Very strong!

He patted Rabbiteater on the shoulder, pointing at the Hob’s cloak which had transformed into a cloudy soup-cloak. Only, there weren’t any vegetables or chunks of fish in the cloak, just somewhat opaque broth. Some of the Cave Goblins were dipping their bowls into it even so. Rabbiteater preened a bit. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. He offered Greybeard the last of the garlic bread.

Old one, eat more. We have lots. You give cheese, we feed. Where are you going? Travelling south? Much rain and water to swim through. Dangerous fish-monsters too.

Greybeard accepted the bread gratefully. He tore into it with his good teeth as he replied.

Maybe go south. Maybe. Not stay long and eat tribe’s food. Very generous, but not stay. Not unless…Chieftain needs old Hobs? Can fight.

He glanced at Headscratcher quizzically, hope illuminating his craggy features. Headscratcher hesitated. This time he replied awkwardly.

Old one is wrong. I not Chieftain. Wandering Inn tribe…have no Chieftain.

The other Redfangs looked at Headscratcher. He could have accepted the role and they wouldn’t have denied it. But Headscratcher clearly felt as they did. They had no Chieftain, and this wasn’t a tribe. Unless…was Erin…?

The old Hob choked on his garlic bread in surprise. He coughed and spat out a hunk onto a Cave Goblin, who promptly ate it.

No Chieftain? How so many Goblins, then? All should run off!

The Hobs shrugged. That was the mystery, wasn’t it? By all rights they should have created a Chieftain or disbanded. But perhaps it was the Cave Goblins being used to multiple Raskghar masters that had kept them functioning as a tribe without a Chieftain.

Don’t know. But tribe is good. Has good food. And getting stronger. If you want to stay…could stay? At least few days.

Numbtongue looked at the others for support. It was a risk, but the old Hob seemed friendly and he looked battle-scarred and tired from the road. The other Redfangs nodded, albeit a bit hesitantly. Badarrow glanced towards the door and raised his eyebrows at Numbtongue.

What about Erin? What about the inn?

Numbtongue made a face, taking care not to let Greybeard see. He flicked his claws towards the cave’s entrance.

We can keep him in another cave, not show him Erin.

Then he shrugged.

Or show her.

She would probably like the old Hob. Badarrow nodded slowly. Greydath had missed the entire quick exchange. He looked around and then nodded rapidly, beaming eagerness.

Will stay. Will work hard! I know many tricks. Can teach. Maybe help even strong, young warrior Hobs!

Good! Old Hob should sit, though. Is long road. Sit and watch!

Headscratcher beamed and slapped Greydath on the back. Then he looked at the other Hobs. They’d eaten their fill and were sitting around in post-meal content. However, there was a look in Headscratcher’s eyes that Numbtongue recognized.

Should show old Goblin and Cave Goblins our tricks! Fight!

He glanced challengingly at Shorthilt. Instantly, Numbtongue wanted to slap himself. He realized he’d missed something in the time he’d been sitting in Erin’s inn. Shorthilt stood up slowly and gave Headscratcher a slow grin.

Good idea.

Resigned, Numbtongue looked over at Rabbiteater and poked him for confirmation. When the Hob looked over Numbtongue rolled his eyes and pressed together his forefingers. Rabbiteater sighed and nodded.

That said it all, really. Headscratcher and Shorthilt were friends, but they were fellow warriors as well. And they were easily the best at physical combat of the five Redfangs. Badarrow was dangerous too of course, but in his own way. And Headscratcher and Shorthilt couldn’t be more dissimilar in how they fought. Shorthilt would use the best weapon he could find and use it with precise, killing strikes. Headscratcher by contrast favored big, heavy weapons and battered his opponents down, as befit his [Berserker] class.

Normally they got along fine, but their recent class changes and the rivalry between their sub-tribes had ignited their sense of competition. Now they wanted to prove who was better. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. Was this a good idea? But then he glanced at Rabbiteater who was stretching and he had to admit. He was a bit curious.

The Redfang had sparred every day at Erin’s inn and on the road. They knew the order of strength. It went like this: Shorthilt, Headscratcher, Numbtongue, Rabbiteater, Badarrow with physical weapons, but Badarrow was really closer to the top since he could shoot arrows. But now they all had different classes.

And Rabbiteater was a [Champion]. As the Hobs and Cave Goblins trooped outside and saw countless Goblins eating in the sun from the boiling pots, they began changing their gear. Numbtongue unbuckled the precious steel sword that Erin had bought for him and checked the quality of the leather armor he was wearing. Headscratcher put on some padding and then a dented breastplate salvaged from the Raskghar’s armory as well as a helmet. Badarrow and Shorthilt declined to wear armor to begin with and so just kept stretching. And Rabbiteater changed into his chainmail.

Greybeard and the Cave Goblins gasped when Rabbiteater put on the rusted and slightly holey chainmail. As it slid over his shoulders it changed, growing longer to fit him precisely, and the missing patches closed together. The chainmail even looked lighter and when Rabbiteater turned, it shone as if he’d polished it with oil. His sword looked just as beautiful when he unsheathed it, but when he laid it on the ground it turned back, growing shorter and developing a slight warp in the blade.

[Champion’s Gear]. Numbtongue eyed Rabbiteater enviously. Meanwhile, Shorthilt was giving the other Hob the stink eye. One of Rabbiteater’s new Skills made it so that everything he held became stronger, more durable. Sharper. It made someone like Shorthilt who coveted the best blades and religiously maintained his gear envious. And Rabbiteater also had [Grand Slash].

He’d always been one of the weakest of the Hobs in a fight. But now, was he better than Numbtongue? He might be. Numbtongue was a [Bard]. But was he better than Headscratcher? Than Shorthilt? Rabbiteater accepted a club from one of his followers and Numbtongue watched as the crude wood grew thicker and visibly sturdier in his hands. Numbtongue turned as his faction cheered loudly for him, sitting down in a wide ring as the other four Hobs prepared as well. With his liquid cloak and his enhanced body armor he looked like…an adventurer.

“Give me an axe. And shield.”

Numbtongue muttered to one of his Goblins. The Cave Goblin scurried off and came back with a crude stone hatchet and shield made of bark and wood. Numbtongue nodded. Greybeard called to him as he strode to the center of the circle.

No use sharp weapons?

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

Numbtongue shook his head. While the other Hobs had kept the armor they would use in a real fight, they wouldn’t spar with naked blades. They were too strong and they could kill or maim each other with an incautious strike. Badarrow would use arrows without tips and the other Hobs would use sticks or blunt stone weapons.

Sparring! We prove who is best fighter!

Headscratcher called out to Shorthilt, lifting his axe with two hands. Shorthilt smiled and twirled the long quarterstaff he’d picked out.

Fine. We fight. Ready?

Badarrow grunted. He took a position farther back as Rabbiteater grinned, clearly nervous. He locked eyes with Numbtongue who set himself with his axe and shield in hand.

Ready.

The Redfangs tensed. They stared at each other in silence as their audience watched with baited breath. There was no one who shouted ‘go’. One second the Hobs were tensed, the next all five charged as one. Numbtongue raced towards Rabbiteater. He saw something fly at his head and lifted his shield, snarling as he blocked one of Badarrow’s missiles. He lifted his axe as Rabbiteater charged him.  He raised his club, ready to strike—

[Grand Slash]!

That was all Numbtongue heard for a while. Eventually he landed on his back and realized he’d fallen down. After some more time he realized that he really hurt. He got up shakily and saw Rabbiteater was advancing on Numbtongue, using his cloak as cover. Numbtongue stared at Rabbiteater, heard the groans of Goblins and cheering and saw Greybeard cackling as he pointed at Numbtongue. The Hob groaned and lay back down on the ground.

After some Cave Goblins had dragged him off the field, Numbtongue saw the rest of the battle play out fairly predictably. Confronted with Rabbiteater’s cloak, Badarrow couldn’t do much more than retreat from the Hob. He did manage to hit Rabbiteater a few times, but ultimately went down to the [Champion]’s club just like Numbtongue.

At the same time Headscratcher and Shorthilt were dueling, trading blows and dodging back faster and faster, trying to get an edge. Overconfident or perhaps thinking he could join forces with one or the other, Rabbiteater charged towards them—

And was promptly laid out flat by a joint attack from both sides. He stumbled off to one side as the duel between Headscratcher and Shorthilt got hotter. Headscratcher roared as he swung his axe, forcing Shorthilt to retreat. He was stronger and faster than he’d ever been! The trouble was that Shorthilt was too.

And he had a quarterstaff. The weapon gave him reach on Headscratcher, and an edge. Time and again, Shorthilt would batter the Hob from afar, keeping a respectable distance or spinning the staff to his Headscratcher from an unexpected angle. And the more times he struck, the angrier Headscratcher got. And accordingly, the stronger he became.

The breaking point came when Headscratcher charged Shorthilt, ignoring the blow that struck him on one shoulder and struck at the other Hob’s chest with a roar. Shorthilt blocked with his quarterstaff in desperation. The sturdy wooden shaft splintered as Headscratcher connected—and so did Headscratcher’s axe. The crude wood couldn’t bear the strain and so both weapons broke with cracks that sounded like thunderclaps.

“Draw!”

Numbtongue shouted, laughing as Shorthilt backed up. The [Weapon Expert] grinned, raising his hands, but Headscratcher didn’t. The [Berserker]’s eyes flashed. He charged Shorthilt with a roar and tackled the Hob to the ground. Then he sat on Shorthilt’s chest and began pounding at his face!

Stop! You win!

Shorthilt shouted, exasperated and angry. He blocked Headscratcher’s punches as Numbtongue and Badarrow shouted for him to get off. But Headscratcher didn’t stop. He roared as he struck Shorthilt repeatedly, and his punches weren’t for show. The other Redfang Warriors froze up as they realized he’d lost control.

Stop! Stop!

Rabbiteater ran towards Headscratcher. He tackled the bigger Hob, but Headscratcher threw him off. Badarrow swore and the Cave Goblins swarmed around Headscratcher, trying to drag him off Shorthilt whose arms were rapidly failing him. But Headscratcher was lost to his fury. Numbtongue looked around desperately. What could he do?

Guitar!

Rabbiteater scrambled up and threw the guitar at Numbtongue. The [Bard] caught the instrument, eyes widening. Of course! Music to sooth the savage beast! He put his claws on the strings, blinked, and then had a better idea. He charged over to Headscratcher and brought the guitar down on the back of Headscratcher’s head. He heard a crackle of electricity, a roar of pain, and then silence.

Slowly, Headscratcher rolled off of Shorthilt. The other Hob sat up slowly, spitting out blood that ran from his bleeding nose and cut face. He stared at Headscratcher as the [Berserker] stared at his bloody fists. It wasn’t all Shorthilt’s blood. He’d cut his skin open with his wild punches.

All the other Goblins stared at Headscratcher as well. They backed away from him as he looked around. Headscratcher looked desperate, shocked, and then terribly, terribly guilty. He looked at Numbtongue as blood dripped down from his hands. Numbtongue didn’t know what to say. But then he heard someone else speak.

“Now I see. You five are a fragment, aren’t you?”

The voice was unfamiliar. And it was speaking in the common tongue! Numbtongue whirled around. He saw Greybeard standing behind him. The old Hobgoblin was grinning. And he’d drawn his greatsword. He gestured at Headscratcher, at Shorthilt who’d gotten to his feet and was frozen in using one of the healing potions Erin had given them.

“I dreamed of five not-Chieftains. Of five seeds not grown. And I did not know why. Now I do. You aren’t independent. You’re copying your tribe. But what worked when you were lowly warriors isn’t working now. You are too large to be common Goblins, but you haven’t grown into your new roles. You are incomplete and so you are fragments. And these lost children are just like you.”

Greybeard walked forwards. The Goblins around him drew back slowly. Everything about him was different. The way he walked, the way he spoke—before he had appeared old, tired, broken down. Now he was confident. And dangerous. Numbtongue stared at Greybeard in shock. The Hobgoblin looked at him as if he were a speck and went on.

“Everything about you is awkward. You still move uncomfortably in your new bodies. And you—you can’t even control your class.”

He pointed at Headscratcher. The Hob jerked. He looked uneasily at Greybeard.

“Old one. What are…? You are different, Greybeard. How?”

“Not Greybeard. Greydath of Blades.

The old Goblin shook his head. The name meant nothing to the five Redfang Warriors. But they shivered when they heard it, as if something in them did know. Greydath studied the five, staring from face to face.

“Not children. Not slaves. Not traitors. And not cowards either. Fragments? No. There is a better word for you. I do not know it yet. But you are too weak. And too content.”

He shook his head, looking annoyed. Numbtongue found his voice at last. He scowled at Greydath, though every instinct was telling him to back up, despite the Goblin being out of reach.

“Old one, what are you talking about? Why did you lie to us? We offered you food. Put down your sword.”

Greydath ignored him. He leaned on the tip of his greatsword and spoke, almost conversationally.

“I watched you five for a day. Train. Eat. Sleep. Good enough for other species, but not for Goblins. You are complacent. Lazy. And it is her fault.”

He nodded back towards the cave.

“Who is that Human you speak to? The one who visits your cave? The one in the inn with the magic door. She is not your master. Is she your friend? A friend to Goblins? It is because of her you are holding back. You are relying on her too much.”

He knew about Erin. He had been watching them. Numbtongue felt a thrill of unease run through him. He looked over and saw Badarrow staring at Greydath. The Hob slowly backed up and Numbtongue saw he was going for his quiver of real arrows. Greydath glanced at Badarrow and the Hob froze. But Greydath just grinned.

“Grab your arrows, archer. But tell me. That Human you love so much—if I tried to kill her, would you stop me? Would you fight your own kind for her? Is she your Chieftain? Or is she just convenient? Do you want to bed her? Or do you want her to turn you into Humans?

Badarrow froze. His face twisted into a snarl and he lifted the quiver. Quick as a flash he drew an arrow tipped with steel and aimed it at Greydath.

Stay away from her.

Greydath turned his back on Badarrow as if the drawn arrow were nothing but an empty threat. He looked at the others. Headscratcher and Shorthilt slowly stepped back. And they too were reaching for their weapons.

“Erin is…good. She is a friend. A friend to Goblins. No one hurts her.”

Shorthilt spoke slowly. He drew his steel sword. Headscratcher nodded. He had his enchanted axe.

“Put down sword, old one. Go…go away.”

“Or what?

Greydath’s words were a challenge. And then a sigh. He looked at Numbtongue as the Hob lifted the guitar. Greydath swung his greatsword around effortlessly with one hand, scattering the Cave Goblins around him.

“Could you stop me, children? Show me what you five can do.”

“We don’t want to fight.”

Numbtongue wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or if he was lying. Greydath had tricked them. He’d eaten their food, pretended to be someone he was not. Was that Goblin? Surely not! And he had threatened to hurt Erin. That was unforgivable. But something in Numbtongue told him fighting was a bad idea. Greydath grinned at him.

“You don’t? But I do.

He spun and raised his sword. Badarrow’s arrow glanced off his sword and Shorthilt leapt forwards at the same time as Headscratcher. Greydath whirled his greatsword as Rabbiteater came from the other side. Numbtongue was slowest as he charged the Hob with nothing but his guitar for a club. He saw Greydath blur, and then Headscratcher was lying on the ground, Shorthilt was stumbling back, and Rabbiteater whuffed as the flat of the greatsword swung into his ribs, knocking him sideways.

Numbtongue gaped, and then swung as hard as he could. He saw Greydath’s head blur around the base of his guitar, and then the Hob was gripping him with a hand like an iron vice.

“A [Bard] does not fight like that, child.”

Then Numbtongue was flying again. He landed and rolled, feeling his back sting with the impact. When he got up, Greydath was dueling Shorthilt and Rabbiteater, laughing as they tried to stab him from both sides. He deflected both blades, dodged an arrow, and then blocked Headscratcher’s slash. His old greatsword deflected the enchanted axe head with ease.

“Slow, too slow! You think you’re strong because you defeated monsters? You are weak. Any Gold-rank adventurer would eat you. Show me more, lost Hobs! Show me strength!

He brought his sword down and Shorthilt tried to parry. Instead, the greatsword flattened him. Shorthilt stared up at the sky, dazed, as Numbtongue ran forwards again. This time Greydath just sent the guitar spinning from Numbtongue’s grip with a flick of his sword. Headscratcher bellowed as he swung his axe horizontally at waist-height.

Duck!

Numbtongue threw himself flat at the same time as Rabbiteater. The magical axe cut through the air as Headscratcher roared. Numbtongue felt the tip pass over his head. He looked up and saw Greydath’s eyes narrow. The Hob leaned back until his entire body practically touched the ground. The axe passed straight above his chest. Then Greydath pulled himself upright. Headscratcher stumbled as the force of the blow carried him off-balance. He brought the axe back up and Greydath kicked him.

Headscratcher flew. Numbtongue saw the Hob launch off the ground and into the air, as if he were a bird. He crashed into a group of Goblins heavily. And Greydath laughed. He turned as another arrow shot at his back and caught the shaft. Badarrow lowered his bow in disbelief. With one hand, Greydath cracked the arrow in two.

“You are weak, archer. Weak. Your arrows can kill only by surprise, only by numbers. All of you are weak. [Champion]? I have seen Goblin [Champions] and they were legends.”

He spat at Rabbiteater’s feet. Slowly, the Redfang Warriors got up. They looked at each other, and the same knowledge filled all of their eyes. Whomever this Greydath was, he was far beyond their level. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all.

The sinking feeling in Numbtongue’s chest was familiar. It was his instincts pointing out everything he knew. It told him that they were outmatched. It felt like Garen Redfang was standing in front of Numbtongue and they were small Goblins again. But what could they do?

“Stop—”

Numbtongue croaked. Greydath looked at him. Numbtongue raised his voice.

“Stop. We do not want to fight. There is no reason. No point.”

Greydath’s eyes flashed.

“There is all the reason. You think you are safe, Numbtongue of the Redfang tribe. But you are not. And until you believe, my work is not done. You must become more. You and all the Goblins. Even your glorious Chieftain.”

“Garen?”

Numbtongue’s chest felt tight. Greydath nodded. He smiled wide, showing his pointed teeth.

“I met your Chieftain. You still think you are from his tribe, aren’t you? Garen Redfang. I met him and challenged him. We fought.”

“And?”

The five Redfangs stared at Greydath. The Cave Goblins were just confused. Greydath shrugged casually. Arrogantly.

“He could not best me. I humbled him.”

They wanted not to believe. They wanted to say Greydath was lying. But the Redfang Warriors couldn’t. For all of Greydath’s earlier deceit, everything about his body language now told them he was telling the truth. And they way he’d moved—even Garen couldn’t move like that.

Had he really beaten Garen? Numbtongue felt a fire burning inside him. His hand tightened on his sword’s hilt this time. Greydath grinned at him.

“Not enough? Fine then. The Human girl.”

“Don’t—”

Headscratcher made a strangled noise. Greydath turned. He stared out across the basin filled with water at the distant shape of Liscor. And then at the tiny inn on the hill. The rain had stopped. The Goblins could see the inn clearly from here. So could Greydath. He looked back at them.

“If I kill her, you would not change. But if I hurt her, would you grow stronger?”

Numbtongue didn’t realize he’d run forwards. He didn’t hear the scream until it left his mouth. He swung his sword at Greydath’s head and the Goblin blocked. He grinned as Numbtongue’s hand quivered, straining and the sword rang from the impact.

“Better. But not enough. Shall we make a game of it? Chase me, you five. And you five alone. Scratch me and I won’t hurt her. Fail, and I’ll cut her once.”

He leapt away as Headscratcher jumped at him with a roar. Greydath ran, laughing as all five Hobs ran after them. There was no time to plan, no strategy. Badarrow loosed arrows at the running Hob as the other four ran after him. Greydath charged to the water’s edge, running twice as fast as his pursuers. He leapt into the water and began swimming. The Hobs followed.

The water was cold and things darted away as Numbtongue dove in. He swam hard, not caring if he attracted attention. All of his focus, all of his being was on catching up to Greydath. But the Hob was fast. He swam through the water like a fish himself, until suddenly he vanished upwards. Numbtongue’s head broke the water and he saw Greydath standing on one of the hills above the water line. The Hob had drawn his greatsword.

“Come! Stop me!”

He was laughing as the five Hobs emerged from the water onto the hill. They didn’t wait for Greydath to say anything more. They charged with a roar. This time they went for the kill. They surrounded Greydath, striking together, aiming for his head, his arms, his legs—desperately trying to cut him. Just once.

They failed. Greydath was a whirlwind of steel, too quick to catch. He knocked them back into the water and leapt into the air. Before they could stop him he was swimming to the next island. The Hobs looked at each other and then dove in after him. Greydath was waiting by the time they reached the next hill that stood above the water. Again they fought. And again he defeated them, untouched by their desperate blades. Again he fled and again the Hobs pursued. But each time they caught up to him they were more tired, and each time they drew closer and closer to the inn.

It was a game to him. Numbtongue could hear Greydath laughing. The weary Hobs swam desperately after him, staggered onto the hill, fought—and failed. Greydath kicked Numbtongue back into the waters as the Hob tried to tackle him. He struck Shorthilt with the pommel of his greatsword, mocked Badarrow by snatching his arrows out of the air. And he laughed as if this was all some game.

But he was going to hurt her. Hurt Erin. So the Hobs chased him. But now they knew they couldn’t scratch Greydath. They were growing tired and he—he looked as fresh as he had when they had first locked blades. He was closing in on the hill where The Wandering Inn lay now. They were seven hills away. Six. Five.

Four.

“Stop. We will change. Don’t hurt her.”

Numbtongue gasped as he tried to cut at Greydath’s legs. The old Goblin grinned and shifted, letting the sword Shorthilt had tossed out of desperation miss him by inches.

“You say that. But you will not. Not unless you have no choice. You are too soft otherwise. And she is too bright. You think I do not know what you feel? You think other Goblins have not met ones like her? But she is not forever, Numbtongue. She cannot protect you. And worse, you cannot protect her.”

Greydath’s mocking smile vanished for a second. He looked down at Numbtongue as the Hob panted, straining to push Greydath’s blade back.

“If you could, I would think twice. But happiness for one Goblin is despair for all. You must change, boy. And if it means pain, then it must be. That is why I came here. Hate me. But—”

The old Hobgoblin looked up sharply. He spun, and twisted as an arrow flashed past him. For a second Numbtongue thought that Badarrow had somehow gotten the drop on Greydath, but the angle was all wrong! It had come from above and from the direction of—

The inn? Numbtongue whirled and saw another arrow curve around him. Greydath frowned and deflected the arrow. He stared towards the inn. Towards the top of the inn, and the lone figure standing there with bow in hand.

Bird. The Antinium [Archer] was a faint silhouette at this distance. But as Numbtongue watched, he was a flicker in the air. A third arrow shot towards Greydath. The Goblin dodged left, and the arrow curved to catch him.

“Antinium.”

Greydath sliced the arrow in half. He looked around and twisted. Badarrow cursed as his arrow went wide. Numbtongue stood straighter. He charged Greydath and Headscratcher lunged up from his hiding place on the far side of the hill. Greydath knocked them into the water. He grinned.

“Who is she? She has Antinium defending her inn. She’s tamed that one and you. What is she? Where does she come from?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Shorthilt rose, water dripping from his blade. Another arrow sped from the inn’s tower. This time Greydath had to dodge Shorthilt’s blade as he cut Bird’s arrow; he couldn’t dodge them. But still, the old Goblin didn’t seem concerned. If anything he seemed to relish the challenge.

“Better and better! You five plus the Antinium! Come!”

He dove into the water again. Bird fired an arrow, but somehow Greydath dodged underwater. Numbtongue stared at the tower. He waved his arms desperately. Somehow Bird could tell they were fighting Greydath. But he had to warn Erin!

Unfortunately, his signal didn’t seem to register with Bird. The Antinium kept loosing arrows at Greydath as the Goblin appeared on another hill. The Redfang Warriors pursued him, hope desperately rising in their chests. Maybe if they had Bird’s help, maybe then—

No. It was impossible. On the third hilltop, Greydath stood over the panting Hobs. He shook his head. They were too exhausted, too beaten to raise themselves. He blocked the arrow Bird shot at the back of his head dismissively.

“Look at you. The same as that hollow black thing sitting in the tower. Are you Goblins? Or just that Human’s…pets?

“No. We are her…friends.”

Headscratcher levered himself up with one arm. His body was covered in water, and not just from the lake. He panted hoarsely. He’d swum and fought non-stop for nearly an hour. So had Numbtongue and the others. They were at the limits of their endurance. But somehow they found the strength to rise. Greydath couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t—

“Friends? Humans don’t make friends with Goblins. Do you think you’re the same as the others? Even Antinium have a place. But we don’t. You don’t. If it came to you or her other friends, would she choose you?”

Greydath mocked Headscratcher as he parried the other Hob’s slow strike. Numbtongue rose, his legs shaking with exhaustion and pain.

“She would never hurt us!”

“Then show me you won’t hurt her. Show me you can protect her!”

The old Goblin roared. He swung his sword and Numbtongue tried to block it. He gritted his teeth as he went tumbling. Again he rose. And Greydath laughed. Badarrow lifted the last of his arrows and aimed at Greydath’s side. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater advanced slowly as once.

“Come! Show me you can change! Grow stronger! Reach! Or she suffers!”

They had to fight. The Hobs forgot the pain in their bodies. They charged, slashing, clawing, desperate, unwilling to give up. Greydath knocked them down. He mocked them. He was laughing as he dodged arrows from two directions at once and fought the other four Hobs.

And then the arrow flew from the tower unlike all the rest. Perhaps Bird had recognized that his arrows weren’t working at last. Maybe he had simply forgotten he had this particular Skill to begin with. Numbtongue looked up as he saw the rotating arrowhead speeding at Greydath from behind. The Goblin Lord was still laughing as he turned. His eyes widened as he recognized the signature spiral the arrow traced through the air.

[Piercing Shot]. It was a single arrow, loosed at Greydath’s head. He’d been so busy fighting that he’d given himself virtually no time to dodge. And by coincidence or design, Bird had aimed it at a single spot.

At Greydath’s left eye. Numbtongue saw the old Goblin freeze. And in that moment, something struck Numbtongue.

A memory.

Velan charged through the smoke of magical fire. His lungs burned. His body was blackened, torn by a thousand spells. But still he charged. The Archmages of Wistram lay before him. The archers from five continents and mages called from every part of the earth were in his reach. He raised the sword with a howl as the first rank of archers came into view.

And then he saw her. Golden-hair blowing in the wind, face pale with fear. Her pointed ears and terrified eyes met his as her arrow left its bowstring. One arrow among thousands. But this one sped true.

[Piercing Shot]. Velan locked eyes with Elia Arcsinger in the moment of his death. For a second he looked at her and wavered. And the arrow pierced his left eye and sank into his brain. The Goblin King fell as the fleeing archers and mages turned and looked back in disbelief. The Goblin King died and his death spread across the battlefield in an instant. Dead, dead, DEAD!

The Goblin King was d—

Numbtongue jerked. The scream of agony left him, a raw, terrible sound that tore his throat. The memory of the Goblin King’s death tore open a wound in his heart he didn’t know was there. He saw Greydath jerk as the arrow shot towards his left eye. So close. The arrow’s tip made contact with Greydath’s eye—

And he turned his head. The arrow slid past his face and slipped into the water. Greydath held still. His eyes had gone wide, wide with shock. And then they burned with rage. He opened his mouth and howled. The rage and grief beat down on Numbtongue, so loud it seemed no other sound could exist in the world. Greydath screamed at the sky, with such fury that even the distant Antinium was frozen by the raw emotion. And then he turned and hurled his greatsword towards Bird.

The sword flashed through the sky like a javelin, an arrow made of steel. Bird was hundreds of feet away. The greatsword covered the distance in less than a second. Numbtongue saw the sword flash towards the tower, heard a crash, and then saw the tower collapse. He did not see Bird. His heart stopped dead in his chest.

The tower on top of The Wandering Inn collapsed. Half of it had been blow away by the impact. What remained cascaded to the ground, sliding off the rooftop, landing on the earth. Something black fell with it. Something black landed on the ground and did not move. The Redfang Goblins stared in horror at the silent figure. Then they looked at Greydath.

The Goblin was panting heavily. He was still untouched, but the fury on his face was still there. For a moment longer. Then he seemed to come back to his senses. He stared at the inn and the broken tower, and looked at his hands. Only now did he seem to realize what he’d done. A look of chagrin stole over his face.

“Oops. I didn’t mean to—”

Numbtongue heard a scream. Greydath turned. Badarrow lunged at him. He stabbed, and the arrow he held embedded itself in Greydath’s shoulder. The Goblin Lord snarled in surprise and shock. His eyes flashed and he backhanded Badarrow. The [Sniper] spun and dropped, limply rolling down the hill and into the waters.

“You struck me!”

He stared down at the arrow planted in his shoulder. Greydath plucked it out and stared at the red, dripping tip. He blinked at the other Redfang Warriors.

“You managed to strike me.”

“You killed him.”

Numbtongue stared at Greydath. The Goblin hesitated. He seemed as surprised as Numbtongue by what had just happened. He shook his head and looked towards the inn. The tower was still collapsing.

“That was a mistake. That was—you struck me. By accident. But you did. I will—go. But this will do, I think.”

He shook himself. His voice grew firmer.

“You cannot be here. You cannot stay here. Are you Chieftains or just lost Hobs? You must decide.”

He looked down at the Redfangs. The five. They looked up at him. Numbtongue shook his head.

“We know.”

Greydath paused. His eyes flicked from Numbtongue, to Badarrow, barely conscious and supported by Rabbiteater and Shorthilt, and then to Headscratcher. Numbtongue’s voice quivered.

“We know. We knew we could not stay. We knew it had to change. But why—why—”

He stared at the broken inn, and then at Greydath.

“Why did you have to take that from us? Why you?”

Greydath hesitated. He stood above the five, and looked old. Old and weary. For a moment he looked sympathetic.

“Because we are Goblins.”

That was it. Then Greydath turned and dove into the waters. The Redfangs saw him begin swimming, not towards the inn, but away. As fast as an arrow himself. He was leaving. His work was done. They stood there and knew what he meant.

He’d done it. Destroyed what they had here. Because they were Goblins. And happiness was like a moment in the sun. No matter how long it lasted, someday the clouds would come again.

The Redfangs looked at each other. They looked at the inn. At the black shape lying on the ground. For a second they wanted to scream. They wanted to weep and throw themselves into the water. They wanted to go back to this morning. But there was no time. It was over.

They ran.

 

—-

 

Erin had just gone back into her inn after the rain had stopped. She’d been thinking of sending someone after Olesm with his letter, not least to find out what he was so worried about. Maybe that someone should be her? She was about to ask Lyonette to take over when it happened.

She heard a terrible crash from above. Her inn trembled—Erin felt a terrible wrenching in her gut, as if something was breaking. And then she heard the creak of wood, and…the sound of things falling. Erin looked around wildly as some of her guests cried out in alarm. Lyonette rushed out of the kitchens and Mrsha howled in alarm. But all of that was background noise. Erin felt it.

“The roof? What—”

Erin ran up the stairs. First floor, second floor, third—she froze when she got to the door that led up to the tower. The door was ajar despite her telling Bird repeatedly to shut it. But the sky had been clear so he must not have thought it mattered. But where the stairs should have spiraled up there was nothing.

Just broken wood and sky. The place where the sturdy tower should have been was just…missing. As Erin watched, a piece of wood fell down the stairs. For a moment she was paralyzed. Then fear engulfed her.

“Bird?”

He hadn’t been in the tower. He’d been in his room or on the ground floor. Erin flung open the door to Bird’s room. He wasn’t there. The cubby hole made of blankets had fallen over from the earthquake. Erin stared at it and then ran downstairs.

“Bird! Bird!?

He wasn’t in the common room either. All of the guests were on their feet. They called out to Erin, but she had no time for them. She ran outside. And then she saw him.

He was lying on the grass, still wet with rain. Pieces of the tower lay around him with roof tiles. Bird was lying on his back. He was still clutching his bow. And he was mostly there.

Something had torn away his left side. Bird’s left arms were missing. His shoulder was gone, exposing his bleeding chest. He lay on the ground in a pool of green blood. He wasn’t moving.

“No.”

Erin stared at Bird. She stared at the blood pumping out of his body beat by beat. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t seeing this.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. Erin heard someone open the door behind him.

“Erin? What was—”

“Potion.”

Erin heard a rushing in her ears. She saw Lyonette standing in the doorway, her eyes going to Bird. Widening in shock. The young woman recoiled in slow motion. Erin was running at her. She threw Lyonette aside and ran into her inn. She looked around.

Faces staring at her. Eltistiman, Drakes, Wesle, guests. Ishkr coming towards her. Where?

There. Erin ran, feeling the air drag at her. She thrust people aside, running for the box of potions. She scrambled through them, searching, then grabbed the entire crate. Too slow! Erin ran back for the door. Faster, faster—too slow.

Mrsha ran out behind Erin. She was howling, but Erin couldn’t hear it. The young woman ran to Bird. She skidded to a stop and fumbled with the potions. Which one? She’d labeled them, but the words ran together. No, don’t cry. Erin couldn’t cry. She fumbled with the corks, ripped one out.

Bird, drink this! Bird!

He wasn’t moving. No, he was jerking. Erin sloshing the potion onto his mandibles. She poured it onto his missing side. Parts of his body began to close. Too slowly. Erin emptied the potion bottle. She reached for another.

Speak to me! Lyonette, help me! Get more potions! Get Octavia! Get—

A potion bottle slipped from her hands. Erin’s hands were bloody. She was trying to stop the bleeding. Why was Bird still bleeding? Why wasn’t the potion working? Why—

Someone grabbed the potion. White paws. Mrsha tore the cork from the bottle and poured the healing potion on Bird. His side was closing up. But he was still bleeding. Erin grabbed another potion. She could see Lyonette in front of her, screaming at her. Erin tried to listen.

“There’s too much damage! His body can’t heal itself! Stop, Erin, the potions aren’t working!”

The [Princess] was shaking Erin. The [Innkeeper] realized she’d emptied four bottles onto Bird. The Worker was shaking. He was—he was alive.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.”

Bird’s voice was weak. Erin hovered over him. Part of the gaping hole in his body had closed, but Lyonette was right. A significant part of the injury was just…open. It was refusing to close, as if the magic of the potions wasn’t enough.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

Erin whispered. She knew that was the important thing. The bleeding. Lyonette looked around. She tore off her shirt and pressed it to Bird’s side. The Worker shook and Erin nearly lost control. But then she held Lyonette’s top there. The cloth was quickly bloody.

“It’s not working. We need to heal it!”

How?

“We need—Bird, stay awake! Do you hear me?”

“It hurts, Erin.”

“I know. I know. Just stay with me. Lyonette, Mrsha, someone—

Erin was trying to think. Bleeding wouldn’t stop. Mrsha was trying to get Bird to drink. A healing potion? Stamina potion. Would it help? How could they—

“Who did this? How did it happen?”

No one answered her. Bird lay on the ground. He stared up at Erin. He spoke slowly and distinctly, so that even her panicking mind processed what he said.

“I am dying.”

“No.”

Erin tried to deny it. But the proof was there in front of her. Both of his left arms and his shoulder were gone. Blood was pumping out of his chest. And she couldn’t stop it. The potions were putting something back in Bird, but he was losing more by every second. This couldn’t be happening.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

“What do we do?”

Lyonette looked at Erin. The young woman didn’t know. She felt the cloth dripping. Then she looked up. Liscor sat above them, the stone walls still wet with rain. Liscor. Rain.

Antinium.

“The Hive. They can save him. We have to get—”

Lyonette stared at Erin as the young woman gabbled. She didn’t understand! She had to understand! Erin began trying to lift Bird, trying to cover the wound. But he was ungainly and his body was open—

“Help me!”

Mrsha understood at the same time as Lyonette. They began trying to lift Bird. But he was heavy. And he was holding onto his bow.

“Bird, let go of the bow. Bird, let go. We need to carry you—someone help!

Erin screamed back at her inn. Bird was mumbling to her. Protesting.

“It’s my bow. My bow. I am dying, Erin. It hurts.”

“I know, just hold on! Hold—help!

She turned and screamed back at the silent figures standing at the door to her inn. Why weren’t they moving? Erin had never hated anyone more than the shocked guests in her inn. She saw some of them moving, but too slow. Erin turned—

And there was Numbtongue. He stumbled out of the waters, pale, trembling. She stared at him. The Hob looked down at Bird and fell to his knees.

“No.”

The Hob looked stricken. The other four Redfang Warriors emerged from the waters. Where had they come from? No—Erin grabbed at Numbtongue, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“He’s alive! We need to get him to the Hive! Now!”

A flicker of understanding ran through Numbtongue’s eyes. He leapt to his feet. The other Hobs didn’t waste time. They moved as one, grabbing Bird. Headscratcher shoved Erin aside and took hold of the bloody wad of cloth. He pressed mercilessly and Bird made a terrible sound. But he was alive. And the bleeding stopped.

“Go.”

Shorthilt pointed. The Hobs charged up the hill. Erin ran after them, seeing Mrsha dart up the stairs. The Hobs knocked aside the guests, ran for the door. Mrsha was already there, scrambling at the bowl with paws soaked green with blood. Erin grabbed the mana stone and pressed it against the door.

Liscor opened in front of her, the streets damp but no longer rainy. The Hobs stared into the streets. For a second they hesitated and looked back at Erin. They had never been there. She spoke, her heart tearing out of her chest.

Go.

They ran. Four of the Hobs carried Bird between them. The fifth, Numbtongue, raced ahead of them through the streets. Erin and Mrsha were with him. They didn’t know where to go! Erin screamed directions and Mrsha howled.

She could see people staring at them as they ran. Erin heard voices from above, almost like she was in a theatre watching herself run while an audience commented on her every move. She heard an exclamation, then a shout.

Goblins in Liscor! Sound the alarm!

“No, it’s just—”

The [Guardsmen] hesitated. Erin saw figures running along the walls, and then a horn blow. She didn’t care.

Klbkch! Tell Klbkch!

She screamed into the face of a passing Gnoll then ran. Mrsha was howling, not one long howl but a series of panicked notes. Erin heard answering calls in the distance. It mattered and didn’t at the same time. All of her energy was put into running, staying with the Goblins. Numbtongue ran with her, chest heaving. He looked exhausted. So did the Hobs. But they stayed with her every step, refusing to slip. Blood dripped in their wake, leaving a trail on the wet cobblestones.

They were running out of time. Erin couldn’t hear Bird anymore. She spotted the Hive at last and ran towards it.

“Go there! Find Klbkch!”

The Hobs ran for the entrance. They ran down the sloping entrance and then stopped. A wall of Soldiers charged out of the tunnel, slamming into the Hobs. Erin screamed as Bird nearly fell. Numbtongue went sprawling as a Soldier leapt on him, punching him. She screamed at them.

Stop! Stop! It’s Bird! Stop!”

She tried to push them. But she wasn’t in her inn. The Soldiers kept attacking, and the Hobs backed up. They moved back until, suddenly, the Soldiers froze. They straightened and moved aside.

Erin!

A familiar voice snapped. Erin looked up and saw him striding towards her. Slender, two hands on his swords. Klbkch paused. He was shaking with fury.

“You cannot take Goblins into the Hive! The Soldiers nearly killed you! What—”

He froze when he saw Bird. The Antinium was curled up in the arms of the Goblins. Erin pushed forwards.

“It’s Bird! He was hurt! I don’t know what—the bleeding won’t—we used potions and—”

“I see. Soldiers, lift Bird.”

Klbkch raised one of his hands and Erin went quiet. The Soldiers gathered around Bird. They lifted him. One grabbed the bloody bandage, but there was so little blood flowing from Bird. He didn’t respond as Klbkch bent to inspect him. The [Guardsman] stared for what felt like forever at Bird, then he looked up at Erin.

“He has no chance, even if I were to apply a regenerative gel. He has lost too much blood. His only hope lies with my Queen.”

He turned to the Soldiers.

“Run. Take him to her. Clear the Hive.

His words seemed to ring. The Soldiers didn’t hesitate. They charged down the tunnel, disappearing out of view. Erin wanted to run after them, but Klbkch blocked her with one arm.

“Bird. Will he be okay?”

She wanted Klbkch to say ‘yes’ so badly. But all the Antinium did was shake his head.

“Erin. My Queen is familiar with Antinium biology. If she wishes to save Bird, she will. And I believe she will. She has an…attachment to him.”

“But will she—”

“I do not know. He may live. Or he may not.”

“Can you bring him back? What about the Rite?”

Erin clung to that idea. Klbkch hesitated.

“I do not know. Only Prognugators undergo the Rite, and only the strongest. He must have enough levels and his mind—I do not know, Erin. But tell me.”

The Antinium looked around and his hands moved to his swords.

“Who injured Bird?”

Erin sagged. She felt like someone had cut her strings. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her legs were on fire. She looked down and saw the green blood on her hands.

“I don’t know. I heard a crash and I—I don’t know what happened.”

“We do.”

A quiet, wretched voice answered for Erin. Klbkch and Erin turned. Numbtongue stood with the Redfang Goblins. He bowed his head. His face was shadowed in the tunnel as he spoke.

“It was a Goblin.”

“A Goblin?”

Erin stared at Numbtongue. She felt the bottom drop out of her world. Klbkch said nothing. He just drew his swords. Erin turned to him, and heard the shouts from above.

Erin!

Olesm was on the surface. Thirty of the City Watch surrounded the tunnel. Erin saw the Redfangs emerge into the sunlight and freeze. More [Guardspeople] arrived, training bows and spears on the Hobs. Olesm stood behind the first rank. His face was pale.

“Olesm—it was Bird—”

The [Strategist] turned as Erin lurched towards him. He held still as Erin tried to make him listen. At last, he nodded. She didn’t know what she’d said, but Olesm gently held her.

“Erin, I understand. Senior Guardsman Klbkch—”

He motioned to Klbkch. Erin turned and saw the Antinium had drawn his swords. The Redfang Goblins stood together, staring at her, staring at the ground or the sky. Erin caught her breath.

“What—”

“It’s not just the Goblin, Erin. I’m calling a full city-wide alarm.”

Olesm looked at Erin with terrible pain in his eyes. She looked at him and only now heard the horns blaring a warning. Far too many horns for just six Goblins. She looked around and saw Gnolls and Drakes looking upwards. Olesm stared at Erin. He spoke slowly and carefully, enunciating every word.

“The Goblin Lord is coming to Liscor. He’ll attack the walls. The Humans…the Humans are going to give him a way to attack our city.”

“What? Olesm, I don’t—”

He went on, slowly.

“As [Strategist] of Liscor, I have no choice. Under military law I am confiscating your door, Miss Solstice. A detachment of the Watch will be sent to collect it. As for the Goblins, I cannot risk them endangering the city. We will find this Hob and kill it. As for these five—”

Olesm turned. A Gnoll with a pair of iron manacles approached the Redfang Goblins. Olesm swallowed as she looked at him. Erin opened her mouth to say something. Anything. But Olesm went on. He looked at Numbtongue as the Hob stared at Erin. The Gnoll slowly closed the manacles over Numbtongue’s wrists. Olesm bowed his head.

“They are under arrest.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.54 (Non-Canon)

(Important: I have REWRITTEN this chapter as this one was not the one I intended to write. It will be released as the next regular chapter. If you would like to read this chapter, feel free, but know that it may spoil some of the events of the actual 5.54 and not all of the events contained within are canonical. I does have some good parts, though. Somewhere.)

 

The problem with Liscor was that no one asked Relc for his opinion before doing things. That was the sum of Liscor’s issues. That, and nothing else. Okay, maybe the dungeon. And Rock Crabs. And the rain. And other stuff. But a lot of it could be improved if they asked Relc about what he thought about all this!

No one did. Not Captain Zevara, or Olesm, or even Embria. Which was why Relc had to volunteer his thoughts. It was a public service. The Drake strolled down the road, twirling his spear and following a group of [Guardspeople] who’d been called to deal with some emergency or other. About Goblins? Relc hadn’t been paying attention when he’d heard the warning go out.

“I just think it’s unfair, you know? All I’m saying is that we deserve free food now and then!”

Ahead of him, a pair of Senior Guardsmen groaned. They were a Drake and Gnoll, a classic team up. Like Relc they had become Senior Guardsmen by merit of their high levels and talent. Unlike Relc, their talents involved more than hitting things on the head. They were well-respected, did their jobs efficiently, and both had happy families. Relc hated their tails sometimes.

“Everyone gets hungry. Everyone needs food. I’m not the only [Guardsman] to eat while I’m on duty, and everyone gets a free meal sometimes! Even Klbkch! So why am I the only one who gets chewed out by Captain Z for it? I’m peckish! Is that so wrong?”

The Gnoll sighed loudly.

“It’s not wrong, Relc.”

“Exactly!”

“—It’s just wrong when you keep hinting that you’d like something to eat. There’s a difference between a gift and a bribe. You know that.”

“Right, I want a gift.”

“But it’s not a gift if—Jeiss, do you want to say anything?”

The Drake looked at his partner and shook his head.

“Why are you arguing with Relc? Just ignore him. He knows what he did wrong. Come on, we have to get to this incident on time.”

The Drake swished his tail dismissively and picked up the pace. Relc debated tripping him up with his spear, but he decided against it.

“Hey! It’s a legitimate problem that—okay, what about all the adventurers, huh? Why do we have to get called in every time they start a brawl, even when we’re off-duty? And by we, I mean me. Why am I never given a break?”

“Because you’re the only one who can brawl with Gold-ranks, idiot.”

“Yeah, but then why don’t I get vacation days each time I’m called in? I was on my break yesterday!”

The Gnoll, whose name was Beilmark shot Relc a disbelieving glance.

“You were called in for an emergency at the Adventurer’s Guild for a scuffle, yes? It took less than thirty minutes to sort out and you didn’t file any paperwork! We had to charge and fine the adventurers. You just showed up, broke three tables, and left!”

Relc stared back innocently as he jogged after the pair.

“Exactly. So why didn’t I get thirty minutes off today?”

Beilmark groaned and Jeiss shook his head. The two sped up. Relc ran after them, grumbling under his breath. The [Guardsmen] were following the sound of whistles being blown, telling them they were needed. Relc wasn’t sure what the problem was. Goblins? Had one of Erin’s pet Goblins entered the city? He grunted as he shifted his grip on his spear.

“So, you guys have kids, right?”

This time Beilmark glared over her shoulder. Relc rolled his eyes.

“What? I know you’re female!”

“And I have two children. Whom you have met!”

Beilmark snapped back at Relc. He scratched the back of his spines.

“Yeah…okay, well, so my question is—what do you do with them? For fun?”

Jeiss and Beilmark exchanged a glance, much like Klbkch and Relc sometimes did.

“How do you mean?”

“Well…my kid’s in town and we don’t do anything but argue. I keep trying to give her fatherly advice, but I don’t have much and uh, y’know…I could use a hand. Klb’s no good for that kind of thing.”

The Senior Guardsmen pair exchanged a long, tired look. Jeiss eventually spoke up.

“Relc, my oldest kid—Jacs—whose birthday you missed by the way—is ten.

“And my oldest is fourteen. Embria is a Wing Commander in the army, yes? I do not think our advice applies.”

“But you’re the same age as me. I know Beilmark’s older. Hey! Don’t snarl at me.”

“Yeah, but you had a kid earlier than we did. It’s not the same. Now, would you shut up and let us get to the emergency on time? Not all of us can run as fast as you. You should be there by now!”

The Drake glared at Relc. Senior Guardsmen Relc sighed.

“I’m tired from that other fight at the Adventurer’s Guild. You know, the big fight just now? The one we all had to stop?”

“I don’t recall you doing the paperwork.”

“But I did take out three Gold-ranks! Hah! Besides, we haven’t heard the whistle blown twice so it’s not an emergency emergency. And aren’t we having fun talking?”

Jeiss and Beilmark sighed. They tried to run even faster, but it was a futile effort attempting to get away from Relc. The big Drake easily followed both [Guards], despite wearing chainmail armor and carrying his spear. If he needed do, he could lose the armor and even outrun a horse. Heck, he could probably catch Hawk if he had to! Maybe. With a head start.

The Gecko of Liscor enjoyed his life most of the time. It was peaceful, despite monster attacks and all the latest craziness with the Raskghar. It wasn’t like being in the army where every skirmish could be your last. Relc loved it in Liscor. He loved eating, he loved his job most of the time, and he loved…this.

But Embria kept telling him to go back to the army. As if he didn’t know what he’d left behind. He didn’t know how to talk to her. He never had. Relc opened his mouth to ask Beilmark what, if anything, he could say. Then he saw the Goblins.

There were five of them. Hobgoblins, not the regular, pesky Goblins. Instantly Relc became wary. He recognized the Redfang Warriors of course. They were an official adventuring team now and they were part of Erin’s inn. But they weren’t supposed to be in Liscor. And they were armed.

“Whoa. Hold up.”

Relc appeared in front of Jeiss, spear held more firmly in his claws. The Senior Guardsman slowed and for once didn’t complain as Relc peered at the situation. Five Hobs, surrounded by at least twenty of the Watch. Right in front of the entrance to the Antinium Hive, which didn’t seem good. And—Relc’s pulse quickened—there was Erin. And Klbkch.

“What the heck’s going on here?”

The three Senior Guardsmen approached slowly and heard Olesm speaking loudly to Erin. Relc’s jaw dropped as Olesm’s voice reached them.

“…am confiscating your door, Miss Solstice. A detachment of the Watch will be sent to collect it. As for the Goblins, I cannot risk them endangering the city. We will find this Hob and kill it. As for these five—”

“Hey, is he serious? He can’t do that, can he?”

He looked at Beilmark. The Gnoll shifted uneasily and gripped the mace she carried at her side.

“I don’t know. We heard the alert called earlier. Something might be happening again.”

“What was that about another Hobgoblin? Is that the issue?”

“Hold on, hold on—”

Relc was hopping from foot to foot. Klbkch was right there! And his partner had drawn his blades, which was not a good sign. But now a Gnoll was arresting the Hobs! He put a pair of manacles over one of the Hobs—the one carrying a beat-up guitar. Numbtongue? Relc never paid attention to their names. Relc exclaimed.

“No way. He really is arresting them! I thought Olesm loved Erin and her Goblins! Why’s he doing that?”

Jeiss shot Relc a disbelieving look.

“They entered the city. Relc. He can’t let that slide, Human or not. Why is she here, anyways?”

“Well, yeah, but—hold on.”

All three saw Erin stepping forwards. They could hear her voice quite plainly.

“No! You can’t do this, Olesm! They were helping me save Bird! They’ve done nothing wrong!”

The Senior Guardsmen looked at each other.

“Save who?”

“That’s the Antinium who lives on top of Erin’s inn. You know, the one with the bow?”

“Oh. What happened?”

“I have no idea. But—hold on. What is she—”

Olesm was arguing with Erin, clearly telling her that this wasn’t a debate. But Erin wasn’t having it. She spread her arms, but the Gnoll with the cuffs just walked around her. Erin turned as he began to shackle the Hob with the enchanted axe, and then her eyes narrowed. She spun.

No.

Her fist rose. Relc saw Erin throw a punch. Olesm raised his claws and Erin decked him in the face. All three [Guards] winced as Olesm took a full-force blow to the face. He yelped and fell. Jeiss shook his head.

“She didn’t just—”

“Your friend’s in for it now, Relc.”

That was definitely true. But Erin wasn’t done  yet. As the Gnoll [Guardsman] turned to her in surprise, Erin whirled.

[Minotaur Punch]!

This time her punch took the Gnoll in the stomach. He doubled over, folded up, and curled into a ball of suffering. All three Senior Guardsmen gaped at Erin. So did the other members of the Watch, and the Hobs. Erin turned. She raised her fists and looked at the five Hobs.

Run!

The Hobs hesitated. Then they scattered. Relc swore and Jeiss and Beilmark grabbed for their weapons as the Watch shouted in alarm and began chasing after the five. Relc saw Erin charging a Drake and trying to punch him before Olesm tackled her to the ground. He tore his eyes away and focused on the five. They were splitting up, each one running in a different direction! Relc pointed to one of them that was heading their way. The Hob held a bow and was loosing arrows as he ran, forcing the other pursuers to slow and take cover.

“I’ll take the dude with the bow. You guys get the others.”

Jeiss and Beilmark hesitated, but then nodded. They didn’t argue as they ran past Relc. He walked forwards slowly, twirling his spear. The Hob spotted him and slowed down.

Now, which one was this? Headscratcher? Numb…toes? Rabbitfeeter? No—this was Badarrow. The Hob looked around as if trying to find an alley to run down. Relc just kept advancing slowly. He could catch Badarrow. The question was if the Hob would fight or run.

Badarrow and Relc locked gazes. The Hob’s reached for an arrow. Relc grinned and lifted his spear.

“Try it.”

The two froze in place. Relc could see Badarrow performing the warrior’s internal calculation, assessing Relc’s gear, his level and the Skills he might have and weighing his odds against that. The Hob’s eyes narrowed, then he made a disgusted sound.

Slowly, Badarrow released the grip on his arrow. The Hob glared as he tossed the bow and quiver to the ground.

“Hah! You’re pretty smart.”

Relc gave him a toothy grin. He bent to collect the bow and quiver. Badarrow twitched as if he’d like to kick Relc in the face and run, but he was indeed intelligent enough to know what would happen if he did. Hob or not, he wasn’t a match for Relc, and both Goblin and Drake knew it.

It was true that Relc was a [Guardsman]. But he’d been a [Spearmaster] back in the army and a [Sergeant] as well. A high-level one. He could fight Gold-rank adventurers with just his spear and win. Sometimes. For all the Redfang Warriors were strong, they weren’t that strong.

“Hey, I got one!”

Relc sauntered back to Olesm and a few of the City Watch. They stared at him as Badarrow trooped over, scowling. Relc indicated the Hob.

“Anyone got a pair of cuffs? I uh, forgot mine back at the barracks.”

Some of the guards groaned, but a young Drake with cuffs came over to shackle Badarrow, hand and foot. Relc looked over and saw that Erin was sitting on the ground. Her cheek was scuffed up and she had cuffs on her hands.

“Uh, hi Erin.”

“Hi Relc.”

“Saw you punch Olesm. Nice hit! Stupid idea, though.”

“Yeah.”

Erin breathed out heavily. She looked at Badarrow as the Hob sat next to her. Relc shifted uncomfortably.

“So…what’s this all about?”

“Relc!”

The Drake turned. Olesm glared at him. His eye was already getting puffy, but the [Strategist] seemed on edge for different reasons. He pointed in the direction one of the other Hobs had run.

“Go after the Goblins!”

“Aw, do I have to? Jeiss and Beilmark can catch them.”

“Don’t argue! Do it!”

Relc glared, but then he sighed and jogged off. Olesm glared after him and then turned. Erin stared up at him. The Drake met her eyes and then looked away. He stood, barking orders while Erin sat on the ground. Badarrow grumbled and tested the iron manacles, pulling at them until someone raised a spear. Then he just sat.

Slowly, the City Watch returned, with prisoners in tow. Erin’s heart sank as she saw Relc come back, and the collection of Hobs sitting in chains grew.

One, three, four…Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, and Shorthilt joined Badarrow, all three having been subdued and manacled hand and foot. Headscratcher’s nose was bleeding and Shorthilt had several long scratches on his arm which were dripping a bit of blood. Olesm looked at Jeiss.

“Did they give you trouble, Senior Guardsman?”

The Drake saluted.

“No sir. They tried to knock us down but they didn’t draw steel, sir. But the fifth Hob, the one we already shackled—he uh, made it out.”

What?

Olesm’s eyes widened. He turned and glared at Relc, who’d come back with Shorthilt in tow. The Drake raised his claws.

“Hey, don’t blame me! I got this one! Had to tackle him before he got to Erin’s magic door.”

He pointed at Shorthilt. The Hob glared at Relc. Beilmark nodded apologetically as she explained.

“The fifth one—he ran down the streets shouting about a Raskghar attack. In the panic we couldn’t catch up to him and then he ran up to the battlements and jumped off.”

“Clever Numbtongue.”

Erin murmured to herself. Olesm glanced down at her and made a frustrated sound.

“That’s—keep an eye out for him! Don’t shoot him, but if he appears in the inn or the city—just keep an eye out! As for these four…”

He turned and looked grimly at Erin and the Hobs.

“Take them to prison and put them in separate cells.”

“The Hobs?”

Relc raised his brows. Olesm shook his head.

“All of them. The Hobs…and the Human.”

He didn’t look at Erin. Relc whistled slowly. Some of the City Watch blinked. But Olesm was already turning to Beilmark.

“I want a patrol to secure The Wandering Inn. Senior Guardsmen and our best fighters. Take at least two mages! Get them to open the door to Pallass and tell them I want Watch Captain Venim now. Pallass is already aware of what’s going on. Move!”

Beilmark nodded and ran with Jeiss down the street. Relc watched them go, blinking. Something was going on. He just didn’t know what. He looked awkwardly down at the Human sitting on the ground.

“Hey Erin. Sorry about this. You’re going to jail.”

“Aw.”

Erin sighed. She stood up slowly and gave Relc an imploring look.

“Relc…”

“Sorry. Just doing my job. Don’t try to punch me because I’d have to hit you. Hold on, we have to check you for weapons. Hey, rookies, one of you get over and check Erin!”

Relc carefully turned Erin about as a female Gnoll came over. He spoke reassuringly as the other Hobs stood and were divested of their weapons too.

“Don’t worry. This is just to make sure you don’t stab each other in jail or something. And it’s not that bad! We don’t have rats or anything and you get fed…something. You’ll probably only be there the night.”

“And the Redfangs? And Bird? Relc, can you check on Bird? We took him to the Hive. He was hurt—bad! Klbkch brought him to the Queen.”

Relc’s eyes widened.

“That must be bad. Old Klb never bothers his Queen unless—what happened? And where’d Klb go?”

“Back into the Hive. I think—oh, Relc. It was awful. Bird was—”

Senior Guardsman Relc!

The Drake stiffened. Olesm was glaring at him.

“Escort the prisoners to the cells and report to the barracks without delay. Don’t waste time talking.”

“Yes, sir.”

Relc saluted smartly. He gave Olesm a toothy grin. And if Relc had said or done what he was thinking, the [Strategist] would have two black eyes. Because, fair play to Olesm, Goblins were a threat. But Erin wasn’t. She’d done more for Liscor than most Senior Guardsman had over their careers. And if Relc had learned one thing, it was that if Erin was on one side and you were on the other, you were probably on the wrong side.

They needed her. But she had struck a [Strategist] and directly aided in the escape of monsters from the Watch. So there was no choice, was there? Relc sighed. He didn’t want to do this—

“Come on, Erin. We’ll get you to a nice cell.”

He began to steer Erin away. And then he heard it. A faint sound, like a rapid set of drums. Relc paused. He raised a claw and the other guards urging the Hobs along stopped obediently.

“Hold on, what’s that? Anyone hear something?”

Relc turned his head and frowned at the entrance to the Antinium Hive. Olesm turned back, clearly annoyed.

“Senior Guardsman—”

“Shut up, Olesm.”

Relc stared at the Hive. He heard an outraged sound, but he didn’t care. Slowly, Relc backed away from the entrance to the Hive, tugging Erin out of the way. The drumming sound was louder now. The City Watch eyed the entrance to the Hive as well. And then the first Soldier charged out of the Hive.

Soldier!

Relc saw the massive Antinium run out of the Hive’s dirt entrance. The Antinium was as tall as Relc and even bulkier. His four arms were raised and he stopped abruptly in front of the surprised Drakes and Gnolls, looking around. Relc’s heart began to race. He pulled Erin back as more Soldiers charged out behind the first.

“What the—”

Olesm was staring incredulously. But Relc’s instincts took over. He looked around and shouted a warning.

“Oh shit. Back up, boys. They’re not playing around!”

The City Watch reacted to the uncharacteristic snap in Relc’s voice. Instantly they moved back down the street and just in time. Because more and more Soldiers came flooding out of the entrance. Dozens…then nearly a hundred. Relc stared at the Soldiers as they formed a solid brown-black wall in front of him. Soldiers in the streets of Liscor? These weren’t the Painted Soldiers either. They were regulars and they looked ready for a fight.

What in the name of the Walled Cities was going on? And then Relc saw a familiar face. An Antinium unlike any other walked up from the Hive. He had only two arms, and both were holding silvery blades. Klbkch walked past the ranks of Soldiers. He paused as he inspected the sudden change that had occurred—the shackled Goblins and Erin, Olesm’s black eye. His head turned and he nodded to Relc.

“Relc.”

The Drake managed a smile.

“Hey, Klb. What’s up?”

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch—what is this?”

Olesm stared at the Soldiers in horror. Klbkch’s head turned to Olesm.

“Strategist Olesm, I am not acting in my position as Senior Guardsman Klbkch, but my role as Revalantor Klbkchhezeim of the Hives. By my Queen’s command, I have been sent to find and destroy the Hob responsible for injuring the Individual Worker known as Bird.”

What? But that’s—Klbkch, you cannot take Soldiers through Liscor! Please, order them back into the Hive. The City Watch will investigate whatever happened to Bird. But there’s a larger issue at stake here.”

The [Strategist] looked appalled. He tried to step forwards, but Klbkch raised his blades and Olesm stopped. Relc held his breath, Klbkch did not look anything like the amiable Senior Guardsman who normally patrolled the streets. Olesm gulped and stepped back as Klbkch looked at him.

“No. I am invoking the treaty between Liscor and the Free Antinium, Strategist Olesm. My Soldiers will move by boat with the Watch’s assistance and search the floodplains and even the northern and southern passes. We require transport immediately and Liscor’s full compliance. My Queen demands vengeance.”

“What? Now? But Klbkch—”

“No. I must speak to Watch Captain Zevara. Soldiers, fall in!”

The Soldiers began to march after Klbkch. Relc saw Olesm tagging after Klbkch, arguing with him, trying to get him to slow.

“We cannot have the Antinium in the city, not right now! Klbkch, listen to me! There is a larger situation happening at the moment. I need the Antinium’s full support, not—”

“My Queen’s orders take priority. Move aside, Olesm.”

Klbkch swung a sword out. Olesm flinched back. Klbkch marched onwards, the Soldiers beginning to spread out behind him. Relc saw Olesm’s face twist and his tail lash the ground. The [Strategist] clutched at his head and then shouted at Klbkch’s back.

Liscor is going to fall!

The Antinium halted in their tracks. Relc froze in the act of scratching one armpit. The City Watch whirled. Erin, the Redfang Hobs, everyone looked at Olesm. The [Strategist] panted. He looked at Klbkch and spoke in a trembling voice.

“Liscor is going to fall in four days. Unless we prepare. Unless I do something about it. I don’t have time for a single Hob. I don’t have time for Antinium marching through the streets! You can either help me, or I will arrest you and every single person who gets in my way!”

He shouted the last bit at Klbkch, straight to the Revalantor’s face. Relc held his breath as Klbkch stared at Olesm. Then, slowly, the Revalantor sheathed his swords. He nodded, and the Soldiers began to move back towards their Hive.

“Very well. We are at your disposal, Strategist Olesm. Inform me of the situation.”

Olesm looked around at all the listening guardsmen, at Relc, Erin, and the others. He shook his head.

“Not here. Follow me.”

He pointed and took off at a run. Klbkch ran after him. Relc stared after the two, and then at Erin and the Goblins and his fellow guards. He looked at his spear, and then at the clear skies.

“Aw hell. I knew today was going to be a bad day.”

 

—-

 

The alarm that went out from city to city was immediate. And as always, it led to a swift response. One by one, the cities began sending [Messages] to each other. The six-way chat opened as hundreds of other [Messages] were being sent and urgent clarifications and requests were coming through the harried Mage’s Guilds in every Drake city on the continent. But these had highest-priority.

 

Zeres. We’ve received the alert. Thoughts?

Oteslia. Is Liscor’s [Strategist] certain? They’ve issued a city-wide emergency. If they’re wrong…

Zeres. We agree with Liscor. The pieces fit. And we received intelligence from an unknown source claiming the same as Liscor’s [Strategist]. The Humans have trebuchets.

Oteslia. That’s an unfounded claim.

Zeres. It is, but it fits. And there is evidence.

Fissival is online. Where?

Zeres. There were reports of Humans employing siege weapons in a conflict with a Goblin war band, but the details were inconsistent and mentioned the Goblins constructing trebuchets of their own.

Fissival. Ludicrous.

Oteslia. But if the Humans did have trebuchets…

Manus joins the conference. This situation is grim. How did none of us spot this before now?

Zeres. The Humans played us like scatter-brained hatchlings. That’s all.

Oteslia. Focus. In that case, Liscor is under attack in four days.

Manus. Assuming the water level drops as the [Strategist] indicated. How can the Humans be certain?

Zeres. They must be. There’s no point otherwise.

Salazsar is present. This is a disaster. We must warn the Humans at once! If they think they can take the city, it is war.

Oteslia. They’ll just deny the intent. And once they have Liscor…

Fissival. Politics aside, the Humans will attack Liscor. If they can manage it with the Goblins sacking the city, they will. But I would not trust Tyrion Veltras to hold back even if the Goblins were defeated. Objections?

Manus. None.

Zeres. We agree with your assessment.

Oteslia. We agree.

Salazsar. Something must be done. We must reinforce. At once!

Oteslia. How? They’re four days away. There’s only one city that can reach Liscor in time. Pallass must send all its armies north this instant! Or use that door!

Zeres. Where IS Pallass?

Fissival. We have made Pallass aware of the meeting.

Manus. Are their [Strategists] all asleep or something?

Oteslia. Hold on. Sending urgent request to Pallass to join in.

Zeres. It may be that they’re considering their options.

Salazsar. What options? Liscor must be held.

Zeres. Even with Pallass’ support, the odds of holding the city are low.

Salazar. Not if they send their elites through that magic door.

Manus. And endure a bloodbath? Come on, this is Pallass we’re referring to. They’re next if Liscor falls. They’re considering whether to send all they have or…

Fissival. If Liscor falls, the Humans can march armies at us from countless directions unimpeded.

Manus. We know. But can it be held?

Zeres. Where is Pallass? Oteslia?

Oteslia. Waiting for a response…

Pallass responds. We are aware of the situation and analyzing the statements Liscor’s [Strategist] have made. They are not yet verifiable.

Zeres. We confirm Liscor’s report.

Oteslia. What is Pallass doing? How many armies and [Generals] can Pallass send to Liscor?

Pallass. The decision to reinforce Liscor has not yet been decided by the Assembly of Crafts. Deliberations are ongoing.

Manus. Deliberations? Pallass must send forces through to Liscor now, or begin marching them north at once!

Fissival. Will Pallass have a force large enough to repel the Humans? Estimates puts their army at 200,000 or more.

Oteslia. We can have a force of half a million converging on Pallass in ten days between all the Walled Cities, not including smaller cities. Oteslia’s armies stand ready.

Zeres. In ten days, the Humans will have Liscor and their own reinforcements marching south. Zeres to Pallass. Can you hold the city if the walls are broken?

Pallass. Standby.

Oteslia. Ancestors damn it, Pallass! We need to know how many regiments you can send through to Liscor! Can your 1st Army reach Liscor in time? Answer!

Manus. They aren’t responding. They must be weighing the odds.

Fissival. Liscor has a strong City Watch. They can hold the breach, surely.

Oteslia. Against constant bombardments? Perhaps against the Goblin Lord, but not against them and the Humans.

Salazsar. Tyrion Veltras’ army is not merely 200,000 strong. He brought too many elites. Our reports showed an unusually high number of [Knights] and [Lords] and their personal forces in his army.

Manus. Disguised under the pretense of beating the Goblin Lord. Clever.

Oteslia to Pallass. Well, your response?

Pallass. We are prepared to assist Liscor in every meaningful way possible. Deliberations are ongoing for reinforcement at this moment.

Fissival. Deliberations?

Oteslia. Cowards. Are you being serious?

Pallass. We believe it may be prudent to avoid reinforcement at this moment to assemble a larger force in the event Liscor falls.

Salazar to Pallass. Are you suggesting we allow Liscor to fall?

Pallass. The Assembly of Crafts is debating. Standby.

Oteslia. Are you spineless cowards, you [REDACTED]?

Pallass to Oteslia. Please refrain from unhelpful rhetoric.

Oteslia. [REDACTED].

Zeres. We…agree with Pallass’ assessment. It may be wiser to avoid conflict until we have a force capable of taking Liscor.

Salazsar. You cannot be serious.

Fissival. We concur. The loss of Liscor is devastating. But the loss of Pallass’ forces would be even more so. If this is a trap, it may be designed to take as many soldiers with it.

Manus. So what should be done?

Zeres. Perhaps it is prudent to discuss contingency plans. In the event of Liscor’s fall.

Oteslia. They’re not fallen yet.

Fissival. Yet. And it could be beneficial in one sense.

Manus to Fissival. Explain.

Fissival. The effort required to defend Liscor from two armies armed with siege weapons would result in a bloodbath on Liscor’s side. On the other hand, the Antinium Hive in Liscor would be bound to aid in its defense…

Zeres. In which case, if Liscor falls there is one less Hive. And if they successfully repel the defenders, the Hive would be weakened.

Oteslia. What about Liscor’s citizens and soldiers?

Manus. Could Pallass even send enough soldiers through that magic door or bring enough forces north in time? Four days to march from Pallass to Liscor would exhaust any army and I doubt they could move more than a few thousand soldiers through per day.

Zeres. Pallass does have a point.

Oteslia. Have you all gone mad?

Fissival to Oteslia. Pallass is considering a logical response. This is not the same as the Face-Eater Moth incident. This is an invading army several hundred thousand strong. The Walled Cities must stand. But other cities, even ones as important as Liscor, are expendable as the circumstances dictate.

Salazsar. This is unacceptable. Liscor must not be allowed to fall. Pallass must send reinforcements immediately!

Oteslia agrees.

Salazsar to Pallass. Does Pallass acknowledge?

Salazsar. Well?

Pallass. Standby.

Manus. Standby.

Zeres. Standby.

Fissival. Standby.

 

—-

 

“What’s going on? Senior Guardsman Jeiss, why hasn’t the door been moved out of the inn?”

Olesm arrived at The Wandering Inn panting and out of breath. Klbkch was currently with Zevara, being appraised of the situation while Ilvriss kept repeating the alarm to the other Drake cities. Olesm was sure that there were hundreds of [Message] spells directed to him that he had to respond to, but he’d come to The Wandering Inn first.

Wing Commander Embria turned, glaring, and Olesm saw a group of her soldiers milling about with the City Watch on the hill outside of The Wandering Inn. Olesm glared balefully at the [Soldiers]—had they caused this? Then he tried to catch his breath.

He’d had to climb up to the battlements, climb down the ladder and then run across the water bridge to reach the inn without the magic door. He’d forgotten how far it was that way! Olesm glared at Jeiss, who saluted him guiltily.

“Sorry, sir. We were going to remove the door, but we ran into…complications.”

“Such as?”

The Drake looked miserable and his partner, Beilmark, hunched her shoulders.

“One of the employees, refuses to give up the door. She claims Liscor has no authority to remove the door from the inn.”

“Who? Lyonette? Then arrest her!”

Olesm had no time for niceties. The two Senior Guardsmen exchanged a glance.

“Uh, we tried, sir. But then both adventuring teams objected. As did half the guests in the inn.”

“The Halfseekers and the Horns?”

They nodded miserably. Olesm nearly tore his neck spines out.

“Then arrest—

He paused as he eyed the two dozen or so [Guardsmen] and imagined them trying to arrest Moore. Just Moore, by himself. Olesm paused.

“Okay. I’ll talk to them. Why are Embria’s [Soldiers] here?”

“Sir!”

One of the Drakes stepped forwards and saluted smartly. Olesm remembered to return the salute after a second. The Drake looked like a [Captain].

“Wing Commander Embria came by to secure the door and request formal assistance from Pallass, sir!”

“And why didn’t she move the door to Liscor?”

Olesm’s tail thrashed angrily, but the [Captain] didn’t waver. He looked past Olesm’s head as he spoke.

“Our [Mage Captain] agrees that this inn is the best location for mass-transit! The inn is a natural power source.”

“Yes, but—”

The [Strategist] closed his mouth. He did know that Erin’s inn had a lot of magical power thanks to its Skill. But it was risky leaving the door there! Still…if it meant avoiding a fight…he gritted his teeth.

“Very well. Senior Guardsman Jeiss, Senior Guardswoman Beilmark?”

“Strategist Olesm?”

“Secure this spot. I want a group of the City Watch posted here—inside the inn—at all times. No one touches that door. And—ancestors, what did that?

Olesm had just spotted the destroyed tower on the roof of the inn. He stared at the spot until he remembered. Bird. He looked around.

“Put someone on the roof of the inn and make sure we’re clear. In fact, get Relc over here now.”

“Yes sir!”

The two Senior Guardsmen saluted, looking relieved. The [Captain] wasn’t so happy.

“Sir, we’re more than capable of holding this position. Wing Commander Embria—”

Olesm glared at him.

“Someone nearly killed the Antinium standing guard here, [Captain]. A Hobgoblin, apparently. And this inn attracts trouble like a rotting corpse attracts acid flies. If you want to assist the Watch, keep your earholes open. Now, where is Wing Commander Embria?”

“Inside, sir.”

“Good.”

The Drake stomped into the inn. He took one look around and saw the reason why none of the [Soldiers] or the [Guardsmen] had dared enter the inn. His name was Moore and he was holding a big staff threateningly over Olesm’s head. The Drake gulped.

“Oh, it’s just you, Olesm.”

Moore lowered the staff and stepped back. Olesm edged back from him and looked around. Both the Halfseekers and the Horns of Hammerad were seated close to the entrance. Ceria smiled and waved at Olesm.

“Olesm! You’re here! Can you help us sort this out? A patrol of your guys tried to take Erin’s door!”

“Yes! They were supposed to!”

What?

The adventurers blinked in shock. Olesm glared at them.

“This is an emergency! We need that door—oh Ancestors damn it, never mind! It can stay! But move out of the way!”

He strode over to the magic door. Embria was standing in front of it, arguing with someone on the other side while Lyonette scowled at her a few feet away. The [Barmaid] looked up and hurried over to Olesm.

“Olesm! Where’s Erin? Is Bird okay? Where are the Goblins? These [Guardsmen] tried to take the door away—”

“I know, I know! I ordered them to! I need to speak with Embria and Pallass! This is an emergency!”

Olesm growled at Lyonette. He approached the door and stopped. Embria was snapping at someone on the other side and now Olesm could see a Drake [Soldier] dressed in Pallass’ yellow-and-white armor.

“I want to speak with Watch Captain Venim! Where is he? This is a national emergency! I am Wing Commander Embria and I demand—”

The Drake was shaking his head as Embria bellowed at him. Olesm brushed Lyonette away and stepped forwards.

“Wing Commander Embria! What’s going on?”

“Olesm!”

Embria turned. She glared at the [Soldier] in front of her.

“I’ve been trying to speak with someone in authority in Pallass for nearly twenty minutes now! I’ve demanded—requested immediate reinforcements, but I can’t get an acknowledgement that anyone’s heard my request!”

She glared at the Drake.

“Is Watch Captain Venim or the Assembly of Crafts aware of the issue, soldier? Respond!”

The Drake winced. He eyed Embria and saluted slowly.

“They are, Wing Commander. But I cannot tell you what their status is. The Assembly of Crafts is debating—”

“What is there to debate? Send a regiment through already!”

Embria roared at the Drake. Olesm saw the Drake wince, but he held his ground stubbornly.

“I cannot leave my station, Wing Commander. I told you, the Assembly of Crafts is considering the issue and Watch Commander Venim is indisposed.”

His eyes slid sideways and his tail twitched, giving away the lie. Olesm’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forwards.

“Soldier, I am Olesm Swifttail , chief [Strategist] of Liscor. Do you acknowledge my rank?”

The Drake gave him a slow look.

“I do, sir.”

Olesm nodded. In certain situations he outranked Embria, for all she was a Wing Commander. This was one of them. He spoke slowly and clearly.

“In that case, I request immediate contact with Pallass’ [Strategist] or another civic leader on an issue of national emergency. You are aware that under Drake military law, denying my request is a treasonous offense?”

Beads of sweat stood out on the Drake [Soldier]’s head. He glanced sideways at someone neither Olesm nor Embria could see through the doorway.

“I do, sir. But—”

“That will be all, soldier.”

A voice interrupted the Drake. He visibly sagged and practically ran out of the way as a Gnoll in robes replaced him. Olesm blinked. A [Senator], one of the elected officials who ran the Assembly of Crafts, Pallass’ governing body, entered the door’s view. He smiled with his teeth at Olesm and Embria.

“Wing Commander, Chief Strategist, my apologies, yes? We have been deliberating this shocking news about a probable assault on Liscor.”

“It’s not—”

Olesm cut Embria off.

“The attack is coming, senator. [Strategists] from other cities including Zeres have confirmed the report as urgent. I am requesting immediate reinforcements from Pallass as per Liscor’s status as a national strategic interest.”

“Hrr. Yes. We have received your request. All six of them, in fact.”

The Gnoll didn’t appear to be too bothered by the issue. He grinned again, politely.

“The issue is that Pallass’ Assembly, we have voted, yes? And we think that Liscor’s announcement is…premature. Not confirmed. We hesitate to call into question your analysis, but we decline to send our soldiers to reinforce Liscor on what may be a…misunderstanding, yes?”

“What?”

Olesm and Embria stared at the Gnoll, incredulous. Olesm’s jaw dropped. The Gnoll looked politely apologetic.

“You see, it would take much effort to send soldiers from Pallass through the door. And for no good reason, yes? Liscor is not in danger. And if it is—well, we should wait and see.”

What?

This time both Olesm and Embria chorused the word together. Embria growled, clenching her fists together.

“Senator, if we wait any longer there won’t be any chance of saving Liscor! Without reinforcements, coming through as fast as possible, we won’t be able to put enough bodies into Liscor to defend from the Goblin Lord and the Humans! If we wait another day for full confirmation, let alone more, it will be too late!”

The Senator nodded slowly.

“Yes, and that would clear matters up nicely, yes? It would save Pallass from having to waste lives defending a lost cause.”

Embria had been inhaling to shout. Now she choked. Olesm felt a cold pit settle in his stomach. He stared at the Gnoll in robes. He couldn’t be suggesting…

“You—you can’t be serious. Senator, this is—you can’t delay. Please, the other Walled Cities have heard our request. They have to be mobilizing…”

The Gnoll just smiled as Embria began to stumble over her words. He shook his head and sniffed, his eyes flicking back and forth.

“I am afraid that the other Walled Cities understand the issue as clearly as you do, Wing Commander. Perhaps even more so, yes? A Goblin Lord’s army against Liscor. And a Human’s army capable of taking down the walls. Pallass could sacrifice a hundred thousand—two hundred thousand of our own [Soldiers] and not hold the city. It would be…more prudent not to lose such lives in a fruitless endeavor but rather retake the city.”

“Retake it?”

Olesm felt squeezed. The Gnoll nodded. He looked sympathetic.

“It is not an easy decision. But it is a sound one. Strategically, yes? Naturally Liscor must be held by Drakes and Gnolls, but if it cannot be held at the moment…”

He shook his head.

“Regardless, it is a troubling situation. There are many civilians in Liscor, yes? They should be sent to Pallass via the southern roads. Or perhaps it may be arranged that they can be sent through this door. We will deliberate and come to a decision later today and inform you of what must be done. Until then—”

“Wait—”

Embria started for the door, but the Gnoll was quicker. He raised a paw and gripped the edge of the door. Olesm moved as well. He stared at the Gnoll. This couldn’t be. This was a betrayal.

This was wrong.

“Senator, if Liscor is under attack, it is an act of treason not to support us. Your city is bound to aid Liscor. The Goblin Lord’s army and the Humans…is considerable. But we can hold Liscor, trebuchets or not. The Antinium have agreed to lend their support. And we have Gold-ranks—”

“Ah, yes. Them. We will require our adventurers back. Soon, I think. But there is time so long as this door is here. It should not be lost either, yes?”

The Gnoll nodded sagely. He tapped the edge of the door with his paws, looking unconcerned. Embria had gone pale. Olesm just felt angry. He glared at the Drake.

“This is treason! You can’t do this! The other cities—”

A paw reached through the doorway and gripped him tightly on one arm. The Gnoll senator narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth at Olesm. He lost his friendly smile and spoke in a low, growling voice, so quietly only Olesm and Embria could hear.

“This is not treason. This is practicality! Speak of this to the other cities and we will bury your [Message] spell. The Walled Cities know of this decision and they will not gainsay it.”

Olesm felt a pang of fear. No, they couldn’t have decided that.

“But—”

The Gnoll released him and smiled again, all friendliness. He grabbed the edge of the door and leaned forwards. His voice was low and lacked any hint of goodwill as he spoke.

“The Assembly of Crafts has made its decision based on the evidence. Liscor will fall either way, Strategist Olesm. It is my duty as [Senator] and the duty of the Assembly of Crafts that when Liscor falls to the Humans, it does not take our city with it.”

He gave the petrified pair of Drakes another fake smile. Then he closed the door firmly shut, leaving Olesm and Embria to stare at it as the world began to crumble under their feet.

 

—-

 

The Hive was in chaos. Or at least, it wasn’t functioning properly. Chaos implied pandemonium, and in truth, the Hive had just…stopped. Workers and Soldiers stood around aimlessly while others continued on with their tasks. But the central guiding force that linked the minds of the Free Antinium and gave them direction had suddenly stopped.

Thus, chaos. At least for the Antinium. Klbkch strode back through the tunnels, giving orders and trying to manage the Hive and his own thoughts at the same time. But he was no Queen and his orders had to be processed verbally and disseminated the same way.

“Resume excavation of the tunnels. Send four hundred Soldiers to the front. Go to Belgrade and Anand and tell them to assume command of all Soldiers and Workers in the area. Find me Pawn and order him to do the same in his section. All Workers and Soldiers not on duty will continue the last task they were assigned unless the objective has been fulfilled, in which case they will immediately return to their assigned sleeping areas for break until further orders. Send forty Workers above to excavate and repair a collapsed house on Scuffscale Street…”

Workers and Soldiers milled about Klbkch, their confusion fading and a sense of purpose filling them once more. Klbkch hurried onwards, still giving out rapid-fire instructions. He could only keep the Hive moving for so long by himself, though. Even with Belgrade and Anand, the Hive needed her. The heart and mind of the Hive.

The Queen of the Free Antinium. Her control over the Hive had stopped. And without her, the Hive was weakened. And this was the wrong time for weakness of any kind.

Because Liscor was about to be under attack. Klbkch’s heart rate was a steady beat in his chest, but even he couldn’t help but feel a moment of apprehension at the news Olesm had given him. The Goblin Lord was coming here. And the Humans were intending to sack Liscor.

It was war. Politics and official declarations aside, the fact was that two armies of hundreds of thousands of enemy combatants were about to assail Liscor. And Bird had nearly been killed by a Hobgoblin. Erin was under arrest, and Olesm was about to summon aid from Pallass.

And his Queen was occupied. Klbkch left the last of the Workers and Soldiers behind as he strode down the hallway where no Antinium save for Garry, himself, and a select group of Soldiers were assigned. He entered the chambers of his Queen.

And stopped.

The chambers of the Queen of the Free Antinium were large, made specifically to hold her. They were almost completely empty as well, save for two tunnels. One was small and led to a kitchen of all things. Garry the [Cook] was constantly at work there, creating morsels to feed his Queen. And the other passage led to the Free Queen’s work area, where she could create and design new versions of the Antinium. It was that door that Klbkch strode to, but he stopped halfway.

Something was sitting on the ground on one of the walls. Klbkch nearly drew his swords and ran it through before he remembered. He stared at the miniature Antinium Queen sitting there with distaste. It was a copy of a Queen’s body, made to act as a relay between this Hive and the other Hives at need. A Queen could assume control of it and see through the replica’s eyes and speak with it. Klbkch kept forgetting it was there.

Because the vessel was the sole link of communication between Liscor’s Hive and the Grand Queen’s Hive, it could not be removed from the Queen’s personal chambers. Nor could it be neglected; the body had to be fed and cared for. So there it sat, staring blankly ahead.  Klbkch regarded the puppet silently for a second.

His Queen had not enjoyed the presence of this communication tool. Not at all. She did not like the miniature replica staring at her. So she’d consulted with Klbkch, who had in turn mulled the issue over before coming to a reasonable solution. He had made a slight adjustment which made the presence of the puppet more bearable, if…somewhat odd.

Klbkch stared at the puppet. It looked like a Queen, that was to say, a more insectile creature than any Worker or Soldier. Instead of arms and fingers, the miniature drone had feelers, six of them. And her posture was more hunched, her lower abdomen bigger. She looked like any Queen would, really, save that she was smaller and not bloated from obesity and the pains of labor like all of the Queens residing in Izril. And there was one other addition to her that Kblkch had made.

There was a wooden box covering her head. Klbkch stared at the box. He’d cut holes in it to make sure it didn’t suffocate the puppet, but that was about it. He wondered if there was a better solution, but if there was, he hadn’t been able to think of it. And besides, Erin’s idea had worked. After a fashion.

Klbkch shook himself. Now was not the time for this. He strode towards the two doors that blocked off the Free Queen’s work area from the rest of the room. Klbkch found the pull rope, strained to pull the massive doors open, and slipped inside.

A foreign scent assailed Klbkch the instant he entered the Queen’s laboratory. The chemical tang to the air was overpowering, as was the humidity. Much of what the Free Queen needed required the moisture and so Klbkch passed by waterproof, sealed containers as well as rooms designed to grow or incubate plants, materials, or…parts the Free Queen might make use of.

There was no risk of mold or disease—at least not ones not desired by the Free Queen herself. The Antinium had long known how to create a hostile environment for things they did not desire, and in its own way, this room was as sterile as any operating room in Erin’s world.

Klbkch followed the sounds until he found his Queen. She was in a room, bent over a dirt table and a small body that dripped green. Bird. Klbkch halted as he saw his Queen work, her body bent over the small shape. Several smaller shapes surrounded her, moving as the Queen spoke.

“Halt the blood flow from his arteries. Apply the gel there—and there. Open the second container.”

The Antinium around her moved precisely, applying a gel to Bird’s torso while another walked over to a sac and collected a bowl of…blood.

It was Antinium blood, green and flowing. But it was not truly blood, not as Drakes and Humans and other species understood it. Klbkch knew the word as the Antinium thought of it, but he had no equivalent besides ‘blood’ in the common tongue. If he had known what to call it, he would have referred to it as haemolymph, a substance just like blood. For without it, the Antinium perished.

And Bird was still bleeding. The Queen was slowly applying a gel over his wounds, closing the bleeding from the gaping hole in his chest, but by all rights he should have bled out twenty minutes ago. That he hadn’t was due to the bowl of blood that the mindless drone carried over to his body.

The drone looked like a Worker, except that it had six delicate feelers instead of arms and it was thinner. It was not designed for combat, but for precise manipulations. It moved somewhat unsteadily; it had not been perfected and so it was a crude helper, if somewhat efficient. It was too much like a proper drone and yet not, so Klbkch ignored it and focused on the bowl.

Haemolymph slowly poured down from the edge of the bowl and into a…tube made of a sticky, almost resin-like substance the Antinium could produce. It was connected to Bird’s chest. Inserted in it, in fact. The Free Queen had connected the tube to Bird’s bloodstream and the green blood ran into him.

“Good. Another bowl.”

The Free Queen’s voice was low. She had to be calculating how much Bird had lost and how much could be safely replenished to him. The drone walked back over to the sack and siphoned more blood from it. Klbkch’s eyes turned to the sac. Then he looked away.

Klbkch had once observed that the Free Queen lacked all the instruments of her craft necessary to alter or produce enzymes and products unique to the Antinium. All the craft of the Antinium had been lost. But necessity bred invention, and so the Free Queen had devised a way to procure at least some of the missing elements herself. For haemolymph, or blood, she had created the shivering sac the drone collected blood from.

It was alive. And it was Antinium, at least, in biology. It had…a stomach. And a means to ingest. Excrete. Organs, floating amid the green. But the rest of the body was just a sac, a bulbous, semi-transparent membrane designed to contain blood for the Free Queen to use at will. The drone pressed down and blood oozed from an opening and into the bowl the drone held. Klbkch could not stare at the thing long so he looked at his feet.

It was an ingenious solution in one sense. Horrific in another. In another time, the raw components of what made up the Antinium would be distilled, such that a Queen proficient in weaving together the base materials could create…anything. They could replace a limb in minutes. Today, his Queen, the Free Queen could only replenish Bird’s blood and stop the bleeding and begin the agonizingly slow process of regrowing his limbs.

“The bleeding is almost stopped. Close the blood vessels here…and here. Then remove the transfusion tube.”

The Free Queen moved her drones delicately as they tended to Bird. At last, they drew back and Klbkch could see Bird as he lay on the table. The Worker was unconscious, whether by pain or lack of blood it was unclear. His left two arms and part of his chest were gone. They’d been torn away by some incredible force, exposing his innards.

It was a wound that would have killed any Human or Drake and even an Antinium was not long for this world with such an injury. But the Free Queen had not allowed Bird to die. She had applied the regenerative gel the Antinium labored to create in vast quantities, and affixed strange, pulsating pieces of flesh to Bird’s side. Organs, meant to reroute blood. She’d even repaired parts of his chitin, binding it together to form a scab of sorts, covering his open side. Now the Free Queen sat back and clicked her mandibles softly.

“Done.”

“Will he live?”

Klbkch walked forwards, ignoring the drones who began cleaning up the blood and tidying up the tools, recycling what could not be cleaned. The Free Queen turned and Klbkch felt a wave of shock and then fury emanating from her through their mental link.

“Klbkchhezeim? What are you doing here? I ordered you to find the thing that attacked Bird and kill it!”

The Free Queen drew herself up and Klbkch sensed her wrath. Just like when he had brought Bird, dying to her. Klbkch held fast, though the other drones scurried away out of the Queen’s reach.

“I led the Soldiers to the surface despite my objections, my Queen, and formally requested Liscor’s aid in hunting down the assailant. However, Liscor’s [Strategist] informed of a developing situation which threatens both the Hive and Liscor.”

“Which is?”

“An assault on the city. Thus, I have returned, but the Soldiers will begin combing the city and the Watch has agreed to send multiple patrols via boats to investigate the immediate area around Liscor.”

“That is not what I want.”

The Queen’s voice was dangerously low. She drew herself up and pulled herself towards Klbkch. Her mandibles clicked in front of Klbkch.

“I want the one responsible for injuring Bird dead. Send your Soldiers across the waters, Klbkch! Use the artifacts or the Waterwalking Potions. Find the one who did this and kill them.

“My Queen, using our limited resources would be unwise. Not only would it alert the Drakes to our preparations, it would—”

Do not argue with me, Klbkchhezeim!

The thunderous voice silenced Klbkch for a second. He held still, looking into the Queen’s huge face. Klbkch thought quickly and carefully.

“My Queen, this assault on Liscor threatens all the Free Antinium. It may destroy the Hive if it is not addressed. The situation is dire and I cannot guarantee that Liscor will survive it.”

That got through to her at last. The Free Queen slowly closed her mandibles and moved back a bit.

“It is that serious?”

“Yes.”

Klbkch could sense the outrage changing to caution in his Queen. He waited, hoping she would return to her senses. She had been enraged on seeing Bird hurt. Bird of all people. Why? It made no sense. But the strange affection the Queen had suddenly found for Bird had saved the Worker. As for deploying Soldiers…madness. But now that she was aware of the scope of the threat, at last some of the Queen’s logic began to override her emotions.

“Very well, Klbkch. Inform me of the situation.”

Klbkch nodded.

“I was just informed that—”

A feeler silenced him. The Queen gestured at the still Worker lying on the slab.

“Not here. Bird must rest. Follow.”

She led Klbkch out of the laboratory and back into her central chambers. Klbkch saw Garry poke his head out of his kitchen anxiously.

“My Queen, is Bird…?”

“He will live, Garry.”

The Free Queen glanced at Garry, another surprise. Klbkch had never seen her do more than perfunctorily order the Worker about. But now she even spoke his name. Had Bird changed her so much? And…how?

Klbkch nodded and Garry scurried back into his kitchen. That left the two alone in the chamber. The Free Queen spoke abruptly.

“What is occurring, Klbkch?”

“War, my Queen. The Goblin Lord is being driven to assault Liscor, by the Humans. Rather than destroy them, they have turned the Goblins into a force by which they may assault the city without directly instigating a war.”

For a second the Free Queen froze up, as Klbkch had once Olesm finally managed to convey the enormity of the situation. Then she looked at Klbkch and shook her head.

“Impossible. They could never take Liscor. Any assault would fail. You are overstating the danger, Klbkch.”

The Free Queen spoke flatly. Klbkch shifted.

“I am not. Your assessment is valid my Queen, but the Humans have prepared a way to weaken Liscor to the extent that the Goblin Lord’s army could well take the city. They have trebuchets.”

How?

“…I am not certain. But somehow they have discovered the means of constructing such weapons. And Olesm—Liscor’s [Strategist]—believes they have the numbers to breach even Liscor’s walls and allow the Goblins to assault the city directly.”

Klbkch waited as his Queen slowly sat back, digesting the information. Her mandibles clicked open and closed as she whispered to herself.

“The Humans have trebuchets? But the Antinium have offered countless incentives for the plans of such weapons for years without gains. How could they create them so quickly?”

With help from another world. Klbkch did not speak his theory out loud, but his hands tightened on the hilts of his swords. It was not impossible. He had spoken to Ryoka and while she had refused to give him any information, it was clear that both she and Erin possessed a great deal of knowledge of technologies that this world lacked. If one of them had joined with the Human Lord Tyrion Veltras…

Not for the first time, Klbkch wondered if he should have told his Queen about Erin and Ryoka. But up until this moment he was certain that doing so would have resulted in their immediate capture and interrogation. And he had not been willing to do so for that reason. But faced with this disaster, Klbkch was forced to admit he had underestimated the danger that the people from the otherworld posed. If the trebuchets were their doing…

“How many volleys would it take to breach Liscor’s walls, Klbkchhezeim? How many trebuchets do the Humans have?”

“The number is unknown, my Queen, but if the Humans use enchanted ammunition or have managed to enchant the trebuchets like those present on the Walled Cities, they would break through quickly. Olesm has requested our support.”

“To destroy the trebuchets? We have the tunnels. But they are a secret to Liscor.”

“Yes, but the Goblin Lord’s army far outnumbers that of the forces of Liscor. And even our numbers, my Queen. If it comes to a battle in the city—”

“I see. Return above, Klbkch. We must consult with their [Strategist] and Watch Captain. Liscor must not fall. We have struck a bargain.”

“And the Soldiers? I realize your fury my Queen, but they are in danger on the waters and complicating the situation.”

Klbkch held his breath. The Free Queen hesitated. Her feelers moved together angrily.

“I am wroth. But I will recall them if needed. For now.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Relieved, Klbkch sensed her give the order and the Soldiers moving above start to return to the Hive. He relaxed. Too soon. The Free Queen bent.

“Now go. If Liscor is to be defended, we must ready ourselves to strike at these siege weapons and sacrifice thousands of Soldiers and Workers to do so. And if this Hobgoblin that injured Bird is an advance scout of the Goblin Lord’s army…”

Her voice grew ominous. Klbkch nodded.

“I will ask Liscor’s [Strategist] to make inquiries, my Queen. I will open a link as soon as I am above—”

“No. That will not be necessary, Klbkchhezeim.”

For a second Klbkch thought the Queen had interrupted him. But her mandibles had not opened. He stopped and stared at her and saw her head move in surprise. Both Klbkch and the Free Queen looked around. And then they heard the voice again.

“It is good that you two are together. I call you two to join a deliberation. The fact of the Human’s movements has spread to the Hives. It presents an opportunity. So I, the Grand Queen of the Hives, call all six Hives together. To decide. To convene. To listen. Join us.”

The voice was deep. Muffled. But unmistakable. Klbkch slowly turned and saw something moving. The body lying against the wall slowly sat up. The vacant drone that had been nothing more than chitin and flesh rose, and sat upright. Its feelers slowly rose and it spoke ponderously, deliberately. Every word was assessed, every word checked for accuracy and fact. The Grand Queen of the Antinium spoke through the drone. She turned her head left and right, speaking once more as Klbkch and the Free Queen stared at her.

“Long has the Free Hive of the Antinium pursued its goals independent of the other Hives. As was agreed. But the hubris of Humans means that it is well-placed to enact a gain for the Hives as a whole. Free Queen, Klbkchhezeim. Are you there?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Klbkch replied instantly. He knelt and the Free Queen hesitated. She gazed down at the vessel and then slowly bowed her head as well.

“I am here, my Queen. The Free Queen of the Antinium will join the deliberation.”

“Excellent.”

The Grand Queen folded her feelers together. Then she hesitated. Slowly, she looked around once more. But she didn’t see a thing. Klbkch and the Free Queen stared hard at the Grand Queen. She sat with all the authority of six Hives, the last of the Antinium. And also the box on her head. The Grand Queen tilted her head back and forth, clearly puzzled. At last she spoke.

“…Is there something wrong with this receptacle’s visual functions?”

Neither Klbkch nor the Free Queen dared respond. The Grand Queen’s puppet swiveled its head a few more times and then gave up.

“No matter. The six Hives shall discuss the issue of the impending attack on Liscor. It appears the Drakes may well give up the city.”

“They will?”

Klbkch was surprised. He looked at his Queen as the Grand Queen nodded. Her voice was satisfied.

“They regard the cost of defending too high. They plan to retake the city on their own terms. However, that is not in the interest of the Hives. If the Drakes will abandon Liscor to the Goblins and Humans, then it may be possible for the Antinium to take the city and hold it. If the Free Queen is able, the Antinium will control Liscor after the Humans attack. Or abandon it.”

The Grand Queen’s voice echoed, making Klbkch’s heart skip and jump. He stared up at his Queen, and then at the puppet who spoke for the Antinium. The Grand Queen’s words brought the prelude to war into the Hive. War and destruction once more. Betrayal. She spoke and Liscor trembled on the brink. And yet—Klbkch hesitated.

She still had the box on her head and she hadn’t noticed. He wondered how he was going to be able to get it off without her noticing. That, and the fall of Liscor concerned him greatly.

Very greatly.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.54

Erin stared at Numbtongue. The Hob wore a pair of steel cuffs that had just been placed on his wrists by a Gnoll [Guardsman]. The Hob looked at her, and then at the ground. He was wet, sweaty, and looked…beaten. So did the other Hobs. What had happened? Green blood still dripped from Headscratcher’s hands where he had held the bandages against Bird’s side.

They were under arrest. Olesm had ordered it. Erin turned to the [Strategist].

“You can’t do it. It’s wrong.”

“I can and I have to, Erin. Liscor is in danger. Senior Guardsman Klbkch!”

The Antinium had sheathed his swords. He was standing at the entrance to the Hive with the Soldiers. He turned.

“I am in my position as Revalantor of the Free Antinium, Strategist Olesm. My Queen rages. She demands the death of whomever injured Bird. As we speak she struggles to save his life.”

Olesm nodded.

“I understand. I will send the Watch to patrol the waters in full force. But there is a situation. The Goblin Lord is coming here. Liscor will soon be under siege. By both the Goblin Lord and Humans.”

“Wait, what?

Erin exclaimed, but neither Olesm nor Klbkch looked at her. The Antinium Revalantor went still for a second.

“Explain.”

“I don’t have the time. Watch Captain Zevara has the details. I have to contact Pallass. Now.

“I see.”

Klbkch didn’t waste time asking further questions. He turned and the Soldiers retreated into the Hive. Then Klbkch strode down the street. Leaving Erin, the Hobgoblins, and Olesm behind.

“Olesm, what’s this about the Goblin Lord? I thought he was defeated! On the run!”

Erin stared at Olesm. The [Strategist] passed a claw over his eyes.

“I don’t—I don’t have the time to tell you, Erin! I need your door, now. Guardsmen! Arrest the Hobs and put them in separate cells!”

He turned. Erin ran around Olesm and blocked his way.

“No! Olesm, the Redfangs did nothing wrong! They came here because of Bird!”

I know!

Olesm shouted at Erin. She stepped backwards. The Drake glared at her.

“I know! But the Goblin Lord’s army is about to sweep down on Liscor, a mysterious Hob just destroyed part of your inn and nearly killed Bird, and there are hundreds of Cave Goblins living in the dungeon! I do not want those five causing an incident! And if I send out the Watch with orders to find and kill a Hob, they will find and kill Hobs. This is for their good, Erin! Don’t argue; just let me do my job!”

He tried to push Erin aside. But she folded her arms.

“No.”

This time Olesm nearly hissed at her. But Erin wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the Hobs. Her friends. Employees and…they’d done nothing wrong. Nothing. She knew that. Olesm knew that. But still Numbtongue was in cuffs. Erin closed her eyes. Then she looked at her friend, the Drake with light blue scales. Olesm. And she clenched her fist slowly and spoke.

“You’re right, Olesm. But you’re wrong. You can’t arrest them. I won’t let you.”

Olesm sighed. His shoulders drooped and his tail curled up at the tip. He shook his head.

“You don’t have a choice, Erin. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Erin saw Olesm’s head raise. He blinked as she punched him. The [Strategist] staggered back and cried out in pain but he didn’t drop. So Erin kicked him in the stomach. She whirled and the Gnoll [Guardsman] raised his paws.

[Minotaur Punch]!

He tried to block her, but Erin’s fist punched right through the Gnoll’s guard and knocked him flat. The other [Guards] stared at Erin. So did the Redfangs. Erin turned and shouted at them.

“Run for it, guys!”

The five Hobs hesitated, but then they took off. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, Rabbiteater, and the manacled Numbtongue each sprinted off in a different direction. The Watch tried to chase them, but Erin jumped forwards. She hit a female Drake with another [Minotaur Punch] and knew she had only two left. She turned, keeping her hands up as the Watch jumped back.

“Come on, I’ll take you on! Fight me! Hiyah!

Erin tried to menace them, but the Drakes and Gnolls rushed after the Hobs instead. Erin threw a fake jab at a Drake close to her, making him duck back.

Behind you! A bell rang in Erin’s head. She turned—

And Relc was standing in front of her. The Drake waved at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated, but then she aimed for his chest.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The Drake [Spearmaster] raised one claw. He caught her hand. His arms strained a bit with the recoil, but Relc himself barely moved. He let go as Erin blinked up at him. The two stared at each other. Then Erin threw another punch, this time at his stomach.

[Minotaur Punch]!

Relc blocked her fist again. This time he shook his claw.

“Ow. That hurts.”

Before Erin could react he reached out and tapped her on the forehead with his knuckles. She frowned and tried to swing at him again—

And then found herself lying on the ground. She stared up blankly at the clear sky. Then someone’s face appeared in her field of vision. It was Relc. Erin stared up at him dizzily. The Drake scratched the back of his head.

“Hey Erin.”

“Hey Relc.”

“You’re under arrest.”

Erin blinked stupidly up at Relc.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

She lay on the ground for a few minutes. By the time the world stopped spinning Olesm had gotten to his feet and the Hobs were returning.

In chains. The Watch had caught them. Erin watched in despair as the Hobs returned. First Badarrow, caught by Relc. Then Headscratcher with a bloody nose. Shorthilt. Rabbiteater with several bleeding scratches on his leg. But not Numbtongue.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark. Did they give you trouble?”

Olesm winced as he clutched his stomach. Erin felt bad; she’d kicked him as hard as she could. The Gnoll who’d caught Rabbiteater shook her head.

“No sir. They tried to knock us down but they didn’t draw steel, sir. But the fifth Hob, the one we already shackled—he uh, made it out.”

“What? How?”

Erin looked up. Beilmark looked embarrassed.

“The fifth one—he ran down the streets shouting about a Raskghar attack. In the panic we couldn’t catch up to him and then he ran up to the battlements and jumped off.”

“Clever Numbtongue.”

Olesm glanced down at her and made a frustrated sound.

“That’s—keep an eye out for him! Don’t shoot him, but if he appears in the inn or the city—just keep an eye out! As for these four…”

He turned and looked grimly at Erin and the Hobs.

“Take them to prison and put them in separate cells.”

“The Hobs?”

Relc raised his brows. Olesm shook his head.

“All of them. The Hobs…and Erin. I can’t have them running around. And Erin causes trouble. This is an emergency and I can’t—I don’t want to lose my breakfast. So take her to a cell.”

He looked back at Erin.

“I’m sorry.”

Olesm didn’t wait for a response. He turned and hurried off. Erin stared down at her hands. Relc walked over with a pair of metal cuffs. He shrugged.

“You know, he does have a point.”

Erin stared at Olesm.

“Yeah. That’s fair too.”

Then she looked at the four Hobs sitting around her. They looked at her, tired, confused. And frightened, though they tried to hide it. Erin smiled weakly at them.

“I’m sorry.”

And she saw the guilt in their eyes as Relc closed the manacles over her hands. Then Erin and the Redfang Warriors went to jail.

 

—-

 

Klbkch did not waste time. When Olesm told him Liscor was in danger he made his way to the barracks, listened to a brief summary of events from Zevara and then spoke four brief words.

“The Antinium will fight.”

There was nothing else to be said. Not to Zevara who was trying to do a thousand things at once. Klbkch strode back through the streets of Liscor to his Hive and descended into it. Twice as many Soldiers were on guard near the entrance. They might not have known what was going on, but they could sense the tension in Klbkch. The Revalantor walked further into the Hive.

He felt as though the air was tingling around him. Klbkch’s antennae slowly moved back and forth. He didn’t grasp at the handles of his swords, but he was aware they were there as he walked.

War. It had returned to Liscor. Klbkch had not predicted this. The news had caught him off guard. But now he knew, he felt as through the entire Hive was humming. Klbkch recalled a distant scene and paused. He remembered a song, echoing, and for a second he nearly drew his swords.

Goblins and Humans. They were coming in numbers to drown Liscor. And the city was not ready. The Hive was not ready. But they would fight and fill the Floodplains with death if they had to.

“Prepare the Hives. Call the Black Tide. The Antinium march.”

Klbkch whispered. Then he forced his hands away from his swords. Not yet. Klbkch kept moving, but now the air was electric. Workers straightened and Soldiers turned as he passed. They could feel it. The Soldiers closed their hands into fists and stood straighter, and the Workers stared at Klbkch’s back. They could feel it too. But only those around Klbkch. Those who passed out of his range were cut off. Confused.

The Hive was in disarray. Workers and Soldiers milled about, only half going about their assigned tasks. The rest were—confused. As if their mental link with their Queen had been interrupted. As if she were dead. When Klbkch passed by them, they stared at the Revalantor and then moved smoothly back to work. But as soon as he passed from view they grew confused again. Because their Queen was occupied.

Klbkch could feel her presence as he swiftly made his way towards her chambers. The Grand Queen’s presence filled his mind. He could ‘hear’ her, sense her emotions and will. She was in turmoil. Then Klbkch did hear her voice, echoing from her inner chambers.

Klbkchhezeim!

He entered her chambers. The Soldiers standing guard were agitated, standing far away from the entrance to the room. Twitching, half-looking inside before watching the corridor leading to her rooms. Klbkch didn’t have to guess why. The scent of Antinium blood—hemolymph—was thick in the air. And inside the Free Queen’s chambers was a mix of confusion.

Strange Antinium milled about in the center of the room, surrounding a fallen Worker. The Free Queen of the Antinium herself bent over Bird, issuing orders as her feelers moved rapidly, scooping up gels and tending to strange, bulbous sacs filled with green blood and organs. Klbkch stopped, his mandibles opening with shock as he beheld the scene.

No wonder the Soldiers were agitated. Although they had guarded the Queen all their lives, they had probably never seen the Drones, the Antinium with bodies that resembled their Queen, before. They had no arms or hands, but six feelers with palps and hunched, insectile bodies even more ant-like than…well, the other Antinium.

The Drones had smaller mandibles than even Workers and they were physically tiny compared to their brethren. They were not designed for war. In fact, the nine or so Drones weren’t even properly formed.

They’d been crudely copied from memory, but the Free Queen had yet to complete their design. As a result, the Drones moved unsteadily, sometimes jerking as muscle fibers fired improperly. They were unbalanced compared to the relatively flawless design of Workers and Soldiers, but they were more precise than the other two types of Antinium at delicate tasks. As such they were essential here.

Because of Bird. The Worker lay on the ground. Bleeding. The Drones clustered around him, applying the Antinium’s unique gelatins and secretions to him. Another tended to a strange tube inserted into Bird’s chest. As Klbkch watched, he poured a bowl of blood into the tube, and then trundled over to the semi-translucent sac filled with blood and floating organs. The sac twitched as the Drone collected more blood from it.

It was alive. The blood sac wasn’t Antinium, though. Klbkch doubted it was even conscious. It was designed for one purpose: to provide raw materials for his Queen to harvest. He stared at it for one second, then looked at his Queen.

“My Queen.”

“More gel! Stop the bleeding! More blood.”

The Free Queen’s voice echoed as she bent over Bird. Her massive form was hunched, bending possessively over Bird, forcing the Drones to scurry around her. The Free Queen’s head turned to Klbkch as he approached.

“He is dying.”

“Can you not save him?”

The Queen’s mandibles clicked together harshly.

“I am trying. But his body is torn. Whatever struck him created a shockwave. His organs are in failure. I am trying, Klbkch. But his internals are—who did this? Who?

Klbkch bowed his head. He looked down. Bird was moving slowly, mandibles opening and closing. He was awake. The Antinium didn’t have anesthesia or painkillers. Klbkch spoke dispassionately.

“A Hobgoblin, my Queen.”

“Find it. Kill it. Send the Soldiers! All of them!”

“That would not be wise, my Queen. The waters are still risen. And there is another issue—”

A feeler shot out. The Grand Queen grabbed Klbkch and drew her head close to his.

Do not argue with me, Klbkchhezeim.

He held still. Klbkch opened his mandibles slowly and spoke cautiously. He had never seen his Queen like this. Why did she care about Bird so much? She would not have grown half as agitated to lose a thousand Workers. But Bird?

“My Queen. Liscor is in danger. I have just been informed that the Humans are driving the Goblin Lord to Liscor. Not to eradicate it as we had assumed, but to lead an assault on Liscor.”

The Free Queen froze for a second.

“Impossible. That would be an act of war. Besides, the Humans cannot breach Liscor’s walls.”

“That is what we believed. But the Strategist of Liscor believes they have obtained trebuchets.”

Trebuchets? How?”

“I am unclear. But it is certain that the Humans intend to create a breach in Liscor’s walls and allow the Goblins to sack the city before occupying it themselves. My Queen, Liscor will be under siege in four days’ time.”

The Queen released Klbkch. She sat back for a second, her antennae waving frantically. Klbkch stared up at her as the Drones worked frantically. And then he heard a sound.

“Ow. Ow.”

Both the Free Queen and Klbkch looked down. Bird was lying down, still oozing blood. His mandibles opened and closed.

“It hurts. I am dying. Ow.”

“Bird.”

The Queen bent over him, the danger to Liscor and the Hive forgotten in an instant. Klbkch moved closer and a Drone hurried out of the way. Bird’s head turned.

“It hurts. Revalantor Klbkch? Is that you?”

“Yes, Bird.”

Klbkch looked down at Bird. Dispassionately. He had seen countless Antinium die before. Bird was one face of millions. Klbkch’s hands tightened on his sword’s hilts. Just another Worker. But Bird was an Individual. And he looked so broken lying there. His left side was missing.

What kind of a Goblin could have done this? By throwing a sword? Klbkch had fought Goblin Chieftains in the Second Antinium War. He had dueled Goblin Lords. But even the strongest Hobs he’d met there didn’t seem capable of doing that. Only a few had been that strong. And they had been—

Klbkch realized Bird was moving slowly. His right side was twitching. Bird’s mandibles were opening and closing and he was quivering. With pain? Klbkch searched for something to say.

“Stay alive, Bird. This is an order.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch. I will try.”

“Klbkch. Move back. Bird, do not move. You are torn.”

The Queen’s voice was quiet. Her feelers pressed against Bird’s side, applying a viscous gel. But the regenerative gel the Antinium used was insufficient to this injury, as were healing potions. Bird was torn open. And no matter how desperately the Drones labored, they couldn’t stop the worst of his bleeding.

In a Human it would be different. In a Drake or Gnoll, too. But Bird had no arteries, no closed circulatory system. It was impossible to close a vein or stem the bleeding. All the Queen could do was restore his blood. But so long as Bird bled—

“Can you save him?”

Klbkch looked up at his Queen. She did not answer. Her feelers were wet with Bird’s blood. The Free Queen kept moving, directing her Drones, but Klbkch sensed the answer in her emotions.

She was frantic. She had not been taught to heal like the other Queens designed solely for that purpose. When she had crossed the ocean and left Rhir, she had been young. She was neither a Weaver Queen nor a Battle Queen who could save Antinium wounded on the battlefield. All she knew of the Antinium was a result of rediscovering it from memory, out of desperation.

“Do not die, Bird. Hold on. The bleeding will slow.”

“It hurts. It hurts.”

Bird stared at the tube in his chest as a Drone poured more blood into him. He clicked his mandibles and tried to turn his head.

“I fell. There was a Goblin with a beard. He had a sword. Where is Erin? She was very upset. I broke her tower. Where is my bow? I must have my bow. It is mine.”

“Be still.”

The Queen gently pressed down on Bird’s chest. He looked up at her, at Klbkch.

“I am dying.”

“Yes.”

Klbkch knelt by Bird’s side. He pressed a hand to Bird’s torn flesh and felt the gel and blood mixing at his touch. He looked up at the Free Queen.

“My Queen—”

“No. He can be saved. He must.

The Free Queen shook her head. Klbkch stared down at Bird. Then he looked around.

Drones, hurrying about. The quivering sacs of flesh, the product of secret experiments. Staring Soldiers. Bird. The Queen searching through her reagents and catalysts for something. Panicked. Not thinking. Hive in chaos. Belgrade and Anand in the western area, restoring order. Pawn’s presence, stabilizing Antinium around him.

Bird dying. Garry standing by the door to his kitchen, staring at them. The Queen calling for more blood. Klbkch’s swords were by his side. Bird looking up. Asking for his bow.

Movement in a corner. A shape. A vessel, a body shaped in the image of a Queen. Holding a mirror. Jerking. Standing. Moving forwards. Speaking. A face reflected in the magical depths of the mirror. A voice.

“Klbkchhezeim. What  passes here?”

Klbkch looked up. Then he turned and knelt.

“My Queen.”

The Antinium around him—stopped. The Free Queen, the Drones, the Soldiers. Bird. The small version of the Queen looked around. And then she raised her mirror. And reflected in the depths was a large form. A Queen of the Antinium stared out from the mirror’s surface. She sat in a grand chamber, surrounded by Antinium. An azure Antinium with a staff stood by her side, and Prognugators armed with silvery blades, replicas of Klbkch’s weapons, surrounded her. The Grand Queen of the Antinium spoke.

“Why does this Worker’s fate concern the Free Queen of the Antinium? Why are Drones present in Liscor’s Hive? Answer me, Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium.”

Klbkch felt the Free Queen’s shock ripple through his connection to her, but he didn’t move. The Grand Queen was here. The vessel she had sent looked around the chambers, inspecting everything. Seeing through her connection with it and the magic mirror it held.

“Grand Queen. An Individual of the Hive has been injured by an unknown assailant. He is—a valuable asset to the Hive.”

“I am?”

“A single Worker? Ah. One of your unique Antinium reported to the Hives. Very well. And the Drones? We forbade this Hive to experiment with new forms or create Antinium besides new Workers and Soldiers. Why?”

“A…necessity, Grand Queen. My Queen deemed them essential for the purposes of enacting the Rite of Anastases when I fell.”

That was a lie. The Drones had been present for nearly six years, hidden in the Free Queen’s laboratory, defying the Grand Queen’s orders. But the Grand Queen did not know that. She paused and her feelers rubbed together.

“We see. Very well. Klbkchhezeim, Free Queen, you are called to speak with the other five Hives. Abandon this…Worker so that we may speak.”

“No.”

The Free Queen spoke softly. The Grand Queen’s vessel turned and looked up at her.

“This was not a request.”

Klbkch spoke quickly to prevent his Queen from speaking again. It had been years since the Grand Queen and his Queen had communicated. And yet the two had never forgotten their past. A decade had passed since his Queen had settled in Liscor, but the Antinium never forgot.

“My Queen. This Worker is of great importance to the Hives. If necessary, I would require that the Hives wait. The importance of this Worker cannot be understated.”

“Really?”

The Grand Queen froze, her mandibles opening in shock. So did the Free Queen. Beside her, in the mirror, the blue form of Xrn smiled, raising her mandibles with delight. The Grand Queen regarded Klbkch for a second. If the Free Queen had said the same, she would not have listened. But Klbkch was a Centenium. The last of the ancients. So the Grand Queen slowly nodded.

“Very well. If Klbkchhezeim speaks of this Worker’s value—what say you, Queens of the Antinium?”

For a second Klbkch thought she was speaking to the Free Queen. But then the mirror flickered. The image of the Grand Queen sitting in her Hive vanished. Another Queen filled it. A smaller Queen, shadowed in a quiet place, surrounded by shadows. Antinium blending with the darkness. The only light came from phosphorous moss growing around the room, dimly giving light. The Queen spoke in the shadows, her words soft.

“If Klbkchhezeim speaks, the Silent Antinium listen.”

Her image flickered. The mirror brightened. Another Queen sat in the light. She was huge, the largest of the Queens, her body bloated. A ring of steel stood around her, Antinium covered in metal armor. Tersk stood by his Queen’s side as she waved a Feeler.

“The Armored Antinium assent. What strengthens the Hives is worthy of being saved. Preserve the Worker.”

Another flicker. She vanished and a third Queen appeared. Her room was filled with motion; Antinium with wings flew or ran. This Queen sat in the center of her Hive, as corridors and tunnels filled her cavern and her Workers and Soldiers moved in a constant stream. She twitched as Pivr, her winged Revalantor, brought her a bowl of meat to eat from. Her voice was quick, impatient.

“If it must be, it must be. Save the Worker but hurry. The Hive must discuss and the moment is now. Twisted Queen?”

The last Queen appeared in the mirror. And she was unlike the others. A ruined face and one eye stared at Klbkch and the Free Queen. Repaired mandibles opened. A voice spoke. The glowing sacs and bodies floating in liquid in the chamber around the Queen moved uneasily, unaccustomed to sound or light.

“Agreed.”

One word, and her image flickered and changed back to the Grand Queen. The large Queen was clearly displeased, but the others had spoken. She waved a feeler.

“Then it is decided. Save the Worker. Queen of the Silent Antinium, I call upon you.”

The body holding the mirror jerked. And then it’s mannerisms changed. The mirror shifted as it crept closer, suddenly less decisive, more reserved. The Drones moved back as one as the puppet moved forwards. The Silent Queen stared out of her mirror down at Bird. He looked up at her and whispered.

“Hello. I am Bird.”

She ignored him. The Silent Queen made the small replica lower the mirror so she could inspect the wound. She spoke, choosing each word with care.

“His system is severed. The liquid leaks. It must be redirected.”

“I know. But the damage is too great to contain. Each seal I form cannot contain the blood. If I had false flesh or chitin—”

The Free Queen’s voice was frustrated, and she felt helpless in Klbkch’s mind. The Silent Queen regarded Bird and then looked around the room.

“Not necessary. Apply a gel of congealed blood-fluid here and here. Increase the ambient temperature by three degrees. This Worker’s body temperature is dropping too quickly.”

The Free Queen immediately sent Drones to obey. The Silent Queen abandoned Bird and moved towards the blood sacs.

“These are containers preserved for blood? Parts?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen spoke. The mirror flickered.

“You were not allowed to create other Antinium! This is unacceptable! A violation of orders! This—”

The image flickered back to the shadowed Queen. She inspected the living sacs of organs and then pointed with one feeler.

“There. That is necessary. Splice that organ with the Worker’s injuries.”

The Free Queen’s antennae waved with surprise.

“Would that work?”

The little vessel and the Silent Queen in the mirror nodded as one.

“The Worker design was created uniformly. With flesh and chitin, a seal may be created.”

She looked up at the Free Queen. For a moment the Queen of the Free Antinium hesitated, then she moved. She reached out and gripped the sac. She tore the membrane. Antinium blood splattered. Something died. The Drones swarmed over the sac, cutting with knives. The Silent Queen crept back to Bird and oversaw the treatment.

Klbkch watched impassively. This was not like the weaving of old, where a Queen could replace a limb or body part in minutes. This was crude. But it worked. The organs replaced the damaged ones in Bird’s body as the Worker quivered. The membrane and more regenerative gel was packed into place, creating an oozing mass. And then raw chitin was delicately placed just so, to cover the rest. It was sealed in place with a different type of gel meant for sealing wounds.

The bleeding stopped. Bird lay on the ground, surrounded by blood as the transfusion tube was removed from his chest. He stared up at the Free Queen and Klbkch as the Silent Queen sat back, her job done. The Drones moved back, disposing of the rest of the organs and beginning to pack away the tools and different mixtures they had brought here. Bird opened his mandibles and spoke.

“That hurt.”

Klbkch stared down at Bird. The Worker stared up at him.

“Am I going to live, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“Yes.”

Bird nodded slowly.

“That is good. I am Bird. Ow. Ow. I am much in pain. Ow. But I am brave. La, la, I am a brave little Bird…ow.”

He fell silent. Klbkch saw his mandibles open a bit, and wondered if Bird had passed out…or gone to sleep. The Silent Queen’s image flickered and another intelligence took control of the body. The Twisted Queen, her broken body a reflection of Bird’s own, stared down at him. Her feelers moved slowly towards him and both Klbkch and the Free Queen grew concerned. But the Twisted Queen did not touch Bird. Instead, she looked at Klbkch.

“Why. Does it speak? Why is it. Named?”

“It is Individual. You were informed of my success. And you have known of my designs for the Antinium.”

The Free Queen spoke coldly. The Twisted Queen looked at her and did not reply. The body jerked. The Grand Queen spoke briskly.

“The success of the Free Antinium is documented. Now the Worker has been preserved, we are called to more important issues.”

She made the body move back. Klbkch pointed, and the Drones carefully lifted Bird out of the way. They moved back as the vessel, the Free Queen, and Klbkch stood in the center of the room. The Grand Queen’s voice echoed out of the mirror.

“We are called to action, Free Queen. So we gather. The five Queens of the Hives are present. We deliberate. We call on you to join us.”

The Free Queen hesitated for a fraction of a second, then lowered her head.

“I am a servant of the Antinium, as are we all. What do the Hives call the Free Antinium for?”

The vessel raised the mirror it held. The view of the Grand Queen splintered into five parts. The five Queens sat and spoke. Each in their Hive. Each watching, regarding the others. In unison and apart.

“For war.”

The Armored Queen and her legions standing to attention.

“For planning.”

The shadows moved as the Silent Queen raised her head.

“For excellence bar none.”

The Flying Antinium and their Queen buzzed, their wings beating restlessly.

“For. Change.”

The Twisted Queen sat as things grew and died around her.

“For victory.”

The Grand Queen spoke simply. And her Prognugator, Xrn of the Antinium, raised her staff and called a map of Izril into the air. Klbkch knelt and his Queen leaned forwards. And the humming was back in the air. War. The Free Antinium looked up across their Hive and felt it.

And a little Worker, in pain, lying in a corner of the room turned his head a tiny bit. Just a bit because everything hurt. He stared at the mirror, the kneeling Revalantor, and the six Queens gathered for the first time in a decade. His antennae waved a bout and he looked at the Drones standing silently around him.

“Excuse me. Who are they?”

 

—-

 

While the Queens of the Antinium spoke, another conversation took place further north. Two others were magically linked, but not by an artifact. One spoke and then the other did, using the same mouth. They saw through the same eyes. But they were not the same. One’s voice was Human, male, old but not decrepit. The other was young, a Goblin’s voice. And the body walked through the camp, staring at the Goblins, the distant Human forces who had paused for the death of Tremborag of the Mountain.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord spoke to his master, Az’kerash. Behind him lay a Drake’s body. Oteslia Blackwing. A group of Goblins scurried forwards and bore her away. The rest were silent. Snapjaw, Eater of Spears, and the Goblin Lord’s tribe stood back, watching their leader with unease. They knew. But for the moment, no one else did.

Rags was busy trying to organize the remainder of Tremborag’s tribe. Garen Redfang snarled and tended to the few thousand who had decided to join him. Reiss and Az’kerash watched it all and spoke. The first thing Az’kerash said was simple.

Have you leveled since we last spoke, my apprentice?

Reiss stirred. He blinked, but then realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. He shook his head slightly.

“No, master.”

A pity. But you have mastered the art of raising Draugr now?

“Yes, master. I have.”

Good.

A smile passed Reiss’ lips. It was not his own. Az’kerash tapped a finger to his lips and Reiss did the same.

In that case, study from the Tome of Greir Rot next. The section on undead enhancement, I think. Empowering your Draug and lesser undead will allow them to win battles until you are capable of reaching the next stage of undead animation.

“Yes, master.”

When you have learned those spells, inform me. The next step for a [Necromancer] at your level would be to amass an army of expendable corpses supplemented by an elite core of Draug and high-ranking undead. Or focus on a select group of customized creations. Either way, the challenge you will face lies not in outnumbering your enemy, but dealing with warriors and mages who can slay even Draug with ease and survive most mundane attacks. But as a Goblin Lord, your focus will be different. It is a curious change, but one that will make you stronger if you survive.

“Yes, master. What is the solution for dealing with warriors and mages?”

Az’kerash frowned with Reiss’ face.

Simple to speak of, difficult to achieve.  Ideally, you would learn new spells to supplement your abilities. Or create minions with supreme offensive abilities. Naturally, either option is difficult to properly work towards. [Necromancers] struggle to excel against small groups of high-level foes. It is the weakness of our class which I have long sought to address. As you know.

“Yes, master.”

Reiss spoke carefully. He was waiting. When he and his master spoke like this, they could have been any master and apprentice. Az’kerash’s tone was interested, almost affectionate. When Az’kerash spoke of his passion, of Necromancy, he sounded like a teacher. But still Reiss waited. And he did not have to wait long.

So much for your progress. Now we speak of what has passed since I last contacted you.

“Yes, master.”

Reiss tensed, though he knew the Necromancer could feel it through their bond. He couldn’t help it. Az’kerash paused. When he spoke this time, his voice was cold and dispassionate.

I am disappointed in you, my apprentice.

“Yes, master.”

I gave you an order and trusted you to lead your army after Zel Shivertail’s defeat. I ordered you to preserve his body. You failed to do so. I expected you to defeat this Goblin Chieftain of the Mountains and cause havoc in Human lands. You failed in that mission as well. I find you fleeing from the Humans instead, your undead army destroyed, with two other Goblin Chieftains defying your will. This is unacceptable.

“Yes, master.”

Reiss waited. Az’kerash looked about, focusing on the milling Goblins, on Rags, and then on the distant Humans.

Tyrion Veltras has gathered a powerful army to him. I see the banners of multiple [Lords] and [Ladies] of note. And he has enough [Mages] to humble you a dozen times over, my apprentice.

“Yes, master. What should we do? What is he doing?”

And where have you been? Reiss didn’t ask that last part out loud. To the south, he knew, his master was sitting in his castle, surrounded by nothing but death. Az’kerash, Peril Chandler, the Necromancer of Izril, regarded the Humans and Goblins for one long minute. Then he smiled and spoke.

“The Humans are using you as a weapon against the Drakes, my apprentice. They think they can use you to start a war. I suggest…you let them.”

Reiss’ heart began to beat faster. He stared at the Humans. He bit his lower lip, and hesitated. Then he gritted his teeth.

Why?

 

—-

 

The Queens debated. The Necromancer spoke with the Goblin Lord. Erin went to jail. The young woman chattered nervously as she was led down the stairs to Liscor’s prison. It wasn’t that she was afraid of being beaten and locked away forever; she’d been treated quite civilly, in fact, especially since she’d just punched Liscor’s Chief Strategist and several members of the City Watch.

No one had hit her with sticks. Nor was she dragged along in chains while her captors hurled insults at her. Instead, she was escorted quite politely, although there was a heavy escort, and all the [Guards] kept out of arm’s reach.

Relc hadn’t been allowed to take Erin to prison. He and Olesm and the other high-level officers of the City Watch had gone straight to Erin’s inn. To take her door and deal with whatever was happening. Liscor being under attack. Erin had no idea what it was all about and the [Guardspeople] around her didn’t tell her anything. She walked down the steps to the prison, the Hobs following in a line.

“So this is a prison? It’s cleaner than I thought it would be. I’ve never been to prison, you know. I’ve never even been in trouble with the law. Except for that one time I got in trouble for throwing snowballs at cars. I didn’t know it was dangerous! I never did it again. I was a good kid. I think.”

The Drake guiding her grunted. Erin kept chattering, the pit in her stomach sinking further the lower she went.

“Am I going to be on a watch list? Or will this be on my permanent record? Do you have records? Wait—am I already on your watch list? Hey, do I have a file and if I do, can I see it?”

One of the Gnolls behind Erin groaned under her breath. Erin had been talking nonstop for the last ten minutes they’d been walking. And even the City Watch’s stoic silence could only take so much. The Drake in front of her grunted.

“You don’t have a file, Human. Do you think we’re made of parchment? We just remember your face.”

“Oh, really? So if you saw me next time…”

“We might break your arm by ‘accident’. Or kick you in the face if you keep causing trouble. Or if you don’t shut up.

Erin clamped her lips together. She walked down the last of the stairs in silence, much to everyone’s relief. The Drake stopped by a door, opened it with a key, and pointed inside. Erin stepped apprehensively into the prison and looked around.

It was actually pretty nice, as prisons went. Okay, sure, it was clearly a prison and there were cells, but they were big ones, some clearly meant to lock up groups while others were smaller. At the far end, a few cells looked enchanted; the metal bars were semi-translucent or seemed to glow, suggesting that they were reinforced or magicked in some way. And the furthest cell didn’t even have bars; the opening was encircled by a double-layer of tightly-written runes which glowed pale yellow in the dim light.

But the thing that surprised Erin most was…that there weren’t many cells to begin with. Liscor didn’t believe in having large prison populations. Troublemakers were fined, ejected from the city…or killed. The patrol of guards led Erin down the short jail, and she saw several people behind bars. Drakes, and a few Humans, all who looked like they’d been in some sort of fight. A pair of Gnolls, one of whom had been very unhappily sick, a Garuda…

Bevussa?

Erin stopped, much to the annoyance of her captors. Bevussa waved at Erin and smiled weakly from behind the enchanted bars of her cell.

“Hey Erin. Fancy seeing you here.”

“What are you doing here?”

The young woman ignored the Drake who was trying to lead her onwards. Bevussa grinned sheepishly.

“I uh, got into a fight at the Adventurer’s Guild and punched a few people. You know, over the lottery? I’m in here for the day. Some of the other Gold-ranks are too. Keldrass is in the other cell. Say hi to him, would you?”

Erin blinked. The Drake growled at her and she remembered to keep moving.

“Whoops, sorry about that. Hey Keldrass! Bevussa says hi.”

“Tell her to eat her own tail.”

“Shove yours up your ass, Keldrass! I wasn’t even aiming for you!”

It definitely seemed like Erin had missed something. She kept walking and noticed they were headed to the back of the enchanted cells. She gulped. The City Watch wasn’t taking this lightly, for all they were treating her and the Hobs nice. She turned her head. Four Hobs stared at her back. Erin whispered quickly.

“Okay guys, look. I’m not sure what’s in there, but I do know how to survive jail. According to TV. The trick is that the instant we get in there, we have to find the biggest guy—or girl—and beat them up.”

The Hobs brightened up considerably. They could certainly do that! One of the female Gnolls looked askance. She glanced at her companions.

“Is she serious? She does know we’re putting them in separate cells, yes? What kind of prisons do Humans have?”

The others shook their heads. Erin blushed. She reached the end of the hallway and the Drake pointed.

“In there.”

“Oh. Just me? Uh, thanks for not hitting me or anything.”

Erin gingerly approached the cell. It was fairly spacious—fourteen feet by fourteen feet, quite unlike the image of cells Erin had seen in her world.

“Hands.”

She jumped, but the Drake only wanted to unlock her shackles. Erin blinked as he took them off and then pointed. She backed slowly into the cell. The Drake grunted irritably as he closed and locked her cell door with a magic key. She thought he’d just leave her there, but to her surprise he looked at her.

“You’re lucky we owe you one, Human. You helped during the Face-Eater Moth attack, and with Skinner. And the Raskghar. My kid likes those hamburgers. Don’t make this a habit.”

“Oh. Thanks?”

The Drake grunted and walked past Erin. She heard more cells opening and saw Headscratcher entering the cell across from her. Doors closed, the City Watch marched past her. The Drake paused again in front of Erin’s cell.

“Don’t cause trouble. Don’t shout. You can talk if you want. Odds are Olesm lets you out in a few hours or tomorrow for hitting him. There will be a fine. If you’re here long you get fed.”

“Got it.”

He nodded. Erin was left alone. She stared at the faintly glowing bars of her cell and gingerly touched them. They felt warm, but they didn’t shock her or explode. She gripped them with both hands and stared out. Two Hobs, Headscratcher, and Badarrow, were in her line of sight. Rabbiteater and Shorthilt were presumably locked up on her side of the dungeon.

“So…about my theory of beating up the biggest guy here. Uh, anyone see him?”

The Hobs dutifully looked around. The cells they were in were largely uninhabited, even by Gold-rank adventurers. Erin spotted empty cells around them, and then she looked at the furthest cell, the one guarded by runes. She saw someone standing there, immobile as a statue. Her heart leapt and she recoiled.

“Calruz?”

The Minotaur stared blankly ahead from behind the barrier to his cell. There were no bars in front of him, but the air looked…twisted. The runes shone constantly. Despite that, the Minotaur’s feet were still shackled. Not his hands—it was hard to put cuffs on someone with only one arm.

He didn’t move at first. The Minotaur was looking forwards, and he’d been so still that Erin had missed him in the shadows cast from the glowing runes. He stood at the left side of his cell. He looked…different. Erin had seen him after the Watch had arrested him. Then Calruz had been burned, wounded, barely recognizable. Now, he was still recognizable but for different reasons.

Some of the hair had begun growing on the places Calruz had been burned. It was uneven, and the Minotaur’s fur was uncombed, dirty. His face was grimy and the scars on his arms and legs stood out. He looked nothing like the proud captain of the Horns of Hammerad that Erin had known.

“Uh…Calruz?”

Erin and the Hobs stared at him. The Minotaur did not respond. The Redfangs eyed him. He was clearly the biggest person in the dungeon by far. They eyed his bulging muscles then patted their own arms for reassurance. Erin stared at Calruz and then looked at the Goblins.

“I don’t think we have to beat him up. It’s more like…an option? Don’t worry about it.”

The Hobs relaxed a bit. Erin stared at them and realized they hadn’t really gotten the joke from the start. She scratched her head and noticed that they were still shackled both hand and foot. She searched for something to say, but she really didn’t have anything.

She’d punched Olesm. Numbtongue had gotten away. Liscor was in danger again. Only this time it sounded really bad. The Goblin Lord. Erin hesitated, then sat down. She looked around her cell and decided it did fall behind prisons from her world in two ways: there was only a bucket in the corner for a toilet, and there was no bed. Drakes clearly believed that you should also suffer while in prison. She wondered if there was a torture chamber in Liscor too. Probably not.

She sat down on the cold stone floor and shivered. Headscratcher was gingerly pulling at the bars of his cell and Badarrow had already lain down. Erin stared at them.

“Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to get you into this.”

The Hobs looked at her. Headscratcher looked incredibly guilty, and shook his head. He pointed slightly up and to the side, mimed shooting an arrow, made a snarling expression and then a look of shock and tapped his chest and pointed at Badarrow who nodded. He shook his head twice and then tapped his chest again before opening his hand and slapping his palm across his right arm, grimacing. Erin stared at him.

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Headscratcher sagged. Erin wished Numbtongue were here. Well, not here, but the Hob was the only one of the Goblins who was able to fully speak English, and her understanding of Goblins’ sign language wasn’t nearly advanced enough to interpret what that had meant. She looked around her cell again, but there was nothing to really look at. So she talked.

“I think they’ll let us go soon. Tomorrow, like the Drake said. Me, at least. I didn’t really expect Olesm to arrest me, you know. I mean, I guess after I punched him, yeah. But…I think he’s trying to protect all of you in his way. But it’s wrong. You know?”

Headscratcher shrugged. A Goblin’s reply. Erin half-smiled. Then her face fell.

“Is Bird going to be alright? Klbkch said the Queen could save him. But can she? It looked bad. Really bad.”

The Hobs looked at each other silently. Erin could read that. They didn’t think Bird had a chance. But she refused to believe that. The Queen had brought Klbkch back to life, after all! She could do the same for Bird. Klbkch had said she would save him if she wished. That meant she would do it. She would, right?

Hadn’t she given Bird money for his new bow?

Erin felt sick as she remembered Bird bleeding. She looked up, about to ask Headscratcher what had happened, even if he didn’t make sense, when she saw Calruz had moved. The Minotaur had turned. He was staring at her from his cell. Erin jerked and scrambled back. The Minotaur stared at her with a vacant expression. But then his eyes sharpened.

He moved forwards and the air rippled as he pressed his hand against the magical wall of his cell. His lips opened and he made a rasping sound. Erin stared as the Hobs stood up warily and stared at Calruz. The Minotaur made the sound again, then coughed. He was trying to speak.

“You. I know you.”

He looked at Erin. She stared at him, heart racing. Calruz looked at her, blinking. Erin hesitated. She remembered Calruz. She looked down at her hands and remembered him roaring at her, teaching her how to punch. How to fight. Back then—

And now. She looked at Calruz and remembered what Ceria had told her, what Erill had spoken about. Of Mrsha. She thought of the Raskghar and the bloody stone where Gnolls had died. Calruz blinked at Erin.

“I know you.”

“That makes one of us.”

Erin turned away from Calruz. She couldn’t look at him right now. Not yet. She sensed Calruz’s eyes on her, but kept her gaze ahead. She stared at Headscratcher. The Hob stared at Calruz and then looked at Erin. He stared at her and then spoke.

“Sorry.”

She blinked. The word was rough, and Headscratcher said it awkwardly, but he had said it. Badarrow opened his eyes. Rabbiteater and Shorthilt came to the front of their cells, looking at Erin sidelong. She sat behind the glowing bars of her cell.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“No. Us. Sorry.”

Headscratcher tapped his chest insistently. Erin stared at him and shook her head.

“It was another Hob, right?”

That was what Numbtongue had shouted at her in the panicked moments. Headscratcher nodded.

“Bad Hob. Us fight. Sorry.”

“It’s not—”

Erin bowed her head. She listened to the echoing voices in the prison as other people in the cells spoke quietly as well. She heard her heart beating altogether too fast, and heard something else. Drum beats in her head. A warning she hadn’t noticed.

“I think something bad is happening, guys. I think Liscor really is in danger this time. Do you…think so?”

She looked up at the Hobs, hoping they’d disagree. But they sat or lay on the ground or in Headscratcher’s case, just stood. The Hob looked at her and his red eyes glowed in the dim light. Slowly, he nodded.

“Yes. I think is bad. Very bad.”

Erin nodded as well. Her stomach churned and she looked north, past Badarrow. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was north. She could hear something coming.

“Yeah. Me too.”

 

—-

 

“War. This is an act of war.”

Niers Astoragon strode across the maps in the war room in the citadel that was his home and the base of the Forgotten Wing company. His students looked down at him as they poured over the map. Niers stepped over a hill and nearly walked straight into the High Passes. He grunted and kicked; the magical projection wavered and he walked through the mountain range, emerging in the flooded basin that was Liscor.

Illusory water ran around Niers’ boots as he stared down at the city protruding from the water. Rainclouds hovered around Niers’ stomach, pouring water down into the basin. The Titan of Baleros frowned and stroked at his chin irritably. He was growing a beard after going clean-shaven for a few months and the stubble irritated him.

“It’s not raining in Liscor anymore. Someone adjust the projection and get these clouds out of here. Keep the water.”

“Yes, sir.”

One of his students moved and delicately tapped something on the map. The magical rendering of Liscor changed as Marian, a Centaur and one of Niers’ advanced students, changed the timescale of the map ahead slightly. The rainclouds vanished and the water levels began to lower.

“Stop. That will do for now.”

Marian took her hand away. Niers stared down at Liscor, now surrounded by mud and stagnant water in the valleys. He made a face and walked through the High Passes again.

“I hate magical maps. Where the hell did we put the paper ones? Venaz, Yerranola, find me a decent map of Liscor instead of this.”

The Minotaur and Selphid wearing a Dullahan’s body moved back from the table and began checking the maps stored by location on the far wall. Niers let them work as he kicked his way back through the mountains again.

Magical maps weren’t actually all that bad. They were a hundred times as expensive as an enchanted sword given the cost to make them, yes, and they could only depict what the [Mage] who created them knew—hence the vague, cloud-shrouded tops of the High Passes and other sections of the map which were featureless—but a single magical map could replace a hundred paper ones.

The one Niers was using could depict every known location in the world to great detail. Obviously the trees and grass and so on were just made up, but the large geographical features were all there. It was worth a fortune in gold, so much so that a good number of [Kings] wouldn’t have been able to afford such a map. Niers stomped across it in his boots, grumbling and kicking at cities and watching them vanish and reappear as he waited for his students to get him a proper map.

The trouble with magical maps for Niers was height. The High Passes were as tall as he was, which meant that he couldn’t see everything. He nodded as Venaz pulled out a map of Izril.

“That one will do. Lay it here.”

“Professor. Let me.”

A scaly claw descended and Niers looked up. Umina, the Lizardfolk girl and one of his youngest in the advanced class he taught, offered him a perch. Niers leapt up two feet into the air and landed on Umina’s claw. Venaz replaced the maps and Niers hopped down.

“Better. Now, as I was saying. War.

He grabbed a pin and stuck it into the map, marking a spot just north of the High Passes’ other entrance. Niers pointed to the pin and spoke crisply to his assembled students. They straightened up, looking both nervous and intent. They knew this wasn’t a game. Niers had called them into the war room for a special lesson, and they were all aware of what was happening.

“The Humans are marching on Liscor. They’re driving the Goblins ahead of them and they intend to take the city using the Goblins as a pretext. Normally that would be suicide even with the army they’ve brought. Liscor is a Drake city, which means they’re fortified and their walls are extremely hard to crack with magic. But somehow, some way, the Humans are prepared. Tyrion Veltras has trebuchets. You’ve all read the [Message] that Liscor just sent out. Now, tell me what’s going on and what’s about to happen.”

He looked at his students. They hesitated, but they knew better than to wait for him to single one of them out. Wil, one of the Humans of the group, cleared his throat and lifted a slip of paper.

“Liscor made the first report, Professor, but the analysis was confirmed by multiple [Strategists] and [Tacticians] within minutes. It appears that somehow, the Drakes were all aware of the Human’s plans at the same time.”

“I suppose they all coordinated beforehand? Or have the Drakes learned telepathy?”

Niers raised one eyebrow. Wil hesitated.

“No, sir. It’s all too quick to be a coincidence. Either the Drakes knew ahead of time, or, more likely, someone tipped them off. About the trebuchets, that is.”

“Good.”

Niers nodded and Wil breathed a sigh of relief. The Fraerling looked at another of his students, a Dullahan holding his head up for a better view.

“Cameral? What are the Drakes saying?”

The Dullahan shifted his head to address Niers directly.

“They’re panicking. There are countless requests coming in for confirmation, asking for instructions, or outright denying the reports. The Walled Cities have begun a closed communication and there’s no way of knowing what they’re saying, but I have every official announcement they’ve put out.”

“And?”

“They’re not moving yet. Which is unusual. Liscor’s put out an all-call warning and request for immediate reinforcements, but Pallass has yet to respond. Given the speed at which Drakes usually handle messages of this kind, this is unusual. And the other Walled Cities are equally slow to react. Salazsar’s pledged aid, as has Oteslia, but the other four Walled Cities are…they’re not replying.”

“And why is that?”

Niers prodded Cameral further. The Dullahan was good at explaining the situation, but he was reluctant to give out his personal take on the situation, which was a trait Niers had noticed in many of his Dullahan students. They regarded being wrong as a failing and so they said nothing, which was even worse. Cameral wavered, but then someone snorted to his left. Venaz leaned forwards.

“It means they’re wavering. They think Liscor will fall, so they’re not replying.”

Niers sighed. Venaz snorted, clearly pleased to have gotten the jump on Cameral. He had no problems stating his mind.

“Do you have proof, Venaz, or is this a hunch?”

The Minotaur straightened at the reprimand in Niers’ voice.

“I do, sir. Look at this. This is a message from Manus. It disputes Liscor’s claim and requests confirmation, despite the confirmation from over a dozen [Strategists]. They know the attack’s coming, but they want to buy time. Pretend it isn’t so they don’t have to respond right away.”

“And why is that? Surely they’d want to reinforce Liscor right away, especially Pallass, who we know has a connection to Liscor via that magic doorway.”

Venaz snorted.

“You’d think so. But as I said, they think Liscor is going to fall. The Humans surprised them and the Drakes don’t think they can hold Liscor. So they’re refusing to act, like cowards. See, here’s another [Message] requesting confirmation.

A harried Selphid [Maid] in a Lizardman’s body arrived with a basket full of [Messages] written on slips of paper. Venaz snatched one from the top and showed it around. Niers nodded.

There was no doubting the contents of the [Message] or that it came from Fissival this time. While the top-level Drake communications were secret and thus harder to obtain, general [Message] spells could be copied and obtained by anyone in the world if they had enough coin. And Niers was known for treating his networks of informants well for valuable information, so each [Message] spell sent was being sent not just to their intended recipients, but also to Niers and everyone else who was paying for access at the moment.

As such Niers and his students were reading [Message] spells at the same time as they arrived on Zevara’s desk in Liscor. Faster, probably, since Niers was paying the [Mages] a lot more than Liscor. Niers let his students pore over the [Messages] and report their contents for a second, but nothing noteworthy had arrived yet. He clapped his hands briskly for attention.

“Very well, that’s Venaz’s analysis. But if that’s so, that begs a question: are the Walled Cities right? Will Liscor fall? Give me your analysis…Marian.”

He looked at the female Centaur. She pawed the floor with a hoof nervously, but then tossed her long hair and replied confidently.

“I’d think so, sir. Given the fact that two armies are converging on Liscor, Goblin and Human? Liscor has barely ten thousand defenders if we factor in the City Watch plus the average amount of citizens who can fight in a crisis. Yes, they have Gold-ranks, but adventurers are known for fleeing cities in times of war. And the armies Tyrion Veltras have brought aren’t ordinary either.”

“They are not.”

Niers nodded appreciatively. He knew he should let Marian explain, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, this wasn’t so much of a test of his student’s ability to see what was going on, as a lesson in war and politics by observation. He strode back over to the pin and tapped it with his knuckles.

“Two hundred thousand soldiers. That’s a powerful army, but it would deceive to just count it by numbers as well. Veltras has brought [Knights], [Mages], and most importantly, a host of [Lords] and [Ladies] and their personal retinues. That puts this army head-and-shoulders above an army of the same size comprised mainly of low-level [Militia]. And the Goblin Lord’s army is certainly no idle force either. If past Goblin Lords are any example, he would have Hobs by the thousand and powerful [Shamans] of his own. This one even has an undead army, although reports indicate it was mostly eradicated. Still, faced with all that, would any of you consider defending Liscor?”

His students looked at each other, clearly uneasy at the thought of trying to defend a city with that alone. Umina raised a claw.

“Well, sir, I don’t know if I would, but I’d point out that Liscor does have an Antinium Hive. Marian forgot to mention it.”

The Centaur blushed and Umina shot her friend an apologetic glance. Niers nodded.

“Never underestimate the Black Tide. But we know Liscor’s Hive is small—smaller than the other five older and more established Hives, at least. Do they have the numbers to supplement Liscor’s garrison? Can the Antinium defend as well as they attack?”

“It doesn’t matter. The Drakes should defend Liscor no matter the odds!”

Venaz clenched his fists. He ignored the skeptical looks some of the others shot him and turned to Niers. The Titan raised an eyebrow.

“You’re confident, Venaz. Explain.”

The Minotaur nodded eagerly. He was practically ablaze with energy; discussion of real-life tactics and strategy got the Minotaur fired up like nothing else. Eagerly he paced back and forth, pointing to locations on the map of Izril as Niers stepped back to give him room.

“Liscor is the lynchpin of the Drake defense. Everyone knows it. It’s held off Humans advances just by being there. An army marches past and it’s cut off. Supply trains get raided. Liscor rains and cuts off a warfront entirely. Assaults by sea and attempts to circumnavigate Liscor fail because the Drakes can always counterattack from that location as well. It’s vital. And if it falls, the Humans can take the offensive in every war rather than the defensive one. The Drakes cannot lose this city. It’s worth throwing every soldier they have into holding it, rather than letting the Humans claim it.”

Venaz spoke with passion, and Niers saw a few of his students nodding hesitantly. The [Grandmaster Strategist] just sighed internally and scratched at his growing beard. He looked for the right student to call on and saw Umina scratching at the colorful frills on her neck uneasily.

“Umina. You have a thought?”

She jumped and blushed.

“I uh—well, I just think that Venaz might be wrong, sir.”

“How?”

The Minotaur turned and stared expectantly at Umina. She turned pale, but Marian trotted over and stood by her side. Umina seemed to draw strength from her friend and took a deep breath. Niers nodded as he saw her eyes focus. She was one of his best students, better than Venaz or Marian or anyone else when she was confident.

“Well…first of all, I’d point out that Tyrion Veltras has prepared for this attack. He’s clearly aimed for this from the beginning. No one saw it—except for you, sir.”

She grinned at Niers, who waved the compliment away. His students nodded, impressed. Of course the Titan knew. Niers wanted to smack them all on the back of the heads. Hero worship. Oh, he had to knock that out of them or they’d never graduate.

“I didn’t predict the trebuchets, Umina. I thought that Tyrion Veltras was going to bombard the walls down with magic; create a breach for the Goblins. It would be harder, but he has the [Mages] to do it. Or bring a bunch of ladders and enough wood for siege towers in bags of holding and ‘accidentally’ let the Goblins have it.”

“Even so, sir. Tyrion Veltras set this up and so he knew the Drakes would find out sooner or later. If I were him, I’d expect the Drakes to do exactly what Venaz is suggesting. And if I were him…I’d want that to happen.”

“Explain.”

Niers covered a smile. Umina walked to the map and touched the icon marking Liscor.

“They send elites. As many soldiers as they can to fill Liscor. I’d send the Goblins at them—force them to fight or die. Hold the Goblin Lord hostage maybe? Is that why Elia Arcsinger is—? Either way, I’d get them to attack first. Weaken the Drakes. But then I’d move in with my army. If the Drakes send fifty thousand, a hundred thousand of their own to defend the city, all the better. I’d smash their entire force and weaken both Liscor, Pallass, and every Drake city that sent soldiers.”

She traced lines from Pallass to Liscor, from smaller cities, her claws running across the map. She looked at Niers and her eyes were cold.

“Liscor is a trap, sir. And if I can bag as many high-level soldiers in it as I can, I win even more. I want them to try and hold Liscor. Because if they’re in the city, they can’t retreat. Drakes don’t run. I’ll slaughter them and break their spirits in one blow.”

The room was silent. Umina looked up and met Venaz’s eyes for a second, then looked away. Niers enjoyed the incredulous look on the Minotaur’s face. Sometimes he forgot that a ‘female’ like Umina could be as ruthless as he was.

“Well done. It’s not what I would do necessarily, but that is how Tyrion Veltras thinks. You have a gift for thinking like your opponents, Umina. Hone that talent. It will serve you well. Well done indeed.”

It was one of Niers’ highest compliments. Umina turned red with pride and Marian laid a hand on her shoulder in delight. Niers waited a beat, and then turned to Venaz. The Minotaur looked uncertain, dismayed. Niers walked down the map, past Liscor and to the northern-most Walled City. Pallass. He stared up at the Minotaur.

“Umina’s given an excellent example of the dangers of trying to hold Liscor. However, Venaz’s points cannot be discounted either. But one statement was incorrect to begin with. You are wrong, Venaz. The Walled Cities are hesitating, but they haven’t abandoned Liscor just yet. They’re doing the same thing we are: weighing the odds and deciding if they should rush to Liscor’s aid or form a larger army and try to take the city back. The problem is Pallass.”

Venaz’s brows shot together. The Minotaur folded his hands behind his back as he stared at the Walled City that Niers was tapped with his left foot.

“How so, sir?”

Niers nodded. The Minotaur wasn’t arguing back as he normally did. He was listening, trying to figure out where he was wrong. Better. He was learning. Now he just had to understand how other species thought politically. Niers pointed down at Pallass.

“They’re the ones ideally placed to support Liscor. The problem is their leadership. They have a democracy, which means their ruling body, the Assembly of Crafts, has to come to a consensus on what to do. That makes Pallass historically the slowest of the Walled Cities to react to incidents.”

“Idiots.”

Cameral muttered under his breath. Venaz nodded as well. Umina and Marian, who both came from democratic societies, shot the two dirty looks. Niers ignored his students as he went on.

“Say what you will about the system—it leads to stability, but it means paralysis at times. And the problem is that this is exactly the kind of situation that has Pallass split on what to do. They’re wavering, arguing, trying to figure out what to do. But that’s the real crisis. If they wait too long, the choice will be out of their hands.”

“Claws, Professor.”

“Whatever. Pallass is indecisive. And if they won’t move, the other Walled Cities will hesitate. The hesitant factions in Pallass can just deadlock the Assembly and keep the war hawks from sending aid to Liscor until it’s too late. And I think that’s exactly what Tyrion Veltras is counting on.”

The students murmured with interest. Niers nodded. Do you see? He wanted to ask them. Tyrion wasn’t fighting just a war on the ground. He was using the politics of the Drakes against them. He might hate the Drakes, but he’d studied his enemies well. He knew their climate, their systems of government—and he knew Goblins as well.

He would have made a fine [Strategist], although Niers would have never suffered him in a class. He knew Tyrion Veltras. He had met the man. Tyrion was like a sword. He could employ strategy, cunning, and he could be devious, but like a sword he could only cut. And he went straight for the heart.

Niers was about to have two of his students simulate an attack on the city and propose viable strategies for defense and offense—Wil and Marian probably, and he’d kick Marian in the ear if she suggested trying to use hit-and-run skirmishing tactics in the muddy floodplains against the Humans with their cavalry—when he saw Cameral checking at something in his hands. He looked up sharply as the Dullahan raised his head for attention.

“Professor! My scrying orb just lit up. Wistram is broadcasting one of their [Scrying] moving images again! It looks like someone is transmitting the spell from Pallass!”

Niers’ head snapped up. He grinned.

“Now that’s interesting. Get a large scrying orb set up now. I think we’ll all want to see this.”

 

—-

 

They weren’t sending reinforcements. They were asking for confirmation. Confirmation! They weren’t sending reinforcements. They were not—

Olesm ran across the water bridge leading from Liscor to The Wandering Inn. He huffed as he ran and tried to watch the water for Rock Crabs or larger fish monsters, but he ran as fast as he could, ignoring the disturbance he was causing in the water. A Quillfish shot a spine at Olesm and he swore, but he kept running.

Pallass wasn’t responding to his [Messages]. They were wavering. They think Liscor’s a lost cause. Or they’re hesitating. Or—

He had gotten back to the City Hall and seen Wall Lord Ilvriss arguing with his fellow nobility in Salazsar as Zevara frantically sent more and more [Messages] and received noncommittal answers. There had been no door, and Olesm had been told that Embria had gone with the patrol to The Wandering Inn to secure the door half an hour ago and not returned. So Olesm had ran here. He ran up the hill to the inn and saw [Guardsmen], [Guardswomen], and [Soldiers] milling about on the grass. Olesm gulped for air and then shouted at the Gnoll wearing a Senior Guardsman’s insignia.

Senior Guardswoman Beilmark! Why isn’t the door in Liscor? Where is Wing Commander Embria?”

The Gnoll turned.

“Olesm, er, Strategist Olesm, we tried to remove the door, but one of the [Barmaids] blocked us. And she has uh, adventurer support! Wing Commander Embria went through the door to request aid from Pallass, but she hasn’t returned.”

“She did? I’ve got to get her.”

Olesm ran through the doorway, ignoring Beilmark’s warning shout. They had to get to Pallass, get them to start sending soldiers through! He charged through the door, saw Moore raising his staff like a headman with an axe, and froze.

“Moore, don’t! It’s Olesm!”

Lyonette cried out. Moore hesitated. He lowered his staff. Olesm stared at him and then realized why no one had tried taking the door. He pointed at Moore with a trembling claw.

“We need—that door is—Erin’s in jail! Bird might die but he might live! I need to get to Pallass!”

What?

The adventurers and Lyonette, all of whom were clustered around the entrance, stared at Olesm. He ignored Ceria, the Horns, Jelaqua, and Moore and Mrsha racing about him and charged for the door. It was open. Bright light streamed through and Pallass’ streets were ahead of him. Olesm ran through, and felt the door blink out behind him. He whirled and saw only brick wall.

Ancestors damn it!

The door was out of mana! Embria must have depleted it before Olesm! The door could only take two people after all—wait, was that right? Hadn’t Hawk, Wall Lord Ilvriss, and Erin all gone through one time? Didn’t that mean three—?

Loud voices made Olesm turn. He saw a huge crowd of Drakes and Gnolls gathered down the street. And standing on a wooden platform—Olesm’s heart sank—was Wing Commander Embria. She was arguing with a paunchy Gnoll dressed in a [Senator]’s robes, shouting, really. The Gnoll was smiling, well, fake smiling, and answering back as the crowd jeered Embria.

Olesm ran for the two of them, cursing inside. As he ran, he passed by a pair of Drakes who were speaking to a Human in flamboyant clothing who was holding a scrying orb up in front of him. The two Drakes were speaking into the scrying orb for some reason. One of them had a monocle. They sounded…familiar.

“This is Noass and Sir Relz of Pallass, newly made [Commentators] with a Human [Magician] providing us the [Scrying] spell. We happened to be on the scene when we met—er, what did you say your name was, sir?”

“Eltistiman Verdue, [Magician] for hire at your service.”

“That’s right. We are speaking to you from Pallass where, at this moment, [Strategists] are warning of an attack on Liscor. However, the Assembly of Crafts has not yet issued an announcement. Senator Errif is speaking to a crowd and what appears to be a Wing Commander from Liscor of all people! She arrived through the door—”

“—in rather a huff, Relz, wouldn’t you agree? Rudely storming up to the [Senator], in that classic Liscorian aggressiveness—”

“—too true, Sir Relz, too true. But Senator Errif has been giving her a piece of Pallass’ mind! Attack on Liscor? Not likely! Does she have proof? Should we move an army through that door to Liscor on one [Strategist]’s say so?”

“There are apparently a lot of [Strategists] supporting this claim, Noass.”

“Indeed, Sir Relz, indeed. But what’s best for Pallass? We have to ask that, as harsh as it may be. If we look at the odds, this Human [Lord], Tyrion Veltras, is bringing not only two hundred thousand soldiers, but the Goblin Lord’s army is being driven before him. Of course, this is all apparently due to the Human’s inability to catch the Goblins, but if they were to accidentally assault Liscor—”

Olesm dashed past the two Drakes, ignoring the cry out of outrage from the one with the monocle. He shouted as he pushed through the crowd.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Let me pass, please, I’m Liscor’s [Strategist]!”

“It looks like we have Liscor’s actual [Strategist] on the scene, Noass—”

“Unprecedented! Can Drakes just walk through from Liscor to Pallass? And what’s he doing? Looks like he’s joining the Wing Commander. Let’s go in for a closer look. Make way, please! [Commentators] passing through!”

Olesm fought to get to the stage where Embria was arguing with the Gnoll [Senator]. He felt the crowd open up—not because of him, but because of the two Drakes following him! Olesm growled, but dashed up onto the wooden platform. A [Guardsman] dressed in Pallass’ colors held a spear up threateningly. Olesm held up his claws.

“I’m Liscor’s [Strategist]!”

The Gnoll didn’t look convinced, but an amused, growling voice spoke from above.

“Let him up, [Guardsman].”

Olesm scrambled onto the wooden platform and looked around. A sea of faces stared at him. Suddenly he felt dizzy. He hadn’t thought this through. Apprehensively he stared at the smiling Gnoll and Embria. The Wing Commander was red—well, redder in the face and her tail was practically tied in knots. The Gnoll on the other hand was silky smooth. He growled at Olesm, his voice magically amplified by a broach on his chest.

“Well, it seems Liscor’s [Strategist] has come, yes? Many folk seem to be fleeing from their posts in Liscor to come to Pallass to ask for aid.”

“I am—I am asking for aid! Liscor sent a reinforcement request and Pallass hasn’t answered!”

Olesm gasped, trying to raise his voice loud enough to be heard over the jeers from the crowd. Errif, the [Senator], raised one paw.

“Please, good people. We have of course heard Liscor’s plea and we take it seriously. Yet, the [Message] spell we received claims Liscor will be attacked! But can we truly take that as truth? I received a frenzied report about Humans plotting to attack Liscor with the aid of Goblins—this is a serious accusation! It would mean war if true.”

“It is true! The Humans have trebuchets—”

Embria began to shout, but Errif kept speaking, and somehow his words drowned hers out, though he was quieter. A Skill. Olesm saw him smiling at the crowd, speaking mockingly.

“They might! Who knows? They might! But to declare a national emergency and expect soldiers within minutes of calling it? Striding into Pallass to do so? That is hardly appropriate, yes? Give us a day or two to verify your reports. If this is true, we can send reinforcements, yes? My fellow [Senators] in the Assembly of Crafts, the Scalethrift party, don’t believe Pallass should blindly rush into things.”

Days? In two days, the Humans will be right on top of us! We don’t have two days, you furry—”

Whatever Embria had been about to say was cut off by Olesm’s desperate claw. The crowd roared in outrage and Errif frowned at Embria. He raised his voice.

“Wing Commander, please, show some respect for Pallass’ systems of government!”

Pallass’ citizens cheered and some began to throw things at the two Drakes. Olesm felt a shoe bounce off his back. He stared at Errif. He couldn’t be serious! Olesm raised his own voice desperately, shouted over the crowd.

“Senator, this is no mistake! We need the support of the Walled Cities now! If you could send a few thousand [Soldiers] through now—”

Errif frowned at Olesm.

“The Assembly is debating. We will not take action until a vote is called.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Embria demanded. Errif sniffed.

“We are on break. Wing Commander, Liscor’s Strategist, the Assembly of Crafts has heard your request! We will consider it! But I remind you, Pallass is not at the beck and call of Liscor. We will have our own [Strategists] go over your report. And when we are certain, we will do what is best for Pallass and Liscor!”

He raised his furry arms and got a cheer. Not a huge one; some Drakes and Gnolls in the crowd looked uneasy, like Sir Relz and Noass. But it didn’t matter. Errif had said his bit and he was beckoning for Pallass’ City Watch to remove Embria and Olesm from the stage. Embria swore at the [Guards] and Olesm felt something rising in him.

They weren’t going to help. They were going to stall like this and then claim it was too late. Or Errif’s party was, at any rate. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right.

Olesm felt something hot in his stomach, searing him from within. He stared at the pompous Gnoll [Senator] with his paunchy belly and smug, superior expression. He thought of Liscor, his home, and of the Goblin Lord and his armies. He thought of trebuchets, of the walls he had stood on for so many years, of his friends and family, and his duties. He thought of Erin too. His stomach hurt where Erin had kicked him. And Olesm felt all of the panic, fear, and anger building in him until he did something completely uncharacteristic:

He lost his temper.

 

—-

 

The image projected across the world from Wistram had shown all of Errif’s back-and-forth with the Drakes on the stage. Truth be told, it hadn’t been too gripping, but the reactions of the Drakes and the Gnoll’s statements were of great interest to anyone following the events in Liscor. Wistram certainly thought so, or they wouldn’t have broadcast the image and audio. But it wasn’t exciting.

That was, until the Drake with pale-blue scales who claimed to be Liscor’s [Strategist] shoved the [Guardsman] trying to remove him from the stage. Instantly, the Gnoll [Senator] was in front of Olesm, bursting with patriotic indignation.

“You will not lay your claws on a member of Pallass’ Watch! [Guardsmen], arrest this—”

“Be silent!

Olesm screamed in Errif’s face. A thousand scrying orbs around the world reflected Errif recoiling as a bit of spit struck him on the nose. Olesm turned and bellowed at the [Guardsmen] now reaching for their weapons.

“Stand down! That is an order!”

He pointed at a Drake with a sword. Errif growled, forgetting his amiable smile.

“You do not give orders! I am a [Senator] of Pallass, and you are—”

He went ‘ulp’ as Olesm grabbed him by the robes. The Drake shouted in Errif’s face.

“I said, shut up! That is an order! I outrank you, you stupid furry idiot!”

Errif gaped at him. The crowd gaped at him. Sir Relz and Noass’ jaw dropped as they hovered in the edge of the scrying orb’s field of vision. Olesm turned. He shouted at the stunned crowd.

“I am the Strategist of Liscor and my city is in danger! When I give orders, only a Watch Captain or a [General] can challenge me! I outrank you. I outrank a Lord of the Wall and the entire damn Assembly of Crafts at this moment!”

He pointed back at Errif, who was lost for words. In the scrying orb, Sir Relz stared at Olesm and then seemed to recall that he was supposed to be commentating. He turned back to the scrying orb with wide eyes.

“That’s Liscor’s [Strategist] claiming he has authority over Pallass! That’s…I mean, that is how military protocol works. But in another city? Is that fair? Noass?”

The other Drake jumped. He looked around and seemed at a loss for words. Then he looked back at Olesm.

“It—it may be, Sir Relz! But hold on! Let’s got a word from the [Strategist] himself. You there, sir! We’re broadcasting this moment as we speak—no, we’re sending this live across the world! What do you have to say about the claims that Liscor is in danger?”

“Wait, what?”

Errif turned pale as he stared into the scrying orb. Olesm gaped at Noass. He stared into the scrying orb and then seemed to realize what Noass was saying. His scales nearly turned white with shock for a second, and then he visibly caught himself.

“I—I—”

“Is Liscor really under attack or is it truly an overblown alert? What if Liscor, if you are wrong and the city is not in danger? How will you ensure Pallass doesn’t waste resources and soldiers on Liscor? What if you place Pallassian lives at risk?”

Noass pressed Olesm, beckoning whomever was holding the scrying orb forwards. Olesm paled even further, but then his claws balled into fists. He shouted back down at Noass, suddenly furious.

“You want to talk about risk? While Pallass is debating, an army of Goblins is marching on Liscor! The other Walled Cities are hesitating! None of them—no, only Oteslia and Salazsar have responded to a priority distress call! It is the duty of Walled Cities to immediately respond to threats, and I have called for aid! Where is it? Why do I have to repeat myself? Liscor is in danger! If I’m wrong, Pallass wastes time. If Pallass is wrong, Liscor falls.

Noass hesitated, and Sir Relz raised his monocle.

“But Sir Strategist, if the danger to Liscor is real, then the risk to Pallass’ own is—”

This is not about danger! This is not about risk!

Olesm bellowed at Sir Relz and the Drake recoiled. Olesm pointed around the crowd, shouting louder and louder.

“Liscor is in danger! If we fall, Pallass is next! I don’t want to talk to a cowardly politician or a bunch of idiots looking at maps! I want [Soldiers]! Is this a Walled City or a Human slum without discipline?”

The Drakes and Gnolls stared up at Olesm. He whirled and pointed at Errif, who was clearly trying to interject and not finding a way to do so. He advanced on the Gnoll, who backed up, looking alarmed.

“This isn’t a matter of politics. This isn’t about whether Liscor will win or lose a battle. This is about duty. About law! When a city calls for aid, other cities answer! And if you or anyone else gets in the way of the chain of command, I. Will. Arrest. You.”

The Drake poked the Gnoll [Senator] repeatedly in the chest, sending the Gnoll stumbling backwards until he nearly fell off the stage. In the scrying orb, Olesm turned and stared straight at the viewers. He shouted, his face flushed, his tail lashing the ground.

“I am the [Strategist] of Liscor and I am calling for reinforcements! Give me your best or hide behind your walls like cowards but we will be in Liscor, holding the line! If we have to defend Liscor by ourselves, we will! True Drakes do not run!

He paused for breath, panting. The scrying orb swiveled left and right, revealing a crowd staring up at Olesm in shock. The Drake finally seemed to come back to his senses, and he turned pale again. He looked around, then leapt from the stage and tried to push his way through the crowd, back to the door to Liscor.

It looked a bit like he was running away, but that didn’t matter. Drakes and Gnolls roared and swarmed around Olesm and Embria while Errif found himself besieged from all sides by a suddenly angry crowd. The image jostled as it moved back and forth for a minute. Shoving bodies and confused shouting was all that was heard and seen. Then the [Mage] won clear of the crowd and moved back several feet. A disheveled Drake with a monocle appeared, panting a bit.

“And that was Liscor’s [Strategist]! A terrific appeal to Drake pride, and of course Pallass’ citizens are in arms at the thought of abandoning a fellow Drake city in its hour of need! There’s no way we’ll get to the [Strategist] himself—I seem to have lost Relz—but we’ll try and get a response from Senator Errif! Human, to me!”

 

—-

 

The scrying orb became a jumble of shouting voices and the Drake with the monocle shouting for people to ‘make way’. It didn’t matter. Niers Astoragon silently pointed, and the [Diviner] raised a hand. The scrying orb went dark.

The students looked down at their professor and saw him staring at the blank orb. The Titan of Baleros had a wide grin on his face, a look of uncharacteristic delight his students had seldom ever seen. He breathed out slowly.

“Full marks.”

He whirled and strode away from the scrying orb. Slowly, the other students came back to the here and now. Venaz clenched a fist, Marian shook herself in place. Umina looked to Niers.

“Professor, what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Full marks! That Drake—that was Olesm Swifttail, wasn’t it? He may have just saved his city.”

Niers couldn’t stop grinning. He turned and looked at his students. They stared at him, some half-understanding, others confused. They couldn’t feel it yet. But Niers could, and he wagered Olesm and a good number of other people in this world had caught on. The King of Destruction had figured it out.

It was the scrying orb. The ability to send an image across the world to everyone with an orb of their own in the moment. It was a sense that Niers had, that Olesm had picked up on.

The idea of the world stage. Niers paced back and forth.

“That Drake’s done it. Marian, get me every [Message] spell that comes in the next few minutes. Run! The rest of you—remember that. Remember this, because this is history. I can feel it. I feel like a new war is beginning. A war of words, of public opinion! Every city and nation will have to consider it. It won’t just be [Message] spells, it will be people seeing their leaders making decisions. What will happen to the Drake chain of command if their people see them making choices they don’t like? What will happen to a [King] whose people broadcast his every failing? What—”

“Professor!”

Marian raced back into the room, holding a basket of [Message] spells. Niers turned.

“Well?”

The Centaur tore through the pieces of paper. The first one made her exclaim.

“An announcement! Oteslia has deployed its Winged Riders! They say they can reach Liscor in six days!”

Six? From across the entire continent?”

Venaz roared in disbelief. He grabbed another piece of paper and his eyes bugged out.

“Zeres has pledged an army of eighty thousand regular soldiers and five thousand of their elite Saltscale Wardens!”

“What? But they were just—”

Wil looked stunned, but his friend, Cameral, had caught on. The Dullahan fixed his head to his  shoulders and grabbed another piece of paper.

“Every Drake city just saw that. Do you think they’ll sit still? He called them out! If they did, their people would riot! If my people saw something like that—Manus is pledging an army of their own!”

The students grabbed for the basket, exclaiming, reading out report after report as the cities scrambled over themselves to be the first to send aid to Liscor. Niers’ smile didn’t vanish—he could imagine that right now, at this very moment, Tyrion Veltras was not smiling.

At last, the frenzy died down. And Niers’ students turned back to him, waiting to see what had changed. Niers stepped over the map, looking at the [Messages]. Thinking.

“This changes much. And nothing at the same time. Liscor will have its reinforcements, faster than Tyrion Veltras expected. But…”

He looked at Marian. The Centaur nodded.

“Even the fastest armies won’t get there in time. A force from Pallass? Yes. And they’ll be moving troops through the magic door. But they still need to hold out.”

“Exactly. And that door is a weak point. If I were that Drake, I’d put my best soldiers on the door. Or my most expendable ones.”

Niers frowned to himself. He looked at the map of Liscor and didn’t let his elation cloud his judgment.

“Whether they hold out in time for reinforcements now depends on how many soldiers they can bring through from Pallass, how strong the Goblin Lord’s army is…and how far Tyrion Veltras is willing to go. It’s still in his favor, but…”

Niers shook his head.

“They have a chance. More, if there are other factors I don’t know about. As it is, I give Liscor a chance.”

He looked down at Liscor. Then his eyes travelled to something else. The paper map had no fine details on it. The mountains were just mountains and the city of Liscor was just an illustration. But the map had one thing going for it the magical one did not: it could be changed by Niers himself.

Liscor was already tiny on the map of Izril, a single city surrounded by mountains. But Niers had added something nonetheless, marked a spot just east of the city.  A little dot, set just outside of Liscor. It would have looked like an ink stain or a speck if you didn’t know it was there.

The identity of Niers Astoragon’s mysterious chess partner was unknown, even to him. But he had [Scryed] his opponent once. And he had not seen him. Her. It. But Niers had seen the room his chessboard was in for a moment. And he had remembered it. He couldn’t help it. It hadn’t meant much; the room could have been any wooden structure anywhere in the world. But then had come the day of the Face-Eater Moths attack. And Niers had seen it.

The same inn. The same interior as the one he had seen for a brief second. And he had known. Niers had conducted a bit of information gathering, found out the name of the inn. Nothing else; he hadn’t wanted to tip his hand to anyone that he was curious. But the name of the inn burned in his mind.

Was his opponent staying there? Had they been moving from the inn on the road? Or were they…?

For a second Niers stared, and then he pretended to be inspecting Liscor. He shouldn’t have put the marking there. It was a mistake. Of course, no one would notice. It was a tiny dot, so small only a Fraerling would notice. Or a keen-eyed student. Niers looked back up and murmured to himself.

“More than a chance.”

His students watched him, waiting for his conclusion. The Titan of Baleros had none. He took a seat on a closed ink bottle and shook his head.

“I don’t know how it will turn up. But I am sure of one thing. I’ll bet all my hats and Venaz’s horns that there’s a lot more we don’t know about. If I were Tyrion Veltras, I’d watch my back. Everyone in the world knows what he’s planning. But I wonder if he knows what everyone has in mind? Because believe me…”

Niers walked over and tapped the bright red pin marking Tyrion Veltras and the Goblin Lord’s army. He looked around and smiled like a wolf.

“Nothing’s ever this simple.”

 

—-

 

The Necromancer smiled as he relayed the last of the [Message] spells to his apprentice via their mental link. He could sense his apprentice’s growing sense of unease, but Az’kerash was calm. In his study he stared at the twisted flesh and bone sitting in front of him. Waiting to be shaped. He was close, he could feel it. The last iteration of his Chosen had been a failure, but these would be true masterpieces. Still, there were matters which required his attention.

This is an opportunity, my apprentice.

“I do not see it, master.”

Reiss spoke through their link. The Goblin Lord stared at the Human army and imagined them coming down on Liscor’s walls. So that was their plan. They would send the Goblins to attack Liscor, then fall on them once the city fell. He bared his teeth.

“We will not do it. This plan will fail. Attacking Liscor is certain-death. Foolish-death. We will let the Drakes battle the Humans and escape—”

No.

Az’kerash’ voice was firm. Reiss tried to protest, but an invisible force took control of his tongue, his vocal chords, his jaw.

You fail to understand Tyrion Veltras’ will, my apprentice. He will not let you flee. You think you can outrun his army? He will burn you and slaughter your tribe to the last rather than let you flee. And it does not matter if Liscor repels your army. It does not matter how many soldiers Pallass sends today.

My apprentice. Reiss bit his tongue. He had a name. A name given to him by a dying Drake. His name. But he didn’t tell his master. Instead, he tried to sound innocent, confused.

“It does not?”

No. They are doomed, regardless of how much they struggle. Even if the city of Liscor holds off your army, my apprentice, Tyrion Veltras will not be stopped. He intends to take Liscor and he will take the city regardless of how many defend it.

“Then we die. We die if we win, but we die twice over with reinforcements from Pallass.”

Reiss felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. But then it stopped. A chill entered him as his master’s energy flowed from him to Reiss, giving him strength. Reassurance, black, like midnight, ran through Reiss’ veins.

Pay no attention to the doorway, my apprentice. It will be dealt with momentarily. Rather, consider Liscor and your fate. Do you think I would abandon you after all the time I have invested in you?

Yes. Just like Oom. Just like the others. But Reiss didn’t say that either. He pushed the words down, daring not even to think them in his head. There was nowhere safe from his master. Nowhere but the depths of his heart, the beating soul he clung to. Still clung to. It was the one place Az’kerash could not look; his master’s heart had ceased beating long ago.

“What can we do, master?”

Why, let the Humans play their game, my apprentice. Be the pawns in their trap. Take the city. Kill the Drakes. Slaughter the Antinium in their Hive.

“But if we do—”

Your Goblins will die. Yes. And Drakes will die. And the Antinium. And Tyrion will expect to sweep in and clean up the survivors. But he will not. Because on the day Liscor falls my apprentice, I will be with you. And I will raise every soul that falls. Every last one. Drake. Gnoll. Human. Goblin.

Reiss’ heart skipped a beat in his chest.

“Master? What are you saying?”

A smile flashed across Reiss’ lips that was not his own. His lips moved and spoke another’s words.

Exactly what I claimed. On the day you do battle, I will lend my strength to yours. I will reanimate the fallen and give you warriors to slaughter the Drakes. They will not be able to defend against that. Imagine it, my apprentice. Imagine a zombie or Ghoul or Draug rising for each of your enemies you slay. Every single one, in a city of Liscor’s size. Only the Antinium will be spared and they will fall against your hordes. With them you could hold Liscor, could you not?

“But the Humans—”

Reiss protested, but his mind was racing. How many citizens did Liscor hold? Ten thousand? No, many more than that. A Walled City held hundreds of thousands. Did Liscor hold a hundred thousand citizens? More? A hundred thousand undead plus his army…

Perhaps you do not think it would be enough?

Reiss bit his lip. Yes, even with those numbers, they would have to hold shattered walls. And they would be wounded, tired after fighting an entire city even if the undead rose. But again the smile flashed across his lips.

Yes, my apprentice. Tyrion Veltras has an army dangerous enough on its own. But I promised you I would raise every soul that fell. And that includes his warriors. And he has brought [Knights]. Adventurers. They will become lethal undead far stronger than the rest. The strength of the living is matched by the power of the undead. But if that is not enough, if you hesitate, I will offer you one more token of victory. My Chosen.

“Them?”

This time Reiss’ heart did skip another beat. He felt it, and he felt his master’s joy.

Yes. Not Kerash. I cannot risk him. But I will give you Bea. I will give you Venitra. Ijvani has not yet returned to me, but two are enough. Bea will bring death to the Antinium and Venitra will take Tyrion Veltras’ life. Is that not enough?

It was. It was enough. Two of the Chosen. Reiss remembered them fighting. He had seen Venitra kill. He closed his eyes and remembered them standing over Zel Shivertail. They had not killed him, but they had come close.

Two. With two, he could—Reiss’ mind raced. Az’kerash spoke with his lips, forced his eyes open.

So, my apprentice. Do you still fear Liscor and the plans of the Humans? Or do you see victory? Because should you take Liscor and hold it, you will have a city of your own. A place to defend. A home for your kind.

And there it was. His dream. A shining city on a hill. Reiss eyes opened wide. He stared at the image in his mind. Of all places. Liscor. He imagined rebuilding the walls. With his master’s power it could be done in a day. And if he could defeat Tyrion Veltras, could it be possible that the Drakes would…? If he left some alive, if he…

Well, my apprentice?

Reiss stood in place, staring at the Human army. Around him Goblins milled about, staring at his back. The Goblin Lord slowly turned and they flinched from his gaze. But he was not looking at them. His eyes found a Goblin with a crimson blade, who stared at him suspiciously from the back of a huge wolf. And another—a small Goblin who wept for the Great Chieftain who had been her enemy.

“Yes, Master. I do not fear the Humans. Give me power and I will take Liscor for you.”

For him. For Goblins. Reiss heard Az’kerash laugh as if he could hear the lie. His master spoke one last time, in his head, not with his mouth.

Then prepare, my apprentice. Prepare and grow your army. Two Chieftains must kneel and I must strengthen myself for the ordeal to come. But know that I am with you.

And then he was gone. Reiss understood the irony of that, but he could still feel his master’s magic filling him. He clenched a fist and looked up. His blood hummed. He stared back at the Humans and then began to walk slowly. And he saw it. A vision of a city filled with Goblins. A safe haven.

Victory. One last battle. Reiss had told Osthia that he had three battles to win, long ago. Now it was one. All he had to do was take Liscor. With his master’s help it was possible. More than possible. All he had to do was gather the last two tribes to him. Reiss paused. After Tremborag’s death, it should be easy. All he had to do was convince Rags and Garen to kill them all. All he had to do was wade through the blood of the innocent. Reiss closed his eyes and touched his heart. He felt it beat, and quiver, then stop for a moment. It hurt. But it had to be done. For a dream.

One last time.

 

—-

 

“We are gathered here for one reason. To discuss Liscor and the plans of Humans and Drakes.”

The Grand Queen spoke softly. The vessel that reflected her image raised its feelers and gestured to Klbkch. It tilted the mirror and five faces flashed at Klbkch for a moment. He stood before her, next to his Queen, the Free Queen of the Antinium. They listened as the Grand Queen went on, speaking to all the Hives at once.

“A decade ago, the Hives conferred and it was decided that a Hive would be established in Liscor. To forge an alliance. To secure a foothold. To allow the Queen of the Free Antinium to conduct her…theories. Now the situation has changed. So the Hives are met in conclave here to discuss. I am the Grand Queen of the Antinium. And we see in the Goblins and schemes of Humans an opportunity for the Antinium. We see their deaths.”

She looked at the Free Queen. Klbkch could sense his Queen’s resentment, her tension. And fear, too. For despite their objections to her, contempt, fury, both Klbkch and the Queen of the Free Antinium looked on the Grand Queen and knew she spoke for the Hives. They felt her pull, even in Liscor.

“The situation in Liscor has changed. Pallass has agreed to reinforce the city, as have the other Walled Cities and lesser cities. However, they will not reach Liscor before the Humans and Goblin Lord. So the city will be besieged. My Queens, your thoughts?”

The mirror flashed. The body twitched and another presence took over. The Queens spoke, each one different, each one inhabiting the vessel before ceding control. They were five-in-one. Each time one of the Queens took over control of the body it would stiffen, then move as they willed it. Five voices, all similar, but each different in how the Queens  spoke. Each Queen unique, as were their Hives.

“Unprecedented. The opening of war.”

She sat still, her moving mandibles the only changing thing about her. The rest of her was still and silent. Watchful, waiting. The Silent Queen.

“Is it certain? Beyond doubt?”

She looked to Klbkch, as if he could answer her. The Silent Queen, weaver of bodies. She had been chiefly responsible for bringing back Galuc’s form in the Workers and Soldiers. And she had been the first to create the forms of old. The Silent Antinium, assassins camouflaged, stalking. The mirror flickered. The Grand Queen reappeared.

“We have monitored the messages sent between cities. Our Listeners have conveyed the truth and lies. It is so.”

The Grand Queen’s voice was authoritative. She sat tall, and her feelers moved slowly, decisively. It seemed as though she counted each word and weighed it, and her mandibles clicked. Counting, assessing, ever weighing odds and chance with cold logic.

“Pallass’ decision is of no consequence. The statistics show that the amount of soldiers they may transport through that door is extremely limited. Nevertheless, the door presents an unknown variable. An asset. Or hindrance. But the assault on Liscor is the primary focus.”

Her image changed. Light shone. A Queen stood amid steel as her Soldiers waited, wearing armor and bearing weapons made of metal.

“If it serves the Antinium, let the Humans fail here. With Liscor’s Hive it is surely possible to defeat both Goblins and the Humans even with compromised walls. Can the Flying Antinium not reinforce?”

The words were thoughtful, the body language direct, and faithful. The Armored Queen’s feelers moved slowly as if slowed by fatigue, but her posture was respectful, militant. She sat in the light, a bloated body ravaged by countless births.

Of all the Queens, the Armored Queen had sacrificed the most before they had rediscovered how to create Antinium without the actual eggs of Queens. Yet she had never complained, never wavered. If she had broken, it was only in her faith in the strength of the Antinium during the first war. She had turned to steel instead. Now it shone, reflecting from the mirror as she spoke.

“My Prognugator, Tersk, speaks highly of the Free Antinium’s combat potential. Between their might and that of Liscor’s own, surely the trebuchets may be destroyed before they can assault the city? And if the city is breached, the Antinium are more than a match for Goblins.”

“Revalantor Klbkch. Your analysis?”

“We have the means. Our tunnels may assault the Humans regardless of where they place their trebuchets. They are in range. Although…”

Klbkch spoke quietly. He thought of the tunnels the Antinium had dug in secret for a purpose just like this.

“Although?”

His Queen looked sharply down at Klbkch. He nodded.

“If the Humans were to place their trebuchets directly over the dungeon, our tunneling teams would be unable to directly assault them. We would be forced to burrow around the dungeon’s walls. There would be complications. But if we are prepared to sacrifice the Soldiers and Workers necessary, we could destroy the trebuchets regardless of their number. We have artifacts stockpiled. And Painted Soldiers.”

The vessel turned its head towards Klbkch and the mandibles rose in a smile. The voice that spoke began quicker, higher-pitched. Overeager.

“Ah yes, your elites. My Revalantor has told me of them. I wish to see their combat potential. As for reinforcement, the Flying Antinium are able to make the journey. But we may be spotted. If we use the farthest tunnels, my Antinium could rally in secret and arrive in Liscor in two days from there. Simply give the order and I will demonstrate their capabilities. I have many new warriors who will prove their effectiveness in battle.”

Eager. The Flying Queen’s every move hinted at an excess of energy and she twitched constantly, her words falling over themselves in their haste to get out. She was the most radical of the Queens in one sense because she pursued the most unstable and risky of designs. The Antinium had barely mastered flight in Rhir and her Antinium lacked the finesse of the old Weaver Queens.

And yet, her weakness was also a strength. Her Antinium could fly after their fashion. And the Flying Queen was tireless. Her armies could fill the skies.

“If the Grand Queen wishes it, I can have an army present at Liscor. We could break the Humans and slaughter their [Mages] and destroy their trebuchets. It would be a victory for the Antinium alone. A simple one. Ten thousand—no, five thousand of my Soldiers alone could halt the Human’s ambitions.”

“A suicide attack?”

The Armored Queen sounded disapproving. The Flying Queen looked annoyed as she flicked a feeler. The vessel raised something invisible to its mandibles as in the mirror, the Flying Queen ate from a bowl.

“A calculated loss. It would be little lost for much gain. And if the Humans attack anyways…I will send more, then. A proper army to fight and hold Liscor.”

She was about to say more, but then the mirror changed and the last Queen spoke. Her body did not move but her cracked mandibles slowly opened and closed. Her words were more halting than the Antinium’s natural staccato rhythm.

“The slaughter is. Not beneficial to the. Antinium as a. Whole. What says. The Grand Queen?”

The Twisted Queen turned her head then. Her missing eye, her broken expression, all hinted at the pain she had endured. In the First Antinium War, General Sserys had assaulted a Hive twice. First the Twisted Queen’s Hive, then the Grand Hive itself. Both times his armies had been broken by her warriors. And he had died battling one of the Centenium.

Wrymvr the Deathless. Klbkch did not see him in the mirror. That worried him. So did the Twisted Queen, at times. She alone had sent no delegation to inspect the Free Antinium. But then, that might have been for the best. The Flying Antinium, the Armored Antinium, even the Silent Antinium could be witnessed by other species and only instill fear, terror at best. But the Twisted Queen’s creations were horror manifest.

“The designs. Of. Humans are not. Important Drakes are not. Important. The only concern is. The Hives.”

“Yes. The Antinium may hold Liscor. Free Queen, what say you? Can your Hive withstand the Goblins in battle? The Humans?”

And now it came to the Free Queen. She stirred uneasily. She of all the Queens had been unmarked by her Hive. She had disagreed with them. Klbkch remembered. The Free Queen had argued against the creation of new forms, of researching more dangerous bodies for the Antinium to use. She had called for only two things: the rediscovery of how to make True Antinium and the creation of Queens.

Both ideas had been dismissed as impossibilities. The most difficult of tasks. But both achievements had been what defined the Antinium, what made them strong. For that reason Klbkch had followed her into exile in Liscor. Now the Free Queen spoke, uneasily.

“If—if my Hive throws its might against the Goblins and the Human army, I believe we could hold Liscor. At great cost. If it is the will of the Hives, we will honor our contract. My Queen?”

“Could your Hive repel the Humans even if the fighting spread into the city? How many Soldiers are present in your Hive? How many Workers? How many Painted Soldiers? Estimate their kill-to-death ratio.”

The Grand Queen’s voice was thoughtful. The Free Queen hesitated. Klbkch whispered numbers up to her and she told the Grand Queen. The Soldier and Worker counts she knew, but Klbkch had to make up the statistics involving the Painted Soldiers. Klbkch himself responded to the question about Liscor’s defense as a whole.

“If it came to a battle in the streets, Grand Queen, I fear the odds would be against the Hive. The Humans possess a strong, mobile force and [Mages] capable of wiping the Antinium out in number. Our Painted Soldiers as yet lack the ability to combat magic users without the advantage of surprise attacks.”

“A failing only my Flying Antinium has overcome. Which is why my Soldier’s presence in the city would be invaluable.”

“Or mine. My Antinium will not reach Liscor in time, but perhaps bags of holding may be sent. Armored, your Soldiers may stand a better chance against mounted Humans, Free Queen.”

“If Klbkchhezeim is to fight, my Silent Antinium should aid him. It is far, but if the Flying Antinium are willing to lend transport, I will send my quiet ones to kill [Mages] in secret.”

“A slaughter is. Inevitable regardless. Of those who join. Why ask, Grand. Queen?”

The Grand Queen spoke softly, ignoring the other voices.

“Klbkchhezeim. If the Antinium fail to defend the city, what if they assaulted the Humans from the safety of their Hive?”

Klbkch froze, as did his Queen. If they abandoned the city? He spoke carefully.

“I believe we would win, my Queen. If…if you are suggesting we cede the city, it is possible to wipe out any army above. We could collapse foundations, attack from below. It is more advantageous, but still unlikely.”

“We see. And if you defended, what then? How long could you hold?”

“Months. We have drainage systems in place to prevent flooding and the Humans would not penetrate more than our outer tunnels with bombardments. Why?”

The Free Queen spoke sharply. The Grand Queen looked at her.

“The Human Lord, Tyrion Veltras, intends to take Liscor. The odds are not in Liscor’s favor regardless of reinforcement. However, the Antinium need not waste combat potential fighting. It is my will that the Hive will abandon Liscor as soon as the walls are breached. They will close all tunnels, and hold out as the Humans occupy Liscor.”

Klbkch felt a jolt. His arms tingled. She meant to abandon Liscor? He stared at the Grand Queen as she went on.

“They will not reveal themselves until the Flying Antinium, the Silent Antinium, and the Armored Antinium have all positioned armies in proximity to Liscor via a constructed underground tunnel. Then, all four armies will retake Liscor.”

She looked around. And then the vessel jerked. The mirror flashed four times. Shock. Confusion. Excitement. Acceptance. The Queens spoke at once.

“What purpose is served by this act?”

“Have the Antinium not forged a contract? Will this betrayal be known?”

“So Liscor will become the first city of Antinium?”

“And what role will. The Twisted Antinium serve?”

“Grand Queen—my Queen.”

The Free Queen of the Antinium spoke slowly. Her emotions were in a whirl. Klbkch stood by her, trying to calm her. The Free Queen looked into the mirror at the Grand Queen. She struggled for words.

“You are—if Liscor falls, then the goals of the Free Antinium will never be realized. My Queen, without the Drakes and other species to act as stimuli, the process of creating individuals—”

“We are aware of the cost to the Free Antinium. However, we deem Liscor as a strategic asset of greater importance. Moreover, the Humans’ siege of Liscor provides a reason for the Antinium to seize a city. Thus this plan we deem as most appropriate. We have consulted with our Prognugator, Xrn, and she agrees this strategy is most sound.”

Xrn? Klbkch jerked. He couldn’t help it. All five Queens stared at the azure Antinium. Xrn, the so-called Small Queen, bowed as her eyes swirled with colors. Green and pink and blue and then a flash of white. Klbkch froze. The other Queen saw nothing but magic in Xrn’s eyes, but he had seen those colors before. She was telling him something.

“Xrn, my Prognugator. Speak.”

The Grand Queen lifted Xrn up. The Prognugator bowed.

“My Queens, I deem Liscor’s fall a chance for the Antinium to grow. Not as conquerors or invaders for once, but as heroes.”

“Heroes?”

The Free Queen stared at the blue Antinium. Xrn nodded.

“My Queen understated some of the nuances of the plan. By all means, let the Antinium hold the walls. Let them fight. A thousand. Two thousand. Six. Let them die fighting Goblins and Humans. And when Liscor falls, when the walls are breached, let them shield the frightened, the innocent. Let them hold until Liscor flees. Into the Hives.”

Into the Hives?

The whisper came from all the other Queens at once. Klbkch felt a thrill as he understood Xrn’s plan. She nodded.

“Yes. Let them be saved by the Antinium, sheltered. And then, in the Human’s hour of dark victory, let the Antinium rescue Liscor. Let them claim it and become the new rulers. Heroes indeed. Heroes twice to Liscor. And the new stewards of a city. Not a city ruled by Drakes and populated by Gnolls and Antinium, but a city managed by Antinium in which Gnolls and Drakes live.”

“They will never accept that. The Drakes will never allow it.”

“No?”

Xrn tilted her head. She looked at the Free Queen and then nodded.

“Perhaps you are correct, Free Queen. Perhaps the plan will fail. The citizens of Liscor may not trust the Antinium. The Drakes may not accept the Antinium’s ownership of the city. All plans fail. So I offered a counter alternative: should the people of Liscor resist, they die. Should the Drakes try to take Liscor, it will be war. The Twisted Queen and my Grand Queen will station an army in hiding. If the Drakes assault Liscor, they will attack them from behind. And the Third Antinium War will begin.”

The room was silent after Xrn had finished. Klbkch remembered to breathe. He looked at her. She glanced back and the same pattern flashed through her eyes. Thought-mischief-sadness-hope. She was lying. She did not think the plan would fail. She wanted a city for the Antinium.

A city where Individuals could be made in number. And Klbkch understood. Xrn had thought of him. Of Erin and those she had met. She had devised a plan to save them in a way the Grand Queen would accept. But she had forgotten one thing.

Klbkch was a [Guardsman]. A Senior Guardsman of Liscor. And he knew the Drakes better than she did. They would die protecting their homes. Drakes did not run. The Gnolls would too. They might retreat in the end, but they would die step by step rather than flee.

Unless they trusted the Antinium. Would they trust them enough to flee into the Hives? Would they—would Erin? Was this a betrayal or a solution? He was a Senior Guardsman of Liscor. Zevara would never run. Neither would Relc. They would die on the walls. But could they be saved? He was a Revalantor of the Hive. He was Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium. He was Klbkch the Slayer. He had to—

Klbkch stood there, paralyzed as the Queens debated. As they argued. But in the end it didn’t matter. One by one, they fell silent. The Grand Queen spoke.

“It is decided. The Hives will prepare. Workers must be sent. All five Hives will dig the tunnel as far as possible. Prepare your Soldiers. Free Queen of the Antinium. Klbkchhezeim.”

Both looked up. The Grand Queen looked at them.

“Prepare the Hive of Liscor for war.”

She vanished from the mirror. The Silent Queen was next.

“Wait, Klbkchhezeim, Free Queen. We will meet for the first time in years.”

The Armored Queen spoke briskly. Tersk was already giving orders.

“All must be done as the Grand Queen wills. My Soldiers will greet yours soon.”

The Flying Queen rubbed her feelers together, almost giddy.

“At last! Battle! War! A grand trick to play on the Humans and Drakes alike. My Hive readies itself. Prepare yours too!”

And then only the Twisted Queen was left. She looked at Klbkch, at the Free Queen and she spoke.

“It is done. Klbkch. Hezeim. Wrymvr sends. His greetings.”

Then she was gone. Klbkch stared into the mirror. He and the Grand Queen looked at each other. Neither spoke for a long moment. Then the Free Queen spoke.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“You are a Senior Guardsman of Liscor, are you not? I know little of your titles. Of your life above. I have seen through your gaze but I do not understand. When you speak of your time above I am jealous. You have met others whom you speak highly of above. ‘Friends’.”

Klbkch lowered his head.

“I have, my Queen.”

“Could you slay them? Could you let them die? For the plan?”

The Free Queen stared at Klbkch. For a long moment the Revalantor of the Free Antinium stared at the ground. And then he looked up. His voice was cold as he opened his mandibles.

“If you ask it of me my Queen, it will be done. Simply give me the order and I will take Liscor for you.”

“Ah, Klbkch. But would it pain you?”

Klbkch tapped his chest with one finger. The sound was dull. He placed his hands on his sword and bowed.

“I am Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium before I am anything else. For the Hives, I would do anything.”

It was the answer the Free Queen sought. She nodded and turned away. Her voice grew distant as she rose.

“If it must be, Klbkchhezeim, we will take Liscor as required by the Grand Queen. Even if that means the complete eradication of Liscor’s populace.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

The two said nothing else. They stood, feeling cold and alien to the city full of warm-blooded people above. Cold. And old. And tired. Then they heard a voice. It did not come from the mirror, or the vessel which had gone limp. It came from behind them. A weak, warbling voice.

“Who were they?

Klbkch whirled. The Free Queen exclaimed as she pulled herself over.

“Bird.”

The little Worker was trying to sit up. He was not bleeding, but he could barely move. He relaxed as the Queen lifted him with two feelers.

“Ow. I am much ow. I heard voices. Not just in my head.”

“You are alive. Are you well? Do you sense your injuries worsening?”

Bird thought about that.

“It hurts.”

“Yes.”

The Grand Queen bent over him. Her mandibles opened and closed and Klbkch sensed her anger, previously dormant, resurfacing.

“I will kill the one who did this, Bird.”

“Oh. That is good. I am not happy with them either. But I am mostly hurt. Where is my bow?”

Bird tried to look around and then flinched. Klbkch looked around. The bow was missing. The Queen fussed over Bird.

“Hold still. You are hurt. You must not move.”

“It hurts. It hurts muchly.”

“Yes. But you will live. You will stay here, Bird. You will stay and be well.”

“I am hurt. I am sad. Bad things happened to me. And to Miss Erin’s inn.”

“She—”

The wrath in the Queen’s voice was foreboding. But the next words that Bird said silenced her. They chased the thoughts of betrayal and war from Klbkch’s head for a moment.

“Am I allowed to cry? I would like to cry, please.”

Klbkch froze. The Queen froze. They stared at Bird.

“Cry?”

Bird nodded.

“I would like to. I would have but I did not know if I had permission? May I have it?”

The Free Queen looked at Klbkch, but he didn’t know what to say. She looked down at Bird, her antennae waving about wildly.

“But—the Antinium cannot cry.”

“They cannot? Then what will I do?”

Bird looked up, confused. No one could answer him. He looked from face to face and then seemed to come to a conclusion.

“I am going to cry.”

No one stopped him. Klbkch’s heart raced, though he couldn’t say why. It was impossible. The Antinium could not cry. It was completely, utterly impossible. They had not been designed to. The First Queen had not wept, though her heart had broken a thousand times. Not one of the Centenium had wept. No Antinium had wept. But then Bird opened his mouth and began to speak.

“Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Waaaah. Waaah. Waah. Waaaaaah. Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Waaah. Waaah…”

It was not crying in the way babies cried. It was not a reactionary sound, or a sob, or a hiccup of pain. Bird just said the word over again.

“Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Wah. Waaah. Waaaah…”

It was insistent, annoying. And Bird did not stop. It sounded nothing like crying. It sounded like a mockery of it, in fact. Klbkch stared at Bird. At first he was shocked, then he was furious. He opened his mandibles to tell Bird to be silent—

And then he realized the truth. Klbkch stopped and stared at Bird. The sound was annoying. It got on the nerves. Klbkch had listened to babies wail and not been discomforted. But Bird made the sound and he reacted as he had seen Drakes and Gnolls grimace. And the sound kept going. A cry for help. An expression of pain. It was…Bird was…

Crying.

He was crying, though he had no tears to shed. Though the Antinium didn’t cry. He had learned to cry. And the sound went on and on. The Free Queen held Bird, staring at him. And then, slowly, she began to cradle him, move him back and forth.

Klbkch stared. The way the Queen held Bird was familiar. But she had not learned that from the Antinium. She had seen it in his memories, through his eyes. She cradled Bird as he cried in her chambers. She bent over him and Klbkch felt something in her emotions he had never felt before.

He shuddered and took a step back. He stared at Bird, then turned. He had to go. He had to—Klbkch fled the sound of Bird’s crying and the strange emotion. He strode back into the Hive, past the staring Garry and Soldiers. The Hive must be readied. Klbkch knew that.

But no matter how far he went he still heard the sound. It echoed through the corridors, following him. A sound of sadness and pain as Klbkch strode through the tunnels of the Hive and began to prepare for war.

 

—-

 

Headscratcher sat in his cell. He was miserable. Across from him Erin sat on the cell, telling the other Hobs a story about the time she’d thrown a snowball at a ‘car’. A Minotaur stared blankly at him from his cell, looking lost. Headscratcher tried to listen, but he couldn’t.

They had lied to the Watch. Not by words; they had barely been able to speak. But by omission. The Watch had questioned them about who had hurt Bird, about the identity of the mysterious Hob. They had told them about the beard and greatsword. Not the name.

It was one thing to hate Greydath, and Headscratcher did with all his heart. But it was another thing to tell the Drakes everything. To kill the other Goblin, to betray them. And yet, if there was a Goblin worthy of that, it was him.

Greydath. The name meant something, Headscratcher was sure. Greydath could not have been just a Hobgoblin wanderer. He had been someone before; his Skills told that if nothing else. Headscratcher clenched a fist and felt the helpless rage surging in him. He fought it down. If he went mad now he would only scare Erin. He could not break free of the cell.

But the anger wouldn’t go away. Greydath. He had done it. He had ruined everything. The Hobs were in jail. Numbtongue was the only one who was free. Bird was hurt and Erin had cried. She had wiped away the tears and now she was smiling, but every now and then her face would turn sad.

And it was all their fault. Headscratcher closed his eyes. Everything was desolation. But he knew one thing more after having fought Greydath. One valuable thing.

One thing. He clung to that fact. None of the Hobs had said it, but they had all realized it.

Badarrow had hurt Greydath. With an arrow. It hadn’t even been shot from his bow; the Hob had just stabbed him with it. That meant Greydath had no Skills to enhance his skin. He was just…fast. Skilled beyond belief. But his injury meant he could be hurt even by an ordinary sword.

He could die. Headscratcher remembered that, because he would not forgive Greydath. But then he looked up and saw Erin looking at him and his guilt burned him again.

“Sorry.”

He said it again. Erin paused and her smile wavered. She stopped telling her story and sat closer to the bars.

“Hey. What happened to Bird wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Was.”

Headscratcher shook his head. he couldn’t explain. Erin stared at him.

“Did you hurt Bird?”

“No.”

“Did the Goblin who hurt Bird do it because you told him to?”

“No!”

“Did you let him hurt Bird?”

“Tried—”

Headscratcher shook his head. Erin nodded.

“Then it’s not your fault. You tried. He was just…a jerk.”

“But—”

“It’s not your fault what other people do, Headscratcher. It’s not your fault what they do. Only what you do.”

Headscratcher’s eyes stung. Not just because Erin had told him it wasn’t his fault. Not only because he was relieved. He had feared she would blame him. Not only because he wished he could rip open his chest to show her how sorry he was. No, for one other reason.

It’s not your fault for what other people do. She called Goblins people. Headscratcher wiped his eyes, then looked up at Erin. She stared at him, trying to smile.

“We have to go. Can’t stay. Bad things coming. Goblin Lord.”

Erin’s smile vanished. Headscratcher fought with the words Numbtongue had begun teaching him. He wanted to talk to Erin.

“If stay…Drakes mad. We know. Must go. Should—should have—”

“Should have gone already.”

Shorthilt spoke from his cell. Erin looked at him, and then Headscratcher. She shook her head.

“You’re in jail. You can’t go anywhere, guys.”

The Hobs looked at her. Erin’s tremulous smile vanished.

“Sorry. Bad joke.”

She sat there with them in silence. Headscratcher wiped his eyes. At last, Erin spoke.

“It’s all happening so fast.”

No one replied. The Hobs looked down. The Minotaur stared at Erin from his cell. Erin looked at the stone floor. Her voice was quiet. Perhaps the entire prison was listening to her. Perhaps they were alone in the world.

“It’s all happening. And I want it not to. I want time to stop. I want to be here—even here, forever. I don’t want to know what happens next. Why can’t things stay the same? Forever?”

She looked up. And there were tears in her eyes. Headscratcher wiped his arm across his face. Badarrow turned his head away. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater scrubbed at their eyes.

“At least tonight…at least one more day.”

One more day. They were in jail, separated in cells that smelled a bit like pee, on hard stone. But they were here. Erin, the Goblins. Headscratcher had never been happier in his life. Never sadder. He looked up and through watery eyes, saw a Minotaur close his and sink to the ground.

For one more day, they sat together. Human, Goblins, and the Minotaur.

Waiting, waiting. Waiting for everything to change.

 

—-

 

The Necromancer finished plotting and his apprentice thought of death. The Queens departed and their Hives began to stir. Erin Solstice sat with four Hobs and they and she said everything they wanted to say. And Olesm sat in the City Hall, at his office’s desk, pouring over plans.

He had not rested, though the hour was late. Pallassian troops had begun moving slowly through the door to Liscor, though the cost in mana to the [Mages] was painfully high, even with the door staying in Erin’s inn to soak up the ambient magical power. But they were coming.

And Olesm had plans. He’d consulted with Zevara, begun preparing Liscor for the attack, discussed how to blockade the streets with Ilvriss, even checked the sewers for the possibilities of collapsing them or laying traps. He had a thousand and ten things to do, but tonight he was looking at a book.

Reports, actually. Old ones. Olesm had demanded them from Pallass and they had been sent. Now he read them feverishly. They were concise, written after the fact in brief by a Drake not used to lengthy reports. The actual content of the reports was short, but so many people had added addendums and other details and insights that it was like reading a book. But Olesm read each and every word, trying to memorize as much as possible.

The account he was reading was of a siege. Of a city that had fallen to an invading army. Only, it hadn’t been Humans who’d taken the city. It had been Antinium. They’d overrun the city in hours, but the Drakes had retreated. Into a dungeon of all places. And they had held there for months.

The Drake who had written the report did not glamorize what had happened. He wrote frankly and unassumingly, at odds with the glorified notes of all those who had chimed in. He had signed the reports simply.

“Zel Shivertail. [Lieutenant].”

Olesm whispered the words. He looked at the report and then a map of Liscor’s dungeon. His claws traced the parchment and he thought long and hard about what might happen if—if.

There were so many things to keep track of. Olesm’s head hurt. He lowered his head on the desk and fell asleep, though he’d only meant to rest for a second. He had worked so hard. After the last Pallassian [Soldier] had come through for the day he’d tried to extract the door to Liscor, but he couldn’t get Lyonette to budge, and the Horns, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords were all there. So Olesm had given up. Gold-ranks were better than regular guards, anyways.

But he hadn’t entrusted it to just them. A dozen of Embria’s [Soldiers] and a [Captain] were standing watch in the inn, as were a group of [Guardsmen]. Sentries on Liscor’s walls were watching the Wandering Inn and no one was allowed in or out, magic door or otherwise. Olesm had left nothing to chance. He’d done everything right, in short. Even Relc was there, grumbling about a lack of free drinks and looking more alert than usual.

No one would be able to get in or out. Unless they had been waiting inside the inn all night, waiting for this moment. Embria’s [Soldiers] were standing by the windows, not speaking and glancing with irritation at Relc as he talked with the other members of the City Watch. One of the [Soldiers] began to yawn and caught himself. The [Captain] on duty turned to shout at the [Soldier]—

And all the Drakes toppled to the ground. Relc looked around wildly. He got to his feet unsteadily and growled.

“Aw, hell—”

He toppled over before he could grab the potion at his belt pouch. The inn went silent. Not a creature stirred, not even Apista. And then a figure popped open the trap door to Erin’s basement. He stumbled out, grumbling about dead Raskghar corpses and walked over to the magic door, staff in hand. He bent to fumble with the mana stones in the bowl and stopped as someone else stepped out from the shadows where he had been perfectly hidden.

Typhenous slowly turned around. The old [Mage]’s beard caught the light glowing from the tip of his staff. He turned and locked eyes with a smiling [Magician] who held a wand in his hand.

“Ah. I thought I might be running into someone else.”

“A neat spell. I was impressed that you got even the big Drake. May I ask what spell it was? Some kind of empowered [Sleep] spell?”

Eltistiman walked forwards, wand held casually in one hand. Typhenous smiled and tugged his beard as he turned, putting his back to the door.

“Not [Sleep]. A higher-Tier variation on the spell that involves a living vector. [Mites of Slumber]. A fine spell to use on the unwary. Even Gold-rank adventurers are not unsusceptible to its effects. Although I imagine Halrac might have noticed even in his sleep.”

Eltistiman nodded.

“Few prepare against actual living creatures as vectors. I imagine the soporific effect is only partially magical and partially a magically-induced sickness?”

Typhenous looked surprised.

“Exactly. It’s a pleasure to meet a fellow mage of the craft, aside from young Pisces and Falene, who are quite insufferable. Ceria and Moore are far more pleasant company, although they’re hardly avid students. Merely practitioners.”

“It is a fine line between mages who study theory and simply cast spells without understanding the full effects.”

Eltistiman nodded, smiling. He regarded Relc’s sleeping form.

“I’m impressed you got the Drake, again. The mites must have labored hard to get into his skin.”

Typhenous smiled.

“I didn’t bother with that. I just had him eat some with his food.”

“As one would expect of the Plague Mage, Typhenous.”

Eltistiman nodded politely and Typhenous tipped his own chin. The two stared at each other. Typhenous sighed and glanced back at the door behind him.

“I don’t suppose we’ve come here for the same reason?”

Eltistiman smiled ruefully. He stood casually, his wand pointed at the ground. But the light tone and relaxed posture were betrayed by his watchful eyes. Typhenous leaned on his staff, eying Eltistiman.

“I’m afraid not. You see, my client would prefer that door stay here. She sent me here to make sure that it did, and to aid Liscor in any small way I could. Oh, and also to investigate these ‘plays’ she’s heard about. She’s quite taken with the idea.”

“I can well imagine. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who hired you?”

The [Magician] waved a finger.

“Ah, you know the rules. Let’s just say a [Lady] with a fine taste in horticulture hired me.”

Typhenous raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed? That is quite the important employer. Myself, I was hired by the Smiling Man.”

Eltistiman’s lips quirked.

“Oh, him? Well, I can’t imagine he was pleased by today’s events. Still, he’d be quite pleased if you completed your mission. Which you will not, by the way. Cast a spell and I will kill you. Throw your staff down, sir.”

Typhenous eyed Eltistiman. The [Magician] hadn’t even raised his wand. For a second the air hummed, and then Typhenous sighed. He slowly lowered his staff. He tossed it to the ground. Eltistiman, who’d tensed, nodded.

“Thank you, sir. And now, move to the side and retrieve a pair of cuffs from that Gnoll there. The one with the stripes on her ears. She has a pair of cuffs for magic users.”

“Well thought out, aren’t you?”

Typhenous grumbled as he slowly walked over, deliberately not making any sudden moves. Eltistiman was still watching him. He slowly bent and searched for the cuffs. Eltistiman nodded.

“It does pay to be prepared and I had an inkling my opponent was you. Those in the business, you know.”

“Yes, yes.”

“What I can’t understand was why you would do this. Surely you owe the charming young lady who owns this inn more than betrayal.”

Typhenous looked up sharply. He stared coldly up at Eltistiman.

“I owe Erin Solstice a great deal, young man. And I do not forget my debts.”

The [Magician] frowned. He lifted his wand warily, but Typhenous made no move.

“Why, then?”

The old Gold-rank adventurer sighed. He bent and looked around the Gnoll’s waists and finally found the cuffs.

“Simple. For money and the favors I am owed for doing this, of course. I owe Erin Solstice a great deal, but I owe my team more. You know why?”

“Naturally.”

“Just so.”

Typhenous untangled the cuffs. He smiled at Eltistiman.

“I caused a great deal of trouble for my team. And they didn’t abandon me. I owe them a lot. This will be my last team, I think. And I’d like to repay them. And—one more thing.”

“What’s that? Put the cuffs on, by the way. I’m not falling for a trick if you fake putting them on or throw them at me.”

The old [Mage] sighed as he opened the cuffs.

“Perish the thought. The reason is that if I failed, the Smiling Man and…others would not stop with just me. You know that. They’d send [Assassins] next.”

“True. But my employer has a way with [Assassins]. As do I.”

“I suppose so. You wouldn’t care to let me go, by any chance?”

Eltistiman raised his wand for the first time.

“Not a chance. Cuffs on, now.”

He stared at Typhenous. The [Mage] put one hand through the cuffs, but Eltistiman was on alert now. Typhenous was moving slowly. Something was up. But he could blast Typhenous in a second. The [Magician]’s eyes flicked around the room. The basement? No. Typhenous? It would be suicide unless he had a ring that could block a spell. Was it the staircase? The door?

And then Eltistiman glanced towards the magic door. It was sitting against the wall, energy depleted after a day of use. It was closed obviously, and Pallass’ yellow mana stone had been taken off. But another mana stone had replaced it. A green, glowing gem. Eltistiman stared at it. And then he noticed that the door was open a crack—

Eltistiman whirled too late. The door blew open and a man rushed through. Fast. He leapt across the room, Eltistiman’s wand raised, but the man knocked him to the ground and his spell went wide. The dark-clothed man had a cudgel in hand. Eltistiman turned his wand, aiming for his chest—

The man with the cudgel swung into his ribs and then broke the [Magician]’s fingers on his wand with a series of precise strikes. The [Mage] jerked, but he still tried to cast the spell. Quick as a flash, the cudgel danced a rhythm on his head. the [Magician]’s head jerked and he went still.

“Oh dear. I don’t suppose he’s dead. Is he?”

Typhenous tossed the cuffs to the ground. The [Thug] carefully felt at Eltistiman’s pulse and then laid the [Magician] down. He walked back over to the door, rapped twice on it, then bent to pick up Typhenous’ staff and handed it to the [Mage].

“Here, sir. Don’t worry about the wand fellow. He’ll wake up with more lumps than I’d care to think on, but a healing potion will do him right up.”

“Thank you.”

Typhenous accepted the staff and leaned on it. The man with the cudgel looked back to the door as it opened. Three more men slipped in, all wearing dark leather armor concealed by dark cloth. The thing about these men was that despite the fact that all were [Thugs], they were quite snappily dressed. Dark cloth and leather didn’t have to look bad, and these four stood straight and nodded to each other as they stepped into the inn.

They didn’t even bother with masks; instead each wore a ring that would make anyone who saw their faces forget it in moments after seeing them. Besides the man with the cudgel, the other three carried a billy club, a swordbreaker dagger and a sap, and a pair of brass knuckles. No edged weapons of any kinds except for the dagger, and it wouldn’t be covered in blood if the men had anything to say about it. They nodded to Typhenous and the man with the cudgel cleared his throat.

“The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings present their regards, sir. Saw you had a spot of bother there and was choosing my moment.”

“I noticed. Thank you, sir. And who do we have here?”

The door had opened and five shapes had slipped into the room, almost unnoticed. Almost, since Typhenous had been looking for them. One of the masked women turned towards him as the others spread out, bows and daggers in hand.

“We are the Sisters of Chell. You know why we are here.”

“I do indeed.”

The Brothers clustered around the door as the Sisters inspected the slumbering Drakes and Gnolls. The man with the cudgel looked at Typhenous.

“This is the target, sir?”

“Yes. And the mana stones. Here.”

Typhenous pointed to the bowl. The men eyed them and then one of them pulled out a disguised bag of holding as small as two fingers. He whisked the stones into the sack.

“Do we have details on how they work? For the client.”

“The green stone leads to Celum. Blue to Liscor. Yellow for Pallass…there’s a red stone in there as well, but I wouldn’t activate that.”

“Why not?”

Typhenous smiled.

“It leads to a cave full of Goblins. They’re quite friendly to the owner of this inn.”

Goblins? Now I know I’ve gone mad.”

The [Thug] shook his head and twirled his cudgel. He looked sharply at Typhenous.

“Very well. What are our obstacles?”

He didn’t waste time. One of the Sisters of Chell came over as Typhenous described what he’d seen and heard.

“You’ll encounter sentries watching the inn. They’re armed with bows, but I doubt Liscor has many of its [Mages] on the walls. They’re exhausted from casting [Message] spells all day. The waters are placid and draining—you may run your boat aground on some of the larger hills. Watch out for Rock Crabs and other fish species.”

“Lovely. And pursuit?”

“If it comes, it will be by boat. There is a Courier in the city, but he doesn’t engage in combat from what I’ve heard. And there is a Gold-rank Garuda—”

One of the Sisters mumbled a curse, and a Brother gave her a reproving glance. Typhenous went on smoothly.

“—but she should be locked in the prison. Oh, and there are several hundred Goblins camped in a cave along the northern road, but none of them are Hobs.”

“Well, that’s a relief. We’ll see what occurs as it may. Goblins, you said? Not a problem, sir, even by the hundreds. We’ve expertise in dealing with Goblin Tribes. Now, you said you had a boat? Enough for all of us or must we swim? I apologize that we didn’t inform you of the numbers, but we had no idea this was going down tonight until word came in.”

The [Thug] looked apologetic. The Sisters rolled their eyes, but said nothing. Typhenous nodded politely. Each underworld organization had its quirks, and it had to be said that the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings had built a reputation on being, well, polite.

The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings and the Sisters of Chell weren’t the biggest of the underworld groups that worked out of the various cities of Izril, but the two largest local players in the region by far, certainly. And they’d clearly brought some of their veteran members for this job.

“It was a trick and a half bringing together enough of the fellows for this job. And no one warned us there’d be another group sharing our case.”

The [Thug] looked mildly reproachful as he gestured at the Sisters.

“Not my fault. You know how these things go.”

Typhenous raised his hands. The man with the cudgel nodded. He spotted one of the Sisters bending over a Drake, furtively rummaging around for valuables. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as another reached for Eltistiman’s wand.

“Please, ladies. Have some class.

The Sisters of Chell gave him a look that promised blood, but they reluctantly abandoned the goods. Two of the men wrestled the door from the wall and began to move to the actual door to the inn. Typhenous and the cudgel wielder were finishing their business. A bag of holding passed hands and Typhenous checked the money. He smiled at the glint of gold and other items.

“There’s more in the drop off point, but this is our part. Big E sends his regards.”

The [Thug] touched a finger to his head. Typhenous frowned for the first time. The man noticed.

“What?”

“You are aware there is an [Emperor] in Izril, now, aren’t you? I assume you’re referring to our mutual client, but I feel I should check.”

The [Thug] wavered. He glanced at his companions, then he moved forwards and whispered to Typhenous for a second. At last he nodded.

“What? Really? Okay, fine. Yeah, it’s Erill. One of his, quote unquote, secret intermediaries gave us the job. Not any newcomer.”

He seemed annoyed by the lapse in professionalism and adjusted his clothes as he stepped back. The leader of the Sisters of Chell leaned forwards and hissed.

“Lady Spellcraft gave us our job. I take it there’s no questions of her identity?”

“None, Ma’am.”

Typhenous nodded. He looked at the [Thug].

“I do apologize. It’s just that you never know…”

The man nodded.

“We’ll bear it in mind for future jobs. Now, about that boat…we will need it. The report indicated we’d be travelling via boat until we clear Liscor’s lakes.”

“Outside. Several of them, in fact. The adventurers tie them up. Take which ever you wish. And once you reach the shore, I take it you have ample transportation?”

The [Thug] froze. He turned back to Typhenous and scowled, for the first time visibly upset.

“It’s covered. You know better than to ask questions.”

“I apologize.”

Chastened, Typhenous looked down. The Brothers shifted. One of them glanced ahead.

“All set?”

“We are clear for now. Go at your ready.”

The Sisters tensed by the door. The [Thug] took his position next to the two men holding the magic door, nodded, and then thrust open the door. The men and women shot out of the inn like a flash. Typhenous heard nothing until, nearly thirty seconds later, someone blew a horn from the top of Liscor’s walls.

“Ah, and there we go.”

Typhenous sighed. He walked over and closed the door, then walked over to Eltistiman. He began tugging the [Magician] towards the basement. With any luck, no one would check for him and the [Magician] would get away. He did have a rather nice concealment spell. Typhenous wasn’t worried about reprisals; he had done his job and so had Eltistiman. That was how it worked, although Typhenous would have to be careful if they ever ran up against each other again. The young man was quick.

 

—-

 

Two boats skimmed across the water as Liscor went into full-alert for the umpteenth time that month. People on the walls fired arrows, but by the time more arrived and the enchantments on the wall were ready to be activated, both boats were long out of range. The Brothers of Serendipitous Greetings and the Sisters of Chell moved fast; their Skills made the boats fly across the water. Only when they were well out of range did they slow and take a stealthier tack.

The rain had abandoned Liscor, which was a pity since that would have covered their trail perfectly, but the clouds were still lingering and so the rogues moved in shadows. They were headed north, and a fast wagon was waiting to take them even further still once they hit land.

None of the men or women talked. They were professionals. They kept an eye to the waters and to Liscor in case of pursuit—and an eye ahead for good measure. They were reaching land when they heard a strange sound.

“Hold up. You hear that?”

The [Thug] with the cudgel raised a hand. He turned around in his boat, seeking the strange melody that was playing across the waters. The Sisters instantly raised their bows. The sound was coming from ahead of them. Warily, both boats moved closer to shore. It would be easier to fight on the ground if it was a fight they were up against. If it was a [Shepherd] of some kind, well, they’d be unconscious faster than they could blink. Or dead if the Sisters got to them first.

Nothing moved as the boat with the Brothers drew to shore. The man with the cudgel leapt out. His skin crawled, though the ground and mountains ahead of him were dark and unmoving. It all looked like one solid mass at a distance, which was odd since the [Thug] did have a weak [Cat Eye] skill that allowed him to make out most things in the dark.

No movement, though. The [Thug] frowned and twirled his cudgel, hearing his three companions leap to shore as the Sisters paddled to get to ground as well. He saw a lot of strange shapes on the ground ahead, and wished his night vision Skill was stronger. He took a wary step forwards. Was that dark green shape on the rocks mov—

The distant song ended abruptly. The men froze in place. They stood back-to-back as the Sisters paddled closer. They were better at night-time scouting. One of the Sisters looked ahead and made a strangled noise.

“What is that? What is—”

Three notes sang on a guitar. The sky opened. A bolt of lightning shot down. The [Thug] turned, his mouth opening in a scream. The boat with the Sisters exploded, throwing the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings forwards.

The man with the cudgel’s ears rang as he tried to get up. He scrambled to his feet and heard only ringing for a second. But he saw the arrows flying down. He blocked one with his cudgel then threw himself sideways. If it hadn’t been for his [Flawless Dodge] Skill, he would have been killed. Two of his friends went down, clawing at the arrows that pierced them from head to toe.

“Pilif! Pilif!

The man with the cudgel looked around. He heard a strangled sound and saw his friend with the dagger and sap staggering forwards. He had an arrow in one leg, but he’d survived. The man pointed ahead.

“They’re coming!”

Who? The [Thug] whirled. The ground seemed to explode around him. Dark, small shapes lunged at him, nearly invisible despite his Skill. Then they opened their eyes. Red light shone as they howled and attacked.

Goblins. The cudgel spun in the man’s grip as he deflected swords and daggers and a spear meant for him. Sweat rolled down the [Thug]’s face as he danced among the Goblins, parrying blows, knocking Goblins down with strikes. The Goblins were quick. And they were everywhere! They were just Goblins, but they fought better than most Bronze-ranks. They swarmed around him and the [Thug] spun. His cudgel flashed and he walked out of a pile of Goblins, shaking.

“Pilif?”

He looked around for his friend. Goblins were running, retreating back. The man with the cudgel saw a limp shape. Pilif hadn’t done so well against the Goblins. He lay on the ground, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

“Dead gods.”

And then the man with the cudgel looked forwards and saw. Really saw for the first time. The mountainside and pass ahead was dark. He’d mistaken the uniformity of it all for some strange trick of the light, but that wasn’t the case. It really was uniform.

They sat or stood on the sloping ground that formed the base of the mountains flanking the northern road. On rocks, on the cliffs that soon became nearly unclimbable and hinted at the treacherous heights far above. They filled every available spot, silent, virtually invisible.

Until they opened their eyes.

Crimson light shone down on the last Brother of Serendipitous Meetings as the clouds parted, as if mocking him by revealing what he hadn’t seen before. The [Thug] backed up slowly, then stopped. What was the point of running? He adjusted his grip on his cudgel and shook his head, casting a glance back towards the inn he’d left.

“That’s certainly not a few hundred Goblins, you damn mage.”

The Goblins waited in silence as the [Thug] walked forwards slowly. None of them moved, but then a taller shape stood. A guitar sang like thunder and a tall Hob leapt to the ground from the rock where he’d been playing. Moonlight glinted off the base of his guitar and the broken manacles on each hand. The [Thug] stopped and saluted him with the cudgel.

“Ah, the song player. Kind of you to fetch us a tune, though I don’t care for the way things worked out. I don’t suppose you take bribes?”

The Hob didn’t move. His eyes regarded the thug and he took a stance. With his guitar. The Brother of Serendipitous Meetings eyed it, but decided it would be rude to comment. He sighed as he looked back at his friends and the smoldering wreckage of the other boat. He looked back at the Hob and smiled ruefully.

“A pity. If the Gentlemen Callers had taken this case, things wouldn’t have ended up like this. A true pity.”

He began to hum as he strode back to the bodies. He’d forgotten something. Completely ungentlemanly of him. A final courtesy. The Goblins let him go as the Hob slowly advanced.  The [Thug] sang a little song under his breath. It was an old song, and the words were a child’s nursery tune. But the lyrics were known to all who walked the shadows of Izril.

The good folk are rising, and we’re off to our beds.

 The smart thieves away with the loot and the slow ones are dead.

He stopped and bent over Pilif and turned the man over. He closed his friend’s eyes, then did the same for his other two companions. He straightened, and nodded to the Hobgoblin who’d paused a dozen or so feet away.

“Thank you for waiting, sir. It was a kindness.”

“Good song.”

Numbtongue nodded. The [Thug] saluted him with his cudgel and smiled. Like a gentleman, but there was an edge to the smile that could cut.

“Well then sir, shall we get on with it?”

He and Numbtongue stared at each other. Then they charged. The Cave Goblins watched for a few minutes. Then they stood and walked forwards.

Numbtongue wiped blood off the base of his guitar and checked himself. His ribs were cracked and he was bleeding from his jaw. He may have lost a tooth. He looked down and sighed. Then he walked over to the boats. He stopped and blinked at what lay in the undamaged one.

“Door.”

Erin’s magic door lay there, propped up next to the oars. Numbtongue stared at it, then he looked at Liscor, ablaze with light. He wondered what had happened. Then he looked at the Cave Goblins.

They stared at him. Thousands upon thousands. And more waited. All looking at him. Numbtongue stared at the city in the distance. His friends were there. Prisoners. His brothers. And Erin was in trouble too, probably. But they had to go. The Goblin Lord was coming. Bird was hurt. Maybe dead.

They couldn’t stay. He knew that. Greydath had told them. But what if—Numbtongue closed his eyes. What if they wanted to stay? They were so happy here. If they could…

Numbtongue looked over his shoulder. He began to count Cave Goblins, counting the ones here and the ones below. Adding them up. Wondering if maybe, maybe

He looked back at the city. He looked at the door. Numbtongue sat down as blood ran into the waters. Liscor was in uproar, and the world held its breath. And somewhere, he was certain, the old Goblin was laughing.

 

—-

 

Typhenous knew the hired teams were dead. Or rather, he was counting on it. There were a lot of Goblins, and Numbtongue had escaped after all. And while the thugs might have been confident they could dissuade a Goblin tribe from going after them, the Cave Goblins and Numbtongue would surely recognize the door.

“A little betrayal.”

He stood over Eltistiman in the basement. The unconscious [Magician] was groaning, probably from all the broken bones. Typhenous shook his head and turned. Time to go, before this inn was flooded with people. He walked back to the ladder and began to climb it.

“And so, you have a way out, Miss Solstice. If it should come to the worst.”

Typhenous grunted as he climbed out of the basement and closed the trap door. Thus he repaid his debt, twisted though it might be. She would have a way to run before the end. He walked forwards and studied the empty wall where the magic door had been. Then he reached in his pocket for something.

“I should probably leave this behind, hm? Yes, best to dispose of the evidence.”

The glowing yellow fragments of the mana stone lay in his palm. That was the irony in it; in a room full of [Rogues] and [Thugs] and other disreputable classes, no one had noticed him palming the mana stone attuned to Pallass.

After all, his clients would be furious that the door had been recovered, but they’d only paid Typhenous to ensure no more reinforcements reached Liscor. The [Mage] tossed the fragments of the mana stone on the floor and walked to the door, muttering to himself and casting a concealment spell.

“Hired by Lord Veltras to ensure that no aid comes to Liscor. Hired by Pallassian [Senators] to do the same. And contracted by a third party of unknown origin to ensure that the door remains inoperable.”

He shook his head. It was a good time to have loose morals. But as he opened the door and walked across the surface of the water and Drakes thundered across the bridge to the inn, he had to think that it was all so silly. Everyone was looking at Tyrion Veltras, or the Drakes, or so on. But what everyone forgot was that there was always one rule to plans that you should believe in.

“Nothing ever happens the way you expect.”

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – Krshia

Krshia Silverfang knew as she woke up that something was not right in Liscor. She could feel it, as if her city had a pulse around her. And it was her city. She had lived in it for ten years and made it her home. From wandering the plains as most Gnolls did in tribes, she had come to this place of stone and metal to be a City Gnoll, a term used sometimes with pity or disdain. Or confusion. But then again, the Gnolls of the city didn’t see it that way. And Krshia had not abandoned her tribe to come here.

Her city. Krshia frowned as she rolled out of her bed, tossing off the thin sheets that were barely necessary given the fur covering her body. Her sense of Liscor wasn’t just intuition. She could hear four times better than a Human or Drake and it was too quiet in the morning.

Normally there would be sound as people rose in the streets, even at the early hour. Conversation floating through Krshia’s windows, the sound of [Guardsmen] chattering on patrol, or at the very least, the sound of children who didn’t dread the mornings like grumpy adults. But today? Nothing.

No, barely something. Krshia heard footsteps and low voices. Someone was walking past her apartment. Krshia sniffed—it was a Drake, male, moving quickly. And she caught a whiff that told her a pair of Gnolls, father and son, were walking down the street somewhere else. People were up. But they were quiet. Nervous. She could smell that.

Krshia knew why. It was the news of the Goblin Lord. And the Humans. It felt like the Goblins had been on the tip of everyone’s tongues for months now, but the threat had fallen from everyone’s minds as the Goblins passed by Liscor and became a Human issue. Now?

He was coming. Krshia sat on her bed and shivered, her hair standing up. They were coming. The Humans were pushing the Goblins towards Liscor and the city would be under siege in a matter of days. Everyone knew it. Worse, something had happened during the night. Something bad.

Near midnight yesterday, Krshia had woken up. She’d heard an alarm was sound on Liscor’s walls, and listened carefully to what they told her. Four short blasts of a horn, a warning that told everyone that there was danger spotted. It had woken Krshia from her sleep obviously; you didn’t sleep through an alarm like that. Maybe some Drakes living in the center of the city could, but a Gnoll would have to be a particularly deep sleeper to miss that sound in the night.

Krshia rubbed her face as she recalled sitting with bow and arrows in her room, debating whether it was wise to go out and find what was going on. They hadn’t blown the urgent notes that warned of an attack. So she and the anxious citizens had waited until they heard an all-clear blown not an hour later. Then they’d gone to sleep.

“But what happened? Was it just a false alarm or something deeper? That is the question, yes?”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] wearily shook her head. She’d have to find out. That was a first priority for the day. Well, that and eating. So she got up, resenting how her bones creaked and she felt tired. What had happened to the young female Gnoll who could roll out of bed after four hours and go hunting with her tribe?

“She rolled out of bed into a patch of nettles too many times.”

Grumbling, Krshia walked out of her bedroom and into the living room. She lived in a modest apartment, located in a nice, Gnoll-filled street. But hardly large enough for more than her and perhaps a guest. Krshia had no partner and so she had chosen this small place. It was a nice one despite having only four rooms. Bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen.

The living room was by far the largest as Krshia often had guests over. She had two couches, a nice sitting table, and various rugs, a few stools, a table with a few Gnollish decorations—pots, a tapestry on the wall, and an old hunting bow—and a pile of bandages sitting in a bucket. Krshia stopped when she saw them, as she did every time. She stared at the bandages and rubbed at her eyes.

“I should put them away.”

She should. They didn’t belong there. But Krshia didn’t. She looked at the bandages and sniffed. There was almost no trace of him in the room, but from the couch she caught the faintest scent. Nostalgia, bitter memory. Regret. Krshia caught the scent of her deceased nephew, Brunkr, for just a moment. Then it was gone. She stared at the bandages and shook her head.

“Nephew. Ah, what will I say to your mother when I see her again?”

The bandages didn’t respond. Krshia looked at them and then went into her small kitchen. And she knew the bandages and bucket would stay another day.

This is how Krshia the Gnoll started her day. She rattled a tea kettle and found it still had water in it. Like all citizens of Liscor not wealthy enough to magically procure their water, Krshia kept a small supply of water in her home for cooking, washing, and drinking and had to refill it at a well every day. Or, if it was the rainy season, stick a bucket out the window and wait for ten seconds.

But the rain had stopped. And it had stopped for good; Krshia couldn’t smell as much humidity in the air. Normally she would be relieved, but the entire reason the Humans were coming here was because the rain was stopping—

“No. Stop worrying, Krshia. You can worry later, but breakfast comes first.”

Krshia tapped her head firmly with one paw. She was no good without food in her. Or tea. She bent over her stove, adding charcoal and kindling. Krshia nearly went for her flint and steel when she recalled the little box of matches. Octavia’s match sparked to life in a moment and Krshia grinned as she stared at the little flame. She tossed it into her stove and it was soon burning merrily.

In minutes, the water was hot and Krshia poured herself a cup and found one of the reusable, dried up balls of herbs and spices that made the strong Gnoll tea she liked so much. She dipped it into her mug, watching the steam rise up and blinking a few times, still not quite awake.

Some days she wished she had something stronger than tea. Coffee had yet to be discovered in her world, if it even existed, but in their infrequent talks about Erin’s home, the young woman had told Krshia about the stuff. Somehow, knowing there was a drink that would magically wake Krshia up (without actually having any magic in it), was worse than living a life in ignorance of it.

“I must ask her about this coffee soon. She said it is grown from beans. Can we grow such beans in Liscor? Where might they be found? It would sell very well, I think. Better than alchemical goods.”

Stamina potions and wake-up tonics did work, but they exacted a different sort of toll on the body than caffeine. And it was a costly and foolish thing to become reliant on them. So Krshia sipped her tea and began to make breakfast. That was even quicker; she got out a jar filled with a thick pork paste made of rendered fat and pork, spices, milk, and onions. It was known as silkap, a traditional dish from Gnoll tribes.

It was a Gnollish favorite and Krshia’s go-to when she was in a hurry for breakfast. The mixture kept for a long time and it went well with most things. In this case, some sliced bread which Krshia warmed over the stove for a few seconds. The Gnoll smiled as she looked at the thick loaf of rye bread. It had risen well and it smelled delicious. The [Baker] she’d bought it from had several Skills that made his bread wonderful.

The only bread Krshia had seen that was as good was the stuff Erin had made—it seemed to rise like magic despite the young woman not having nearly as many Skills. And she hadn’t told Krshia how she’d done it. Yet.

“Lovely bread. Jeicle did good work. And he sold it to me cheap, yes? I should buy from him more often now that I can get better bread for less.”

Krshia thought of that as she found a knife to spread the pork paste with. Her new Skills. Her new class, come to that! She was now a [Royal Shopkeeper]. Her. Krshia. Thanks to Lyonette, she might have been the first Gnoll in history to have such a class. And it wasn’t just a title to be proud about either.

As a [Royal Shopkeeper], she now had access to new Skills that no one else in Liscor would have. For now, Krshia had only two of them: [Imperial Appraiser], a Skill which had replaced her [Quality Scent] Skill, and [Silvertouched Wares], which she had earned only a few days ago when she’d leveled up.

It was an incredible amount of levels and Skills to gain in such a short amount of time, especially at Krshia’s age. Krshia hadn’t leveled in her [Shopkeeper] class for over a year. Then her shop had exploded and she’d been practically destitute. After that…well, she’d struggled, and her levels had risen accordingly.

“New classes and starting over are keys to leveling, hrm? It is good, though I would prefer not to have lost all my coin and the spellbooks for a few levels.”

Still, Krshia had to admit that the new Skills made a huge difference. With her new ability to tell almost instantly what flaws or hidden traits most mundane objects had, she could buy only the best for her shop. But it was [Silvertouched Wares] that really made a difference. Krshia had wondered what the Skill did until she realized that every time she bought something, she seemed to get more than what she’d ordered, or better quality.

It was as if Krshia had a single silver coin’s worth more money to spend on buying…anything.

Thicker cuts of meat. Higher quality nails in bulk shipments. One less bruise on a piece of fruit, or a garlic bulb plumper than the rest. On every deal. The silver coin’s bonus was applied to every transaction Krshia handled, each time, without her having to activate the Skill.

One silver coin wasn’t a lot. But it added up with how much Krshia bought and sold each day. It probably wasn’t even one silver coin’s worth, honestly. Maybe it was only a few copper coins to make her goods that much better. But it was an advantage and in the duels of [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants], it was a powerful Skill. And unheard of!

A [Merchant] with [Expert Bartering] could leave you penniless…but it was still possible to just refuse to deal with them if you knew they had that Skill, or get something out of a deal if you had your wits about you. But this? This was unavoidable, a passive markup on everything Krshia made.

She loved it. Krshia hummed as she spread the thick pork paste on a piece of fresh bread and took a bite. Her mouth was filled with flavor, sharp and strong from the paste and a warm, chewy goodness from the bread. Knowing she’d gotten the bread for cheap just added an additional bit of zest to her meal.

That was how Krshia liked her breakfast. Rich, filling, and meaty. The Gnoll woman had three more big slices of bread, with as much silkap on it as she could fit onto each slice. She had two cups of water, and then she was done with breakfast and feeling a lot more ready for the day.

Gnolls didn’t believe in eating salads for breakfast. It was more than just a cultural thing. While Humans and half-Elves and…Centaurs all ate more plant-based diets, Gnolls and Drakes both ate a lot more meat than their Humans counterparts. They had to. Their ancestors had lived exclusively on meat diets and while both species had adapted over millennia to eat grains and fruits and so on, too much of that wasn’t good for them. They needed meat, hence the emphasis on herding and fishing around Liscor.

It was always a race to stock up Liscor’s food stores. In the spring when [Shepherds] had to pen up their flocks on the hilltops or go north or south and when [Farmers] were raising a new group of animals for slaughter, fishing provided Liscor’s needs. The [Fishers] would haul in prodigious amounts of lake food, a good portion of which would be stored and preserved via spell or salt to last Liscor for months. By then, herd animals would supplement the food needs of Liscor, but if a bad season hit at any time of the year, meat became a lot more expensive.

Krshia had lived through some bad years when all most Gnoll families could afford was a bit of meat to go with potatoes or grain. It wasn’t good for them, or for Drakes. She’d seen too many of her people get bloated and tired from grain or plant-only diets, but that was what happened when you lived in a city that could get cut off from the world like Liscor. It was a trading hub, but the rains dictated when the trading occurred and the goods that flowed from Humans to Drake lands weren’t usually bulk shipments of produce. Liscor could be rich in goods, but poor in foodstuffs.

Erin’s magic door would change all that. Now Liscor could import goods if it had to. Yes, the Merchant’s Guild didn’t like it and Liscor had agreed ‘not to’, as had Erin. But come the first hunger pangs from lack of meat and Krshia was sure things would change.

“Of course, we send soldiers through the door now, and that was what many worried about, wasn’t it? If her door becomes a tool of war, will Erin be seen as taking sides? How long until someone claims the door from her? Or will Liscor not give it back?”

Krshia frowned as she put on her clothes over her breast band and loincloth. She knew Pallassian soldiers had been marching into Liscor yesterday; she’d seen the yellow armor and it was the talk of the city. How many more would come through today? And what had the alarm in the night been about?

Another day, another crisis. Before Krshia went to her shop to set up, she had to know what had passed in the night. Yesterday had been tense. News of the attack on Liscor had spread like wildfire. At first the Watch had tried to contain the news, but too many [Guardsmen] had spoken of it and when the [Messaged] spells had begun flying across the continent…

Krshia left her apartment, leaving the door unlocked. She had no fear it would be burgled—she looked up to a neighboring apartment and nodded slightly. She saw a shape in the windows nod back. Her neighbor, an old Gnoll [Weaver] was watching her apartment, as were the other Gnolls in the area.

No [Thief] would get close to her apartment without being spotted and if they tried to break in, well, if the Watch didn’t get there in time they would be out of luck. Miss Zailky was old, but she could still point and shoot the crossbow she owned and her aim was better than Krshia’s.

Reassured her home and the magic book Ryoka had given her was safe, Krshia began her day by sniffing the air and trying to remember where she’d find her first informant. She had to know what had passed on the walls last night and she very much doubted Watch Captain Zevara would answer her if she strode in and demanded to know what had happened. The same with Olesm, Wall Lord Ilvriss or the new Wing Commander Embria. Krshia was an ordinary citizen to them, for all she was important among Liscor’s Gnolls. She wasn’t Erin.

But she did have access to information. Krshia headed towards the western gates, where she knew [Guardswomen] would be stationed. The gates were closed, obviously, to keep the water from flooding the city, but someone had to be stationed there regardless. Drakes loved their little rules. And as luck would have it, Krshia saw a furry head in a helmet. Perfect. If a Drake had been on duty she’d have to have gone to the other three gates, or find someone on patrol.

“Tkrn.”

The Gnoll on duty jumped guiltily. He’d been leaning on his spear and very obviously trying to take a nap. He whirled, ears flattening along his head and tail drooping, probably afraid a Senior Guardswoman or Zevara was about to chew him out. He saw it was Krshia and groaned.

“Oh, Aunt. I’m uh, on duty, so I cannot talk. If you want to chat, I’m sure I could talk later, after duty—”

“What happened last night, Tkrn? What were the horns about?”

Krshia did not beat about the bush. She folded her arms and stared at Tkrn. He was young and had grown up in Liscor. He whined unhappily as he shifted his grip on his spear.

“Aunt Krshia, Watch Captain Zevara threatened to suspend any [Guardsman] who talks, and she’s my superior—”

He yelped and flinched as Krshia grabbed one of his ears between her fingers.

“And I am your aunt, yes? Speak up! What happened, Tkrn? Tell me quickly, and with no exaggerations?”

The Gnoll winced and looked around, but eventually whispered quickly to Krshia.

“Someone stole the door in Erin’s inn in the middle of the night!”

What?

Krshia let go of Tkrn and recoiled in shock. Someone had taken the door? Tkrn went on hurriedly.

“It was recovered though! The Watch sent our pursuers and we thought they would be too late, even with Relc. But then we found the bodies. Humans, [Rogues] most like, were slaughtered on the road north. By Goblins. And the door was left behind! We have recovered it and put it in the inn again, but—Aunt, the thieves broke the connection to Pallass.”

“Explain.”

Tkrn glanced over Krshia’s shoulder and lowered his voice further so that only the Gnolls could hear.

“I do not know exactly how it works, but I heard Olesm talking to Zevara. They found a—a broken mana stone. It is this small thing that—”

“I know what it is. What did Olesm say?”

“He said—without the mana stone, Pallass cannot send reinforcements directly. They will march an army north, but it will most likely not get here before the Humans and Goblins.”

Tkrn’s ears went flat. Krshia felt a jolt of fear run through her heart. She looked at Tkrn. The Gnoll stared at her, his tail lowered in fear and then turned and pretended to be watching the gate. Krshia stepped away from him and tried to keep her own tail from doing the same.

They’d broken the door’s connection to Pallass? And someone—the Humans, no doubt—had tried to make off with the door itself! They’d failed, but without a link to Pallass—that was bad. Beyond bad, in fact.

“What will happen next, Aunt? Olesm and Zevara are at the inn, but they are worried. What will Liscor do now?”

Tkrn whispered with his back to Krshia. She didn’t know. She looked around, shaking her head.

“I—I will go to the inn and see what they say. But I must open my shop, first. People will be hungry and need goods as with every other day. But—I will not work for too long. I will go to the inn after an hour, and speak with Lyonette and get Mrsha. I have business with her. Then, I think, we must call a meeting.”

Tkrn looked over his shoulder at Krshia.

“Oh. The curs—”

“Not cursed!”

Krshia glared at Tkrn, forgetting her fear for a second. The Gnoll flinched.

“But Aunt, the others said—”

She slapped him on the back of the head. Tkrn yelped.

“Do you listen to what other people say instead of thinking all the time, Tkrn, you fool, you? I am telling you that she is not cursed, and not a bringer of doom or woe. She is a young child. Nothing more. If I hear you repeat such nonsense again—”

The Gnoll [Guardsman] yelped and tried to shield himself as Krshia harangued him for a minute, then watched as she turned and strode away. He shook his head and watched Krshia striding away. She looked unafraid, but Tkrn wasn’t reassured. He had smelled the fear on her just as he had on Olesm and Zevara. And yes, he had orders not to reveal what he’d seen, but he’d talked to Krshia, hadn’t he? He was sure news was already spreading throughout the city.

So was Krshia. She strode towards Market Street, her thoughts in a whirl. Cursed child. Raskghar. Liscor’s dungeon. Goblin Lord. And now the Human army. It was all so much to deal with. She got to the familiar street full of street vendors and her small stall. It was already set up, the goods packed and waiting to be put on display.

The hour was still early, so the night [Guardswoman], a Drake, was just finishing her shift and being replaced. Normally Market Street would be filled with [Shopkeepers] and [Vendors] setting up and customers already stopping by, but the place was practically deserted, of both shopkeepers and customers. People were hearing the word about what had happened and staying indoors.

Still, that didn’t mean she had to follow suit. Krshia opened her stall, sweeping it clean and then placing some goods on the counter, adjusting one of her displays, checking her sign, and waited. She did not have to wait long. The first customers who came down the street were habitual early risers, people desperate for one good or another, or busybodies. Krshia knew them all and called out to them.

“Miss Ossi, good morning! Care to shop? I will only be open for an hour this morning, so if you have any orders, place them now, yes? Mister Vallissil, do you need a healing potion for that cut on your arm? I have a new shipment from Celum! A Stitchworks classic!”

Hers was the only loud voice on the entire street. Drakes and Gnolls came over, checking out Krshia’s goods, greeting her warily, asking her about prices and the news. Especially the news. Krshia spoke as she exchanged goods for coin or wrote down orders to be fulfilled later.

“Miss Krshia, did you hear about what happened? I woke up with the horns, but I thought it was nothing. But I heard that something happened to the magic door. You know, the one in the crazy Human girl’s inn? The Wandering Inn?”

“I heard the same things. But the door is back, or so I hear.”

The Drake with a cut on his arm shivered as he paid for a weak healing potion.

“Not in one piece. It was damaged by Human saboteurs. The connection to Pallass is gone. All the soldiers are cut off and we’re alone.”

The other customers muttered uneasily. One of them, a Drake with a purse and speckled blue and yellow scales, looked nervous. She glanced over her shoulder as her tail lashed the ground.

“Maybe it’s time to go. My husband has been talking about it. We’ve lived here for sixteen years and the Antinium were one thing. You hardly notice them—well, up till now, and it was reassuring having them here sometimes. But this? Krshia, this is war.

“It may be. But leaving the city now is premature, yes?”

Krshia raised her eyebrows disbelievingly while her heart sank. The Drake shook her head.

“You think so? The Goblins and Humans are days away at best! I thought we could go through to Pallass if something went wrong or they’d send a huge army through the door, but now—if we’re going it has to be right when the waters fall.”

“You don’t mean leave, Miss Ossi. Not Liscor!”

Vallissil turned to the other Drake, looking stunned. The Drake woman turned her head away.

“I don’t want to abandon the city. But I’ve heard people saying that there’s no way Liscor will be able to hold out against two armies. And that was before the connection to Pallass vanished. I have a newborn daughter and a son. I…this isn’t like the Necromancer. The army’s not here—most of them—and they have trebuchets.”

“That’s just a rumor—”

“It’s a fact! My husband heard from his friend that our [Strategist] was talking about it.”

“Who? Olesm Swifttail? He’s young! He doesn’t know—”

The male Drake cut off as another Drake woman leaned around him.

“Does your family have any plans? How’ll you go south?”

Ossi hesitated.

“We don’t know. We’d have to hire a wagon and cross the Floodplains, but all that mud…”

“It would be safer in numbers. If a lot of us went—not saying we would, but if we were going, it would be tomorrow or the day after, right? The waters are lowering.”

“You can’t be serious! Liscor won’t fall—”

“In that case, why did Olesm call for help? Did you hear? He strode into Pallass and demanded reinforcements!”

“So they’re coming.”

“In time?”

“Leaving with my family would mean abandoning our business and home. But if it’s that or dying when the Goblins breach the walls—”

“Trebuchets—”

“That damn Human, Tyrion Veltras and his lot—”

Krshia listened to the babble of voices as she did business mechanically, then just leaned on her counter and listened to people talk. Her heart sank further. This was the first time she’d heard this kind of discussion. Leaving Liscor? The people were truly frightened to think of such a thing.

But no wonder. This situation was unprecedented in scale. Monsters were a fact of life. Undead attacks, the dungeon appearing…all that was something you lived with. But war? Enemy armies? When those threatened, that was when you did start counting your coins and looking to the gates. It wasn’t treachery and it wasn’t cowardice. It was just that people didn’t want to die.

“Honored Krshia.”

One of her customers, a Gnoll, muttered under his breath as the discussion became a hypothetical ‘what if’ about fleeing from Liscor and where they’d all go. Krshia glanced up and saw an older male Gnoll looking at her. He muttered under his breath as he inspected a set of writing quills.

“Honored Beilmark has requested us to call a meeting with all the representatives. She says the news is urgent.”

Krshia nodded. She leaned forwards and under the pretext of showing the Gnoll her quills, spoke quietly.

“Does she know anything more than this?”

“She knows numbers and details. The other representatives have agreed. Honored Elirr has volunteered his home for the meeting.”

“I will go.”

The Gnoll nodded. He would spread the word further and tell others.

“We will meet at Elirr’s shop then, at midday. It is time for it too; many families are discussing fleeing the city tomorrow when the waters lower. Just discussing, and not seriously, but if we must come to a decision…”

He glanced over his shoulder. The Drakes were standing and talking. They weren’t committed. They were finding every reason not to go. Wyvern attacks, having to pass through the Blood Fields which would be waking up, leaving everything behind…but they were talking about it. Krshia nodded.

“I will be there. But I go to The Wandering Inn now. To hear what may be heard. And to pick up the Mrsha child, yes?”

“Now?”

The Gnoll raised his eyebrows. Krshia shrugged.

“Her abilities must be seen and discussed. It is not as pressing as this attack, but I have not had the opportunity to find out what she knows until today. If Honored Elirr is willing, please send him to meet us. It will not take more than an hour, and he knows…”

She trailed off meaningfully. The Gnoll nodded.

“I will pass the word on. Also—how much for these quills? I need new ones.”

“Take them. I’m closing shop. Dear customers! Make any final purchase, because I am closing, and I do not know if I will reopen my shop today, yes?”

Krshia raised her voice. She closed six more hurried purchases and packed her coins away in her belt pouch before sweeping her goods back into their bins and locking them. Krshia took one more look around Market Street before she left. A few more [Shopkeepers] were open, but they were hardly doing business.

They were talking with their customers and looked as worried as anyone else. Krshia shook her head and hurried down the street. Not towards her apartment, but to the eastern gate. Up to the battlements, and, after speaking with a [Guardsman] on duty, down one of the ladders and onto a bridge leading eastern and north. To an inn on a hill.

No rain fell on Krshia as she walked across the bridge and stared down at the hills and valleys submerged in muddy water. The rains had stopped and the water level was lowering. It was almost six feet lower now, so the bridge to Erin’s inn was in fact, an actual bridge now rather than one that rested just above the waterline. Already Krshia could see mud and bits of grass dotting the hills where the water level had receded.

“Almost enough to walk on, yes? Almost. But slippery and foul-smelling. Not good for Gnolls.”

She shook her head, imagining getting that much mud out of her fur. In a day, perhaps less, the water level would be low enough for everyone to move about the Floodplains, albeit in the mud. The water would stay in the valleys for much longer, but in most places it would drain into the earth.

Krshia didn’t know why it was so quick, but she had heard rumors that the earth under Liscor was porous, and thus allowed great quantities of water to be sucked down the earth to…somewhere. Where did the water go? And did the Antinium have anything to do with how fast it drained?

It didn’t matter. Right now it was possible to move from hilltop to hilltop if you had to. Since Krshia did not have to and since she didn’t relish slipping by accident and falling into the water where large fish were still plentiful, she walked across the bridge to The Wandering Inn.

The inn was already crowded when Krshia arrived, and very few of the people inside were guests. A few adventuring teams were sitting at the table, but the inn was mainly occupied with the City Watch and Liscor’s soldiers. They were standing about, some eating, but most looking wary.

Or ashamed. Krshia caught a strong whiff of that from a [Captain] and his [Soldiers] who were being chewed out by Wing Commander Embria in one corner of the inn. But her attention went instantly to the magic door, or where it usually was.

It was there still. Only it looked like it had been moved slightly from where it had been. A group of Gnolls and Drakes stood in front of it with three [Mages], all from Liscor’s Mage’s guild, arguing with Pisces and Typhenous.

Watch Commander Zevara and Olesm were standing around the restored door, looking grim. Krshia took a seat at a table and listened. There were a lot of conversations to filter out, but she could hear interesting snippets from all sides.

“—thick-headed idiots! How did you not resist a [Sleep] spell? How did you miss the [Mage] who cast it? I should tie rocks to all of your tails and toss you into the lake for the Rock Crabs to eat! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t stab you all to death for failing to guard—”

Embria was managing to shout at her soldiers without actually raising her voice that loud.

“—won’t work. You think it’s simply as easy as restoring a mana stone? If you are able to cast [Restore], please, be my guest. Oh, and while we are on the subject, are you proficient in restoring unique magical signatures as well? Because if the magical coordinates are not perfectly aligned, I would not step through that doorway and expect to live. But by all means, inform me why there is a ‘chance’ of restoring this connection.”

Pisces sneered at the red-faced Drake [Mage] as he pointed to the magic door and a broken yellow mana stone whose shards were lying on the ground in front of the door. Typhenous was stroking his beard, muttering.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Pisces, as objectionable as he may have phrased it. I simply cannot think of a way to restore the connection safely. Not without sending a Runner to form another link. Oh dear, and Hawk won’t reach Pallass in time, will he? But maybe—no, no—”

“This was a Human action. They came through Celum. But someone had to let them through and put the inn to sleep. Who?”

Krshia’s head turned. There. Zevara and Olesm were talking. The Watch Captain’s claws were balled into fists as she stared at the door. Olesm shifted from foot to foot, his blue scales ghostly pale.

“I don’t know, Watch Captain. It could have been someone hiding in this inn, or someone who crept around it at night—the spell was high-level because it got Relc and Embria’s soldiers. It could have been an infiltrator—”

“—or a traitor.”

“Or that. But there’s no way of knowing.”

Zevara ground her teeth together.

“Could it have been the Goblins? We found the dead Humans just outside that cave where they’re supposed to be lurking. And our patrol saw them watching us. If they caused this—”

“None of the Hobs knows magic, Zevara. And they didn’t steal the door. They stopped the thieves from getting away.”

“They could still have been collaborating—”

Olesm shook his head and his tone grew firmer.

“They let us have it. If they wanted to keep it, I think they could have hidden it quite easily. They’re not the criminals here, Watch Captain. I’ll stake my tail on it.”

The two Drakes stared at each other. Zevara slowly nodded. She turned to the door.

“They’re not going to be able to fix this, are they?”

“No. Pisces doesn’t think so and I’d agree with his assessment, rude though it may be.”

“Ancestors. What do we do now? Can Pallass get an army here past the Blood Fields in time?”

“They’ll try, and the other cities are sending soldiers too. But I think that they’ll get here too late. The siege will have started before any large force can arrive. If they have Skills, maybe—”

“Can we hold the walls with what we have?”

“Maybe. If the Antinium fight and they have as many Soldiers and Workers as we think they do—with Pallass’ reinforcements and Embria’s forces—maybe—maybe—”

Olesm looked nervous. He smelled of fear. Krshia’s heart began to beat faster. She looked at Olesm and Zevara as the Watch Captain turned away, grabbing at the spines on the back of her head until she realized people were watching her and lowered her claws. She raised her voice as Krshia turned back to her table, pretending to be waving for a drink.

“Fine! Wing Commander Embria, we don’t have a tactical advantage here anymore. This door…is now a liability. We’ll hire Hawk to get to Pallass if he can, but if he refuses—I want a guard on this door and no one goes through to Celum. Get that mana stone and destroy it. Or we’ll confiscate it.”

“What?”

The adventurers looked up. One of them, Krshia thought her name was Revi, stood up. The Gnoll saw the teams sitting together—the Horns of Hammerad, the Silver Swords, Griffon Hunt, and the Halfseekers, but she wasn’t as firm on the names as she’d like. The Stitch-Woman frowned and tugged at the strings sewn into her neck.

“Hold on, you can’t do that. We need to use that door.”

“Why?”

Zevara turned, impatient. Revi hesitated.

“Well…we want to use that door. To go to Celum.”

“For what? You can get whatever you need in Liscor. This is a crisis, Human—I mean, adventurers. There’s already been one sabotage attempt on Liscor from Celum. I don’t intend for there to be a second.”

“Yeah, but—”

Revi looked back at the other adventurers and hesitated. They exchanged a glance. Krshia saw Halrac gritting his teeth and glancing at Jelaqua and Ylawes, both of whom looked grim. Ceria was sitting back in her seat, staring up at the ceiling. At last, Jelaqua stood up. She gave the room a weak grin with her Drake body.

“Hey, I know this isn’t the best time and I don’t know how to say this…but we’re leaving.”

What?

Olesm nearly dropped the green mana stone he was holding. Zevara turned.

“You are joking.”

“We’re not.”

Halrac got to his feet, looking unhappy. So did Ylawes. The [Knight] rubbed at his chin and didn’t look directly at Olesm or Zevara. Ceria remained seated, but she refused to look at Olesm and Zevara as well.

“It’s not an easy decision. But we’re going to leave Liscor today.”

“Why?”

Olesm stared at Ceria. Jelaqua’s tail waved back and forth on the floorboards uneasily.

“Look, it’s not personal. We like Liscor and you lot. But this is serious. Two armies coming down on Liscor? We can’t be part of that fighting. We’re willing to kill monsters, but we don’t take sides in a war. Especially not a Human and Drake war.”

“This isn’t a war!”

Zevara snapped at Jelaqua. She pointed out the window at the city.

“Neither the Drakes nor the Humans have declared war formally! The Humans are driving a Goblin force towards Liscor. If they attack—”

“Then it’s war. Yeah, sorry, but we don’t want to be right after the fact. We know what’s happening. And so do you.”

The Selphid met Zevara’s gaze. The Watch Captain gritted her teeth. She looked at Olesm and Embria, clearly searching for help, but both Drakes looked uncertain. Zevara turned back to Jelaqua and snapped, but Krshia heard the quiver in her voice.

“Drake law demands that adventurers support a city in times of crisis. I could conscript you—”

“Not to fight against our people. And this isn’t a war, Watch Captain.”

Ylawes spoke up for the first time. He looked haunted as he turned and faced the room.

“It is not a just…I cannot understand the reasoning for it, but I have learned that my father, Yitton Byres, is marching with Tyrion Veltras. Our house has sent a large force with him. I cannot stay here. Nor can the other teams. We are going. I am sorry, but this is our decision.”

All eyes turned to Halrac. The [Veteran Scout] just nodded. He looked at Zevara.

“It’s a war. Sorry, but I won’t shoot soldiers.”

And that was that. Three Gold-rank teams stood in the inn. Krshia could see Olesm paling, visibly calculating what the loss of three teams would mean. Zevara just looked from face to face. She gazed at Ceria, but the half-Elf didn’t look up.

“And the Horns of Hammerad?”

“We need to talk to Erin. But uh, we’re not keen on staying either.”

Ceria mumbled into the table. Krshia saw one of the adventurers sitting around her move and saw Ksmvr staring at his captain. Zevara looked around. She seemed lost for a second. Then her brows snapped together.

“Fine. If that’s your decision, I can’t argue against it.”

The adventurers relaxed. Zevara gave them a smile that was all teeth and no goodwill and then turned. She to Olesm.

“Take the mana stone.”

“Wait, you can’t do that—”

Revi burst out. Zevara whirled.

“I can’t? Guardsmen! Soldiers! Escort Strategist Olesm back to the city and place the mana stone to Celum in our armory. Wing Commander Embria, place your best men on watch there. No one goes in or out of Celum by my order. We’re confiscating the mana stone for the security of Liscor. If you want to go north, you can walk. And you’d better walk fast before you run into the Goblin Lord’s army.”

She locked eyes with the Gold-rank captains. Jelaqua, Halrac, and Ylawes stared as Olesm grabbed the mana stone and backed towards the door. Krshia hunkered down in her seat. Was there going to be a fight?

There wasn’t. The tension in the inn grew more taut, but the adventurers weren’t willing to risk a fight. Olesm edged to the door, remembered there was a magic one behind him, and then fled through that. The Watch followed after him, as did Embria’s soldiers. Krshia slowly let out a breath. She saw the adventurers turn to each other as Zevara strode out the door.

Moth eggs!

Revi slammed her hands on the table. Halrac grunted and Ylawes sat back down slowly. Falene, the half-Elf who smelled of floral perfumes, looked around.

“Well. That went poorly. What should we do now?”

Jelaqua ran a claw down the back of her head.

“We’ll go on foot, then. Or…Gazer’s tits, I don’t know! Go south instead? It’s been years since we worked in Drake lands.”

“We can’t go south.”

Ylawes and Halrac looked up. Jelaqua eyed them.

“Why not? You’re adventurers, and it beats trying to outrun the Goblin Lord, right?”

Both Humans opened their mouths and didn’t know what to say. Jelaqua shook her head.

“Dead gods, we shouldn’t have brought it up! We should have just gone without telling them—do you think we can go north anyways? What if we hired that Hawk guy to carry another mana stone to Celum and just teleport there? Or if we sent one person on horseback—”

The adventurers turned to each other and began to argue loudly. Krshia sat back in her chair.

“Worse and worse.”

She shook her head. Now the adventurers were fleeing the city. It was as if they thought Liscor would fall for certain. But wasn’t there a chance? Wasn’t there a reason to stay? Maybe not for them, but surely—

“Krshia?”

A voice made Krshia sit up. She saw Lyonette hurrying over to her. The [Barmaid] was wiping her hands on a cloth. She smiled apologetically, but like Zevara’s smile, it was a facial expression rather than an indication of any happiness.

“Lyonette. Greetings.”

“Hello Krshia, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but we’re really busy. Erin was arrested and they haven’t let her out of jail yet. I’ve been managing everything myself and trying to cook—can I get you anything?”

Krshia looked around. Aside from Drassi, there were no other staff. Or guests. The adventurers were eating and drinking, but the news of the impending siege of Liscor had cleared Erin’s inn just as thoroughly as the Raskghar attacks had.

“I am fine Lyonette, and I did not mind waiting, yes? I only came here to see if Mrsha would like to join me for a day. As we spoke about last time, remember?”

Lyonette hesitated.

“Mrsha? Oh, yes. That would be—I have a mountain of dishes from all the soldiers and Ishkr’s not in. But an entire day?”

“Or a few hours. Mrsha should have lessons and it would be good to get her out of the inn, yes?”

Lyonette nodded uncertainly and looked over her shoulder. Krshia saw Mrsha was sitting on the ground. The Gnoll had been playing in a corner of the inn while the adults talked. She’d been playing with her ball and trying to get Apista to roll it back to little avail. She looked bored.

“It—it would help. Mrsha’s been cooped up and I can’t take her to Celum. But Liscor—”

“She would be safe as a house, in my house, yes? If we go out, she will only help me with my stall. She will not be alone, I promise.”

Krshia smoothly reassured Lyonette. The young woman bit her lip, but then one of the adventurers—Revi—called for more alcohol as their debate grew fiercer. That decided her.

“I need to go. Yes, please. And thank you! We’re going to have more guests, so if you could bring Mrsha back by dinner—if that’s not too much to ask? Mrsha, honey, would you like to go with Krshia?”

The Gnoll looked up at the sound of her name. She looked at Krshia, thought, and then nodded eagerly. The Gnoll smiled and stood up. Lyonette fussed over Mrsha as the Gnoll leapt over and Apista buzzed off to do more productive things—like fan her wings in front of the fire in the kitchen.

“You do exactly what Krshia says, Mrsha. And don’t go anywhere! I’ll see you tonight. You don’t have to go. Only if you’re sure. You’re sure?”

Mrsha nodded. She padded around Krshia, sniffing the old Gnoll. Krshia wondered when Mrsha would stop walking on all fours. But then, she was young. She bent and rubbed her face against Mrsha’s cheeks.

“I will be fine. Little Mrsha and I will go to my apartment first, I think. And then perhaps Elirr will join us. It will be productive, yes, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded. Lyonette hesitated again. Then Revi shouted her name. The [Barmaid] turned, scowled, and bent to hug Mrsha.

“Okay. You have fun. I’ll see you soon! Yes, Revi, I see you! I’m coming!”

She hurried off. Mrsha and Krshia stood together for a second as Lyonette rushed over to the bar, and then the two exchanged knowing glances. Mrsha narrowed her eyes and Krshia nodded. She bent and whispered so only Mrsha could hear.

“It is time, child. You and I—and Elirr—have much to discuss.”

Mrsha nodded, somewhat warily. Krshia nodded and they walked for the door to Liscor. They all had much to discuss. The Gnolls of Liscor had to decide what they were going to do. But for now magic came first.

 

—-

 

Mrsha and Krshia walked through the streets of Liscor in silence. One, because Mrsha couldn’t talk and two, because what Krshia wanted to say was too important to risk being overheard. They made a beeline for Krshia’s apartment. The Gnoll woman was relieved to finally be alone with Mrsha at last, or rather, free of Lyonette.

Today was the first day she’d managed to convince Lyonette to allow Mrsha to go with her alone. The young [Barmaid] had refused to let Mrsha out of her sight since she had been rescued from the dungeon. No wonder, and it spoke to how much Lyonette cared, but it had made Krshia nearly tear her fur out in frustration.

“We will talk there. With snacks. There is much to discuss after the dungeon. Much…we did not get a chance to say. I know of most of it from Elirr, but I would see it myself.”

Krshia spoke quietly to Mrsha as they turned down a street. She saw the Gnoll cub look up apprehensively.

“You are not in trouble, Mrsha.”

That reassured Mrsha, but only slightly. She padded along as Krshia kept them to the right hand side of the street. Not that there was much foot traffic. People were talking to each other, and Krshia kept hearing the same snatches of conversation.

Siege. Pallass. Reinforcements. Magic door. Leaving. Humans. Goblins. The same words stood out time and time again. Krshia knew she should be focused on that, but the others had to gather. At midday they would discuss the issue. Until then—

Krshia sniffed the air at the same time as Mrsha. They turned their heads and saw a male Gnoll with dark fur and black stripes walking towards them. Elirr nodded and bared his teeth in a Gnoll’s smile.

“Krshia, Mrsha child. It is good to see you, yes?”

“Elirr. Thank you for coming.”

Krshia smiled and politely smelled Elirr as he did the same to her. Mrsha padded around Elirr and he bent to rub cheeks.

“I got your message. We are gathering soon, yes? To discuss the situation with Goblins.”

Krshia nodded. Her smile faded. She began to walk with Elirr as Mrsha walked ahead of them, sighing and listening to the adults talk.

“I opened my shop for a bit to get the pulse of the city. It is not good, no? Everyone knows about the door. And they fear the Goblins and Humans will take Liscor.”

“It is a reasonable fear, no? Two armies…and trebuchets. I have even heard of some talking of fleeing Liscor and moving south.”

“As have I. I do not think it is wise, though. To abandon everything…”

“But if the alternative is death—”

Mrsha looked back up at Elirr and Krshia in alarm. The two adults fell silent guiltily. Krshia cleared her throat.

“It is not set in stone. Beilmark called the meeting. She will know the odds. Let us wait until then, yes?”

Elirr nodded.

“Agreed. We should be focused on young Mrsha. It has been too long since we saw each other. And it is good to see you well, yes, Mrsha?”

He smiled down at Mrsha. She smiled up at them, but Krshia saw more than happiness run through the two Gnolls. They had both been prisoners of the Raskghar. What they had seen—Krshia had heard some of it from the survivors. But only some. Even the oldest Gnolls hadn’t been able to talk fully about the ritual.

So much for a child. Krshia bowed her head. Then they came to her apartment. Both Gnolls followed Mrsha as she bounded up the steps. The white Gnoll leapt into Krshia’s apartment and jumped onto a couch, happy to run about.

“Can I offer you tea?”

Elirr shook his head as he took a seat opposite Mrsha. Krshia nodded and went into the kitchen for some dried crackers and silkap, because it would have been completely rude not to offer something to eat. She set it on the table and Mrsha reached for a cracker at once.

“Ah, do not eat too much, Mrsha. There will be more snacks later.”

The little Gnoll gave Krshia a look that clearly said that later was not now, and why shouldn’t she eat as much as possible? But she reluctantly took only one cracker and spread the rich paste on top. She munched as Elirr and Krshia did the same. Politeness done, Elirr looked at Krshia.

“I thought you would have young Mrsha here at once given what we discovered. Why the delay?”

He spoke politely, but without the deference that Tkrn would have offered her. In terms of unofficial hierarchy, Elirr and Krshia were close to the same level. Krshia ducked her head by way of apology.

“I tried, but Lyonette, she was very stubborn and refused to let Mrsha out of her sight.”

Elirr nodded.

“Understandable. It is good Mrsha has a protector. Well then. Mrsha.”

The Gnoll guiltily froze in the process of reaching for a second cracker. Elirr and Krshia looked at her. Both adults hesitated. They didn’t really know how to begin.

“Mrsha, we wished to speak to you alone. Between Gnolls. About the dungeon. About what happened there.”

The Gnoll’s eyes went wide. Instantly she began to quiver. Krshia rushed to reassure her.

“We do not want to make you remember. It is what Elirr saw, about your magic, Mrsha. About the fact that you…can cast magic. Spells.”

Mrsha stopped trembling. She looked at Krshia and Elirr and then looked guilty. And, like a child, she tried to hide it.

“We know you can cast magic, Mrsha. With a wand.”

The Gnoll squirmed in her chair. Elirr shot an amused glance at Krshia.

“We saw, you, Mrsha. I did. You are not in trouble—”

“Hmf. Although you are in some if what I suspect is true.”

Krshia folded her arms. Elirr growled under his breath and kicked Krshia gently under the table. Mrsha pretended to be interested in her cracker.

“Mrsha. Can you do magic?”

Reluctantly, the Gnoll looked up. She nodded once. Krshia held her breath. Elirr just nodded.

“You learned it, didn’t you?”

Another nod. Mrsha shot a quick glance towards Krshia’s bedroom. Elirr grinned.

“From her book?”

Mrsha avoided looking directly at Krshia. She nodded very slowly. Krshia scowled. She opened her mouth but received another kick.

“Could you show us? If it is possible?”

The little Gnoll looked up at Elirr. He smiled reassuringly at her and Krshia tried to wipe the scowl off her face. She wanted to see. Mrsha hesitated, but then nodded her head. She leapt from the couch, and began to pluck at her side. Both Elirr and Krshia frowned until Mrsha undid a bit of string and pulled a wand out of her fur!

“Where was that?

Krshia was astonished. Mrsha had hidden a wand along her side! She’d tied it to her with a length of string, and her thick fur had completely camouflaged the wand! The Gnoll waved it proudly in the air. Krshia gaped and then frowned.

“Wait. That wand smells of Pisces. And I recall Erin telling me you often played with it. Is this wand you have taken, you little thief?”

Mrsha’s eyes went round and she shook her head slowly. Krshia folded her arms and again received a kick in her leg. This time she kicked Elirr back.

“If you are stealing—”

“Come, Krshia, let her show you first!”

Elirr growled, rubbing at his stomach where Krshia had kicked him. He waved a paw at Mrsha who looked expectantly at him. The Gnoll stared up at Krshia, then nodded. She pointed her wand at the floorboards in front of her.

“Wait, what is she doing to my fl—”

Too late. Mrsha jerked the wand up as if she was raising something and greenery burst from between the floorboards. Krshia leapt back with an exclamation and Elirr laughed with delight. Green grass, bright and vibrant, grew between the floorboards, rising upwards, until it formed a bed between the cracks. Krshia stared, dumbstruck at the grass which Mrsha leapt over. The Gnoll cub batted a stalk, then plucked it and held it up. Krshia slowly took the bit of grass and sniffed it.

Grass. It smelled odd. Magical. The scents of Mrsha and Krshia’s floor stuck to it, but no dirt, no earthy loam. It had been conjured out of nowhere.

“Magic.”

Elirr breathed the words, his eyes shining. Krshia just stared. Magic. A Gnoll had done magic, and it had not been the magic of [Shamans]. If it had been, she would have known. Mrsha had waved her wand and…conjured grass.

“That was your spell? You cast it and you alone? Not the wand?”

She didn’t think so, but she had to ask. Mrsha looked insulted and nodded her head vigorously. Krshia scratched her neck.

“You can grow…grass? And what else? Do you have another spell, Mrsha?”

To her great surprise, the Gnoll nodded. Mrsha pointed her wand at the grass and both Krshia and Elirr stepped back. They saw Mrsha frown in intense concentration, then wave her wand in a circle. And then—

The grass grew taller. It sprouted up an additional foot into the air and Krshia heard her floorboards creak as they were forced wider by the growing stalks. Mrsha proudly peeked through the huge stalks of grass at the two adults. She walked back and gestured with her paws.

Tada.

Elirr and Krshia waited for the grass to do anything else, but it just sat there. Krshia scratched her head.

“Anything else?”

Mrsha shook her head. She looked quite proud of herself, but after Krshia’s awe had faded, she had to question the scope of Mrsha’s powers. She turned to Elirr.

“She has magic. But she is growing grass with it. I thought you said this saved all the Gnolls in the dungeon, Elirr.”

The Gnoll chuckled. He bent and plucked one of the huge stems of grass, then waved it about. Mrsha leapt and caught it, breaking the grass. She jumped about, flattening the grass and waving her wand as Elirr turned to Krshia.

“It looks simple, but with it, she freed us from our shackles. With grass. I will not call it a simple magic. And for a child to cast spells, it is impressive, yes?”

“Yes…”

Krshia dragged the word out. She stared at the grass growing out of her floor and found she had to sit. It wasn’t impressive. It was just grass. She had seen Moore grow huge thorny vines out of the ground and seen him conjure an armor of thorns for battle. And yet, she found she was shaking as she reached for a cracker. It was just grass. But Mrsha had done it. A Gnoll had cast magic as [Mages] did.

“How?”

That was the question both Gnolls had. How and when had Mrsha learned to cast magic? They probably knew the how, but they wanted to be certain. Sure enough, Mrsha squirmed guiltily when Krshia brought out the huge magical tome Ryoka had given her. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked down sternly, noting how Mrsha didn’t seem surprised by the huge, rich magical tome that was as large as she was, and how she kept looking at it and then away, clearly plagued by a guilty conscience.

“Mrsha. When I was out on pressing business, did you sneak into my room and read this book?”

The Gnoll tried to look to Elirr for support, but this time the older Gnoll wouldn’t give it. She played with her wand as she looked to one side, then nodded once. Krshia scowled. Mrsha tensed up. Krshia’s arm shot forwards and Mrsha dove for under the couch, but the Gnoll had expected that. She came up with Mrsha, yelping and whining as Krshia held her by the ear and twisted.

“Krshia, do not be so harsh on her. She saved us, and did no harm.”

Elirr protested as Mrsha held very still, for fear of having her ear twisted. Krshia scowled.

“She knew better than to go among my possessions, Elirr! And if she had unlocked the trap sealing this box, she would be dead! Do not speak to me of harm! Mrsha, you knew you should not have touched this.”

The Gnoll nodded rapidly, squirming, trying to get free. Krshia had half a mind to twist her ear to make her remember, but Elirr had folded his arms and Mrsha had survived the Raskghar. So, reluctantly, Krshia let go and Mrsha jumped away to hide behind Elirr.

“There, there. You are not in trouble. Much. Krshia was concerned for your safety. You should not have touched the book. It was dangerous.”

The old Gnoll comforted Mrsha, who nodded and peeked out at Krshia. The female Gnoll grumbled as she sat back down, but she opened her paws and let Mrsha sniff at her to show she had forgiven the child.

“When I was a cub, my ears were not so good. Of course, I would have known better then to poke my nose into the places of adults, no?”

“Hah!”

Elirr grinned until he realized Krshia had been serious. He coughed and straightened. The two adults sat in silence for a second as Mrsha, much relieved now she had confessed, helped herself to another cracker.

“So. The book is real.”

Elirr looked at Krshia. She nodded. Her heart was racing.

“It seems so. We had assumed it was, but this confirms it. I had some doubts, but no longer.”

She saw Elirr frown, perplexed.

“You checked the authenticity of the artifact, though. Surely you knew it was a spellbook?”

“Of course we did. We used a scroll to produce magical resonance and this was the highest—the highest!—that we had ever seen. But without a [Mage] we could not tell all of what the book contained. We had to simply but trust what Ryoka said was true until it could be studied by a [Shaman].”

“Or a Gnoll [Mage]. A new class of students.”

Elirr bared his teeth in a grin and Krshia nodded. She stared down at the tome, the massive spellbook which, according to Ryoka, contained hundreds or possibly thousands of lower-Tier spells.

“It is our great gift to the tribes. A book which all many learn from, which we may train [Mages] of our own from. And now we know. We know Gnolls can learn from it! They can be [Mages].”

She sighed and heard the same sound from Elirr. Relief, exhilaration, hope, all bubbled through Krshia at once. Then she saw Elirr sit up.

“I wish that Ryoka Griffin were still here. We know this book is valuable beyond belief, but how much so? Is it a treasure worthy of a Walled City? Or a national treasure? Or…?”

He trailed off and looked helplessly at Krshia.

“Is it possible to appraise the book further? Beyond what a scroll can tell, I mean. If you showed it to one of the [Mages] staying at the inn Mrsha stays at—”

Instantly Krshia shook her head. She placed a paw over the cover of the spellbook.

“If I showed this to anyone, Pisces, Ceria, Falene…even one as good and gentle as Moore, I think they would steal it and run, yes? If it is half as valuable as Ryoka claimed they would all murder for it. And if a place like Wistram were to know if it—they would do all they could to retrieve such an artifact. You know the stories.”

“I do. And that is wise. Forgive me for the foolish suggestion.”

Elirr inclined his head. The two Gnolls stared at the book, and then looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was licking her lips.

“And yet, Elirr, by accident, a child has learned magic. A child. And not only did she save our people from the Raskghar, but she did what no Gnoll of the tribes has done for sixty years. Become a [Mage]. You are a [Mage], are you not, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll cub looked up. She hesitated, then nodded. Krshia exhaled. Elirr glanced down at Mrsha.

“In that case—why not let her read the book, Krshia?”

“What?”

Krshia frowned and Mrsha looked up quickly. Elirr nodded, stroking the hair running from his chin with his paw.

“It is hardly as if it would hurt her to read more. And she is gifted. Why not give her the chance to learn more spells? Or tell us what wonders this book contains?”

The [Shopkeeper] hesitated. But she saw Mrsha sitting up eagerly, and reluctantly nodded.

“Very well. But we watch her. I have opened this book before and it is a trial in some senses, Elirr. Not dangerous necessarily, but—Mrsha child, come here. If you are willing, let us open this book.”

Mrsha was willing. She leapt from her couch to Krshia’s side. The Gnoll woman gave her a reproving glance, but then let Mrsha open the tome. Elirr came over to see. All three Gnolls blinked as the book opened and magic, the very definition of magic, shimmered to life before their eyes.

A page blinked up at Krshia. Symbols seemed to slide together and merge, different colors, patterns reflecting in them, hidden meanings changing, offering multiple phrases each second. Krshia stared down at the spell—or at least, what she assumed to be a spell—for all of eight seconds. Then she got a headache.

“Dead gods!”

Elirr recoiled, rubbing at his eyes. Mrsha stared down at the page as both Krshia and Elirr had to look away. A pulsating pain ran from behind Krshia’s eyes.

“I warned you, didn’t I?”

“It strained my eyes! I feel a headache coming on—Krshia, do you have that tea?”

“Hold on.”

Krshia got up and shook her head. Careful not to stare at the book Mrsha was still bent over, she went and got her kettle. Her water was cold, but neither she nor Elirr cared. They drank a cup of tea and felt the world stabilize around them. Elirr growled.

“That hurt. It was like spinning around in circles for an hour or waking up after a hangover.”

“That is what happens when non-spellcasters look at spells and try to make sense of it. I think [Mages] go through this quite often when they learn.”

Krshia massaged her temples. Elirr nodded, then blinked down.

“But look! Mrsha is reading!”

It was true. Unlike the adults, Mrsha hadn’t looked up. She was tracing the symbols with one paw, as if she were just reading words, albeit extremely slowly. Krshia shook her head.

“Will wonders ever cease? Mrsha, child. Mrsha?”

She had to call Mrsha’s name several times before the Gnoll looked up, and when she did, it was reproachfully, as if Krshia had torn her away from something fascinating. Krshia cleared her throat as Elirr sat next to her, taking care not to look at the book.

“You can read this, yes?”

Mrsha nodded. She wagged her tail and smiled at the look on the adult’s faces. Krshia stared at the book and hastily averted her gaze.

“It is a wondrous thing, Mrsha. Truly, for all it was done in secret. You can read the magic book as a [Mage] would. And you understand the spell?”

Mrsha cocked her head and shook it slowly. Krshia noted her moment of hesitation though and rephrased the question.

“Ah, you cannot cast it. But you can guess at its effects, yes? What does that spell do?”

The white Gnoll frowned. She looked down at the book and for a minute she was lost, running her paw over the first few lines again. Then she looked up and nodded. She raised her arms, making sure both adults were looking at her, then flapped her arms and swung them from left to right as well. Krshia and Elirr stared.

“A…flying spell?”

“It lets you grow wings?”

“It…makes your arms floppy?”

Mrsha looked put out. She shook her head, then flapped her arms harder and swung them, making faint growling sounds. Then she looked at Krshia and Elirr expectantly, as if that said it all. The Gnoll adults exchanged a glance.

“I think it’s an air spell.”

“No, it clearly controls the body. Mrsha?”

The little Gnoll sighed through her nose and shook her head. She awkwardly propped the book up and pointed to a sliding letter, or what looked like a single letter. Krshia stared at it and felt the headache coming back.

“Put it down, Mrsha. Thank you. I do not understand. But then, I am no [Mage]. Nor do I wish to be. But—if you can read this spell, could you learn it?”

Mrsha frowned. Slowly, she nodded.

“Is it hard?”

Another nod.

“Difficult? Would it take you days? Weeks? Months?”

Nod, nod, nod, shrug. Elirr and Krshia exchanged a glance.

“But she could learn it. Her, a cub not even full-grown. Not even able to walk on two legs!”

Mrsha indignantly stood upright. Krshia ignored her. Her leg was shaking, making the cups on the sitting table rattle. She couldn’t help it.

“Mrsha, could you look through that spellbook for us? And find—a spell?”

Elirr glanced sharply at Krshia. The [Shopkeeper] sat forwards.

“Find a powerful spell. No—one that is both practical and powerful. It does not have to be for war. But find the best one for us. Can you do that?”

Mrsha nodded. She paged through the spellbook, pausing for a few minutes on each page. Elirr watched her and then offered a suggestion.

“Mrsha, look for a powerful spell that has to do with earth magic.”

Both Krshia and Mrsha looked up at Elirr, confused. The Gnoll explained.

“I hear that spellcasters learn some magics more easily. A thing of personality, yes? Like how Ceria Springwalker casts primarily ice magic. Mrsha may be attuned to the magic of nature.”

That made sense. Krshia nodded. If there was an element that belonged to Gnolls, it would be earth magic, surely. They were a tribal people.

“Earth magic then, let us know when you find one.”

It took Mrsha nearly sixteen minutes, in which time Elirr and Krshia got some hot tea and just sipped it, watching her. With Elirr and Krshia’s parameters, Mrsha moved swiftly from page after page until she came to one and triumphantly slapped her paw on it.

“This spell? Is it good?”

Mrsha frowned as she read the first line, very, very slowly. She looked up and gave Krshia a nod and shrug that said ‘yes, probably’. She didn’t know what it did and kept scratching her head, but her posture said quite clearly that this was a powerful spell of some kind.

“In that case, learn it. Or at least enough to tell us what it does.”

Krshia gently urged the little Gnoll. Mrsha nodded and, tail wagging, bent over the book. Krshia and Elirr watched her pour over the first letter of the book for five minutes and then realized it might take her a while. So they got up, snagged the crackers and silkap and went into the kitchen to talk quietly. They didn’t bother to keep their voices low; Mrsha was engrossed in the book and besides, it was now clear that she could hear them wherever she was, no matter how they whispered.

“Elirr. We have not had a chance to speak privately since you returned from the dungeon.”

The Gnoll smiled wearily. He leaned on the counter as Krshia offered him some dried sausage and cheese. He waved it away. He was older than Krshia, though she was a higher level than he. But he didn’t seem to hold that difference in age or levels against her, and Krshia respected him. He, like she would have been called Honored Krshia or Honored Elirr by the younger Gnolls, a sign of their rank in the community.

“We did not. And in truth, I have been avoiding joining others for dinner or the requests I have had to socialize, Krshia. I appreciate it, but I do not wish to recall what happened so strongly.”

Krshia laid a gentle paw on Elirr’s shoulder.

“We would not ask you to.”

“No, but you would ask questions with your eyes, even if your mouths were silent. It is not something I hold against you. I would be curious too. But what I have told you is all I can—the others and I try to forget. As does Mrsha, I think.”

“You still have bad dreams each night?”

Elirr nodded. He had bags under his eyes, though his fur hid it to all but other Gnolls.

“Nightmares. Jumping at shadows. What else could one expect? I have used the sleeping potions you obtained from that [Alchemist] you have deals with and they help. But daytime is sometimes little better than night. I…I do not know how Mrsha smiles so easily after what she saw. After what that bitch, Nokha, promised to do.”

He growled softly and Krshia hushed him before they disturbed Mrsha. Elirr was upset, because he’d used an insult Gnolls regarded as highly offensive. Comparing any Gnoll to a dog was far worse than using it on a Drake or Human. Saying something like that to a Dog-tribe Beastkin was even more inadvisable.

“It is done. The Raskghar are broken.”

Elirr nodded, and then turned to Krshia, his eyes blazing.

“But not dead. Not all. Krshia, they cannot be allowed to sacrifice Gnolls. I stared into their souls afterwards, and what I saw was terrible and ancient. We must bring word of this to the other tribes.”

“They know. But they have not acted. Their [Shamans] communicated with Olesm, and warned of the dangers of the Raskghar, but I think they knew as little as we.”

“Then what we should know must be pooled and more knowledge found. Because the awakened Raskghar scare me even in the daylight, Krshia. They must all be found and killed. And if more colonies hide in the earth…”

Elirr trailed off. Krshia nodded.

“The meeting of tribes approaches. They will hear your story, I promise.”

The other Gnoll calmed. He breathed more easily, and then looked out of the kitchen at Mrsha.

“We would have all died there, I think. All or most, sacrificed before you came if not for her. She allowed most to escape with her strength. After I called her Doombringer. If she had been a few years older, if we had trusted her from the start—perhaps she could have freed us all.”

“She is unique.”

Krshia nodded. The two Gnolls stared at Mrsha, her fur as white as snow. Cursed because of her fur.

“And she knows magic. Because of her fur, do you think? Is that the key?”

“No.”

It couldn’t be. Krshia spoke firmly.

“It is a coincidence, not a requirement to learn magic as [Mages] do. We know Gnolls can rise to the heights of magical power. In an aeon past, it was said that Gnolls were counted among the Archmages of Wistram. But so long and so old were they that no books record their names, and we have only legends to remember. Names. The Archmage Kishkeria, who created one of the grand spells of her era, [Seas of the Everflowing Grass]. With it she saved a continent, but we know not from what or how.

“Yes. But we do remember her.”

Elirr bowed his head. Both he and Krshia had grown up in the Silverfang tribe. They had grown up hearing their [Shaman] reciting names of past Gnoll heroes and their deeds, but many tales were incomplete. Old. Faded. Krshia sighed.

“We all know recent stories, like that of our greatest of Chieftains, Kerash, who died a century ago. But older stories? Each time an old [Shaman] or [Storyteller] dies in an accident or before passing on their memories to their apprentices, we lose more of the past. Our history should be written down now, not passed from mouth to mouth.”

She sensed Elirr’s amusement at her suggestion. He glanced sidelong at her.

“If you’d like to bring that up at the meeting of tribes, Honored Krshia, be my guest. But too many would decry it as replacing tradition.”

Krshia made a rude sound.

“Tradition? Hah! The old [Shamans] are too lazy to write things down and won’t admit that their stories are full of holes and they don’t know what is true and what was made up! But we need record, we need books! The Drakes are stubborn and rigid, but their records allow them to see the past. We remember fragments.”

“Yes. But our fragments are woven into our culture. There is some merit to that.”

It was Elirr’s turn to comfort Krshia. She sighed.

“Yes. It is good. But that is why we do not change, Elirr. And we must. We must.”

For a while the two stood in silence. Then Krshia looked to the living room.

“Let us check on Mrsha.”

The little Gnoll was still sitting over her book when Krshia and Elirr came back. She was still reading, but something had gone wrong in the time since they’d left her. Krshia watched as Mrsha’s head bent down, tilted from side to side, and then flicked up. Mrsha was distracted. The single-minded focus she’d had earlier was gone.

“Mrsha? Are you having trouble reading the spell?”

The Gnoll adamantly shook her little head. She scrubbed at her face with her paws, frowned at the book, and then rubbed at her head again. Mrsha was clearly trying to focus, but her eyes began to glaze over. She shook herself, stared at the page. This time she went cross-eyed.

Elirr tugged the spellbook towards him and focused on the spell. This time it took him less than two seconds to look away, swearing under his breath. He looked at Krshia with mild concern.

“I think it is too hard for her. Mrsha child, enough. Do not strain yourself.”

The Gnoll cub protested, but only feebly as he closed the book. She blinked a few times and then nearly fell over as if she was dizzy. Elirr was right. Whatever she’d been reading had stumped her. Krshia made Mrsha sit up and drink some hot tea, and soon the Gnoll was back to her normal self.

“We know enough. She can read the book. There are many spells, but many are beyond her. Whether that is because she is too inexperienced, too low-level, or too young it matters not. The book is genuine. We have our gift and it is a treasure beyond compare.”

“Hope.”

Elirr agreed simply. Both noticed Mrsha was staring at them in confusion, and Krshia decided to explain.

“Mrsha, what I am about to tell you is our history, recent. You know that the tribes have agreed no one is to deal with Wistram? Your Stone Spears tribe seldom traded near the oceans, but I imagine even Urksh was aware of the limitation.”

Mrsha nodded. It was a well-known fact. No Gnoll [Merchant] of [Trader] or caravan would do business with a [Mage] who claimed to represent Wistram. Those who came from Wistram were fine, but ones who directly worked for the academy? No. But she did not know why.

“The reason is simple. We hold a grudge against Wistram, a fierce one for matters of honor and pride. The story is simple. Once, we sent our best to Wistram, our pride, our most talented [Shaman] who would be the first of our [Mages]. Who would bridge the gap between our magics and rediscover the pride of Gnollish spellcraft.”

Krshia closed her eyes. She had just been born when the incident occurred, but she could still remember the outrage. Elirr nodded, his brows dark with anger.

“Forty years ago we went to Wistram and we were scorned and insulted beyond belief. Our representative did not last a year at Wistram before being expelled, as a failure, as proof that Gnolls were unsuited to become [Mages]. Ever since no Gnoll had traded with Wistram, and we hold them in contempt. And since then, no Gnoll has become a [Mage].”

Mrsha sat up, frowning angrily, catching it from the adults. Krshia nodded, but then sighed.

“That is what all adults know, Mrsha. But the truth is more complex. For you see, we went to Wistram in the hopes of understanding a strange phenomenon that has afflicted the tribes for…well, at least a few centuries. Even before our feud with Wistram, no Gnolls had become [Mages] in the tribes. All who tried became [Shamans] or…failed. And we do not know why.”

Elirr nodded. The issue had been discussed at each meeting of the tribes. Not always hotly, and many tribes did not consider it important, but the Silverfang tribe did, as did other tribes who looked to the future and saw the need for [Mages].

“So we have done without [Mages] for a long time. We are not without magic. Our [Shamans] can rival even great [Mages], but it is a different class and we know our lack weakens us. That is why we collected spellbooks for our gift to the tribes, in hopes of creating [Mages]. And then you came along. You, who can cast magic and read spellbooks. A [Mage].

He smiled down at Mrsha, who scratched at one ear, clearly uneasy about something. But neither adult really noticed. Krshia was too preoccupied with her thoughts. It was wonderful, really. But part of her, a small part, resented how easy it was for Mrsha to read the spellbook. Why did she have the knack? When Ryoka had first given Krshia the spellbook, she and others had spent weeks trying to read it and enduring blistering headaches to no avail. But Mrsha had taught herself.

It was…it made Krshia feel jealous. The instant she realized what she was feeling she stomped on the emotions. Her? Jealous of Mrsha? Why? She had never wanted to become a [Mage]. She had wanted to be a—

Well, maybe that was why. Krshia sighed. She looked down at Mrsha.

“Hope, child. You give us hope. If you can learn magic, maybe we can understand what makes it impossible for [Mages] to appear in our tribes or cities. Why is that? When did the last of the Gnoll [Mages] die? And why did we lose faith in our ability to cast magic?”

Mrsha stared up at Krshia, clearly without an answer. Elirr rumbled as he thought out loud.

“It is not as if it is impossible, Krshia. I have heard rumors of Gnolls who cast magic, who are not [Shamans].”

“So have I. But why are they so few? Because of our feud with Wistram? Because we are unsuited to magic as Wistram said? Because…”

Krshia broke off, shaking her head. It was a mystery, and one she had pledged to resolve. She patted Mrsha on the head as the young cub leaned against her, already tired from spellbooks and the grand fate of Gnolls and magic.

“Ah, Mrsha. Do not worry about it. Just know that you will be important later on. Have another cracker. As for now—Elirr, we must speak of Liscor. And that is a conversation that cannot be put off. It is time to go, I think.”

Elirr nodded. He got to his feet with a groan.

“Past time. We have an hour, but I could use time to set up and clear a space. And my animals need tending to. Will you come with us?”

“Of course. Mrsha, come. We will go to Elirr’s shop. The representatives will gather there. And we must hear what Beilmark has to say.”

 

—-

 

Elirr’s shop was filled with noise when the Gnoll opened his door and ushered Mrsha and Krshia in. That was because Elirr was a [Beast Trainer]. Not a [Beast Tamer], which was the base version of his class, or a [Beast Master], which belonged to those who formed steady bonds with a few chosen animals—or monsters. No, Elirr trained animals.

He ran a pet store. One of five in Liscor and arguably the best. Elirr trained dogs, cats, and birds, although only small pet birds that would live in cages. Just as well, because a certain Antinium [Hunter] would have put him out of business if he’d tried to rear hawks around the city. But mainly, Elirr made his business selling food for dogs, tending to their hurts, and providing all the toys and tools needed to raise animals.

Pet ownership was an interesting thing. A very small amount of people owned pets, mainly due to the costs, the dangers of a pet running afoul of a monster, and mainly, the challenges of keeping a pet in a city like Liscor. But there were Gnolls and Drakes who loved animals, and Humans too, since Elirr’s trained pets sometimes went north. In fact, his war hounds were more highly sought after than his regular house dogs, but Elirr trained few of them due to the difficulty.

He had only one war dog in the shop now, along with a plethora of cats, three smaller breeds of dogs, and a pair of twittering birds. And a crab. All of them greeted Elirr with various degrees of enthusiasm, save for the war dog, who barked.

He—it was a he—was a mastiff, a huge hound with clearly defined muscles. He barked at Mrsha and Krshia, who both regarded the dog with interest, Elirr sighed and whistled, which made the sounds in his shop quiet, except for the mastiff.

“Ah, this dog. It gives me a headache, no?”

Elirr sighed as Mrsha wandered up to the dog. It was leashed rather than in a cage, and Elirr’s shop was very wide as opposed to tall to give his animals more room. He explained to Krshia as he went about feeding his animals.

“It was because I was kidnapped when I just had him. He and some of the other animals starved for two days until someone realized they needed to be fed, and I had just acquired him. So he is wary of me. I have been trying to give him lessons, but he is afraid of strangers, especially furry ones. He smelled the death on the Raskghar when they came.”

“I see.”

Krshia looked sympathetically at the mastiff, who was watching Mrsha and growling. She was not a dog person, but the Silverfang tribe had owned dogs of their own for hunting. They were wonderfully good and she remembered racing them as a child. Had the Stone Spears owned dogs? Mrsha was regarding this one intently.

“A shame. My progress with all the animals has been set back, especially the cats. They are finicky if I do not feed them.”

Elirr groused as he fed his cats. They meowed loudly, and Krshia sniffed at them, making them scatter back to their homes. She didn’t mind cats, but Drakes loved the fussy creatures, probably because they shared many of their qualities.

“Do you need help setting up, Elirr?”

“If you could bring out some food and chairs—I will help you with the table.”

The Gnoll [Beast Trainer] looked grateful as Krshia nodded. He circulated his shop, tending to the animals while Krshia brought out refreshments for their guests. And all the while, Mrsha was looking at the mastiff. Krshia didn’t mind until she realized that Mrsha was moving towards the war dog, into the radius of his leash.

“Mrsha?”

She and Elirr looked up warily. The little Gnoll was approaching the growling dog, who was clearly nervous. Mrsha stopped in front of him and puffed herself up, standing on her two legs to stare down at the dog. He growled and Krshia tensed. She saw Elirr doing likewise.

She knew what Mrsha was doing, but that mastiff was bigger than she was and a lot stronger. But Mrsha turning her back or flinching would be the worst thing right now. The little Gnoll stared down at the war dog, refusing to turn aside. He retreated a bit and she advanced.

Slowly, slowly…she grabbed the dog’s bowl and he made a warning sound. But Mrsha faced him down and then walked over to a bag filled with food meant for him. She filled the bowl up a bit, and then came back. The dog warily moved forwards, but Mrsha held the bowl up. She reached her paw into it, picked some of the dried meat up, and began to eat it in front of him. The dog crouched, and then his tail lowered, his ears flattened, and he surrendered to her authority.

“She did it.”

Elirr breathed out as Mrsha handed the bowl to the dog and he began eating. He looked at Krshia, his brows raised. She was impressed despite herself.

“It was well done, Elirr? I thought so.”

He nodded, his eyebrows fully raised.

“As did I! I thought about bringing a cub here, but I was terrified of what might happen if he bit one. But that child is a natural tamer if I saw one. If she were older, I would expect her to gain her class tonight.”

He smiled at Mrsha, who padded back over, smug as could be. Her establishing dominance as the pack leader over the mastiff was impressive, even if she did have a bit of help on her side. Gnolls were naturally good at commanding dogs, with whom they shared a distant ancestry. But it was one thing for Elirr to force a dog to submit, and quite another for Mrsha to do it.

“You are bold, and reckless, perhaps. If you had gotten bit, what would I say to Lyonette?”

Krshia bent to tickle Mrsha and gently scold her. The Gnoll smiled, not at all deterred. For all she lived in the inn, she was a Plains Gnoll, pure and simple. Bold, a member of a tribe. As Krshia had been.

With that excitement out of the way, Elirr, Krshia, and Mrsha finished setting up and got all the animals to vacate the room and go upstairs—into Elirr’s home. It was just temporary, but they didn’t want the animals to distract from the meeting. And soon, as the sun reached the midway point overhead, Gnolls began appearing in the shop.

Everyone knew that the Drake cities of the south were ruled by Drakes. While it was true that in some cities, members of the ruling body like Pallassian [Senators] could be Gnolls, it was almost always Drakes who occupied the Watch Captain posts, filled Council seats, and so on. In some cities, the Lords and Ladies of the Wall ruled and they were obviously Drakes.

It was just how it was. The Drakes weren’t about to cede command of their cities to Gnolls, however many lived there. However, while their rules were often fair, Drakes and Gnolls were still two separate peoples with separate cultures and desires. Thus, City Gnolls had formed their own ruling bodies, unofficial and in secret, but one that dictated how Gnolls behaved in all Drake cities.

They got together and chose representatives who, in a miniature, secret council of their own, ruled Gnolls from the shadows. Or rather, from comfy armchairs and couches with snacks on the table because no one wanted to squat in an alley and debate for hours on end. It was a different system from how a tribe functioned.

There could be no [Chieftain], so instead a body of the oldest, wisest, most experienced or simply highest-level Gnolls would decide on issues that concerned Gnollkind. Sometimes they would just meet once every few months to agree that everything was good, grumble about arrogant Drakes and the foolishness of young Gnolls who had no respect for tradition, and eat food.

In those times it was more like a social get-together and potluck. But when something of concern happened—tensions between Drakes and Gnolls rose, or crime rose, or something like Liscor’s dungeon was found to be nearby—the Gnollish representatives discussed far more serious things.

One by one, they gathered. In a city as large as Liscor, one Gnoll could represent several thousand Gnolls. In a city like Pallass, each representative could represent ten thousand Gnolls who had chosen them from among their ranks. In this case, eleven Gnolls were present, all of whom were middle-aged or older, although Elirr was the oldest. They were not powerfully built [Warriors] or sharp-eyed [Archers]. Half of them had paunches and only one of them, Beilmark, was in prime condition, although Krshia liked to think she still had a good figure.

They were the [Butchers], the [Bakers], and the [Chandlers] of the city. The nature of the class didn’t matter as much as the depth of experience each Gnoll had. It was about respect. About leadership. It was something you earned, and weren’t given. Drakes couldn’t understand that, but it was second nature to Gnolls. As they came in, exchanging greetings with Elirr and Krshia and bending to smile and say hello to Mrsha, the Gnolls were friendly, conversational. They were equals here, not enemies squabbling for political gain.

However, there had to be a first even among equals, and Krshia Silverfang was that Gnoll. Not only had she led a large portion of the Silverfang tribe to Liscor ten years ago, which gave her authority over the others, she had the benefit of a relatively high level and her experience as both a plains and city Gnoll to speak with.

“Raekea Silversmith. How is your husband? Does his leg still pain him?”

Krshia greeted a Gnoll [Armorer] who was married to the best Drake [Blacksmith] in the city. The Gnoll grinned at her, her arms patterned with burns and the hair missing in patches. It was rare for a Gnoll to take up a metalworking class given the dangers to anyone with fur on their body, but such rare individuals were always respected for their sacrifice.

“Well, Krshia. He is well, although it pains him. But the ointment you gave us worked well. I only wish the Raskghar bastard who tried to kidnap me was back, so I could split his head open a second time. And is this the little brave Gnoll I have heard so much about? Hello, child.”

Krshia grinned as Raekea bent and scratched Mrsha’s ears. The Gnoll cub was staring up admiringly at her. Raekea believed in advertising her work, so she wore an armguard both she and her husband had worked on together, a classy piece of silver set with amethysts. It covered a large burn Raekea had received in her past.

“I see the others are mingling. Will you speak with me for a bit?”

The [Royal Shopkeeper] indicated the others, who were standing and talking while eating Elirr’s food. That was how the meeting went; until a decision had to be made, the representatives would just talk about business, the issues of the day, and news. They didn’t do formal meetings since that was too regimented for their tastes. It was in the small discussion that all the work got done, such as Krshia’s conversation with Raekea.

The [Armorer] nodded. She sat with Krshia on a pair of worn armchairs that smelled faintly of cat pee. Krshia chewed on a cold sausage with cheese—she’d brought it from home since Elirr hated cheese and didn’t have any in his home—and spoke candidly.

“The news sounds dire. First the attack is announced, and then, not a day afterwards, spies are sent to sabotage the connection to Pallass. We are cut off.”

“Yes. It was a shame. And it speaks to the danger we are in.”

Raekea nodded seriously. Below them, Mrsha sat on the ground and happily ate lunch. Krshia nodded.

“I see Beilmark is here. Did you hear what she had to say?”

The other Gnoll woman grimaced and flexed an arm.

“She thinks we can hold Liscor. She has spoken with Watch Captain Zevara and heard Olesm’s numbers. With the Antinium, with Pallass’ reinforcements few though they may be, with adventurers…we can hold long enough for a relief army to arrive.”

“And will it be enough to break the siege?”

“She claims it will. Whether that is so I wonder at, Krshia. I truly do. I am uneasy with this Goblin Lord and the machinations of Tyrion Veltras. I know others here and in the city wish to flee.”

“Abandon Liscor? Just like that?”

Raekea met Krshia’s eyes steadily.

“If it is that or death—yes. I have spoken with my husband. He is Liscor-born, but when he looks at our child…yes, Krshia. We would run to save him. But I am not ready yet.”

“I see.”

Krshia nodded and thanked Raekea. She stood up and found another Gnoll to talk to, and then another. She heard the same each time. They weren’t committed. Not yet. But if it looked like all was lost, if it was this or certain death…Beilmark and Elirr were the last two she spoke two.

“You must convince them to stay, Krshia. If Gnolls begin deserting Liscor, if Drakes begin fleeing, then the city is lost.”

Beilmark did not mince words. The Senior Guardswoman was one of the youngest Gnolls present, but she had earned her place here by her deeds. She gestured at the others.

“We can convince them to stay. If we do, fewer Drakes will run. And we need every paw and tail to defend Liscor.”

“And will we defend it with our lives? Will we spill our blood out as the Goblins and Humans overwhelm us, Beilmark?”

Krshia pressed the younger Gnoll, looking into her eyes. Beilmark shook her head, meeting Krshia’s gazes steadily.

“I would not kill my people, Krshia. I would run before that. But the danger to Liscor is more complex than just a game of numbers. Thanks to Olesm, reinforcements are on the way. They will arrive too late, but if we can hold—think on this. The Humans have trebuchets. But they cannot batter down our walls with one or two volleys. It will take time, and our fortifications are enchanted. Tough. We have to hold. The Goblins are not suicidal. Push them back, hold them, and a relief army will arrive.”

“It is a gamble.”

“Yes. But one I will take. But it cannot be done if Liscor is half-empty. We will have to support the defenders, take to the walls. If even a third of all Gnolls holds a bow—Olesm has more than one strategy. He has spoken of retreating into the dungeon. And there are the Antinium! Krshia, it can be done.”

The look in Beilmark’s eyes convinced Krshia that she was serious. But was she right? Finally, she spoke to Elirr. The Gnoll was quiet as they sipped tea and sat. Mrsha was curled up, napping.

“So. I think we are split. More in favor of leaving than staying perhaps, but split five to six. Do you agree?”

“I am.”

Elirr nodded. He was one of the ones who favored leaving more than staying. Krshia eyed him carefully. Then she came out with it.

“I am of the mind that unless all is lost, we must hold to Liscor as one. And you?”

The older Gnoll hesitated. He played with his cup, speaking slowly.

“I—I have lived through more than just the Antinium Wars, Krshia. I was young, but I remember conflicts that left hundreds of thousands dead and burned cities. Liscor did not fall in those days, but I remember the tribes going to war and so few returning in the ones that did. I am not saying we should run. But I am not confident enough to pledge all our lives if it means death.”

“So that means what?”

Elirr leaned forwards. He spoke so softly only the two of them could hear.

“It means convince me. Convince us. Beilmark will wish to stay regardless, but the others are afraid. If we are to fight and bleed for Liscor, tell us why.”

He looked at her. And Krshia saw he wanted to stay, but he was afraid of dying. It was a common fear. So she stood up and looked around.

The other Gnoll representatives were chatting, but they fell silent. They could sense Krshia had something to say. They gathered around her and Mrsha woke up. She sleepily crawled into Beilmark’s lap and the [Guardswoman] held her as Krshia spoke.

“So we have debated. So we have shared information. To those of you who may not have heard, young Mrsha was tested at my apartment earlier today. She knows magic. She can read the book. It is genuine and the Silverfang tribe will present it at the meeting of tribes.”

A sigh ran through the room and Mrsha looked up as everyone stared at her. Just for a second. Then Krshia spoke again.

“War threatens Liscor. The Humans do not call it that and the Drakes will not declare it, but when the Goblins assault Liscor, what is a word? It will come and this time they have brought siege weapons, to at last threaten the Drake cities. Perhaps even the Walled Cities in time. But it is war that will start here. Now our only decision is this: do we stay and fight and possibly die at Liscor, or flee southwards and abandon our homes that we might live?”

The others nodded. They waited for Krshia to speak. Everything else had been said, but she had the final voice. Krshia searched for the words, and they came to her, smoothly, from deep within. She spoke the same words she had years ago, to her sister on the day she had decided to leave for Liscor.

“Gnolls have existed since the first record of this world. Throughout thousands of years we have lived. Not just on Izril. Our people have waned and risen with each passing era. In the beginning, there were Dragons and they ruled us cruelly. We died for sport, as animals. But we survived. We survived the Sunset of Flame. We marched out of bestiality, survived the long darkness and kept our minds even as the Raskghar split from our people. We became more than animals and we challenged the Dragons and brought them down.”

Mrsha sat up as Krshia walked back and forth, speaking from memory. The way Krshia spoke, the way she gestured, was familiar to her. Krshia was speaking like a [Shaman], as if she was telling a story from the past. But she was also speaking to the Gnolls of Liscor, who sat and judged her words in silence, drinking and eating slowly.

“Our people rose. We were mighty during the Rain of Scales. We fought the Selphids during the Age of Theft and threw loose the shackles with the rest of the world. During the Twilight of Magic, our armies joined the others and overthrew the half-Elven dominion. Again and again, we were challenged. And each time we lived and prospered. Eras past, the Gnolls rose and fell and once we were considered a world power among powers. But now? No more.”

Krshia looked around. Her eyes were sorrowful and her voice grew deeper.

“In the past we roamed Izril, made our homes in every direction. But then the Humans came and we were forced south. Now the lands our tribes venture to have been cut in half. And with the Antinium, with Drake cities and their laws, the places we may walk go further still. And our tribes grow smaller. Our [Shamans] grow weaker. We reduce in strength. Are Gnolls not considered barbarians by other races, called as crude and uncivilized as Garuda?”

It was so. The Gnolls murmured agreement. Krshia nodded. She looked at Mrsha.

“We are in the age our [Shamans] and [Chieftains] have declared the Waning World. A time where the legendary heroes of our kind are memories, and where tradition may hold us back as the rest of the world advances. Since the last Antinium War, since the Humans came, Gnolls have retreated rather than pay the cost in blood. We have always moved rather than stand stubbornly and die as the Drakes and Humans did. But see what it has cost us?”

She looked around, as if Elirr’s shop was suddenly a cage.

“New lands. That is what we need. New lands to grow unimpeded. Not just the north. We must spread from continent to continent. But we cannot run. We cannot abandon what we have to do just that. We must grow and we must hold. If Liscor falls, the Humans will sweep south. If Liscor falls, we lose our homes. We have always moved from place to place, but the world is smaller now. We cannot abandon what we have. So I say to you this: we must stand here and fight.”

“And if we die, Krshia Silverfang? If the cost comes in the shattered bodies of your young, our families? Why not simply flee? We have the great gift meant for the tribes. Why stay and put it at risk?”

That came from a Gnoll with blonde fur who looked up at Krshia. The Gnoll woman met her eyes. She had not always been a [Shopkeeper]. Mrsha could feel it.

“We could run. And yes, we have a great treasure. It should not be lost. I propose we hide the book, put it in a bag of holding and hide it so that if Liscor falls, it may be recovered. We will tell the other tribes where it can be claimed. But I tell you this, Fashia Splitfur. There is more than just a single spellbook that defines the worth Liscor has to us.”

Krshia gestured at Elirr’s shop.

“My tribe, the Silverfang tribe, came here ten years back and labored all this time to build something. More than just a gift for the meeting of tribes. We founded a place here. Some of you have been here longer. You have families, homes, businesses. Will we throw it all away so easily?”

No one responded. Krshia looked at them.

“We fight. That is what I say. We fight, and hold onto our homes. If we run again, we will not stop running until the last Gnoll dies alone in the corner of the world. We fight. Who will stay with me?”

The Gnolls looked at each other. Beilmark stood up slowly. Then Elirr. Then Raekea. Slowly, the rest of the Gnolls got to their feet. Some hesitated, others were reluctant until they saw the others standing. But they did stand. They were in agreement. Krshia breathed out slowly.

“I didn’t want to give up my shop anyways.”

Raekea grinned around and the others chuckled. They stood more easily now, though Krshia could practically hear their hearts pounding. It was done. The Gnolls of Liscor would stay.

“So what next, Krshia?”

Elirr looked at Krshia. It was not the end of their discussion, for all that they had made a decision.

“If the Drakes begin to run, it will still be disastrous. Can anything be done about their fear? About the fear in the hearts of many Gnoll families as well?”

Krshia nodded. She did have a plan. It had come to her when she had looked at Mrsha and been jealous.

“We do what neither Drakes nor Humans can do. Drakes think they know unity and order? They form spear walls in battle and stand tail-to-tail. But only their soldiers, only in war. But Gnolls are one pack, one people. We are never alone. So let us run about this city of stone and prop it up. If the walls crack, we will hold them up. With more than just words.”

The other Gnolls blinked. Krshia took a deep breath.

“I propose a gathering of magic. I propose a spell.

The others immediately looked towards Mrsha. Beilmark, who had been all the way behind Krshia up till now, protested.

“A gathering is a serious thing, Krshia. If it fails it would shatter spirits. And the Drakes would notice. They may object. Besides, the most important issue is who will guide the spell? The child? Surely she is too young, and this is not something she would know.”

“I know. I will guide the spell. I was apprenticed to be a [Shaman], once. I can perform it.”

Krshia spoke simply. The other Gnolls blinked. Mrsha, sitting in Beilmark’s lap, looked at Krshia with wide eyes. The [Shopkeeper] smiled at Mrsha.

“You know magic, Mrsha child. But it is the magic of books and [Mages]. But today, I think, we will show you the magic of Gnolls.”

She turned and looked around the room. Then Krshia cupped her paws together. Elirr was the first to move. He stood up and walked slowly over to Krshia. He placed his paws in hers and smiled. The two said nothing, did nothing Mrsha could see. But then Elirr took his paws away. And then, shimmering in the midst of Krshia’s cupped grip was a speck of light.

 

—-

 

At first it was the tiniest of things. So small that Mrsha almost thought it was her imagination. But as Krshia went around, touching her hands to each of the other Gnolls in the room, the spark seemed to pass to each of them, so all eleven representatives held a tiny glowing…

What was it? Mrsha squinted, but Krshia shooed her away.

“Not yet, Mrsha. I do not know how [Mages] interact with such things.”

She closed her hands and the spark vanished. Mrsha thought it had gone out, but something told her the Gnoll had just hidden it away from sight. So had the others. Elirr bent, smiling, and Beilmark straightened her armor.

“I should get back on patrol. I’ll take those of us on duty. Elirr, I suppose you’ll have to leave your shop, yes?”

The Gnoll nodded.

“Too few will visit me. I will go down the residential streets and visit the families. Fashia will join me. But I think Raekea and Krshia may stay in their places.”

“Yes. I will open my stall. Send whomever wishes to argue to me.”

“Or me.”

Beilmark and Krshia nodded. The other Gnolls agreed, discussing things like where to meet and who would go where. It was confusing to Mrsha. They had a plan, but she didn’t understand it. They were going to stay in Liscor, to fight. And they had a plan to…reassure the people? The Gnolls all agreed it must be done. Then they did a curious thing, something Mrsha didn’t understand.

They went back to work.

At least, Krshia did. She marched Mrsha back to her stall and briskly opened up shop. Market street was still mostly empty, and people were nervously talking rather than buying. But Krshia just stood in her stall and began calling out to customers, Drakes and Humans alike.

“Hello, my stall is open! Miss Fauscale, I did not see you this morning. Are you still in need of things to write with?”

An elderly Drake jumped as Krshia waved to her, beaming. She trundled over.

“Oh, yes, I—I suppose I am in need. But what with this dreadful talk of Goblins and Human armies, I’m not sure I’m in the right mind to be buying anything.”

The Drake looked anxious, but Krshia just gave her a big smile.

“Ah, but if not now, then when? You told me you were in need of quills, yes? I have some cheap ones in stock. Come Mrsha, show Miss Fauscale the little quills.”

Gingerly, Mrsha reached up and offered the Drake a writing quill, dipped in ink and bit of parchment. The Drake blinked, but obligingly drew on the parchment.

“Oh! That is quite nice. These are Quillfish quills, aren’t they?”

Krshia nodded. The thin, sharp quills were the byproducts of Quillfish, the pesky fish that hunted and scared off predators by firing them. They were long and thin. Not as easy for the hand to grip as a formal feathered quill, but the little dip-quills from Quillfish were handy for carrying around and quite good for scribbling notes. She pointed all this out to Miss Fauscale as she wrote in a neat, clear script to show her and other customers on the street.

“Four coppers for a bunch of sixteen. Each one has been boiled, cleaned, and sharpened. They are good for writing, cleaning teeth, and poking silly children, yes?”

She mimed poking Mrsha, who was so alarmed that she nearly fell off her stool. Miss Fausclae stared at Mrsha and her lips quirked into a smile. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she had bought some quills and ink and was chatting to Krshia.

Just chatting. The Gnoll beckoned over more Drakes and Gnolls, calling the ones out by name. She shook hands with a Gnoll who wanted a new roll of cloth, persuaded a pair of Drake teens to stay and browse, though they bought nothing, and touched her paws to a Gnoll woman as she passed her a dried and salted fish to inspect.

Mrsha, sitting by Krshia’s side and helping her out, if only by being cute, was confused by all of this. She knew Krshia was doing something, but as far as she could see, the Gnoll was just calling out loudly to people and chatting them up. She spoke about the Goblins and Humans, reassuring people, telling them not to go, but only if they brought it up.

And yet, more and more Gnolls kept coming back, anxious and afraid. But they left with backs straight, smiling and talking about errands they had to run or things they’d just remembered they should do. How? Why?

Mrsha finally put the pieces together when Watch Captain Zevara walked down Market Street with a patrol of Drakes and Gnolls behind her. She was speaking to people, answering questions, trying to reassure them. She stopped by Krshia’s stall and looked perplexed at the gathering around the Gnoll. Only a few people were actively shopping, but the Gnoll had somehow created a huge radius of people who were just standing around and talking.

“What’s all this, then? Miss Krshia? What are you doing?”

The [Shopkeeper] gave Zevara a pleasant smile.

“Why me? Nothing, Watch Captain. I am simply open for business like usual. I think it is not good to worry, so I am getting about my day, yes? Are you on patrol? Could I interest you in a snack for your errands? Walnuts and honey, perhaps?”

Zevara blinked at her. The Drake looked around, bemused, and Mrsha, sitting behind the counter saw it at last. That was Krshia’s plan. She was going to work and doing ordinary things.

That was it. While Liscor’s people had been fretting and talking, Krshia was calling out to them like normal. She wasn’t pretending things weren’t bad, but she was doing what she had always done. And that reassured people. It brought normalcy back into their lives. It calmed them down.

And Zevara saw it too. The Watch Captain leaned on Krshia’s stall and lowered her voice.

“It seems you’re doing your civic duty, Miss Krshia. Or at least, I’d say that if calming people down was something we asked of our civilians. May I ask why you’re being so helpful? Not that I mind.”

Krshia grinned at Zevara.

“Let us say that it is a decision of Gnolls, Watch Captain. We will not flee the city. And few others will too, I think. When many hearts beat as one, fear has little place, yes?”

“True enough. But why?”

“It is our home.”

The Gnoll met Zevara’s eyes. The Watch Captain blinked. Then she smiled.

“True enough. Very well. I’ll take a pound of walnuts and those little cups of honey. Oi, you lazy lot! Get some snacks on me! And no one tell Relc about this!”

The City Watch cheered and laughed, as did the people around Krshia’s shop who heard. Mrsha thought Zevara was being very clever, and she smiled as Krshia began putting little baggies with honey together for the Drakes and Gnolls to eat from. But then Mrsha saw the curious thing again.

The Drakes took the bags of nuts and cups of honey as they came to them, but each of the Gnoll [Guardsmen] let Krshia put it into their hands. So that they touched at one point or another. They did it deliberately, and the looks in their eyes told Mrsha that they knew…something. They were doing something. And she imagined the spark in Krshia’s paws and wondered.

The day wore on. Krshia stayed in her stall as Mrsha grew bored. But then Elirr came by and Mrsha was allowed to walk with him. And she saw he was doing the same thing as Krshia. Not selling goods, but talking to people. And touching their hands.

Gnoll after Gnoll, families, single adults, teens. They came up to Elirr, or went to Krshia, and talked, exchanged greetings, and touched paws. Then they left. By the time Mrsha came back to Krshia, she saw the Gnoll shaking hands with a little Gnoll child. And Mrsha knew something was happening.

Krshia was collecting something. Mrsha felt it. Her fur tingled as she passed by Krshia. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked down at Mrsha as the Gnoll cub hopped up into the seat next to her. Mrsha stared accusingly at Krshia’s paws and then at the Gnoll. But Krshia just smiled.

“You are not the only one who knows a bit about magic, Mrsha. I suspect you have never seen this before, not even in your tribe. Have you?”

Mrsha shook her head. Krshia nodded.

“If your [Shaman] was good, you would not need to see it. But this is no tribe and we City Gnolls are not true [Shamans]. I am not. But we have our tricks. Now, see. It is nearly time.”

The sun was setting in the sky, but it seemed like more and more Gnolls were on the streets. And moving between them, at the center of the odd tingling pattern now present everywhere in Mrsha’s mind were the eleven representatives. Faisha, Elirr, Raekea…and leading them was Krshia. Each one of them held something. And as the sun began to set behind the High Passes, they stopped hiding it.

A glowing spark of light appeared in Elirr’s paws, startling the Drakes nearby. He walked towards Krshia, then stopped and looked to Raekea. She raised her paw and Mrsha saw she was holding another spark of light. They weren’t the same size, but they both shone brightly. She reached out and took the light from Elirr. And then the spark in her hands grew. The Drakes murmured and the Gnolls watched. Mrsha felt her fur standing on end. She could feel it.

Magic. The Gnolls passed it from paw to paw, a glowing ember of pale yellow light, growing brighter as it moved from person to person. One, two, three…each time the light seemed to grow, if not in size, then intensity. And it clearly became heavier. By the time it reached Beilmark, the strong Senior Guardswoman staggered, holding it. A dense, bright light almost like flame, almost like lightning in the center of her paw. She turned to Krshia, and the [Shopkeeper] began to sweat as she took it.

Heavy.

Krshia gasped. She nearly fell and staggered as she held the light in her paws. She looked up at the fading sky. Beilmark, Elirr, Raekea, and the others clustered around Krshia, not touching her, but urging her softly.

“Do it, Krshia.”

“Throw it.”

Krshia tried. But though the muscles in her arms strained, she couldn’t lift the ball. She groaned and her arm seemed to creak as it held the shining light in her paw. She gasped.

“Too heavy. I cannot. I cannot.”

“You must! You cannot drop it now!”

Elirr urged Krshia. This was a critical moment. Mrsha could sense it. The Gnolls were growing worried. A Drake [Guardswomen] watching looked uneasy. No wonder. The light was getting brighter, more intense. Changing from yellow to gold. But Krshia couldn’t lift it.

“I—can’t—”

Sweat dripped from her brows. She was struggling. It was so heavy! Mrsha pushed through the circle, staring at Krshia anxiously. It was just light, but Krshia’s bones seemed to be breaking under the weight of it! Why was it so heavy?

“Do not let it fall! Do not—”

Beilmark tried to raise Krshia’s arms. So did Raekea, but neither could lift Krshia’s hands! The other Gnolls tried to pull Krshia up, but they were just as helpless. Mrsha ran back and forth. If the light fell, she knew, it would go out. Krshia had to lift it! She raised her paws, desperately pushed at Krshia’s hands as if that would make a difference—

And the light rose. Krshia stared and the other Gnolls fell back. Mrsha nearly fell over in shock. Lifting Krshia’s arms had been as simple as…lifting Krshia’s arms! The light had no weight to it! But then Krshia’s arms shook with effort. She stared at Mrsha, and then spoke breathlessly.

“Mrsha, child. Can you…?”

She offered the light to Mrsha. The little white Gnoll hesitated, then took it. The light filled her paws and instantly she felt it surge through her. Magic. Mrsha’s eyes went wide and Krshia gasped as she lifted it up. Mrsha stared at the shining light. It wasn’t heavy at all.

It was so warm. It felt like she was amid her tribe as she held it, surrounded by the people she loved. Mrsha could feel the light surging through her, giving her strength. Determination. She wanted to swallow the precious light and let it burn through her forever.

But she didn’t, because she sensed the intention in this magic. It wasn’t hers. It was made up of so many small parts. It was feeling, emotion. She looked around.

It was them. The Gnolls of Liscor watched as Mrsha held the ball of light, as heavy as all of them combined. To her, as light as a feather. Krshia pointed up.

“Throw it, Mrsha. Throw it into the sky!”

Mrsha looked up. The sky was pale red and fiery. The sun was fading. She stood up and clumsily aimed overhead. And she threw the light up.

And the fading sun in the sky was replaced by another. Up the light flew, a small orb growing larger. Growing, shining with a thousand shades of gold and yellow and white. Up and up, until the light became a star above Liscor. A bright star that shone down, casting rays upon the startled citizens who looked up.

And the light was warm. It filled Mrsha with warmth, dispelled the fear and nervousness in her. Made her feel…confident. It flooded her, and she raised her arms up to the sky, smiling. And when she looked around, the people were smiling too.

“What was that?”

The Drake [Guardswoman] demanded, staring up at the sky and then at the Gnolls. Krshia answered calmly.

“A spell for courage. A spell for hope. [Everdawn’s Radiance].”

“Is it—you don’t have a permit to cast magic like that—what Tier spell is it?”

The Drake glanced up at the sky and at Krshia, trying not to smile and look stern. Krshia laughed.

“It is a Tier 1 spell, as [Mages] reckon such things. So low-level that even I, a former apprentice can cast it, yes?”

Tier 1? But that’s—”

“A [Shaman]’s spell. And I could not have done it without you. Thank you, Mrsha.”

Krshia knelt and looked at Mrsha. The little Gnoll cub looked up at her. Krshia shook her head.

“I do not know why it was so light for you. For me, untrained, it was as heavy as carrying every Gnoll on my back. But you? Ah, perhaps this is part of what we seek. Look at this, Mrsha. This is what we made. All of the Gnolls in the city. A scrap of courage, of bravery from each one. And it makes this.”

She pointed up at the growing star. Mrsha stared up at it in wonder. Krshia smiled at it.

“It is a weak spell as [Mages] reckon such things. No good in battle. No good when hearts are fearful from the Raskghar or grieving for the dead. But good when one knows a time of strife is coming. It pulls the strength from within and gives it form. And I think—it is enough.”

Enough. Mrsha looked up. The star hovered overhead. It blazed fiercely for one minute, then two. For eight minutes it shone and all who saw its light took something from it. It didn’t erase the fear of what was coming, or add a new source of courage for those who were worried about the future. But it reassured them. It reminded them of what mattered, of what was important. It was bright. And beautiful. And so for eight minutes, Mrsha sat and stared up and smiled.

 

—-

 

Across the city, people looked up. They stopped what they were doing, checking their supplies of coin, looking at maps, arguing, worrying about the Goblins and Humans, and stared at the strange light in the sky. It was reassuring. And as it shone down, they reconsidered their plans made in fear, in haste. They stopped rushing and thought long and hard about what they wanted and what would happen next.

Watch Captain Zevara stood on the battlements as the spell burst into life behind her. She swore, stared at it, and then watched it until it went out. When it was gone, she looked around and shouted an order.

“Someone get Beilmark!”

The Gnoll Senior Guardswoman came up the stairs a few minutes later. Zevara glared at her. Beilmark ducked her head, although she didn’t look the slightest bit abashed.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark.”

“Watch Captain?”

Zevara turned back to stare over the darkening landscape and spoke with her back turned to the Gnoll.

“Gnolls aren’t as troublesome as Drakes or Humans, Beilmark. Your people don’t stab each over family heirlooms and you police yourselves. With that said, I’ve heard tales of other cities and Watch Captains who clash every day with Gnolls in territorial disputes, racial crimes, and Gnoll politics. But that’s not been the case in Liscor.”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Beilmark looked straight ahead. Zevara nodded and went on.

“However, every time I think I know your people, they always surprise me. Every time I think I know magic, it surprises me. When I see that light, I can understand how Gnolls broke our Walled Cities so long ago.”

“Yes, Watch Captain?”

The Gnoll stared past Zevara, smiling slightly. Zevara smiled too. She turned around and looked at her city. And she knew that there wouldn’t be any mass exodus today. Maybe not tomorrow either. She looked at Beilmark, smiled and nodded.

“It was a nice spell. Do it again without telling me first and I’ll throw you off this wall. Dismissed.”

 

—-

 

Outside The Wandering Inn, the adventurers stared up at the sky as well. Jelaqua sighed as it went out and looked around.

“I guess we can stay for a few more days. I mean, we can always run south instead and there’s Mrsha and Erin and Lyonette to worry about. Plus, the door’s back.”

“I think…yes, I could wait. One more day at least. Until Yvlon decides where she’ll go.”

Ylawes spoke quietly. Halrac stared up at the place the light had been. He turned.

“Well, if you’re staying I’ll wait. It’s late anyways.”

The adventurers turned and looked back at the warm inn behind them. For a second they stared into the open door and remembered all that had happened there, for good or ill. Then they heard a voice from above.

“You call that magic?

Pisces stood on the destroyed third floor of the inn and bellowed at Liscor, looking outraged. He waved his arms furiously.

“It’s just a crude emotional spell! It even relies on a visual component to work! You call that real magic? You might as well eat a hot meal and take a warm bath for the same effect! This is why shamanic magic is—”

He yelped and flailed wildly as someone kicked him, nearly sending him toppling from the roof. Ceria appeared behind him, smiling.

“Shut up, Pisces.”

 

—-

 

Elirr, Krshia, and Mrsha sat in his shop as he began leading his animals downstairs. Mrsha helped fill bowls with food as Krshia wearily spoke. The [Shopkeeper]’s arms ached and she felt worn from holding that much collective magic for so long. If she’d been a true [Shaman], this would have been so much easier. But it was done. She looked at Mrsha and spoke quietly.

“The next few days will be serious. I think we must all do our part to fortify Liscor and make preparations in case…well, in case all comes to the worst. I will bring you with me when we bury the book, so you know where it will go. And if, no when this is resolved, you will come back every week at least and read from it, yes? If you wish.”

Mrsha looked up and nodded. She chewed on some of the cat’s food, which earned her a dirty look from a tabby. Krshia smiled. Time for Mrsha to go back to Lyonette for dinner.

“And perhaps I will teach you what I remember of how [Shamans] do magic too. Maybe practice it once more myself. It would never be useful for me, but it would be nice to shock that annoying goat, Lism, in the tail, yes?”

The little Gnoll grinned. Elirr nodded. He leaned over and chuckled as he filled up the huge mastiff’s bowl.

“Even dogs may learn, so Gnolls too must change, yes?”

The other two nodded. Elirr turned to the war hound, who was patiently waiting for food for once. The [Beast Trainer] gestured.

“Sit.”

The mastiff blinked up at him. And then the dog rolled over. Elirr sighed, Krshia snorted, and Mrsha laughed silently.

It was good enough.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.55 G

Day 10

 

On the tenth day, it was three Goblins who made a difference. As the sun rose, the Humans led by Tyrion Veltras drove the Goblin tribes south once more. Today was the day that they moved by the entrance to the High Passes, the home of Garen Redfang’s tribe and one of the most inhospitable environments for people of any kind to settle. If the Humans were going to push the Goblins into the pass or trap them there, it would be today.

No one expected them to. Everyone who was anyone knew that they would be turning and marching along the flatlands, following the mountain range to the second pass that ran through Liscor instead. And in just three days they would be at the city and if all went according to the various plans in motion, Liscor would be under siege.

Everyone knew that. [Spies], [Informants], and [Scouts] were all watching the movement of the army, relaying each move Tyrion Veltras made to interested parties. Hundreds of thousands of Drakes were marching north, some flying or riding at breakneck speed to get to Liscor in time. The Antinium were digging. Magnolia Reinhart was kicking over tables and swearing. The Necromancer was meditating. Again, everyone knew.

Except the Goblins. They woke up pretty much as usual. By now some were even sleeping through the morning’s volley of fireballs and had to be kicked until they got up. They ate, began to march, and generally trusted that their leaders would sort things out. When you had death behind you and no way to escape, there was really nothing else you could do.

However, if you were one of the leaders, life wasn’t that easy. And it was Pyrite who woke up worrying, which was his wont.

Actually, it wasn’t his wont. He didn’t want to worry at all. Pyrite had lived a very happy life as a [Mining Chieftain] with his Goldstone Tribe for years and he had devoted energy and effort into ensuring his life was as stress and death-free as possible. He’d hidden away from most Humans, cultivated an interest in rocks, and kept from massacring the occasional Silver or Bronze-rank team that was sent to slaughter his tribe. Of course, he’d been running away, but it had been fun while it lasted.

Now though, Pyrite regretted the months he’d spent chipping away at stones and finding gemstones to give to the children of his tribe. He’d leveled of course; he had quite a number of Skills, all of which allowed him to find gemstones, cut and polish them—even find the extremely rare stones that glowed or had magical auras, the ones infused with mana. Like the ultra-rare teleporting citrine he’d found just once—

“Stupid.”

Pyrite sighed as he walked along, battleaxe on his shoulder. One of the smaller Goblins gave him an affronted look, and Pyrite flicked a finger, indicating that it wasn’t about them. Reassured, the Goblins moved around him. Pyrite trudged on, feeling the weight of the enchanted fiery battleaxe on his shoulder.

Yes, he’d leveled, but he’d gotten the wrong Skills and he knew it. If Greydath were here—he’d—he’d—

Probably laugh and pat Pyrite on the head. He would understand. He’d never told Pyrite what to do. He’d given the young Goblin a chance, that was all. And Pyrite had squandered it.

“Pyrite. Chieftain wants to see you.”

A Goblin rode up to Pyrite on a Carn Wolf. Pyrite didn’t have to look to know it was Redscar. The Hob grunted and looked around. Normally it would be easy to spot Rags, distinctive as she was, but today was a bit different. Because today, their small tribe of thousands had…

Pyrite’s forehead wrinkled. What was the word? If you took something and multiplied it by eleven, what would you call that? Double, triple…what came after that?

Elevenuple. Pyrite decided that was the word, though it didn’t sound good to him. Yes, they’d elevenupled yesterday. Tremborag had fallen. His tribe had split in three parts, and the lion’s share had gone to Rags. Pyrite was just a bit proud of that.

And worried. There were now thousands of Hobs marching in the Flooded Waters tribe and regular Goblin warriors who had served Tremborag. Not to mention Ulvama and a handful of [Shamans]. All of them were new, and all looked to Rags. And Pyrite didn’t like it one bit.

“Where Chieftain?”

He looked up at Redscar. The smaller Goblin was looking about with much the same look on his face that Pyrite felt. He had to be wary too; both had seen the strange Goblin politics of Tremborag’s mountain and the way treachery and infighting had turned the Goblins there into something else. He pointed.

“There. We go together. Chieftain wants us.”

By ‘us’, he clearly meant Poisonbite, Noears, as well as himself and Pyrite. The Hob nodded and began walking in the direction of the small Goblin on the back of the Carn Wolf. Redscar let his mount pad alongside him and the other Goblins got out of the way as the two walked forwards. Redscar lay on the back of his wolf, speaking quietly to Pyrite.

“New Goblins.”

“Mhm.”

“Tremborag’s.”

“Mm.”

“Trouble maybe.”

“Yup.”

Pyrite nodded absently, completely failing to carry his end of the conversation. He was too busy thinking.

Redscar, now there was a Goblin who’d done the right thing, at least in how Pyrite understood classes and leveling. Greydath had never been too clear on the subject no matter how Pyrite asked. Pyrite suspected that Greydath hadn’t known as much about that subject either—probably because he didn’t pay attention to any class outside of combat-related ones. But he had been clear on what made someone strong, and Redscar was an example of that.

He had only two classes as far as Pyrite knew. [Beast Tamer], and [Raid Leader]. Both were directly useful to whatever Redscar wanted to do and all his Skills were highly practical. Pyrite had seen Redscar fighting and short of Garen Redfang, Reiss, or Eater of Spears, he thought Redscar was the best fighter among all the Goblins marching here.

If it came to a fight between Pyrite and Redscar, well, Pyrite would win if he and Redscar both had more or less equal footing. But only the first time, because Redscar would be caught off guard. And because Pyrite would go for his wolf, Thunderfur, first.

Anyways, the point was that in terms of potential, Redscar had done himself all the favors he needed to keep getting stronger. Pyrite was certain that in time his two classes would merge if Redscar lived long enough. He’d become a—[Beastraider Leader] or something. Pyrite didn’t know. He was bad with coming up with names.

But what would Pyrite be? He had a mining class and he wasn’t going to put that to use any time soon. He had to fight. He had to be strong, and he’d wasted half his levels and Skills. All he had to show for it was his pouch of shiny gemstones, which were shiny but—

Pyrite was feeling at the little pouch of gems for one of the magical gemstones he had left—he’d lost the teleporting citrine years ago—when he felt someone poke him. He looked up and saw Redscar was glaring and poking him with the tip of his sheathed sword.

“What? Oh.”

The Hob realized he’d abandoned the conversation. He shrugged apologetically.

“Mountain City tribe will be trouble. But Chieftain can probably handle.”

“Yes. But needs protect.”

From Reiss? Garen? No—Pyrite realized Redscar meant from Tremborag’s Goblins stabbing Rags in the back. He scratched at his belly.

“True. But not yet. Tremborag Goblins will wait and see how strong Chieftain is. Form alliances. Or try. At least a few days before stabbing in back. Or challenge.”

“Sure?”

Pyrite nodded. Redscar relaxed slightly. He grinned, exposing his teeth.

“You know. You were in tribe once. With Greydath.”

He said the name almost reverentially. Pyrite winced. For someone like Redscar, meeting Greydath of Blades had to be awe-inspiring. Pyrite nodded warily.

“Did.”

He did not elaborate, and Redscar didn’t press him, despite clearly wanting to. The Goblin warrior just nodded and urged his Carn Wolf to keep up. Pyrite shut his mouth.

Secrets. It was un-Goblinlike to have them. But Pyrite had as many secrets as he had gemstones. He wished he could tell Redscar everything. And Rags. Especially Rags. It would make things so much easier.

And why not? It wasn’t like they were grand secrets. It was just that they were private things. Shameful. Mysterious. Clues that had made Pyrite doubt Greydath when he’d heard them, had driven him from Tremborag’s mountain. Knowledge that hurt and made Pyrite wonder whether Velan had been betrayed. Or whether he and Greydath had known something about Goblin Kings that no one else did.

It didn’t matter. Not right now. Rags was all that mattered. Pyrite forced himself back to reality. He looked up as he and Redscar approached their Chieftain. The little female Goblin was issuing orders as she rode. She was so small. So young. And yet, she led them. And Pyrite saw in her something worth following. A leader, or the makings of one worth fighting for. He only wished he were strong enough to be her second in command.

“Pyrite. Redscar.”

Rags looked up at the two of them and gave her customary put-upon scowl. She waved at another duo of Goblins, Poisonbite and Noears as they approached. The five Goblins stood together, and Pyrite realized that he was the only Hob among them.

Of course, Quietstab had been one of the lieutenants as well. But it was something, that a tribe this large and this strong could be led by more regular Goblins than Hobs. Pyrite walked alongside Noears on Rags’ left, nodding to the Goblin [Mage] and getting a grin in response. Rags muttered to herself as Poisonbite and Redscar took a position on her right and then came out with her first grievance.

“Food is low! More Goblins means more eat, and fat Tremborag ate too much!”

Pyrite nodded. The Goblins who’d flocked to Rags’ tribe had brought their supplies, but a quick inventory had revealed that they’d stockpiled a lot less than Rags had. They’d relied on the herds of cattle and supplies the Humans drove or dropped into their path for food, which wasn’t wise. Rags pointed at Noears, who was in charge of the bag of holding.

“Noears has problem with Hobs. What?”

The [Mage] frowned.

“The Mountain City Hobs keep asking for a snack, Chieftain.”

“No snack!”

He nodded.

“Said that, Chieftain. But they said—”

He broke off as Rags waved her arms in the air.

“No snacks! Eat when time to eat! If want snack, dig up bugs while marching or shoot birds! And move in formations! Must practice.”

Redscar nodded.

“Can practice tonight before sleep.”

Poisonbite looked uneasy.

“They not like that. Tremborag Goblins don’t practice. Only if lieutenants do. Not together.”

“Too bad. They practice or go away. Redscar you and Redfangs in charge of Mountain City tribe. They march in formation or you—”

Rags mimed smacking the back of a head. Redscar grinned and nodded. Rags turned to Pyrite.

“Need to figure out how to fight. Big tribe. Different strategy.”

Pyrite nodded. That was Rags. She’d already realized they couldn’t operate like they used to—holding ground with pikes and using the Redfangs and Hobs to break enemy lines while the crossbows operated from the back. Now she had a bunch of Goblins with traditional weapons who weren’t able to move and conduct her precise tactics. He leaned in.

“Mountain City tribe does know how to fight, Chieftain. But knows Tremborag way of fighting. You saw. Regular Goblins go in, then Hobs. Can teach them how to fight Flooded Waters tribe style with same tactics. Just have to make groups with leaders.”

“Like they have.”

Redscar and the others looked at Pyrite. He nodded.

“But different. Make factions—sword and shield faction, archer faction, naked Hobgoblin [Shaman] faction—”

Rags snorted and glanced towards Ulvama. The [Shaman] was riding on a wagon, having refused to walk. Pyrite didn’t know why she’d joined Rags instead of Garen—the Hob would have never gone to Reiss, he was certain—but he regarded her as a huge asset, albeit a dangerous one. Rags nodded.

“Good idea. But will work?”

“Appoint strong Goblins as leaders. Choose from old lieutenants for new ones. Other Goblins fight them instead of you.”

Rags brightened up at the prospect. She looked at Pyrite approvingly and nodded. Redscar, Noears, and Poisonbite all liked the idea too.

“Good! Will do. Send Tremborag lieutenants here. They compete. I pick.”

Rags cackled, and Pyrite wondered if she’d have an impromptu competition on the march. It wouldn’t be the worst idea. She pointed around, giving orders.

“Redscar, go tell Tremborag Goblins. Have Redfangs divide up. Noears, go to supplies and hit stupid Goblins trying to steal. Poisonbite, go solve problems over there.”

She waved a claw. The other three Goblins nodded. Poisonbite sighed as she got what was the worst job in any tribe—being the one the Hobs went to when they encountered a problem they couldn’t solve. That was how it worked. Regular Goblins solved a problem or went to a Hob, who in turn solved it or went to a smarter Hob or a leader like Poisonbite in this case. And if she couldn’t solve it, it went to Rags.

The others dispersed, leaving only Rags and Pyrite for a moment. And the hundreds of Goblins marching around them in earshot, but they didn’t count. Pyrite and Rags glanced at each other. Then both simultaneously looked across the heads of marching Goblins.

“There.”

Pyrite pointed out two figures, marching on their left and right respectively. One was a Hob riding a Carn Wolf, leading a much smaller tribe, most of whom were mounted. Garen Redfang looked furious as he stared at Rags’ suddenly engorged tribe. And on the right rode another Hob, seated on the back of a headless undead spider. Reiss, the Goblin Lord. His army had grown as well, but now it was rivaled by Rags’ tribe. He stared ahead, lost in thought.

“Garen angry.”

Rags smiled gleefully. Pyrite nodded.

“But not cause trouble now. Too small.”

It was odd thinking of the famed leader of the Redfang tribe that way. But in a very real sense, yesterday had shown that to everyone. Garen hadn’t inherited Tremborag’s warriors as he’d clearly expected. They’d gone to Rags instead, and even to Reiss. Because, in a way no Goblin could quite articulate, for multiple reasons, Garen was wanting as a leader. The Hob was a mighty warrior, perhaps the strongest of all the Goblins who rode here. Certainly in physical combat now that Tremborag was dead. But he could not be a Chieftain like Rags or Reiss. But the Goblin Lord—

Rags’ smile faded as she looked at Reiss. If Garen was not a danger now, at least in the sense of threatening her tribe, Reiss was a different matter. She looked at Pyrite.

“Last night. What he do?”

“I don’t know.”

Pyrite stared at Reiss. Last night after Tremborag’s death, the Goblin Lord had been possessed by something. They’d all seen it. At first it hadn’t been clear, but as Reiss had begun walking around and looking at the Humans, at the Goblins here, he’d started talking to himself. Only, one of the voices that left his mouth wasn’t his own. And his posture, his way of moving, all of it, had changed.

It might not have been obvious to another species, but to Goblins it had been apparent that someone else was in Reiss. Talking to the Goblin Lord. And it had not taken any stretch of the imagination to figure out who. When they’d realized what was going on, all the Goblins—even Reiss’ own tribe—had given him a wide berth.

Pyrite remembered Rags wavering over going up to Reiss last night. He’d talked her out of it, not least because when Garen had found out what was happening, he’d drawn his sword and stared Reiss down. The Goblin Lord and Necromancer had both ignored him, though. Pyrite had wondered if Garen would charge Reiss, but the other Hob had held himself back.

It was wise, too; Pyrite had never felt so ill at ease around another Goblin. Whatever had been looking out of Reiss’ eyes had been cold and dangerous. It had been late last night when Reiss had finally stopped talking to himself. Near the end, his words had gone silent and Pyrite suspected he’d cast a spell to avoid being overheard. But whatever he’d discussed with his master, the Necromancer, nothing had come of it so far.

“He said he would ask his master about Humans. About what they do. Think he knows?”

Rags looked speculatively at Reiss. Pyrite shrugged.

“Could ask. Want me?”

He saw Rags hesitate. Then she shook her head.

“I’ll ask later. After choose new lieutenants. You go ahead lead tribe forwards.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Pyrite nodded. He wasn’t sure he was relieved or not. He stared again at Reiss, and then glanced at Garen. Now Tremborag was dead, there were only three Chieftains left. And while Rags was in a better place than before—Pyrite didn’t like it. As her second-in-command he felt her position was precarious. Both from within, with Tremborag’s Goblins, and from the other two tribes.

“Chieftain.”

Rags paused as she began to ride towards Redfang, who had already marshaled Tremborag’s old lieutenants and had them moving her way. She shot a quizzical glance back at Pyrite. He nodded to the approaching Goblins.

“Tremborag Goblins think like Tremborag did. Respect strength.”

She scowled.

“Will respect me.

He nodded.

“Yes, Chieftain. But need to see tribe is strong. Chieftain is strong.”

A worried look crossed Rags’ face. She was strong, for a Goblin of her age, but both she and Pyrite knew she was far, far weaker than someone like Reiss, or Garen. Or even Redscar.

“How can show?”

Pyrite smiled. She didn’t see that she’d already done some of the showing, in the brief attack against Tremborag’s forces yesterday. He dipped his head.

“I will, Chieftain. After choose lieutenants, let me.”

Rags studied Pyrite. Then she nodded slowly. He walked away, keeping his back straight. The enchanted battleaxe felt heavy on his shoulder. That was right. He had chosen poorly with his classes, his Skills, and he had wasted too many years of his life. But he could still be her second-in-command. He could still show Tremborag’s Goblins what they needed to see. And when he couldn’t, when his mistakes caught up with him—

Well, that was why Redscar was around, wasn’t it? Pyrite moved faster, striding through the Goblins until he reached the front. And at last, he stared ahead and saw not the backs of Goblins and Hobgoblins, but the open sky, the High Passes—

And the Humans.

There was an advance force moving ahead of the Goblins, guiding them and ensuring that if they made a break for it, they’d be penned in. There were smaller groups of riders to the left and right as well, acting as guides while the vast majority of Humans marched behind the Goblins. Pyrite stared ahead at the Humans, who were leading them on a track right past the High Passes. He shrugged, sighed, and began to trudge after them.

Rags had ordered him to lead the tribe while she handled matters. It sounded like a lot of work, but in fact, it was the easiest thing to do out of all the jobs—assuming nothing came up. In fact, it was easy.

Here was how Pyrite did it. He walked and the tribe followed. The Hob set an easy pace; thanks to Rags’ Skill, the tribe could fast walk rather than jog and still move fast enough for the Human’s needs. Every time he moved left or right, the entire tribe rippled as it changed directions to follow him, wagons turning, Goblins riding horses moving left, smaller Goblins changing course, following the Goblins ahead of them.

Pyrite kept walking, undeterred by the importance of his job. He glanced at Reiss’ army keeping pace with him and saw a tall figure approaching him. He grinned. Someone had noticed he was in front and was coming to see him.

Eater of Spears strode towards Pyrite, followed by Reiss’ army. Pyrite walked left and the two met, both of their tribes walking side-by-side now. He glanced up at the much taller Hob and grunted. Eater of Spears flicked his ears and gave Pyrite a pleased grin.

Eater of Spears was slowly striding along and the Goblins in armor were marching hard to keep up. The huge Hob was the biggest that Pyrite had ever seen—aside from Tremborag. He looked like someone had carved muscles out of a green wall and only added a head as an afterthought. But Eater of Spears was deceptive. Much like Pyrite, actually. Perhaps that was why the two got along so well.

“Pyrite.”

“Eater of Spears.”

The two nodded at each other. They didn’t need to say much. Both understood the economy of words, and so they kept their chatter to a minimum. But they did touch on important topics, delicately saying what they could without betraying their Chieftains’ trust. Pyrite nodded back towards Reiss.

“Necromancer?”

“Mhm.”

Eater of Spear looked troubled. Pyrite nodded.

“Happen often?”

“Sometimes. Is good stay away.”

“Dangerous?”

“Mhm. Drake got hit by spell.”

“Not good.”

“Mm. But also good.”

“Really? Necromancer uses Goblins. How good?”

At this point Eater of Spears had to break their nearly monosyllabic rapport.

“Reiss is wise. Necromancer does not know all. He sees, but not everything. But he tells Reiss what he knows, about the Humans. About their plans. And now Reiss has his plan.”

Pyrite’s ears perked up. A plan? He didn’t like that. Not one bit. Casually, he looked at Eater of Spears.

“What kind of plan?”

The Hob looked down at Pyrite and shook his head reluctantly. He was barehanded, unlike Pyrite who carried an battleaxe. He didn’t need weapons; Pyrite thought he could kill anything he needed to just by punching it. If Redscar had to fight Eater of Spears he might lose unless that enchanted sword he had was capable of slicing through the Hob’s bones. If Pyrite had to fight…well, he’d want the drop on Eater of Spears. Preferably from the top of a cliff with a bow and arrow.

“Cannot say. Reiss will say to your Chieftain.”

Pyrite nodded. He’d expected as much. But he silently glanced back towards Reiss. If he had to fight Reiss, or if Reiss fought Rags…Pyrite didn’t enjoy playing out life-and-death battles in his head. But as Rags’ second-in-command he had to protect her. Which meant he had to assume the worst.

He noticed Eater of Spears looking at him and realized he was staring at Reiss for too long. Pyrite said a few Human curse words inside his head. He’d fallen for the same trap people usually fell into around him! Never forget the big Hob isn’t stupid. To cover for his mistake, he fished at his belt and pulled out a sack. When he opened it, Eater of Spear sniffed. A savory smell was coming from the bag, the scent of roasted meat. Pyrite pulled an object out and held it up.

“Want snack?”

Eater of Spears stared down. Pyrite was holding a rat. A dead and roasted rat. He blinked.

“Where find that?”

“Underground.”

Pyrite grinned. After a second, Eater of Spears laughed.

“Good place for them. You dig?”

“Mhm. Have more. Here.”

Pyrite handed the morsel up to Eater of Spears, who delicately crunched the morsel whole. The Goblins from both tribes looked jealous, so Pyrite opened his bag and passed more rats around, much to the delight of all present. He had over three dozen rats in his sack, many small, but some of a good size. Pyrite was relieved to get rid of them as they were heavy, but he’d been saving them for this purpose. He supposed this was one use of his Skills, a small boon.

That was because for Pyrite, digging was easy. Pyrite had found a nest of burrowing rats practically right next to him when he’d settled in for a nap. With his ability to hunt for gemstones, locating their nest and plucking them out had been easy. The real trick had been finding a [Cook] willing to accept only two of the rodents in exchange for roasting them. Most wanted three or four, but Pyrite knew the value of a good rat.

“Mm. Good. I have nothing to give.”

Eater of Spears looked guilty. He tried to object, but Pyrite made him take three more rats. The former Goldstone Chieftain shrugged.

“Isn’t hard to get rats. Digging easy. Not like rocks. Have to use pickaxe for that. Very tricky to get.”

“Can’t make?”

Pyrite shook his head.

“Stone ones break too easy. Need iron or steel. Have to take from Humans. Very hard to sneak.”

“How do it?”

“Get shiny gold rocks. Dump in mining camp. Shout. Let Humans find and start huge fight. Then grab pickaxes and run.”

He winked and Eater of Spears grinned. Both Hobs laughed and Eater of Spears slapped his chest, making a thwacking sound that one didn’t normally expect to come from flesh. Pyrite eyed the Hob. Now those were muscles. Pyrite was confident of his strength, but sometimes he wished he’d been able to turn into a pillar of physical might like Eater of Spears or even Tremborag.

Greydath had told him that Tremborag’s ability to turn into a monster hadn’t been due to a Skill or class. He’d probably been enhanced by his class, but his ability was actually part of Goblin heritage, albeit largely unknown. In fact, Tremborag had been weak according to Greydath, which was why he couldn’t maintain the transformation. But Eater of Spears was in his prime, and so he had to be getting close. If Pyrite told him—

No. They were friends, but Pyrite wasn’t sure. The Hob kept his mouth shut as Eater of Spears finished laughing and spoke.

“My tribe, Rockbreakers Tribe, was not so good as yours. I told you. Not enough food for…”

He indicated Pyrite’s layers of fat, clearly envious. Pyrite nodded, although he privately thought that any tribe that could sustain someone of Eater of Spears’ size had to be doing well. He and Eater of Spears had swapped stories before. Apparently, before he’d joined Reiss, Eater of Spears had led a tribe of less than eighty Goblins, almost all Hobs. They’d been the terror of the cliffs and beaten Wyverns to death for food. Eater of Spears crunched another rat and went on.

“Anyways. One time, had to get healing potions for bad injury on many after big fight with Wyverns. So went to Drake city. Small city, but dangerous. Had to scare away Drakes on walls, but not enough stones.”

“So what did you do?”

Pyrite smiled. Eater of Spears grinned and flex an arm.

“Got dead Wyvern heads. Threw them. Drakes scream and run, and we climb walls.”

Pyrite chortled. Eater of Spears smiled, and then his face fell, grew somber.

“Had to kill many Drakes after that. Got potions, but Drakes sent army. Tribe had to flee. Go high up into mountains. Bad things there. Worse than Wyverns. Over half tribe died.”

The two Hobs felt silent. Pyrite had known similar disasters. He searched for something to say, and then raised his voice lightly.

“One time, when mining, I found a shiny yellow gem. When I reach for it, it disappeared. Found it lying on ground behind me. Teleporting magic stone. I chase after it—”

Eater of Spears brightened a bit as Pyrite told the embellished story of how he’d nearly died when chasing after the elusive teleportation stone and figured out a way to stop it from moving about. The two Hobs kept swapping stories for nearly an hour as they walked, until both spotted something unusual happening ahead of them.

The High Passes was a gaping rift, a steep incline that quickly became cliffs, leaving only a valley between two mountains. It was clearly the result of some fissure in the mountains, perhaps caused by a seismic rift in the past. Whatever the case, it was narrow, winding and jagged. The Humans had been steering the Goblins past it without issue—until something came out of the High Passes for a snack.

“What’s that?”

Eater of Spears pointed at the advance group of Humans. They were blowing their horns and racing about, clearly fighting something. Pyrite checked his grip on his battleaxe.

“Don’t know. Redfangs!

He bellowed and both Garen’s tribe and the Redfang warriors in Rags’ tribe looked around. Pyrite pointed and a pair of his warriors took off. Not to be outdone, Garen pointed and a band of his warriors raced ahead as well. Both Pyrite and Eater of Spears exchanged a look and stopped, halting the progress of the Goblins. It was risky, but they weren’t about to advance without knowing what was going on.

The scouts came back within minutes. The pair of Redfangs Pyrite had sent halted in front of the two Hobs. One of them pointed towards the fighting Humans.

“Eater Goats!”

“Eater Goats?”

Pyrite and Eater of Spears exchanged a look, Pyrite’s of concern, and Eater of Spears’ a blank one. Pyrite knew of the dangerous, all-consuming goats of the High Passes. He’d killed a few that had wandered into his tribe’s territory and he knew the goats, while not individually as powerful as say, a Hob, were more than capable of ripping anything to shreds given enough numbers. They could eat a Gargoyle and they were without fear.

And there were lots of them. Thousands, in fact. They’d charged into the Humans from the side, completely ignoring the spells and arrows that had blown a number of their brethren apart. Now they were engaged and the Humans were getting the worst of it. Their horses were not at home fighting enemies that low to the ground, and the Eater Goats could jump and chew through armor. Plus, they screamed.

The Goblins listened to the report with no lack of satisfaction. At last the Humans were in trouble! Pyrite was about to suggest to Eater of Spears they get moving and let the Humans shield them when he heard horns blowing from behind. He saw the Humans break up and race away.

“That’s bad.”

Eater of Spears grumbled. The Humans were running, and the Eater Goats were breaking away from their pursuit of the faster horses. They’d just spotted their second dinner in the form of the Goblin army and they were charging towards them, never mind that there were only a few thousand goats and hundreds of thousands of Goblins. To them, that just meant there was more to eat.

Goblins!

Eater of Spears roared and the Goblin Lord’s army turned to face the goats. Pyrite strode through the ranks of his Goblins as well, and heard a familiar voice.

Crossbows and bows front! Big shields forwards! Hobs and warriors behind! Redfangs to side!

Rags surged forwards, shouting and pointing. Her tribe set itself up, preparing for the goats. They were right in the path of the oncoming monsters. Pyrite took his position behind the line of pikes, thinking fast. Rags was employing both her old and new Goblins, but she was relying on a rank of Goblins with tower shields to slow the goats down while the bows went to work. She screamed an order and the first ranks of crossbows and bows fired.

A stream of arrows rained down and struck the first wave of goats, eliciting braying screams. Some fell, but even the ones with arrows sticking out of their legs and torsos kept running. Rags shouted and another volley fell, and another. The first rank of Eater Goats struck the Goblins with shields and bounced back. Some leapt, but were skewered before they landed. The Eater Goats circled as they tried to find a way into the defensive formation. They nipped and bit—the Goblins with tower shields held their ground.

“Wait! Wait!

Rags shouted at the Goblins warriors pushing the goats back. Pyrite saw a wing of her archers and warriors moving to the left side. She was going to pin the Eater Goats down and shoot them to death without risking her warriors. That was a smart move. Someone—Redscar—must have told Rags how dangerous it was to fight Eater Goats up close.

Pyrite saw it all happening as the Eater Goats began biting through the shields. Goblins shouted and screamed as they tried to force the goats back. He knew some of them would fall, but this tactic Rags had come up with was the safest. Only—Pyrite looked around.

Every eye was on Rags. Tremborag’s former Goblins were assessing her. They could see she was a genius when it came to strategy, but like Pyrite had told her, it wasn’t enough. They needed to see strength as well as intelligence. Pyrite stared at the Eater Goats fighting the Goblins with shields. Then he groaned.

“My turn.”

The Hobs around him looked confused. Pyrite turned to them and took a deep breath. He bellowed.

Hobs!

They straightened. Pyrite pointed ahead and roared.

Charge! Shields back! Archers back! Hobs charge behind me! Redfangs charge!

The Goblins gaped and Pyrite heard an exclamation from Rags. This was not part of the plan! But Pyrite was already moving. He charged forwards and Goblins scattered in front of him. The first rank of shields was folding as the Eater Goats leapt up, biting, ripping at the wood and metal shields, Pyrite thrust a terrified Goblin aside and raised his battleaxe.

There were thousands of the goats. They screamed, a hoarse, piercing shriek magnified from a thousand throats. Pyrite roared and charged at them. The Eater Goats didn’t expect that.

“Forwards!”

The enchanted battleaxe left Pyrite’s shoulder. He swung it and flame burst from the edge of the axe. Five Eater Goats leaping for him were caught by the swing, and the pieces landed around Pyrite. He charged forwards, kicking a goat head-over-hooves and bringing his axe down on another. The goat gurgled and Pyrite swept his axe.

Forwards!

Hobs charged through the ranks of Goblins behind him. They clashed with the front rank of Goblins, but Pyrite was still running forwards. Eater Goats were all around him. They leapt and Pyrite swung his axe. Greydath had taught him how to use weapons. Swinging with huge strikes would get Pyrite killed. And it wasn’t necessary—his enchanted axe could cut through the goats easily. He swung the axe as fast as possible instead, covering the area ahead of him. High, low, high, low—

It was like he was a farmer with a scythe and the Eater Goats were wheat. But the wheat moved and bit. Pyrite roared as a goat got past his guard and tore a chunk off his shoulder. But he didn’t stop. He kept moving, swinging the axe with one arm as he tore the goat—and more of his flesh—off and hurled it to the ground. If he stopped they’d swarm him. He could only move forwards and trust the Hobs to his back, forwards and forwards, screaming that one order.

Forwards! FORWARDS!

Where were the Redfangs? He should have called them up earlier. Something bit Pyrite on the leg and he kicked, shaking it off. Blood ran down his arms and he could smell burning, the stench of cooked meat. At the very least they’d have food. Pyrite saw the goats leaping at him, swung his axe. He slipped—

And a bounding red wolf leapt and bit the Eater Goat, snatching it out of the air. The massive wolf, Thunderfur, worried the goat and threw it to one side. On its back, Redscar turned, his blade flashing. He leaned down and sliced an Eater Goat across the neck, killing it instantly, then turned and stabbed a leaping goat through the mouth. Redfangs bounded past him, screaming war cries and attacking the goats from the side.

“Pyrite!”

Redscar bellowed. Pyrite stood up and raised his axe. He swung it wide and the goats in front of him vanished. Redscar blinked as Pyrite pointed.

Attack! Don’t stop attacking!

He charged forwards and Redscar and the Redfangs were with him. The Hobs could barely keep up as they scythed through the Eater Goats. Pyrite kept running, swinging the heavy axe though his arms burned and his chest hurt. He only stopped when he looked around and realized there was nothing ahead of him. He looked back and saw the last of the Eater Goats being finished off behind him.

A red trail marked his passage through the monsters. Pyrite leaned on his axe, gasping, then remembered. He stood up straight as Redscar rode back towards him. The [Raid Leader] had an odd look in his eyes as he fished something from his belt and tossed it at Pyrite.

“Here.”

Pyrite caught it and blinked down at the green healing potion. He looked down and realized the goats had torn chunks out of his arms, shoulders, and legs. Absently, he drank the potion and tossed the bottle down.

“How many lost?”

“Few. Eater Goats got surprised. No good when defending. Think they started to run.”

Redscar grinned. He patted Thunderfur and let the Carn Wolf begin to eat one of the goat’s corpses in front of him. But he was still looking at Pyrite. He wiped his blade with one hand.

“That was—good. Impressive. Not like you.”

He nodded to Pyrite. The Hob silently wiped blood from his arms and chest. He was drenched in it. Pyrite nodded shortly.

“I know. Had to do.”

“Why?”

“To show them.”

Pyrite pointed. The Hobs were panting, while the Redfang warriors of Rags’ tribe were cleaning their weapons or letting their Carn Wolves eat, tending to their injuries. But the Goblins behind them—the Hobs from Tremborag’s tribe—they were all staring at Pyrite. At the Hob who’d just cut a hole through a thousand Eater Goats by himself.

Redscar grinned at Pyrite. He understood. It was only Rags who didn’t. She rode up to Pyrite, swearing and looking ready to murder him.

“What that? That was not plan! Why attack?”

“Pyrite showing off, Chieftain.”

Redscar grinned and saluted Rags with his sword. She gave him an evil look and then looked at Pyrite.

“Why?”

Pyrite shrugged tiredly. His arms hurt.

“Have to show them, Chieftain. Show them you are smart, but also strong. I am second-in-command. Have to be strong. Show them—and show others.”

“Others?”

Rags looked around blankly. Then she noticed the other tribes.

The Eater Goats had split up in their attack. Most had gone for Rags’ tribe, but two groups had split off and attacked the other two tribes. The last of them were dying on Reiss’ side now.

The Goblin Lord’s troops had fought the Eater Goats well, although without half as much flashy tactics or aggression as Rags’ tribe. Eater of Spears was pounding the Eater Goats flat while the warriors in black armor supported him. On the other side, Garen’s warriors were already dissecting the Eater Goats that had attacked them.

“Fast.”

Pyrite murmured. He hadn’t even seen Garen’s tribe fight. Redscar shook his head.

“They didn’t attack. Garen attacked them when he saw you—”

He mimed Pyrite swinging his axe. Rags and Pyrite both looked confused.

“Why not attack?”

Redscar looked a bit sad. He glanced over at Garen then tapped a streak of red on his green skin. He had a slash of crimson paint running down his left cheek.

“Warpaint. Garen tribe has it. Mark of Redfangs. Eater Goats see, they don’t attack. Know it means death.”

“Really?”

Rags blinked. Pyrite saw Redscar was right—every Goblin in Garen’s tribe was wearing their signature war paint. Rags frowned, musing.

“Good to know. Could use, maybe.”

Then she looked over at Pyrite and scowled again. She poked one of his healing wounds and he winced. Redscar chortled as he left them alone to order the Goblins to butcher the dead goats for food. Rags and Pyrite looked at each other.

“Took big risk.”

“Yes, Chieftain. But did show them. I think.”

Pyrite felt at his shoulder, pulled out a tooth so the flesh could regrow. He flicked it to the ground and looked at her.

“Did it work? Did it seem strong?”

He hoped it had, or else he’d taken a big risk for nothing. Rags hesitated, then smiled.

“Looked like scary monster to me. Scary, big, fat Hob.”

“But not smelly.”

“But not smelly.”

They laughed. Pyrite walked back, noting the difference in the way the Goblins looked at him. One of the Hobs he recognized, a lieutenant of Tremborag’s, had been part of the fighting. Pyrite slowed and stared at him. What was his name?

“Hammersteel?”

The Hob blinked. He nodded slowly. He had a wicked maul and steel cuirass on his front, as well as a reputation for picking fights.

“Pyrite. Good fight. Knew Flooded Waters tribe was right choice.”

“You think so?”

Pyrite tilted his head quizzically. Hammersteel grinned and spat.

“Think so! Garen not smart, but Chieftain Rags is. Better than traitor lord. And has strong second! Pyrite with the axe!”

He pointed to the axe and cackled. Pyrite smiled a bit. Hammersteel looked envious. He made a circumspect gesture.

“I hold?”

Pyrite nodded. Hammersteel approached—and was promptly shoved out of the way. Ulvama appeared, smiling widely. Pyrite blinked. The [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe wore very little in the way of clothing, and instead had colorful paint on her skin instead. She smiled seductively at Pyrite as she kicked Hammersteel, forcing him back.

“Strong Hob. Didn’t know so strong! Good second for Chieftain Rags. I am Ulvama. You are Pyrite? We should talk. Meet each other.”

She laid a hand on Pyrite’s arm, brushing at the blood and ignoring the flies buzzing around Pyrite. He noticed the flies though, and resolved to wash himself as soon as possible. He hated being dirty. Pyrite stared at Ulvama’s soft touch and grunted.

“We have met before. Long time ago.”

Ulvama’s smile slipped.

“We have?”

“Mhm. Back in Tremborag tribe. I was Goblin. Small. You were small Goblin too. Apprentice to Chief Shaman. Remember you getting in trouble for using paints.”

Ulvama’s jaw dropped. Hammersteel cackled with laughter. She turned and pointed a finger at his groin, and he yelped as the air grew subzero rapidly and fled. Ulvama turned back to Pyrite. She tilted her head.

“You were Tremborag’s?”

“Yes.”

Pyrite met her eyes. Ulvama hesitated. He could see her thinking. Her gambit to tie herself to the highest-ranked Goblin in Rags’ tribe wasn’t going well. But she didn’t give up—mainly because she had no choice. Noears had been in Tremborag’s tribe so he was well aware of Ulvama’s ways—and he didn’t get along with Tremborag’s Goblins to begin with. It was why he’d left and why he was called Noears to begin with. Poisonbite was female, as was Rags, and neither of them were interested in other females in a way that would help Ulvama. And Redscar liked male Goblins. So Ulvama tried again.

“You want sex?”

Goblins didn’t do much subtlety. Ulvama’s first attempt had been as subtle as it got. Pyrite shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She stared at Pyrite suspiciously. He shrugged.

“Too busy. And don’t like you. You go back to wagons now. We keep moving.”

He shooed Ulvama away, ignoring her hissing and threats. Pyrite walked back to the front of his tribe. Eater of Spears was there, rubbing at a chunk taken out of one bicep. Pyrite nodded and began walking. The tribe marched after him, hurriedly packing away the meat from the dead goats. It was just one thing in a day.

But it mattered. Pyrite could sense Eater of Spears looking at him. The Hob absently swatted a fly trying to lick blood from his skin.

“What?”

“Never saw that before. Strong. Cut goats apart so quick even Garen Redfang looked scared. Why do it?”

Pyrite paused. He looked around and saw Garen Redfang was staring at him. He shrugged and looked ahead.

“It was a warning.”

“To Garen? To Tremborag Goblins?”

“To everyone.”

Pyrite looked up at Eater of Spears. The Hob paused. Then he nodded. The two walked on. Pyrite found his water skin and tried to wipe off the blood with a little bit of water. Eater of Spears silently offered him his water skin and Pyrite grunted in thanks. He noticed Eater of Spears hadn’t healed the bites he’d taken—not that the Eater Goats had been able to do much damage to his skin.

“Need potion?”

“No. Have, but not waste. Will heal quick.”

The Hob shook his head and tapped a bottle on his belt. He had three potions, actually. A sign of how important he was. For the first time, Pyrite noticed that Eater of Spears had a number of objects on his belt. A little band of feathers, a token of some sort, his own belt pouches, the water skin—and two glittering hatchets.

“What are those?”

Eater of Spears blinked down at his belt. Then he grinned.

“Throwing axes. Weak enchanted. Sharp. Reiss gave as reward.”

“Any good with axes?”

Pyrite was intrigued. He glanced back at Reiss, and then at Garen, and had another thought. Another bad idea, or perhaps, a good one. He raised his eyebrows and Eater of Spears grinned.

“Have Skill. And class! Was a [Thrower] before. Can hit flying Wyverns with rocks. Don’t level class much anymore, though. But this good for [Mages]. Threw at fast-fast flying pink thing, but missed.”

Flying pink what? Pyrite decided to ignore that. He pursed his lips, and then spoke casually.

“I have another class. [Blademaster]. Only Level 3, though.”

[Blademaster]?

Eater of Spears’ brows shot up. He looked impressed, as anyone might. Pyrite shrugged.

“Was taught by Greydath of Blades. You know?”

“I do. He taught you?”

“Yes. But no good with sword. Axes better.”

Pyrite sighed. No matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get past Greydath’s ‘basic’ training. Which was still something. He looked speculatively at Eater of Spears and decided to tell him another secret.

“Trained a bit. Didn’t learn much, but…in fight. I can see when someone is going to hit. And where, sometimes. Not a Skill. I learned it from Greydath.”

Really?

Eater of Spears was fascinated. His eyes flickered, and Pyrite was sure that information was going straight to Reiss later. Not necessarily maliciously—but it was definitely important. The big Hob looked at Pyrite, and the Hob waited. Wait—wait—

He saw the movement and raised a fist to block as Eater of Spears threw a fist. The Hob stopped before he hit Pyrite, which was a relief. Pyrite had known the punch was coming, but blocking it—

Eater of Spears blinked and some of the Goblins who’d been watching and listening murmured in awe. No doubt they’d pass this on as well. That was how the Goblin social network functioned. But Pyrite didn’t care about them. He focused on Eater of Spears and smiled.

“Told you.”

The Hob grinned, delighted. He nearly forgot to keep walking as he stared at Pyrite.

“How? Can teach?”

“Very hard. Took long time to master, even with Greydath show. All about muscles. Arm position. Stance. Easy on Eater of Spears because muscles are easy to see.”

Pyrite smiled and Eater of Spears laughed. The Hob smiled too. And in his mind, from his glittering treasury of secrets, Pyrite plucked a pair of gems and offered them up. Two secrets he’d given. And in return, he gained something back, invisible though it might be.

Trust. Eater of Spears quizzed Pyrite on how the trick worked, and about Greydath. Pyrite answered politely without going into details, and then casually pointed at Eater of Spears’ axes when he found a break in the conversation.

“Greydath taught more than just sword. Like axes. Not Skill, but can throw. Let me try?”

Eater of Spears hesitated, but then he willingly unhooked an axe and handed it to Pyrite. The Hob grunted as he lifted the throwing axe. It was superbly balanced and it felt sharp enough to cut through anything. A gift indeed. He looked around, spotted a target, and then turned and hurled the axe. Eater of Spears roared in surprise and Goblins looked up and threw themselves flat.

Ulvama was sitting in her wagon, growling to herself, when the blade of the axe embedded itself into the wooden frame next to her. Pyrite winced—he hadn’t meant to throw it that close. He saw the [Shaman]’s eyes go wide.

Ulvama screeched, leapt away from the quivering axe, and then stared across the heads of Goblins at Pyrite. She starting screaming insults at him. Pyrite ignored her as he lowered his hand. He looked around and saw that every Goblin around him, Reiss’ Goblins and Rags’ tribe, were staring at him with open mouths. He looked up at Eater of Spears, who was gaping at him.

“Good at throwing things too. Want to play game?”

The Hob blinked, then he bellowed with laughter and slapped Pyrite on the back, nearly knocking him over. The axe was returned and Eater of Spears handed the axe to Pyrite. The two began throwing at objects ahead of them, aiming at birds, rocks, any target that came to mind.

Pyrite threw economically, Eater of Spears with less accuracy but enough force to split almost any object in two or shatter stone. It was just as well the axes were enchanted. So the two Hobs walked together and Pyrite knew he was at the center of attention. He’d done all he could. He’d prepared, and sent…a warning. As clear as he could make it.

He just hoped it would be enough.

 

—-

 

“[Deathbolt].”

The black light had struck Osthia. She had fallen as it sapped the life, the very core of energy from her. She lay on the ground, motionless, breathless, eyes still open wide and mouth slightly agape. The Necromancer studied her for a moment, then walked off.

It took a while for the Goblins to dare retrieve her body. When they did, she was loaded onto a wagon with other dead Goblins and animals, to be made into food for later. After all, they couldn’t waste food. There Osthia lay as night passed to day, until the wagon was bumping and threatening to knock her onto the ground.

The Goblin driver was dozing until Snapjaw rode over and snapped an order. The Hob leapt onto the wagon and found Osthia’s corpse. She eyed the black ring on Osthia’s claws, bent, tugged it off, and waited.

Nothing happened. Snapjaw scratched her head anxiously. She bent to listen by Osthia’s mouth and heard no intake of breath. She poked Osthia in the chest, then poked her in the cheek. Snapjaw gulped, then saw one eye swivel towards her.

“Do you mind?”

The Hob nearly leapt off the wagon. She lurched back as Osthia sat up, gasping and coughing. The Drake spat—several dead flies shot out of her mouth. She looked around, blinked at the sunlight streaming down, and then turned to Snapjaw.

“What in the name of the Ancestors—how long was I out?”

“Half day.”

Snapjaw shrugged. Osthia gaped.

“Half a day? Your leader told me I’d be recovered in minutes! Do you know how dangerous it is to keep someone under the [False Death] spell that long? Why the hell—”

“I forgot.”

The female Hob picked at her teeth with one claw, looking embarrassed. Osthia inhaled, and spat another fly out.

“You forgot? You forg—

“Necromancer took long time to go. Long time. So forgot. Remembered before you got eaten.”

Snapjaw said it as if that righted all wrongs. Osthia balled her claws into a fist, then looked around.

“He’s gone? Then where’s Reiss?”

The Hob glared at the Drake. She enunciated her words carefully.

Goblin Lord Reiss is busy. Big thinking after plan.”

“Plan? What plan?”

Osthia looked at Snapjaw. The Hob closed her mouth. Osthia tried to sit up, but her body refused to obey her.

What plan? What are the Humans going to do? What is the Necromancer doing? What is Reiss—”

She was trying to get up. Snapjaw scratched her head, and then brightened.

“Oh! Remember the second thing I was supposed to do.”

“What?”

Osthia turned to glare at her. Snapjaw scooted forwards. She picked up the black ring, its charge exhausted, and then looked at Osthia. Reiss had come up with the ring after worrying she might be killed. He was reasonably certain she could survive a single [Deathbolt]—it killed all those under Level 30 when Az’kerash used it, and all those under Level 15 when he used it—which meant it would take multiple casts to kill Osthia. But he hadn’t wanted to risk it. She didn’t know why he liked the Drake so much, but orders were orders.

What second thing?”

The Drake glared at Snapjaw. The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“This.”

She brought her head forwards and head-butted Osthia. The Drake’s head snapped back and she reeled.

“You—”

She tried to spit acid, but Snapjaw struck her in the face with a second head-butt, then a third. She shook her head as Osthia fell back, unconscious. Snapjaw looked down at the prone Drake and sighed.

“Reiss says sorry.”

Then she turned to the Goblin driver.

“Put in chains. Hands, feet, mouth. Hobs guard. Don’t let run.”

She hopped off the wagon and onto the back of her waiting horse. Snapjaw rode away, rubbing her aching head. She headed straight for Reiss, visible on the back of his shield spider. Snapjaw couldn’t wait for him to tell the others, so she could tell Poisonbite. It was time. It was finally time. She grinned, showing all of her metallic, enhanced teeth.

Time for war.

 

—-

 

The second Goblin was Reiss. He sat on his Shield Spider and thought. He thought about tactics, about a city called Liscor, about the undead and the Chosen of Az’kerash. And most of all, he thought about Garen. He didn’t look up, lost in thought as he was. When Eater of Spears sent a Goblin to relay his curious exchanges with Pyrite, Reiss barely took notice, though the news would have fascinated him another time. When Snapjaw told him about Osthia, he just looked up.

“Thank you, Snapjaw.”

She grinned at him. Reiss did not smile back. He couldn’t feel happy about Osthia. But it had to be done and he didn’t have the courage to confront her. She would not understand. Or worse, she might understand all too well. Either way, she would have tried to kill him. Because he was going to take Liscor. Reiss was only afraid—

That he’d have to kill Garen to do it.

Tell them. Force them to kneel, and bring one army to take Liscor. His master’s last injunction echoed in Reiss’ mind. He knew it had to be done. His army was strong, but Rags had an army roughly two thirds as large as his. And Garen? Well, his warriors were few, but they were elite.

How had it happened? Tremborag’s tribe had gone to Rags rather than Reiss or Garen. It had shocked him, although his conversation with Az’kerash had put it out of his mind. Now Reiss wondered. He supposed it made sense; Tremborag’s tribe blamed him for losing their mountain, but why had they passed over Garen?

It didn’t matter. Both tribes had to ally with him. They didn’t have to be his—his master was wrong there. Forcing Rags to submit to him would be close to impossible, and Garen would be truly impossible. They just had to fight together. He could convince Rags of that when he told her the full scope of the plan, Reiss was certain.

Garen would be the obstacle. That was why Reiss hesitated to tell him. When Garen Redfang learned of Az’kerash’s plans, he would oppose them on principle, regardless of how they made sense. He might even try to kill Reiss. Or run.

If they fought—if Reiss had to kill him—the Goblin Lord closed his eyes. They were brothers. Brothers, still, after so long.

“It will not come to that. He will see reason. I just need—to force him to agree. If Rags agrees, he must.”

They’d surround his tribe. In the night. Give him an ultimatum and force him to agree. And if he fought, if he resisted—they could capture him. Alive.

It wasn’t as if his tribe was necessary in the battle. Important, but not necessary. And it might not come to that. Garen was stubborn, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.

Reiss told himself that again and again. Then, at last, he decided it was time. Rags had to know, then Garen. He forced himself not to tremble as he sat up and directed his Shield Spider to crawl towards Rags’ tribe. It was time. Time at last! Time for war. Time to take Liscor and find a home.

“Chieftain Rags! Gather your lieutenants. I must speak with you.”

Reiss shouted at the small figure riding on Carn Wolf. He saw Rags’ head turn, and felt a hush go through both his and her tribe. The Goblins could tell something was happening, even if most did not know what. He saw Rags hesitate, then nod. She rode to join him with her four most trusted lieutenants. Eater of Spears and Snapjaw joined Reiss. He wished the others were here. But they had died at Invrisil, in battle. So many dead. But the end was in sight.

“What?”

Rags stared up at Reiss, her eyes narrowed. She knew he had spoken with Az’kerash. But not about what. The Goblin Lord took a steadying breath. Garen was watching suspiciously.

“I have spoken with my master. He has discovered the Human’s plans. What they intend. My master is certain they are moving us to Liscor. Not to slaughter us there, but to use us. With trebuchets they will tear open Liscor’s walls. Then, they mean to force us to take the city. And once it has fallen, rush in and slaughter us to the last.”

The Goblins went silent. Rags’ eyes went wide and Noears uttered a curse. Redscar turned to look at the Humans, Poisonbite gulped, and Pyrite narrowed his eyes and glanced at his Chieftain. Fear, sharp and electric ran through all the Goblins around Reiss. He could feel it, but kept calm. So did the Goblins in his army, sensing his confidence, drawing resolve from it.

Snapjaw ground her teeth together, almost dancing from foot to foot with glee and Eater of Spears waited silently. They knew what was coming next. Rags looked pale as she looked at Reiss.

“Okay. That bad. Necromancer has a plan?”

“Yes. We will take the city and hold it. With his aid. He will resurrect every warrior that falls in battle. He will provide us with his elite undead warriors, his Chosen. With them, we will take Liscor, and when the Humans attack, we will hold it and beat them back.”

Reiss saw the eyes of the Goblins widen around him. Some reacted in shock, others horror or disbelief. Rags just blinked. Reiss went on, outlining the plan Az’kerash had given to him.

“Liscor can be taken. It can fall. With your tribe and mine, we can secure the city. My master can raise walls of bone to hold the breaches, seal the Humans in when they attack and cut their army in two. Chieftain Rags, join your Flooded Waters tribe to mine and claim Liscor. Your home. It will be the first city of Goblins.”

Rags’ eyes flickered. She looked at Reiss, then at Snapjaw’s grin, Eater of Spears slowly nodding. She looked around at Reiss’ warriors, who were caught up by his words, and then at her own uncertain tribe, who looked to the Goblin Lord with apprehension and a bit of—hope. Reiss waited, his eyes going to Garen. What would he say? What would he do? Would he run if he heard the news being spread? No, he’d come to say something even if it was a refusal. Would he—

“No.”

The word was quiet, and so soft Reiss’ thoughts kept going until they got tangled up on the word. The Goblin Lord blinked. He looked down at Rags.

“What?”

“No. We will not fight.”

Rags folded her arms. Her lieutenants looked at her. Poisonbite in disbelief, Noears frowning, Redscar uneasily. And Pyrite? The Hob smiled.

“You are not serious.”

Reiss refocused on Rags. She had to be telling a joke. But the little Goblin just shook her head.

“I told you. Goblins live in circles. We kill Humans. Humans kill us. We kill Drakes, Drakes kill us. Adventurers come to kill us, we kill them, so more come. It never ends. That is the circle of Goblins.”

“Cycle.”

Reiss automatically corrected her. Rags shrugged as if to say the words were the same. Reiss scrambled to say something.

“I know. But this will break the cycle. Chieftain Rags—taking Liscor will mean a safe haven for Goblins! If we hold Liscor, no one will be able to take it. It is one of the most defensive cities on the continent—”

“Mhm. So Humans and Drakes both want it. And not very safe if we can take it. Sounds like we put big ‘stab me’ sign on back. Not doing it.”

The little Chieftain scratched at one ear. Reiss stared at her.

“You don’t have a choice. The Humans will slaughter all of us to force us to attack Liscor. Tyrion Veltras wants to take the city.”

“So? Let him. We won’t fight. We will run. Into mountains, maybe. Fight big battle while other Goblins climb.”

Rags pointed to the mountains. They were high and practically impassable. Reiss tried to imagine forcing over two hundred thousand Goblins up the slopes. They’d have to abandon everything while they held the Humans off.

“Impossible.”

“Okay. Then another plan. We go into dungeon. There is cave. Dungeon is…probably big. Could hold some. Or go around Liscor. Fight Humans and get away. But not attack city. Bad idea.”

“You will die if you attempt that. Why not take Liscor? Why not fight to hold it? With all the advantages my master can bring to the battle—”

Reiss stared down at Rags. She scratched her ears, not looking directly at him or anyone else. Finally, she muttered.

“Don’t want to kill people in Liscor.”

What?

This time the question was a chorus. Everyone stared at Rags. Her points about not fighting had been good, if scattered. But this? Reiss shook his head, growing angry.

“What has Liscor done for you? Chieftain—the Drakes care nothing for you! They have killed our people for thousands of years, just like the Humans!”

“They have. And they are stupid poos. Especially Relc.”

Rags agreed. She sighed, and scrubbed at the back of her head. Then she looked around. Two tribes stared at Rags, hung on her words. She looked at Reiss, who was trembling, unable to believe what she was saying. Rags sighed louder, then raised one claw.

“Okay. This is why. There is a Human there. In Liscor.”

Everyone stared at Rags. She raised her voice as she went on, not speaking just at Reiss, but to Pyrite, to Redscar and Poisonbite and Noears and all the others. She spread her arms, speaking to the hundreds of thousands of Goblins who listened to her.

“Her name is Erin Solstice. And she is good. She lives in Liscor—in a little inn outside it. And she likes Goblins. She is my…my friend. And no one is going to kill her.”

“A Human? That’s not—Humans aren’t friends with Goblins.”

Reiss whispered. Rags shook her head.

“That was what I thought! But—she is different. She kills, but only to defend. She does not attack. And she does not let others attack. She has—she has a sign by her inn! I have seen it! It says ‘No Killing Goblins’. No killing Goblins in her inn. She is my friend and she is friends with Antinium and Drakes and Gnolls. She is good.”

The other Goblins stared at Rags. A friend? A Human as a friend? It sounded like a joke. Some of Tremborag’s former Goblins began grinning, but Rags didn’t laugh. She was as serious as could be as she met Reiss’ eyes. And slowly, it dawned on the other Goblins.

She was telling the truth. Because, after all, Goblins didn’t lie. There was a Human in Liscor who was friends with a Goblin. The murmurs began to spread. Reiss looked around.

“That is one Human. One Human cannot save you!”

“No.”

Rag agreed readily. She nodded, looking around.

“Don’t expect her to. But she could help. She could do…something. Anything?”

“Like what?”

Reiss raised his voice. He heard the sarcasm in his tone, the anger. He couldn’t help it. He pointed down at Rags.

“What could one Human do? What could any Human do?”

She shrugged. It was the most classically Goblin thing she could do. She looked up at Reiss and smiled.

“Don’t know. But she is my friend. You have your Necromancer. I have Erin. You have your Human, and I have mine. I will not fight Liscor. I will run or hide or do whatever it takes. But I will not fight. The destiny of Goblins is a circle. And it must stop.”

For a second Reiss couldn’t speak. He was lost with fury, indignation at the stupidity of what Rags was saying. Then he heard a cheer.

Everyone’s head turned. They saw a little Goblin standing on a cart, cheering and waving. It was alone at first, and then a Hob raised her arms and bellowed as well. Goblins around them began to cheer too. Reiss stared as Rags’ tribe began to laugh and shout. They were cheering. Cheering her, celebrating.

They didn’t want to fight. He looked and saw more Goblins on their feet. And they were shouting.

Rags! Rags! Rags!

Her name. Rags flushed with pride and looked around, puffing her chest out. Her lieutenants took up the call. Reiss stared around. He saw thousands of Goblins cheering, and Garen’s tribe staring. Garen Redfang himself sat on the back of his Carn Wolf, staring at Rags. He was glaring. The Human army had halted, perhaps wondering what the strange cheering was for.

Rags turned away. Her lieutenants dispersed, and the Goblins moved ahead, hurrying to keep going before the Humans started throwing spells. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears stayed back, looking anxiously at Reiss. He didn’t move. At last, they left too. Reiss sat on his undead spider’s back as the Goblins flowed past him. And only darkness filled his mind.

A Human for a friend? Breaking the cycle? Running? It was unacceptable. They had to fight. They had to take Liscor. His master would not accept anything else. He would not accept anything else. It was right in front of them. A city. A kingdom! And she was wrong.

Something black was in Reiss’ chest, making his heart beat faster. It was welling up in him, dark intentions. He looked around and saw his army marching ahead of him. And Rags’ lieutenants and his people.

They’d all gone back to each other. His tribe and Rags’. His lieutenants and hers. Snapjaw and Poisonbite were talking to each other, arguing, but talking, riding on her horse. And Eater of Spears was throwing axes with Pyrite, speaking. Reiss’ heart hurt.

Eater of Spears spoke with no one as closely as he was speaking with Pyrite. There were so few Hobs like him, but he had found a kindred spirit in the fat Hob. And Reiss was going to—

No. They could still walk together and smile. Nothing needed to change. It was just her. Reiss looked up. At Rags, who was riding along, arguing with the [Shaman], Ulvama. She was the one who led this tribe. And she was the one who was wrong.

A home for your kind. His master’s words echoed in Reiss’ mind. It was so close. He had sacrificed so much for it. And Rags would run? No. No, it couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. He would not let her.

Slowly, Reiss rode his Shield Spider forwards. This time he was fixated on Rags. Something dark whispered to him. It sounded like his master, but it had his voice. Reiss felt pitch blackness spilling forth, beating from his heart, in his veins, his blood. He was rigid with the horror of what he was going to do. But he was going to do it anyways.

“Rags.”

This time, when she turned, Rags paused. The Goblins around her paused as well. They stared back at Reiss’ face and grew silent. Snapjaw looked up. Eater of Spears paused, pointing out a target for Pyrite to hit. Rags looked back at Reiss.

“What?”

Reiss was calm. Very calm. And cold. He looked at Rags and then past her, at the mountains and the sky. Not a few hours past midday. Plenty of time. He spoke pleasantly, feeling the magic growing in him, running down his arm.

“Do you remember my dream?”

“About Goblin kingdom? Yes. Silly dream. But nice one.”

Rags nodded. Reiss smiled. He looked down at her.

“It is. But there’s something I didn’t tell you about it. I have that dream some nights. A dream of a Goblin kingdom, a place where Goblins are safe and live in peace. But in that dream, the Goblins have no faces.”

“No faces?”

She blinked. He nodded. The magic ran down into his fingers and gathered there, as thick as sin, as dark as midnight.

“None. I look around in my dream and see no one I recognize. Not Eater of Spears. Not Snapjaw. Not even me. I look at my reflection and see another Goblin’s face. Do you know why?”

She held still, looking at him.

“Tell me.”

Reiss smiled sadly.

“It is because for my dream, I would sacrifice anything. Anything and anyone. I have my dream, and it is worth all the pain in the world to make real. So I am sorry for this.”

He raised his hand. Rags blinked.

“For wh—”

[Deathbolt].

The black energy shot through Reiss’ fingers, coalescing into a line of energy that sucked away the light. It shot through Rags at point black range. She swayed, gasping, her face drained of color. She swayed, put a hand on her saddle.

She was still alive. Reiss had hoped she’d die right away. She kept looking at him, kept trying to say something. But there was nothing left to say. She was trying to turn her Carn Wolf, but she was too weak. The Goblins around her were just staring, shocked by the suddenness of it all. Reiss raised his fingers and pointed at Rags’ chest. Then he looked up. He heard something.

A whirring sound. Something tugged at his hand. Reiss blinked and stared at the silvery axe that softly thunked into the breast of a Hob standing next to him. The Hob blinked and fell. Reiss stared at the axe. He’d given that to Eater of Spears. Then he felt an odd sensation. He looked down at his hand. He couldn’t see it.

It was missing. Reiss stared down at the stump of his hand as blood began to gush from the severed arteries. He looked around, and saw the Hob. The second axe passed by his face and Reiss nearly fell from the back of his undead spider. He blinked and stared at the thrower.

Pyrite. The Hob straightened. He saw Reiss catch himself, saw Rags reeling backwards and her Carn Wolf bounding backwards in fright, howling. He looked up and saw Eater of Spears staring at him, face white. Pyrite sighed.

“Told you.”

He reached for his battleaxe. His hands closed around the haft too slow. Eater of Spears grabbed Pyrite and roared. Pyrite felt something slam into him and saw the world spinning around him until he slammed into the ground. Goblins screamed, and both the Flooded Waters tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army broke ranks and began to fight as everything descended into chaos.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.56 G

Garen Redfang saw the axe spin through the air. He saw the silver flash, the way Reiss recoiled. And the way the Goblin Lord stared dumbfounded down at his severed stump of a hand. He didn’t see the second one coming.

“Look up.”

The leader of the Redfang Tribe growled. But he was sitting on his Carn Wolf, separated by tens of thousands of confused, screaming Goblins. Too far to shout a warning even if he had been so inclined. And he wasn’t. Reiss was his enemy. He served the Necromancer.

But still, he couldn’t die like that. Garen saw Reiss look about. The second whirling axe missed him by what had to be a foot. Garen saw Reiss jerk in surprise. He stared at the Hob who had thrown the axe and nearly fell from his seat on the undead spider. Garen looked too.

Pyrite, the former Goldstone Chieftain, the second-in-command of the Flooded Waters tribe, turned. Garen saw him say something to the huge muscle-bound Hob, Eater of Spears. He reached for his battleaxe. Too late. Eater of Spears grabbed him, roaring with fury, and hurled Pyrite through the crowd of Goblins. Garen watched as Pyrite slammed into the ground.

“Mistake. Should have killed. Snap neck.”

He commented to one of the Redfangs sitting on a Carn Wolf next to him. The scarred veteran Goblin grimaced and nodded. He was named Spiderslicer and was Garen’s second. He had been the third-strongest Redfang in the tribe, but with Redscar’s absence, he was now second. And he clearly resented it.

Spiderslicer frowned into the mass of panicking Goblins. One of them wasn’t just staring. Redscar and the traitorous warriors around him had seen the [Deathbolt] spell and Reiss’ treachery. They were charging towards the Goblin Lord, but there were thousands of the black-armored Goblins in the way. Spiderslicer stared at Redscar and looked at Garen. He fingered the thin, deadly falchion at his side.

“We going in, Chieftain?”

He clearly wanted to settle the old score between him and Redscar. Not only had the other Goblin beaten him time and time again, but he had abandoned his tribe for Rags, leaving Spiderslicer eternally second-best. Garen watched as both the Flooded Waters tribe and Reiss’s army became a confused melee. He shook his head.

“Not yet. We watch.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Spiderslicer nodded sourly. He relayed Garen’s orders, bellowing at the other Redfangs milling about. The warriors grunted, but didn’t respond—Spiderslicer was not Redscar, and lacked the other Goblin’s leadership qualities.

Garen eyed his Redfangs, sitting and watching with half an eye as both tribes began attacking each other. His Carn Wolf flicked its ears and growled, but didn’t move about restlessly. Nor did the Redfangs, for all they clearly wanted to join the fray. They were disciplined, albeit overeager for a fight. They hadn’t done any fighting since the siege of Tremborag’s mountain. A few Eater Goats didn’t count.

But Garen didn’t intend to draw his sword. Not now. He stared at Reiss and Rags. The small Goblin Chieftain had retreated, swaying, as her Carn Wolf tried to carry her to safety. The animal was intelligent—it bounded away as the Goblin Lord’s personal escort of Hobs tried to bring it down, howling and surrounding their leader. Garen watched Rags clinging to the wolf’s back. He had given her that wolf after she’d refused the rare, albino pup he’d offered her.

“Stupid Rags.”

Garen gritted his teeth. He wasn’t riding to her aid. And neither was he going to try and kill Reiss. There were too many Goblins between him and the Goblin Lord. Besides—Garen cast an eye to the north. Even Reiss and the Necromancer weren’t the biggest problem.

The Human army had halted for the Eater Goats attack. They’d been on the march, but this sudden battle between the Goblins had caught them off-guard. Garen could see them milling about, waiting for their leader, Tyrion Veltras, to make a decision.

“Stupid Human [Lord].”

Garen had seen the Human. He’d watched him fight. And—it was hard to admit—Garen had realized Tyrion was stronger than he was. By just a bit. He had enchanted gear like an adventurer, and his Skills had overwhelmed even Tremborag. And he had his army.

So long as he was watching, Garen would stay where he was. Besides, this battle was to his advantage. Garen turned back to stare at the battlefield.

See. Rags was retreating, shouting at her warriors who were trying to move into their formations. But the Goblin Lord’s army was besieging them, and Rags’ tribe was patchwork. Tremborag’s Goblins fought, but without the discipline and cohesion that made her tribe strong. And all her lieutenants were too far away from her.

Pyrite was retreating from Eater of Spears. Redscar was fighting, caught in Reiss’ forces, pressing them back, but mired. Poisonbite was screaming. She and Snapjaw had been riding together and now she was fighting with Snapjaw as the Hob’s horse reared in panic. And Reiss was looking down. For what? His hand?

He could die here. Garen watched, seeing Rags scream and point at the Goblin Lord. She was weak, pale, but at her command the Goblins with crossbows around her aimed at her target. The Goblin Lord looked up—threw himself from the back of the Shield Spider. Hundreds of bolts struck the undead Shield Spider, which recoiled, but didn’t fall.

Reiss could die here. Rags could kill him. Garen gripped the hilt of his sword. If Reiss died it was good. If Rags died, he would lead the Goblins against Reiss. Against the Necromancer.

And if Rags died, he would control her tribe. They wouldn’t go to Reiss. They hated him. They should have gone to Garen to begin with. Ulvama, Tremborag’s lieutenants…why had they turned to Rags instead of him?

Garen was angry. Furious. He hated Reiss because he was a traitor, because he had given his soul to a monster. He hated Rags because she had betrayed him, because she had taken his tribe and because they had gone to her. He hated the Humans because they were treacherous. And sometimes he hated himself.

Why was he here? Why had everything gone wrong? Garen remembered smiling faces. Laughter. Friends, or people he’d thought were friends.

His team. His first…tribe. The Halfseekers. And then—living in the mountains. Forming his own tribe, making them strong. It had all been so simple. And now it wasn’t. Now—Garen stared across the battlefield. He wanted to act. He was a warrior. But he couldn’t find a place to join in. He was not on Rags’ side. He was not on Reiss’.

He was alone.

 

—-

 

Flying hurt. Landing hurt more. Pyrite wished he’d fallen on his back, or at the very least, been tossed in a more vertical arc. If he’d been thrown down, he could have landed on his back, stared dizzily at the sky, and then gotten up.

Instead, he felt himself strike the ground, roll, cutting his back and shoulders open as he landed on several armed Goblins. Wearing armor. Holding weapons. The impact lacerated Pyrite’s flesh. The rolling impact tore more from him. He didn’t bother staring at the sky—when the world stopped moving, he stared face-down at a pile of torn-up dirt. Then he pushed himself up.

“Ow.”

Battleaxe. Where was…? It was still holstered on his back. Pyrite grunted. He freed it from its sheathe and looked around.

Goblins in black armor stared at him. Eater of Spears had thrown Pyrite into the ranks of his own army. The Hob blinked. The Goblins uncertainly raised their weapons. Some of them looked around.

“Kill traitors!”

A Hob—not Pyrite, one of Reiss’ Hobs—bellowed and pointed at Pyrite. He’d seen the entire thing. But some of the Goblin Lord’s warriors still hesitated. Half of them hadn’t even seen Reiss’ betrayal. They were supposed to attack their allies? But a Hob was a Hob, so they began to approach.

Pyrite grunted. He swung his battleaxe at the nearest three Goblins, putting his weight behind it. He felt the axe slice through one of the Goblins, and then another. The third screamed as the blow tore open his chest.

The other Goblins stared in horror at the three. They looked at Pyrite. The Hob staggered with the force of his swing. Then he swung, backhanded. More Goblins died. He roared and the Goblins backed up.

Treachery. Pyrite looked around. He could see his tribe fighting now, skirmishing with Reiss’ army. But where was Rags? Pyrite turned back and saw the Hob charging at him, sword and shield in hand. He bellowed and Pyrite swung the tip of his enchanted axe into the dirt. The axe head ignited as it struck earth and grass and a plume of smoke billowed up. The Hob recoiled. Pyrite tore up with his axe and the Hob fell back, cut from groin to chest.

Where was Rags? Pyrite whirled. The smaller Goblins backed up. Pyrite cast about, saw a familiar giant spider. He charged towards it, bellowing and swinging his axe. Most of the Goblins before him scattered. But a few were brave or suicidal. They attacked Pyrite and he cut them down.

Reach. Strength. Speed. Greydath had taught him how to fight. With a greatsword, with a battleaxe, you could cut down almost anyone before they got to you. And Pyrite’s was enchanted. Flesh, steel, it didn’t matter. The weapon bit through both and the flames burned whatever it struck.

Death. Pyrite cut through the ranks of Reiss’ army. Goblins fled or died. He stared at their faces. They hadn’t asked for this. They hadn’t tried to hurt him. But their leader had betrayed his honor. And so they had to die.

Later, Pyrite would think on what he did. For now—Rags. He looked around. Where? There.

She was clinging to her Carn Wolf, face pale, but still shouting orders. She was trying to organize her army in the chaos. And Reiss was on the ground as his elite Hobs pressed Rags’ warriors back. He was looking for something. His missing hand. Pyrite bared his teeth. He heard a shout and turned his head.

Pyrite! Get to Chieftain!

Redscar shouted above the chaos. He and Pyrite were separated by about a thousand Goblins. The Redfangs were attacking from the flanks, driving Reiss’ warriors back. Without them there, the Goblin Lord’s army would envelop the Flooded Waters tribe. Redscar pointed and Pyrite nodded. He began to run—then heard a roar from behind him.

Few things scared Pyrite. He had fought Trolls and other monsters before. He’d seen Greydath angry and had witnessed Tremborag’s furious beast form. But as the Hob looked over his shoulder, he added another image to haunt his nightmares.

Eater of Spears. The Hob sprayed spit as he opened his mouth and bellowed. His gargantuan body flexed as he ran towards Pyrite. His eyes were locked on the smaller Hob and his mouth was open. He was coming. Pyrite stared for a second and then began to run.

You! YOU!

Eater of Spears was throwing Goblins aside, charging at him, heedless of who was in the way. Allies and enemies scattered as the huge Hob came onwards. Pyrite cast a glance over his shoulder, heart thundering wildly. He wasn’t going to reach Rags in time. He had to turn and fight. He did not want to turn and fight. Eater of Spears wouldn’t go down from a single swing. And if he got his hands on Pyrite, he’d tear Pyrite’s head off this time, rather than just throw him.

He was coming. Pyrite had to turn. The Hob looked around for something, anything that would give him an edge. He patted his belt. Healing potions. His bag of gemstones—could he eat one? No, the magic wouldn’t slow that. He braced himself, raising his battleaxe. He had to go for a leg and run—

Eater of Spears was flexing his hands, lowering himself for a leaping charge. Pyrite braced—and saw a row of Goblins run in front of him. He nearly cut them down, and then realized they weren’t wearing black armor. Eater of Spears pulled up as, suddenly, he was looking at a row of metal-tipped pikes. Aiming at his chest.

“Hold ground! Stop big Hob!”

A voice shouted from behind Pyrite. He whirled and saw Noears, pointing as more Goblins with pikes formed a second layer in front of him and Eater of Spears. The muscular Hob bellowed in fury and Reiss’ warriors tried to close in, but more and more of Rags’ Goblins poured forwards, fighting or setting up a longer line of pikes.

“Noears!”

Pyrite could have hugged the Goblin [Mage]. Noears grinned. He raised a hand and crackling electricity began to gather in his palm. He pointed at Rags.

“You go. We stay!”

Pyrite hesitated. Eater of Spears was roaring, knocking aside pikes and coming onwards. But Noears was drawing more electricity out of the air. He pointed at Eater of Spears. The Hob was too furious to notice, until he saw the flash. He stopped, raised his arms—

Noears shot a bolt of lightning and the sound it made as it struck Eater of Spears made all the Goblins around Pyrite duck. The Goblins with pikes ran back as Eater of Spears staggered. His flesh was black and charred and his body jerked as the electricity grounded itself through him. But even that couldn’t fell the Hob. He stumbled forwards. Noears turned.

“Run, run!”

He pointed as more electricity gathered around his fingers. Pyrite didn’t hesitate. He ran as Eater of Spears bellowed and Noears shot more lightning.

Now Rags’ tribe was forming a battle line. Pyrite ran through his allies as they fought with Reiss’ warriors—Goblins they had just been laughing and marching with. Newfound friends died and Goblins without weapons on both sides fled backwards, screaming in fear.

No one had expected this. No one but Reiss. And Pyrite. And even he had been surprised at the speed of the betrayal. It was unexpected. Not-Goblin. Surely not even Tremborag would have betrayed his allies so suddenly. They had joined forces! Doing something like this—it was something a Human would do. And that was Reiss’ fault. He was too much like his master.

And look what it caused. Pyrite caught flashes as he ran through the battlefield, cursing his weight and the battleaxe that slowed him down. He saw Redscar fighting, trying to hold off the bulk of Reiss’ army before it could bring its superior numbers to bear. He heard more thunder as Noears dueled Eater of Spears. And he saw another tragedy play out to his left.

A fallen horse. A Hob with a head that was too large and huge, metal teeth. Snapjaw. Her mount was dead, stabbed in the sides by poisoned daggers. And facing her, tears in her eyes, was a small Goblin with a pair of daggers.

Poisonbite had unhorsed Snapjaw. Now the two female Goblins were facing off, Poisonbite using her female raiders as backup while Snapjaw fought with her riders.

Tears. Betrayal. Treachery. Someone had to answer for it. And Pyrite knew who. He reached Reiss, at last and saw a line of Rags’ warriors in their scrap armor battling with Reiss’ Hobs, who were advancing despite the crossbow bolts hammering them. And behind them, holding something to the severed stump of his right arm, was Reiss.

Pyrite slowed, breathing hard. He saw Rags, riding backwards, ordering her own Hobs forwards to hold the line. He couldn’t hear her voice over the roar in his ears. All his attention was on Reiss. Rags couldn’t fight him. He was a Goblin Lord with death magic and she—

What was he doing? Pyrite stared at the thing Reiss was holding. Then he saw. It was his hand. The severed hand was pressed against Reiss’ bleeding stump. And the bone was moving. As Pyrite watched, Reiss took his hand away. The severed hand stayed in place. He’d fused the bone somehow. And he was uncorking a healing potion, pouring it over the wound and pressing his hand to the mending bone.

He was reattaching his hand as he ordered his warriors to surround Rags! Pyrite spared one moment to curse [Necromancers] and healing potions and then he lifted his battleaxe. He couldn’t feel the weight. He couldn’t feel the pain from his injuries, or hear anything. All he could focus on was Reiss. He had to end it here. He had to do it. He ran forwards. He might have been screaming. He saw Reiss look up and was rewarded by a glimpse of fear in the Goblin Lord’s black eyes.

Reiss!

The Goblin Lord raised his hand as he backed up.

“[Bone Wall]!”

Yellow bones sprang from the ground, knitting together, rising and forming a pattern, a wall several feet thick that grew up between him and Pyrite. The Hob roared as he swung his axe.

The enchanted edge of his battleaxe sliced through the bone wall, igniting the bones. The second blow hacked bone fragments out of the wall, which quickly began to vanish. Reiss backed up as Pyrite struck the wall a third time and then rammed the wall. The weakened spots caved in as the entire assembly of bones cracked. Reiss looked around.

“Hold him back!”

The Hobs turned towards Pyrite. They advanced towards him, trying to shield themselves as Rags shouted and more crossbows loosed deadly bolts at them from the side. A Hob fell, a crossbow quarrel in his cheek. Another groaned as one struck him in the shoulder, penetrating his armor, but came on regardless. Pyrite buried his axe in his chest and charged at the others.

A Hob in black armor tried to block him, thrusting a spear at Pyrite’s shoulder. The steel tip pierced the Hob’s flesh, tore skin and drew blood. Pyrite ignored the wound and brought the battleaxe down, bellowing. The Hob in black armor’s head disappeared and Pyrite roared again.

“[Deathbolt]!”

Pyrite turned. He saw the black, flickering light shooting at his chest and raised his battleaxe. The [Deathbolt] glanced off the enchanted battleaxe, splashing harmlessly against the magicked metal. Reiss lowered his hand.

“How—”

He leapt backwards, nearly falling as Pyrite took a swing at him. Again he shot a [Deathbolt] and again Pyrite blocked it.

Armor was no good against that magic. Shielding spells would fail. But if you held a piece of metal out far enough or stood behind a tree, the [Deathbolt] would dissipate before it reached you. Pyrite charged Reiss, bodily checking a Hob who tried to seize him. And Reiss retreated.

The Flooded Waters tribe battled the Goblin Lord’s army. Friend versus friend. Former allies fighting, not knowing why, only that someone had betrayed the other. It was all chaos and confusion. But like a magnet, the conflict at the center of both tribes drew attention. Goblins turned.

They saw the Goblin Lord, shooting magic at a Hob with a flaming battleaxe. They saw him retreating, falling back. Reiss’ warriors faltered. The Flooded Waters tribe cheered and pressed forwards. It wasn’t Rags, their Chieftain who advanced. But it was someone they recognized. Someone they knew. Pyrite roared as he charged the Goblin Lord, and Rags held the Goblin Lord’s Hobs back. Reiss retreated, running.

Running.

 

—-

 

He was losing. Garen stared in disbelief. Reiss was stumbling backwards, casting his death magic as Pyrite came on. But it was futile. The other Hob was pausing to block, using his battleaxe as a shield. Garen had no idea you could block death magic like that. But the enchanted axe was broad and so long as Pyrite was that close, Reiss was in danger every time Pyrite swung his axe.

Garen saw Reiss point at the ground. He couldn’t hear Reiss, but he saw one of the fallen Hobs rise back upwards. It lunged at Pyrite. The Hob turned and saw the Ghoul. He brought his axe down and split the undead in two. He whirled—more undead were rising. Reiss frantically backpedalled, trying to claim any distance, but Pyrite swung his axe and the undead died just as fast. He advanced and Garen clenched his fists.

“No. Idiot! Make more walls!”

What was Reiss doing? Undead would slow a warrior like Pyrite down for only moments. At least the bone walls bought time. Why didn’t he order his undead spider forwards? Headless or not, it could at least block Pyrite!

One of the Redfang warriors glanced at Garen and he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t Reiss’ ally. He wanted Reiss to lose. Right? Right. But this wasn’t the Reiss that Garen knew. He was panicking.

Small wonder. Reiss ducked as Pyrite nearly took his head off with a horizontal slice that took down a Hob. Even with his bodyguards, Reiss was being pressured. By one Hob! Rags was sending her warriors forwards, distracting his other warriors, but still—

“Who is he?”

Garen stared at Pyrite. When he’d first met the Goldstone Chieftain, he had seemed so…ordinary. So normal. Why had he been hiding his true abilities in his tribe for so long? Why hadn’t he tried to become a powerful Chieftain? Why was he like—

Greydath? Garen watched Pyrite parry a blow from a Goblin and kick them in the groin. He wasn’t as strong as Greydath. Or as fast. But he fought a bit like him. Could he kill Reiss? He was advancing. And then Reiss made a mistake. As he stepped backwards, throwing bone shards that cut open Pyrite’s arms and chest, he collided with a Hob engaged in fighting behind him. Reiss half-turned—and Pyrite lunged.

The Hob swung his battleaxe, shards of bone protruding from his arms. And Reiss staggered.  Garen saw a charred line open on his chest and blood begin to pour down. Pyrite had been too far away for a fatal cut. But the Goblin Lord stared at the blood in shock as Pyrite was tackled by two Hobs. He staggered back, reaching for a potion as Pyrite fought both Hobs off him. Garen watched Reiss moving back, eyes wide, stumbling.

He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t. He was going to win, Garen was sure. Even if Pyrite was in range, even if he was a [Warrior] and Reiss was a [Mage]. Even if—

He was a Goblin Lord. He was Reiss. He couldn’t lose to anyone but Garen.

Could he?

 

—-

 

He was bleeding. Reiss felt the searing pain run down his chest. He looked up and saw him standing there.

“Stop moving.”

Reiss couldn’t obey the words. He forced himself to leap backwards and duck away, pulling himself with his hands. The Goblin behind him took the blow. He—she—fell, dead. Reiss had not known whoever it was. But they had answered his call.

They were dying. For his sake. His brave warriors. And he was running. Retreating. From a single Hob.

Pyrite strode forwards. Reiss ducked behind a pair of struggling Hobs, robes covered in mud and watched Pyrite’s head turn. Spells ran through his mind, one after another. Raise Draug? No. Blindness? He had to touch Pyrite. Bloodbats? The Hob could probably survive one casting.

He was too close. Each time Reiss tried to get away, Pyrite lunged at him. And each time he got nearer to ending Reiss for good. He ignored Reiss’ spells. His flesh was lacerated from a spray of bone shards. He’d taken wounds from Reiss’ bodyguards. Half the skin on his back was torn off from being thrown by Eater of Spears.

And still he came on. Indomitable. In that moment Reiss hated and admired Pyrite for everything he was. He was what Goblins could be. He was a leader.

But Reiss couldn’t die here. He’d sacrificed too much. Too much. He’d slaughtered innocent Drakes and Gnolls, killed his own kind. For what? For his dream. And if he let it end here, it would be for nothing.

So Reiss waited, crouched, as Pyrite cast about. Another Hob approached Pyrite, swinging a mace at his side. Pyrite turned, roared.

[Power Strike]!

Reiss felt the impact. And another of his warriors was gone, like that. The other Hobs were afraid to approach. They could not see him. Reiss could feel his entire army wavering. They had seen him run.

But what was he supposed to do? Reiss closed his eyes. He had to fight. But this enemy was—

Undefeatable? Indestructible? Overwhelming? Reiss looked back at Pyrite. The Hob was roaring, challenging Reiss.

No. He was mortal. But his image called to mind another figure. Not here. But as Reiss looked at Pyrite, he recalled.

A swell in the fighting opened up a gap behind him. Reiss looked at it. He could run. Pyrite had lost him. He could run and let the other Goblins bring him down, or Snapjaw. Or Eater of Spears. But he couldn’t, could he?

“No running. A Lord cannot run from a Goblin.”

But he, Reiss, couldn’t win. Not at this distance. So Reiss could not fight. Someone else would have to. And Reiss knew who.

Memory. The Goblin Lord turned. He gripped his reattached hand with his other one and muttered, pulling the mana out of his body. Remember. He needed to remember. And it was easy. How could he forget?

“[Bone Claws]. [Fortified Body]. [Draug Strength].”

Pyrite heard the spellcasting. He saw Reiss stand. His eyes narrowed and he braced, but none of the spells were aimed at him. He blinked as the Goblin Lord stepped forwards. White bone had grown around the tips of Reiss’ fingers, on his hands. Sharp, wicked talons. And Reiss’s body felt stronger. He was taller, for a moment.

Reiss walked forwards, abandoning his fear. He flexed his claws and beckoned to Pyrite. The Goblin Lord wore a wide smile despite the blood running down his chest. Around him, Goblins turned. They saw their Lord and drew strength from the sight of him.

A Lord had to be strong. A Goblin Lord had to be a hero. Reiss spread his arms wide and waited for Pyrite. The Hob hesitated, sensing something was different. But there Reiss was, so Pyrite attacked. He shifted his grip on the battleaxe, then swung fast and low, aiming for Reiss’ legs. At the last moment he twisted and cut diagonally up.

Reiss ducked backwards from the blade, then rushed forwards. But Pyrite had been expecting that. He punched as he let go of the battleaxe with one hand. The blow was fast. It caught Reiss on the cheek, snapped his head back.

“Ow.”

It hurt. But it was just a punch. Reiss staggered, then rammed Pyrite. His claws came up. One slash opened up Pyrite’s chest, a shallow wound. The second cut across his arm. Both cuts drew blood. Pyrite howled in pain and surprise and swung again. But his battleaxe was slow. Reiss danced back, light as a feather. The tip of the axe barely missed his stomach. But it did miss.

Pyrite felt at his chest. His eyes narrowed and he lashed out with his axe. Reiss stepped forwards, but the blow was a feint. It came back at him from the side. Too quick to dodge. So Reiss leapt and Pyrite had to move back or the claws would take out his throat. He did, and Reiss cut him.

Left, right, left—his claws cut across Pyrite’s chest and arms, shredding armor, tearing flesh. Pyrite struck at him. Reiss was gone. The Goblin Lord danced back and grinned. Pyrite stared at him. Reiss beckoned him again. Blood spattered the ground.

 

—-

 

“Who?”

Garen watched Reiss charge Pyrite. He watched the Goblin Lord attack, and cut Pyrite. One-two, fast slashes that opened up Pyrite’s arms, bled him. The Hob tried to cut Reiss in half with his battleaxe and received a kick to the stomach. A heavy one. Reiss punched him, backed up before Pyrite could cut him, and raised a fist. The Goblins around him roared.

“Chieftain.”

The Redfang warriors looked at Garen, equal parts surprised and uneasy. They saw it too. Garen shook his head.

“Who is he?”

Reiss faced Pyrite again, not trying to take his distance. And he was different. The way he fought, the way he moved was different. Garen watched, blinking, confused. Reiss had always been good at learning. At copying others. He had even copied Garen’s way of fighting with a sword. He could do it with anyone. But who was he mimicking now?

 

—-

 

Pyrite didn’t know. The Flooded Waters tribe didn’t understand. But Reiss did. His warriors saw it. They roared as Reiss turned and raised a fist. Bloody claws opened. He pointed at Pyrite. And when he stood, when he smiled, he was not him.

He was playing a part. Calling a memory into life.

An echo of a giant. A fearless smile. Reiss grabbed Pyrite’s arm as the Hob tried to bring his axe to bear and caught the other arm. Pyrite tried to kick. Reiss kicked him back and then head-butted Pyrite. His forehead collided with Pyrite’s and both Goblins stumbled back. But Reiss kept coming.

How would he do it? He’d never retreat. He’d punch like this, smile here. He wouldn’t fall back. He’d keep coming until he was dead. Stronger. Faster. Pyrite stumbled back, on the defensive. His eyes were wide and he was trying to keep up. But he wasn’t fighting Reiss. He was fighting a shadow of someone else.

A fearless Drake. A [General of the Line]. A hero of the Antinium Wars. Tidebreaker.

Zel Shivertail.

Reiss roared as he shoulder-charged Pyrite. He was smaller, but the impact still pushed Pyrite. He slashed across Pyrite’s chest. The other Hob struck him. This time the blow made Reiss’ ribs creak. So Reiss hit him back. Pyrite slid backwards in the mud. He clutched at his battleaxe and stared at Reiss.

“How?”

The Goblin Lord was breathing hard. Focus. He flexed his claws. His voice rasped.

“I have had greater enemies than you.”

Pyrite looked at Reiss. Then, slowly, he abandoned his battleaxe. He tossed it to one side and raised his fists. Then he nodded.

“Probably.”

The two said nothing else. They waited a beat, then came at each other. Reiss hit Pyrite first. The Hob hit him back and Reiss staggered.

Heavy. Pyrite knocked Reiss back. Without magic, without enchantments. His fists felt like falling mountains. But Reiss punched back. Pyrite was strong. As strong as any Goblin that Reiss had met. But he lacked one thing. He didn’t know—

A blow across the face. Pyrite grabbed Reiss’ neck, tried to twist. The Goblin Lord roared.

He didn’t know what it meant to be a Lord. He broke Pyrite’s grip. Claws tearing flesh. Pyrite raised his fists. Reiss was faster. Was it Zel who punched or him?

The first punch stopped Pyrite in his tracks. The second made the entire Hob’s body shudder with the impact. The third lifted his feet off the ground. Reiss felt Pyrite’s ribs break.

The Goblin Lord hurled Pyrite back. The Hob fell and rolled. He tried to get up. But it was done. Reiss roared and his warriors screamed as they raised their weapons. The Flooded Waters tribe stared at Pyrite. Rags looked at her champion, disbelieving.

Pyrite was getting up. He had a small sack in his hands and he was reaching into it. Reiss whirled. Time to end this.

“You should have stayed down.”

The Hob paused. He looked at Reiss and sighed.

“Can’t.”

Pyrite lurched forwards, raising something to his mouth. A healing potion? But Reiss had taken a position across from him. The Goblin Lord raised a finger and aimed at Pyrite’s chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

The magic shot through Pyrite. It left a dark trail in the air, and passed through Pyrite before dissipating. A line of pitch-black. A moment of death.

Color ran from Pyrite’s face. He gritted his teeth and moved forwards. He had no axe. He was torn. But he charged Reiss. The Goblin Lord sighed.

“[Deathbolt].”

The second bolt brought Pyrite to his knees. The Goblin Lord stared down at Pyrite. He heard a scream. He looked up and met Rags’ eyes. She was riding towards him, aiming a crossbow at his chest. She pulled the trigger. The bolt went wide. Reiss met her eyes and looked back at Pyrite. The Hob looked up and met his eyes.

“I am sorry.”

Pyrite gritted his teeth and said nothing. He tried to stand—he pulled at the ground. But for once his body betrayed him. He slumped, staring up at Reiss. The Goblin Lord pointed down at him.

“[Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt].”

Four times. Four black streaks of magic shot from Reiss’ fingertip. Pyrite jerked. Rags screamed. The Hob froze, half-risen. Reiss stared into his eyes. He watched something drain away. A bright spark, quiet intelligence. A smile.

“[Deathbolt].”

A final streak of black magic shot through Pyrite, but it didn’t matter. The Hob was already collapsing. Reiss stepped back, staring. He was sure Pyrite was dead. Almost completely sure. But still he waited.

The Hob didn’t get up. He lay there, slumped forwards on the ground. There was no last surge of life. No dying flame. He was gone. Just like that. And the wail that arose from the Flooded Waters tribe was despair and grief incarnate.

Gone. Reiss closed his eyes and felt the world grey out around him. He felt like collapsing. Drained.

No, he had to stand. The Goblin Lord fumbled at his belt. He found a bottle. A mana potion. He drank from it and wiped his mouth. Then he turned and aimed at Rags. She was staring at Pyrite in shock. For a moment Reiss’ heart pinched.

“[Bloodbat Swarm].”

Glowing black bats with red eyes shot through the air. They took wings and arced towards Rags. She jerked. Her crossbow raised. Her Carn Wolf reared. It bounded back, but the magical bats struck it in the side. Tearing. Absorbing blood. Rags screamed as the Carn Wolf howled and tried to shake itself. Reiss’ warriors were running at her. The Goblin Lord aimed at her chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

 

—-

 

The black magic shot across the battlefield. It passed over the heads of Reiss’ warriors, past the running Hobs. It was a good shot. Reiss had always been good with spells. But this time he missed. The [Deathbolt] didn’t strike Rags. It was aimed at her, but the wolf she rode caught it instead. The Carn Wolf had been howling, throwing off the bloodbats conjured by the spell, trying to shake them off. Perhaps in desperation it leapt—

And the spell struck it in the side.

The Carn Wolf landed, bleeding weakly. Garen watched it stumble. He saw Rags slide from the saddle, grabbing at the wolf’s fur as it lay down. It would have been easy to pretend it had taken the spell meant for her. But it hadn’t. It curled up and the little Goblin clutched at it. Crying, trying to get it to rise.

It was useless. The Carn Wolf, the faithful creature that had born Rags since Garen had given it to her, died. Garen watched as it sank to the ground. The Hob clenched one hand. Rags had refused to name it. Refused to become a [Beast Tamer].

She clung to it as it lay on the ground. Garen saw her look up. Reiss’ warriors were charging. Rags’ tribe surged around her, making a stand. But their spirits were broken. Pyrite was dead. And Rags was—

The two sides met in a roar. Rags disappeared from sight. On his Carn Wolf, Redscar turned. He roared and his warriors charged towards her. Noears whirled, standing in front of the kneeling Eater of Spears. Poisonbite looked around.

Chieftain!

Garen waited. He saw Reiss aiming for the same spot he was looking. The place where Rags had been. Goblins fought in a bloody melee, sliding back and forth, smaller Goblins fighting Hobs. Hobgoblins gutting each other, killing their brethren. Seconds passed. A minute. Then both sides fell back, leaving the dead.

When the clash ended, Goblins lay strewn on the ground by the hundreds, lying in piles, where they had died. Blood painted the ground. And Rags was gone.

Garen waited for her to appear. He looked for her at the same time Reiss did, searching for a small figure among the retreating warriors. On the ground. But he couldn’t see her. Neither could Reiss.

Neither could her tribe. They all searched for her, breathless. Waiting. But Rags did not appear. A groan ran through her tribe. They wavered. And then they broke and ran.

It began with Tremborag’s Goblins. His former tribe broke formation abandoning their places, shouting.

“Chieftain is dead! Chieftain is dead!

The other Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe hesitated. But as hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of Goblins streamed past them, their nerve left them. They began to run as well.

They’d lost. It wasn’t the first time Garen had seen a tribe break up after their Chieftain had fallen. But this one—he watched, jaw clenched. The Goblins were all running now, as Reiss’ army advanced.

Some threw down their weapons and surrendered. Others just turned to flee. Reiss’ soldiers pursued them, forcing Goblins to submit, join the tribe, or die. In pockets the fighting still continued, but it went only one way.

“Betrayer! Cowards!”

Redscar’s voice echoed as the former Redfang lieutenant tried to rally the Goblins to him. He was pulling back. He had no choice. But he had not surrendered. Garen saw him pointing, shouting orders. His warriors formed a screen, held back Reiss’ warriors as more of the tribe flocked around him. That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They were supposed to either flee or submit to Reiss. But this wasn’t an ordinary battle between Chieftains.

“Now.”

Garen kicked his Carn Wolf in the side. The wolf looked up, and then bounded forwards. Garen heard Spiderslicer shout and his tribe streamed forwards. Not towards Reiss, but towards the running Goblins.

Flooded Waters tribe!

The Goblins screamed and halted as Garen rode towards them. But the Redfang Chieftain did not draw his blade. He raised a fist as Rags’ shattered tribe stopped. Staring up at him. Garen shouted.

Join me! Fight Goblin Lord! Follow!”

Redscar froze. Poisonbite, Noears—the Goblins of Rags’ tribe halted in place. Tremborag’s former Goblins. All of them stared up at Garen. He waited. Now they would come. He waited and waited and waited—

And they began to run. Not towards him, but around him. Garen stared in disbelief.

“Wait—”

Goblins streamed to the left and to the right, avoiding his tribe. His warriors stared, the Carn Wolves growling uncertainly. Countless thousands of Goblins ran past Garen, fleeing Reiss’ soldiers. Garen looked for Redscar, but the other Goblin was shouting orders. Trying to lead Rags’ tribe. Not going towards him. Poisonbite and Noears were doing the same.

They’d refused him. He was Garen Redfang. But they still turned away. Garen sat on his Carn Wolf as the Goblins streamed past him. They were running.

“Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer’s uncertain voice made Garen look up. He saw Reiss’ soldiers advancing. And behind them, the Human army. They’d witnessed the conclusion of the battle and now they were advancing. They weren’t going to let the Goblins run.

For a moment, Garen felt a surge of despair rise in his chest. Then—reckless anger replaced it. So that was it? He turned and drew his sword.

Redfang!

The bellow made his warriors look up. Some of his former Redfangs, the ones around Redscar, turned. Garen waved his sword.

Redfangs, follow! We ride!

The call was familiar. Urgent. And this time, it worked. Some of his warriors streamed towards him. But the ones around Redscar did not. The smaller Goblin looked at Garen and bared his teeth. He pointed and shouted in fury. Despair.

Run!

And so he did. Redscar fled, and Garen looked back towards Reiss’ army as well. He growled, and then pointed south. He was done with Reiss. Done with all of this.

He was going home.

 

—-

 

They were all running. Reiss staggered to his undead spider, pulled himself up. He was injured, exhausted. He could barely crawl up the spider’s back, and there he lay for a moment.

Reiss!

A familiar voice below him made Reiss look down. He saw Snapjaw riding towards him. She was riding a different horse than her beloved grey mare. Reiss stared down at her.

“Snapjaw. I won.”

It didn’t feel like a victory. Reiss looked about. He could see the entire battlefield and all he saw were dead Goblins. Dead Goblins, and fleeing Goblins.

The Flooded Waters tribe was running. They’d refused to join him. The core of Rags’ tribe, the loyal ones were fleeing south. But the new additions, the former Tremborag Goblins weren’t as committed.

Some, yes, some of Tremborag’s tribe joined the fleeing Goblins. But more and more surrendered, joining Reiss’ tribe. And a few just…left. They ran in every direction, ignoring both the fleeing Goblins heading south and Reiss’ army. They were truly broken. Gone.

“We won. Big victory! Reiss! You need healing potion. You, get [Healer]!”

Snapjaw was talking urgently to the Hobs around Reiss. The Goblin Lord shook his head. He stared at the running Goblins. The Flooded Waters tribe, the real tribe, was still in one piece. They were still moving, running even without their Chieftain.

Even without her? Reiss’ eyes narrowed. They were moving…fast. Outdistancing even his mounted warriors, who were being slowed up by all of Tremborag’s surrendering Goblins. Too fast.

“She’s alive.”

“What?”

Snapjaw was circling his spider with her horse. Reiss looked down at her. It had to be that.

Rags! She is still alive. Find her. Kill her.”

The female Hob’s mouth fell open. She looked around.

Where?

Reiss didn’t know. He stared at the place Rags had been. Just dead bodies. But maybe—

“Search dead. Chase the running Goblins! She is out there somewhere. Kill her!”

“Yes, Lord!”

Snapjaw shot away, riding on her mount and screaming orders. Reiss saw Eater of Spears, stumbling towards him, chest blackened with the damage from Noears’ spells, turn. Reiss’ army began to assault the Flooded Waters tribe from behind. Reiss clenched his jaw. He saw the tribe fleeing. Garen was running too. He’d left sometime during the battle. Why hadn’t he joined Rags?

It didn’t matter. Fast as they were, the Flooded Waters tribe wasn’t getting away. They had fought a bloody battle against his army, but they had forgotten they were being watched. As he stared south, he saw a line of silver charge the green figures from the side. Cutting them off.

Humans.

 

—-

 

“Charge the Goblins! Force them back until Lord Veltras can send reinforcements! [Knights], on me!”

The [Commander] in charge of the advance group raced his mount through the lines of Goblins. Two thousand riders followed him, cutting down Goblins, trying to force them back. His was the forward scouting group, meant to deter the Goblins from advancing too far. The [Commander] had seen the fleeing Goblins and was trying to stop them until reinforcements could arrive.

It was a futile effort. The Humans hacked down Goblin after Goblin, but the panicked mass of running Goblins were too frightened to stop. Some fought the Humans; the rest just ran around them.

Stop them!

Desperately, the [Commander] cut down a fleeing Hob and then speared a Goblin through the back. The others just ran around his horse which reared, panicked by all the monsters. The [Commander] turned. Where was his relief? Lord Veltras had to have seen—

There. More riders were racing to intercept. This group was far larger. They were on a collision course with the Goblins, [Knights] and [Mages] standing out. They’d break the Goblins and either wipe them out or force them back. The [Commander] smiled in relief—and then lost the smile as he heard a howl. He turned, raising sword and shield in his saddle. A red blade cut the top of his head off. Garen Redfang bounded past him on his Carn Wolf’s back. He stabbed a [Knight] through his unenchanted armor and raised his blade up into the air.

Redfangs! Kill them!

The Humans turned as more wolves howled. Goblins on Carn Wolves screamed and charged them, not part of the fleeing Goblins. The howls from the Carn Wolves made the untrained horses rear, and Garen led his warriors through the Humans on horseback, cutting them down and knocking them from their saddles.

“Grab weapons and move! Follow!”

Garen bellowed at his warriors and led them through the Flooded Waters tribe. Garen bounded out of the chaos of Goblins on foot and saw his Redfang tribe struggling to catch up. He looked ahead and saw the second group of Humans. They were probably six thousand strong? Already they were casting spells, bombarding the Goblins with [Fireballs]. And they’d seen Garen tearing apart their friends.

Kill that Hob!

An authoritative voice shouted and Garen snarled as both arrows and spells began targeting his position. He whistled and his Carn Wolf ran in the direction he pointed. The Humans raced after him, thinking he was heading south. Garen’s warriors knew better. They raced ahead, pretending to be making a break for it. Then Garen turned his head.

“Slaughter Humans!”

He pointed right and his entire tribe turned. The surprised Humans had only a second to react. He could see them waver. Garen’s tribe was about the size of theirs. Surely he was going to run. After all, they were Humans. They had [Knights] and [Mages].

They were dead. The Humans on horseback tried to turn, but Garen roared and his Carn Wolf howled. The poorly-trained horses reared and Garen’s Redfangs raced forwards, led by Garen himself. He was laughing. Garen led the howling Goblins straight towards the advance group. He cut down the first [Mage] he saw, ignoring the man’s scream, and hunted down the female [Commander], then another [Mage]. Then the [Knights].

The Humans were good, but they weren’t a match for his Redfangs. They broke up, fleeing back towards the rest of the Humans as Garen turned, counting his losses. Redfangs looted the dead. Those who’d lost their mounts paused beside their companions, then joined other riders and rode doubled-up, or secured a horse. Garen nodded, and then eyed the fleeing Goblins.

He’d inadvertently given them a chance to flee as well. Not towards the High Passes or away from the mountains. The Human army was galloping to both sides, trying to envelop them. There was only one way the Goblins could go. South, ahead of Reiss’ army. That wasn’t where Garen was headed. He stared west, towards the High Passes. The gaping fissure in the mountains called to him.

“Chieftain! We go home?”

Spiderslicer grinned, blood running down his blade. Garen smiled, but he didn’t order a rush towards the welcoming mountains just yet. He was eying the Human army. They were mad now. Wings of cavalry were breaking off to the left and right, around Reiss’ army. They were trying to contain Reiss and catch up with the running Goblins. Garen wasn’t worried about that. He was more concerned with the vanguard around Tyrion Veltras. They were aimed at Garen, and he didn’t know if he could reach the High Passes before having to turn and fight.

The Carn Wolves were quick, but they couldn’t beat horses on flat ground. Garen knew that. He was calculating how far to go to the High Passes, to safety. If he couldn’t get to the passes in time, he’d take his tribe up the slopes. Carn Wolves could bound up the rocky terrain, while the Humans’ horses couldn’t. They’d have to dodge mage spells though. If they could make a break for the High Passes…

Garen stared at the gaping fissure in the mountains and his eyes caught something. A distant speck, no, many specks moving in the mountain range. His eyes widened and he turned to look back at the Humans and Reiss’ army. They were still cutting down the last of the Flooded Waters tribe that were fleeing, forcing them to submit or die. Garen looked back at the High Passes and shook his head.

“No. We outrun. South!”

Spiderslicer’s jaw dropped, but he didn’t question the orders. Garen was already turning. He pointed south, past the Flooded Waters tribe. He narrowed his eyes as he saw another group of quicker Humans trying to cut them off again. They’d have to fight. But not for long.

“We break through. Come! Show the Humans the strength of Redfang Tribe! Follow me!”

Garen pointed and his tribe rode south. Away from the High Passes. It wasn’t what Garen wanted, but he could always return, loop past Liscor and go back to the passes from the southern side, through Drake territory. Besides, it wasn’t wise to go towards the High Passes at the moment. Even Garen had battles he wasn’t willing to fight.

 

—-

 

Lord Yitton Byres saw the third forward group disappear as the Goblin riders charged into them. He sucked in his breath, but didn’t dare speak. He was riding hard, right behind Tyrion Veltras and an inadvertent comment might cost him his tongue. He did hear curses from those less cautious, and, yes, a stifled cry of pain as someone bit their tongue while they galloped.

“It’s the smaller Goblin tribe! The one on Carn Wolves! They’ve killed [Commander] Geim, [Commander] Helica and [Knight Commander] Sir Meilmen!”

“Unforgivable.”

Lord Tyrion snapped as he stared ahead at the tribe of Goblins. Yitton couldn’t take his eyes off them either. There had to be less than seven thousand of them, but they were all mounted, on the monstrous Carn Wolves or stolen horses. And—they were strong.

The Redfang Tribe was tiny compared to the Goblin Lord’s army. But they’d cut through three groups of riders nearly equal to their size without slowing down. And their chieftain was a monster on his own. He’d killed all three commanders himself.

Yitton Byres had read the reports. He knew who was leading that tribe. Garen Redfang, a Goblin with the most unusual of pasts. A former Gold-rank adventurer who’d proven Goblins couldn’t be trusted. Leader of the Redfang Tribe, a group of notoriety that preyed on travelers from the High Passes. But not an active danger—one that kept to the mountains and rarely troubled populated cities. He had dismissed the Hobgoblin as a lesser threat compared to the Goblin Lord—or Tremborag, the Great Chieftain. And that had been a mistake.

He had never seen Garen Redfang fight. Neither had Tyrion Veltras. Or any of the other Humans riding with him. Now their ignorance was costing them lives.

“Two monsters. Two. First that Great Chieftain, now this one. Have the Goblins been hiding—”

Yitton heard a voice from ahead. One of the [Strategists]. Tyrion Veltras turned his head. He glared at Garen Redfang’s distant form.

“Not for long. [Knights], on me! We will pursue and bring down that Chieftain.”

He clicked his tongue and accelerated. Yitton watched as Tyrion effortlessly pulled ahead—as if he was riding a legendary Pegasus or magical steed in a different class from the horses around him. At his words, a shining lance of [Knights] rode forwards, propelled by the same Skill.

The group that pulled ahead of the main force was about three thousand strong, give or take several hundred. It was small, but elite. The [Knights] in Tyrion’s vanguard wore gilded armor, marking their order and allegiance. They rode ahead, following Tyrion’s back, lances in hand, shields raised. Their gear was enchanted. Not one of them was below Level 20. Most were above Level 30.

Even so, this was a mistake. Yitton raised his voice, praying he wouldn’t bite his tongue.

“Tyrion! Don’t be a fool, man! Let the [Knights] fight that Chieftain! Don’t risk yourself!”

He was outnumbered two-to-one! The rest of his riders were tangled up trying to contain the Goblins. Tyrion Veltras glanced back at Yitton and didn’t respond. Yitton, cursing, tried to catch up, but he had no Skills and might as well tried to fly. He was looking about for Tyrion’s aide, someone who could stop the man. He’d taken a risk with Tremborag and he had been wounded. If Garen Redfang managed to unhorse him or surround him with his tribe—

“Lord Veltras! Lord Veltras! We’re under attack!

A panicked voice called out from the left. Yitton saw a [Scout] racing towards them, trying to catch up. Reluctantly, Tyrion slowed and Yitton managed to force his mount to catch up.

“Report! Where is the attack?”

Tyrion scanned the Goblin army. So did Yitton. Was the Goblin Lord attacking? No, he was pulling his Goblins back. He’d won his battle. Was it Garen? Again, no. He and the other Goblins were just running now. Both [Lords] looked at the frantic young woman. The [Scout] pointed at the High Passes.

“It’s not Goblins! It’s them! They’re back! They’re coming down from the mountains! Tens of thousands of them! I don’t—”

The frantic voice didn’t register with Yitton for a second. He stared blankly at the High Passes. Who was back? Who was—

Then he saw it. They were racing out of the mouth of the passes. Coming down the cliffs. Like last time. Only this group was much, much larger. A wave of brown came out of the High Passes. And as they charged the Humans and Goblins from the side, they began to scream.

Eater Goats. They ran by the tens of thousands, a group far larger than the last one. The predators of the mountains had smelled the bloodshed. And they were coming to eat. In the distance, they took up a warbling shriek that sounded almost Human—but too wild and horrific at the same time. Yitton’s mount snorted, eyes wide, and he patted it. Around him horses reared.

“Lord Veltras—”

“I see them.”

Tyrion Veltras scowled at the Eater Goats. He looked ahead at the fleeing Goblins. Yitton could almost see him calculating the odds of catching Garen Redfang. But the Eater Goats were headed towards the last battlefield, and there were too many of them to fend off without numerous casualties. Tyrion turned his horse around. Did Yitton hear him curse? Surely not.

“Halt the advance. [Mages], begin bombarding the goats! Pull back the cavalry to contain the Goblin Lord’s army—let the other tribes flee ahead. Send word to the infantry, to prepare for combat! Lord Pellmia and Lord Gralton will attack from the northeastern flank. [Knights], on me. We halt the advance of these monsters. Anyone without sufficient defensive Skills or enchanted gear will fall back! Ride!

The Human army began to pull back. They turned to meet the Eater Goats, who ignored the numbers and common sense. They took the first charge from Tyrion Veltras, swarming around him and the nearly impervious [Knights] on their warhorses, then broke up for easier targets. Some headed towards the fleeing Goblins, the rest fell upon the Humans and Reiss’s army.

Eater Goats. The scourge of the mountains. For ten that died, another would stagger back to the mountains, bloated on meat, ready to breed and replenish their numbers. Fearless to the point of suicide, they attacked everything. Everything except for one group of Goblins.

Garen Redfang and his tribe rode past them, as the Eater Goats saw their red war paint and the Carn Wolves they rode and grudgingly avoided them. They fell on the fleeing Flooded Waters tribe, on Reiss’ army and Tyrion Veltras’ force. Only when the Humans began to blow them to shreds, when the bodies of their kin began to pile up like firewood did the goats break off. And only because they were more interested in eating their dead.

In the aftermath, Yitton wiped blood off his sword and saw Tyrion Veltras riding past him, his stallion steaming in the cool air. There was no wiping blood off of his armor; it was splashed liberally across his greaves, chest plate, arms—a [Mage] had to wash him and the other [Knights] off with water.

“It seems the Goblins have gained a lead, Lord Veltras. Should we pursue?”

One of the [Knights], a member of the Order of Clairei Fields, inquired politely. She was one of the fastest warriors on the field, armor or not. She pointed at the distant Goblins, who had kept running while fighting. Yitton eyed them.

They were about a fourth as large as they had been just this morning. The Goblin Lord had well and truly shattered them, and absorbed the bulk of their army into his own as a result. What had possessed him? Was it just more Goblin infighting? Yitton had seen the Goblins react with shock. It had seemed like—a betrayal. An odd thing to imagine.

“No.”

Tyrion bit off the words as he offered his tired horse a feedbag. He stared at the Goblins.

“That Redfang tribe has escaped. They may circle around cut your people off. No, let them run. Our army will spread out as it approaches Liscor and ensure the Goblins cannot double back. The Goblins will run past Liscor and head into Drake lands or be dealt with at Liscor. ”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The Clairei Fields [Knight] nodded and turned away. Yitton dismounted and walked stiffly up to Tyrion.

“Veltras.”

“I don’t appreciate being given orders, Lord Byres. Even well-intentioned ones.”

Tyrion looked up coldly. Yitton flushed.

“My apologies.”

“Very well. Your disposition?”

Yitton stroked his mustache and glanced back at the Goblin Lord’s army. They’d remained stationary after the fighting, but he could see them milling about. Reorganizing. Absorbing the defeated Goblins into their ranks. He wondered if there was any ill-will. Another odd thought to have.

“I—what do you think that was, Veltras? Silver and steel, I thought the Goblins were getting along.”

“Apparently not. Either this Goblin Lord decided to consolidate his forces, or they had a falling out. Either way, their numbers have been reduced, but we’re left with a single tribe now. No more Chieftains will oppose the Goblin Lord. The last one—Garen Redfang—ran. And I didn’t spot the small Chieftain. I suppose she perished.”

“And does that affect your plans?”

Tyrion paused as he stroked his stallion’s head. He looked back at the Goblins.

“There are enough to serve.”

That was all he said. After a while, Yitton walked away. Tyrion Veltras stood and counted losses, gave orders for the march to continue immediately. He didn’t stop.

And neither did Reiss. He couldn’t. He sat on his Shield Spider as the last of the Goblins joined his army and were absorbed into his warriors. He looked down at the hand he’d reattached and flexed it slowly. His nerves sang with phantom pain.

He did not feel good. He felt sick at heart and ill with what he’d done. He kept remembering Pyrite trying to stand. He had been a good Hob. A good second-in-command. Loyal.

He was still lying there. So was she. Reiss was certain of it. He could feel Garen ahead of him, heading south, a burning flame in his mind. And behind him was another flame, burning even brighter. Reiss looked back.

The battlefield was filled with dead goats and Goblins. Humans too, but they’d found most of their dead and cremated them. Now they were driving his tribe onwards. But he could still feel her there.

Behind him. He stared back towards the bloody battlefield where corpses lay in piles. She was alive. And so long as she was alive, perhaps her tribe would keep together. But it didn’t matter, did it? So long as she was behind them, without her wolf, without allies, she’d be helpless.

“I—”

Reiss stared back at the battlefield. He wanted to say something to Rags, though she couldn’t hear him. Something that would explain everything. Tell her why it had to be like this. He sat there, staring, as his undead creation crawled forwards and he drew further and further way.

He never finished his sentence.

 

—-

 

She lay among the dead. That was how she’d survived. Wet fur covered her, almost suffocating her. It was wet and more wetness dripped down from above.

Blood. Rags lay still, listening to the thunder of marching footsteps die down. Tens of thousands of Humans on foot had passed by here. The infantry of the Human army. She’d heard voices—laughter—weeping. They sounded so familiar. Not like Goblins, but like her.

They were all dead. Rags knew it. She lay beneath her Carn Wolf, the brave wolf who she’d never named. And she knew the other bodies, the cold things touching her were dead. Reiss’ warriors. Her own.

Pyrite.

Pyrite. Rags struggled to move. She had to—he couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. She pushed at the furry body on top of her, tried to worm away. She kicked—and then felt horribly guilty.

Slowly, painfully, Rags pulled her way out of the dead. She staggered upright and saw the setting sun. It was orange and sinking below the horizon. It should have been red. But there was enough around her.

Dead. Goblins stared up at the sky through blank eyes. Hobs lay on the ground, their armor shattered. And in front of her—Rags stared at her Carn Wolf. He was far larger than she was. He was curled up, his rust-red fur torn from where Reiss’ spell had laid into him. Gone.

“Sorry.”

Rags knelt. She looked at the Carn Wolf, at his blank half-open eyes. She hugged him one last time, stroking the cold, wet fur of her Carn Wolf’s head. Then she let the body drop and stood up.

“Where?”

She stumbled across the battlefield, staring at faces she thought she recognized. Where was he? She passed by dead Carn Wolves, a Human half-eaten by something. Eater Goats? There were small shapes roaming the battlefield. They took no notice of Rags; they had enough to gorge on.

She found him lying on the ground on his back, staring up at the sky. Pyrite looked almost peaceful as he lay there. His jaws were closed. The bloody injures he’d taken still glistened, half-scabbed over. Rags fell to her knees.

“No.”

She’d seen Reiss kill him. [Deathbolt]. That stupid spell. Again and again it had struck Pyrite, too many times for anyone to survive.

It wasn’t fair. Rags pounded the ground. She couldn’t cry. She wasn’t going to. She had to be strong. But her tribe was gone. Her wolf was gone. She’d lost her warriors, her people—

And her friend. Rags felt the first hiccup of pain force its way out her throat. She gagged, sobbed, and began to cry. It was so childish. So—useless. It wasn’t Goblin.

But she couldn’t help it. Rags crawled towards Pyrite. She hammered on his chest.

“Why? Why?

No one answered her. Rags shouted.

Why? Why does it—why?

She buried her head on Pyrite’s chest. He still felt warm. He still felt alive. She sobbed. And then she heard a sound.

Crunch.

It was loud. A thunderous cracking sound, like grinding gravel but a thousand times louder. A horrific grinding noise. Rags leapt back. She saw something move.

Pyrite pursed his lips, turned his head, and spat something onto the ground. Rags stared as a handful of glittering, bloody fragments landed in the mud. The Goldstone Chieftain regarded them for a second, then put something else in his mouth. He began to chew again, and the grinding sound continued.

“Pyrite?”

He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. Rags stared at him. She was staring at a ghost. Pyrite chewed, and then spat out more of whatever he was eating.

“Hi.”

She kicked him. Pyrite grunted. He made a sound. Almost as if he were alive. She poked him in the side and saw blood run from one of his scabbed over wounds. Pyrite frowned reproachfully.

“That hurt, Chieftain.”

“You’re dead!

“Wish.”

Pyrite grunted. He fumbled for something, and his head lolled back. He tried again, but he seemed too weak to even grab for—whatever it was.

“Need another. Give.”

“What?”

Rags was dreaming. She stared at the thing Pyrite wanted. It was a rough, plain hemp sack. Worn, dirty. Spattered with his blood. She recognized it. It was Pyrite’s special sack of gemstones.

“You want?”

“Give.”

He repeated the words, faintly, but urgently. Rags delved into the sack and pulled something out. An emerald as large as a fist. She offered it to Pyrite. He grunted.

“No. Shiny.”

Shiny? Rags peered into the sack. She saw something flash at her, despite the lack of light. She reached in and pulled out a glowing bit of blue quartz. It had…a mote of light that danced inside the crystalline structure. Rags stared at it. Then she heard Pyrite’s voice.

“Give.”

She looked up. He was dead. She had seen him die. He’d been hit by too many [Deathbolts]. But then how—? She handed the stone to him and Pyrite slowly lifted it to his mouth. He opened his jaws and let the glittering quartz fall into his mouth. Then he began to chew.

The sound he made was horrendous. Even Rags, who had eaten bark and dirt and bugs, winced. Pyrite chewed and chewed and then turned his head and spat. Blood and bits of quartz expectorated onto the ground. Rags stared at the shards. They were bloody. And the mote of light was gone.

“Give another.”

Pyrite’s voice was weak. Rags stared into the sack.

“No more.”

“No more? Bad.”

Pyrite wheezed. He lay there. She realized he was breathing, but faintly. His face was pale. But he was breathing. Could he really be…?

“How? How are you…”

Rags knelt over Pyrite. Now she remembered her healing potions and fumbled for them. Pyrite grunted weakly.

“Had stupid idea. Knew [Deathbolt] coming. Tried stupid thing.”

“What? What try?”

Pyrite groaned as Rags dumped a healing potion on his wounds. He must have used one already, because his wounds had been half-scabbed already.

“Shiny stones. Magic. Put in mouth. Thought could eat magic.”

Shiny stones? Rags remembered. Pyrite had his magic gemstones. She stared down at him.

“And?”

The Hob blinked reproachfully up at Rags.

“Think it worked. Tell me if I’m dead.”

She stared at him. And then, shakily, she laughed. Rags sat back and began to laugh. She heard a rumble. Pyrite chuckled. Rags lay on her back and giggled, then guffawed. She heard Pyrite laughing and the two of them laughed until it hurt and they were quiet. Then Rags wiped at her eyes. She kicked Pyrite in the stomach.

“Ow.”

“Don’t do again. Ever.”

“Won’t promise.”

The two sat there. Well, Pyrite lay on his back. Rags wiped at her eyes. After a while, Pyrite spoke.

“We lost.”

It wasn’t a question. Rags nodded.

“Yes. I…hid. Knew die if showed face. Reiss won. Tribe ran.”

“Okay.”

That was all Pyrite said. All he could say. Rags sat there, and buried her face in her hands. It was over. Pyrite lived, but her tribe was gone. She laughed again, but this time with bitter bile.

“I am stupidest, smallest, worst Chieftain ever.”

“And ugly.”

She kicked Pyrite again. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She just wanted to curl up next to Pyrite and sleep until she was dead. It was really over.

“All gone. I fail. Reiss wins.”

“Not over.”

Pyrite spoke insistently. Rags looked at him.

“You can’t move. I lost—wolf. Tribe. Crossbow.”

She looked around blankly for it. It was gone. Her beloved black crossbow was gone too. Somehow that hurt almost as much as the Carn Wolf. Rags patted her belt.

“And sword. And shield. And everything.”

She looked around the battlefield. Had someone torn it off her? Was it lying in the mud? It didn’t matter. Rags bowed her head.

“Lost everything. Have nothing.”

“Still have one. Me, Chieftain. Not done yet.”

Rags glared at Pyrite.

“What good is one Goblin? What good is stupid Chieftain without tribe?”

Pyrite was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he sat up. His body groaned and creaked with the effort. His face was pale as it rose, but he did rise. He looked at Rags, tired, weary. One foot in death. But he smiled and when he did, Rags thought the world seemed brighter.

“I’m not stupid. Just fat. Not ugly, either. And Chieftain has no tribe. But has me. [Magestone Chieftain].”

Her breath caught.

“Magestone…?”

Pyrite nodded. He rummaged in his sack for a gemstone and lifted it up. The emerald flashed in his fingers. It had been dull, just a pretty bit of rock when Rags held it. But as Pyrite lifted it, a flicker of light ran between the faults in the gemstone. A curving trail of energy.

Magic.

Rags stared at the gem. Pyrite smiled, and then groaned. The light went out and he lay back with a whumph. Rags stood up.

“You not able to walk. I—what can we do? Humans gone. Reiss gone. Heading to Liscor. No way to catch up.”

“Just rest today. Tomorrow I follow.”

Pyrite groaned. Rags shook her head. He was talking nonsense.

How?

“Make sled with Eater Goats?”

The Hob winced before Rags kicked him this time. That was a stupid idea. As stupid as anything she’d heard. Only someone like—like her would come up with that. Rags wanted to laugh and cry. She wanted Pyrite to meet Erin. She wanted—

She bowed her head and sat by Pyrite. She was out of plans. Out of fancy ideas and schemes. She was alone. But that was the thing about Goblins. They were never truly alone. Not when there were two.

And then Rags heard crunching in the dirt. She turned and reached for a sword she didn’t have. She saw dark figures moving towards her. Hobs. Goblins. Rags scrambled up. Pyrite tried to sit up again and groaned.

“Who is?”

Rags’ voice felt small and quavery. She clenched her fists and reached for her magic. There were at least two dozen shapes. They held still, just out of sight. And then one of them, a tall figure with curves, stepped forwards.

Ulvama, her tribal paint smudged, her face dirty, stepped forwards. Hobs followed her. Goblins who Rags recognized. Not hers. Not her Goblins, but Tremborag’s. Goblins who had joined her tribe but owed no allegiance to her. Goblins who’d fled when she’d fallen. They surrounded her and Pyrite.

And more Goblins appeared, those who had hid like Rags, or escaped the Humans in the fighting. Ulvama stared down at Pyrite. She stared down at Rags, leaning on her staff. Rags waited for something. Anything. Then, Ulvama bowed. She bowed low in her skimpy feathered outfit, and the other Hobs bowed too. Ulvama smiled as Rags blinked at her. There was mischief in her eyes. Mischief, relief, and something else. A spark that if Rags didn’t know better, she would have called hope. Ulvama gestured around at the other Goblins.

“What now, Chieftain?”

 

—-

 

It was a time of endings. Numbtongue knew it. He had come so far, from the little Goblin he’d been. The one sent to kill an [Innkeeper], who had gotten lost. He had grown. He had lost friends. He had won and lost and become someone different. And perhaps, yes, perhaps it was time to run again. To flee.

But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He knew in his heart that Goblins couldn’t live among people. He knew that the inn was a dream, and that reality would cut him down in time. But it was a beautiful dream. And she was beautiful. And he couldn’t run any longer.

He had seen the bright star shining above Liscor. He had felt it give him strength. A bit of determination. Courage to do what he had to do. So Numbtongue walked out of the cave. And his followers joined him. The other Cave Goblins joined him. They flooded out of the cave. They swam out of the dungeon. They appeared out of holes in the ground, from hiding places only they knew. And they followed him.

The first person to see anything on the walls was Olesm. He was walking up and down the walls, muttering to himself and trying to calculate ranges based on a report he’d obtained from Zeres about the trebuchets they had. He was trying to figure out if there was time, and eyeing the floodplains.

The water level had fallen so far that only the valleys contained any water now. That still meant there was a lot of water, but the hilltops were muddy instead of underwater, and the fish that hadn’t been smart enough to escape to…wherever they went…were now trapped in the valleys. They’d be scooped up by Liscor’s fishers for food, or eaten by predators like the Rock Crabs. Or they’d die when the waters became too stagnant or finally evaporated.

Right now Liscor was a mud pit. A watery mud pit, which gave Olesm some hope. The [Mages] would have to dry the land and shore it up or the recoil from the trebuchets would literally send them flying into pieces. Maybe they didn’t know about the dangers. It would also slow their advance. But for each good came an ill. Would the Antinium be able to tunnel and attack the trebuchets in this water? Klbkch had not been responding to Olesm or Zevara’s requests to speak. Was something wrong?

Olesm was staring at one spot in particular from the walls. The rift that led down into the dungeon. That concerned him greatly. Mainly because…it was one of the few ways down into the dungeon and it was currently flooded. Of course, there was the main entrance, but that led through a series of randomized, trapped rooms that hadn’t been cleared. If you were going to move thousands of people through there, it would be suicide.

But the rift was flooded. And if he wanted to bring people into the dungeon—hypothetically—it would be impossible with that much water. That only left the Antinium’s entrance, and what were the odds they’d let anyone into their Hive? Olesm paced back and forth. Could he get a [Mage] to heat the water, boil it away, perhaps? Or—what about Erin’s door? Could they drain the water somehow? Maybe—

Something rose from the watery, muddy waters of the rift. Olesm froze. He saw a little green head poke out of the water. The rift was miles away, but Olesm recognized the green skin and distinctive head anywhere.

“A Goblin?”

No, a Cave Goblin. Olesm stared at it, wondering if it had gotten lost or something. Then he saw another Goblin surface and gasp for breath. And another. And another. The first Cave Goblin clambered out and tugged its fellows out of the water. And then more surfaced and began swimming to land. More and more and more—

Olesm looked around. There were dozens, no, nearly a hundred Cave Goblins surfacing now, and more heads were popping up by the second. Was this some kind of evacuation of the dungeon? Was something happening? Should he tell someone? He looked back at the rift and then his eye caught another source of movement on the plains.

A Rock Crab. It was scuttling up the side of a hill, quite rapidly. Olesm blinked. Rock Crabs normally didn’t move that fast unless they were hunting. But they would have enough to eat in the valleys with the captive fish. Why was it going so fast? Then he realized the Rock Crab wasn’t hunting something. It was running.

The first of the Cave Goblins crested the hill. Olesm stared. The little Goblin had a spear. It raised it over its head and it was joined by another. It was carrying a bow. A third joined it. Was it holding a lute? And then the hill filled with Goblins. They surged over it. And then another hill had Goblins. And another.

Olesm’s vision slowly began to fill with green. He saw them climbing over other hills, swimming out of the dungeon. Some had swords, others clubs, or bows, or improvised spears. Some had frying pans and others carried musical instruments. And there were thousands of them. Each second more poured over the hills. Olesm backed up.

“Ancestors.”

They spread out, marching up the muddy hillsides around the valleys full of water. Some peered at the desperate fish swimming in the little lakes. Others stared up at the city ahead of them, the only structure of stone in the entire area. They walked ahead slowly, picking their noses, chattering. Following a tall shape that Olesm recognized. The [Strategist] went running and the [Guardsmen] on the wall sounded the alarm. Again.

At first Ilvriss didn’t understand the confused message Olesm garbled at him. Neither did Zevara. Cave Goblins? They reluctantly abandoned their discussion and came to the walls. Then they saw them.

Cave Goblins. Tens of thousands of them. By Olesm’s count, at least twenty four thousand, some of them extremely tall. As if they were emerging Hobs. And at their head stood a Goblin with a guitar. He wore a sword at his side and he stared up at the battlements of Liscor with narrowed crimson eyes.

Numbtongue. Olesm stood on the battlements with the whole of the City Watch, all four thousand of them. And the eight hundred-odd soldiers that had been sent through from Pallass on the first day. And Embria’s hundred or so 4th Company. They stared down at the army of Goblins, a precursor of what was to come. Olesm saw Numbtongue raise his guitar overhead. The Cave Goblins raised their weapons. As one, they roared a word.

Redfang!

The word reverberated from the Floodplains. It echoed across Liscor and made the citizens look up in alarm. It was a call to arms, a cry for justice.

Redfang!

Numbtongue howled the word. The Cave Goblins screamed it. They weren’t running. They weren’t going to leave. This wasn’t Numbtongue’s home. He didn’t belong here. But—he looked at the inn on the hilltop. But he wanted to stay. And so he screamed the word again and the Goblins roared it. Calling for their leaders. For their friends.

For her.

 

—-

 

In a prison, sitting behind the bars of her cell, Erin Solstice scratched at one arm and regarded her meal. It was a good one, all things considered. Well, for prison food. She’d expected moldy bread and maybe a dead rat or something. The dead rat obviously being optional if you could kill the ones in your cell. Instead, she’d gotten a rather decent meal.

She’d have preferred to be let go of course, but no one seemed to have remembered she was in here. She’d asked the guards who served food about it, but he’d said there was an incident with the magic door and that Olesm was busy. So Erin looked at lunch instead. She frowned as her ears picked up a distant sound and glanced up.

“You guys hear something?”

Badarrow paused as he ate from his tray. He looked around and scowled.

“No.”

Erin waited a beat, and then shrugged.

“Okay. Hey, Headscratcher? I’ll trade you my sausage for your cheese and crackers. Mine’s too fatty.”

The Hob looked up. He nodded and Erin tossed her sausage at him. She clumsily caught the cheese and crackers and began to munch on hers as Badarrow grumbled, sipping from his cup. Erin sighed and stared at the bars of her cell.

“…I wonder when we’ll get out of here.”

 

5.57

So. This was how it went down. None of them had really expected it. Not like this. Then again, they hadn’t expected to expect. Foresight wasn’t a huge ability of theirs by and large, at least for the grand things. Small things—the way a nick in a sword caught in a sheathe and held just too long, presenting an opening, or where an old rabbit’s nest presented a foothold that would give at the right moment—they were masters of that. But the large things they left up to chance.

It was more entertaining that way.

So Rags was dead. Or if not dead, then defeated. Her tribe was broken—taken by Reiss the Goblin Lord or running south, led by Redscar, a desperate bunch fleeing death. They’d probably survive. All of them agreed that Redscar was good enough for that. He had been one of them, once. The best of them, really. They didn’t know why he’d left, but he had to have reasons.

Not good ones, but reasons nonetheless. And it was all moot, anyways. They were leaving too. The Humans were stuck fighting Eater Goats, but they’d be along shortly. They were headed south, through the only pass in the mountains. Past Liscor. Nobody really knew what would happen when they reached the Drake city, but there was a rumor going around that there would be a fight. That made sense.

There was always a fight. It was just a shame then, that the Redfang Tribe wouldn’t be part of this one.

They rode. Four thousand of them, or nearly. They’d taken casualties in their last battle. It happened. But they were larger than they’d been this morning. Some of the old guard, the first Redfangs who’d abandoned the tribe for Rags had returned to them. Some of Tremborag’s Goblins too. They rode horses.

Horses.

The Redfang Tribe laughed about that. The veterans, the originals, clung to the Carn Wolves as the huge, bounding beasts loped across the ground. Carn Wolves were tireless, their teeth as large as your hands. Their breath stank of meat, and their fur was coarse. Rough. Painful to hold, even; it could turn away a weak thrust from a blade or protect them from arrows sometimes. But Carn Wolves were playful. Intelligent.

It would be a mistake to think that this pack lived with the Redfang Tribe bore their riders just because of a Skill or because they’d been domesticated. They hadn’t.

They were wolves. And unlike dogs, wolves didn’t seek masters. Respect had to be won. Newborn pups, or older Carn Wolves had to be trained to follow orders, persuaded through might and kindness to obey. It wasn’t the same as making pets. The Redfangs had to show they were superior—teach their companions not to bite or snarl and to listen. And they had to be kind. That part was easy.

As the Redfangs rode they offered their wolves scraps of meat, patted them, whispered into their ears. In bad times, a Redfang warrior would offer his food to his wolf first. Or an arm. After all, you could fight with one arm, but you couldn’t fight without a friend.

Laughter. One of the Redfangs laughed as his Carn Wolf cleared a boulder in a single bound, perched there for the briefest of moments, then leapt again. The other riders whooped and cheered. Laughing. Like a frog! The other Goblin clinging to the back of the leaping wolf didn’t laugh. He’d nearly fallen off. And his Carn Wolf was dead. He was not crying so loudly it hurt to look at him.

Shouts and a thump made the laughter stop. Heads turned. The Redfangs saw a bloom of magic, like a flower explode behind them. They saw the petals of gold-green light open up. A beautiful thing. But the brightness blinded, and whatever the petals touched turned to ash. A burning spell, but limited. The Redfangs shook their heads. Better to use a [Fireball]. Besides, the spell missed. They saw a group of Humans on horseback charging out of the smoke. Wearing armor.

Knights of the Clairei Field. The Redfangs had clashed with them once, and knew them by their insignia. A stylized stalk of wheat blowing on an open field, only, the grains on the wheat were sharp like swords. The Clairei [Knights] wore bright green chest plates with their insignia etched on the front in silver, and their shoulders, arms, and leggings were bright blue. Their helmets were the same green, deep and majestic as a deep forest, gilded with gold.

Showoffs. The Redfangs sneered, but only a bit. The Clairei Knights lost points for dressing up, but they were fast. Faster than even the bounding wolves or the Goblins riding horses. They could outrun birds on the wing. And in a charge, that made them deadly. Worthy foes.

They were coming. Either they hadn’t heard the call to breakaway and face the goats, or they had ignored it. Either way, they were out for blood. The Redfangs looked ahead, at the largest wolf running at the front of their tribe. It was the largest by far, a beast that could easily bear its rider, a full-grown Hob.

He rode in front. He wore cheap leather armor, scarred by battle, and he didn’t bother with a helmet. Some of the Redfangs wore far better gear than he did. But his sword was red, pure rust, and the edges caught the light. Garen Redfang looked back at the charging [Knights] and spoke.

They didn’t hear it. The wind caught words and tore them away. But they didn’t need to. They saw the word spread from rider to rider, quick as thought. The riders broke up. Eighty of the rear-most Redfangs, a dozen veterans on Carn Wolves and the rest newer recruits on horses. They turned back to meet the dozen or so [Knights] and the [Mage Knight] riding with them. The Clairei Knights hesitated as the Redfangs charged them.

Eighty versus twelve? It was an insult. On both sides, as it turned out. The Humans regarded seven-to-one odds as an insult, especially against Goblins. Didn’t they have enchanted gear, high levels and a [Mage] on their side? The Redfangs saw it the same way. Obviously they’d lose one-on-one, but eighty of them was overkill. Sixty, or even forty would have been fairer odds. But that was battle for you.

The fight was over quick. The Clairei Knights were good, but they weren’t used to fighting the Redfangs. They had their lances out—first mistake. They thought they could hit and run, like they were fighting mindless monsters or slow, uncoordinated Goblins. The second mistake was trusting their armor. It was enchanted—but for lightness, not strength. The Clairei Knights were speedy attackers, skirmishers, not like the Knights of the Petal or a more heavily-armored group. And the Redfangs were experts at taking down high-level enemies, even ones who wore fully enchanted armor.

There were ways. More ways if both sides were mounted, actually. Horses couldn’t wear full armor like Humans. They left too many spots exposed. Legs, underbellies. Eyes. It was a pity, but you did what you had to in battle.

Horses reared. Carn Wolves howled. There was very little clashing of metal and no locking of swords. A few screams. The main Redfang tribe watched. Goblins died. Humans died.

The Clairei Knights fled. Three galloped away. A fourth stood, dismounted, guarding the bodies of her friends. She was ready to die. Fifty three Goblins circled her, some dismounted. One claimed the rearing horse of a fallen Clairei Knight.

The Human screamed a challenge. The Redfangs waited. They saw the way she was holding herself. Armor torn in the left side. She’d taken an arrow to the shoulder point-blank but her armor had held. The mace to the side of her helmet made her stagger. But still she stood, guarding her friends.

The nine surviving veterans conferred. They nodded to each other, and then whistled. The other Redfangs turned and moved back. The [Knight] looked around, bewildered. She set herself for an attack—and none came. The Redfangs nodded to her and turned away. The Clairei Knight stood there in disbelief, watching as they raced to catch up with their tribe.

Over two dozen dead Redfangs lay on the ground as the attack group returned to their tribe. Those who’d lost their mounts were shuffled onto fresher horses or Carn Wolves, and what bandaging was needed was done on the march. The wounded horses were left behind.

It was lucky—if you could call it that—that of the three veterans who had died, their Carn Wolves had died with them. If one had been wounded or injured beyond a healing potion’s power, their rider would have stayed with them, tried to hide and catch up later. The odds of them surviving would have been remote.

The attack group fell into position with the others, tossing a few weapons from the fallen at those who needed better gear. A healing potion that hadn’t been used. Scraps of meat cut quickly from a dead horse. No loot from the Clairei Knights.

No one commented on it, although some of the new Goblins looked confused. The other Redfangs ignored it and congratulated the victors on their return. The newbies would get it soon enough.

Obviously the armor and enchanted weapons would have been nice. And the potions. Not to mention the horsemeat. But the knights had put up a good fight and the survivor had been defending her comrades. You had to respect that, sometimes. Other tribes wouldn’t. The Mountain City tribe, the Goblin Lord’s army, the Flooded Waters tribe—they’d probably all loot the dead. Kill the [Knight].

Actually, Tremborag’s tribe would kill her. Or capture her, which would be worse. The other two tribes might kill her, but the Flooded Waters tribe would probably capture her too, only not in a bad way. Anyways, none of them would ride away. But that was because they didn’t respect their opponents.

They didn’t have honor. But the Redfangs did. If you didn’t have honor, if you didn’t respect the battle and your opponent, what did you have?

The Redfang tribe rode on. Evening was swiftly approaching and the cool spring winds blew wet moisture into their faces as they rode south. The High Passes loomed above them, tall mountains casting long shadows. The Redfang Tribe kept moving, talking sparingly—using hand signs and body language to communicate. Through the winding pass they would run, past Esthelm, the last Human city and then to Liscor, where the rains had just stopped and the floodwaters were still retreating, leaving mud in their wake.

The Redfang tribe did everything on the go, pausing only briefly to rest their mounts. Everything the Goblins needed to do could be done in the saddle, or on wolf-back. Eat, talk, sleep, poo—although that was an advanced technique that was extremely dangerous if you were riding ahead of others.

And in between the loping stride, the rush of wind and the draining of adrenaline from their bodies, the Goblins spared a thought for their fallen brothers and sisters. Mostly brothers—the Redfang tribe was unique in that it had mainly male Goblins in it. But both genders fought and died equally in battle, and there had been deaths today, for all the Redfangs had won every battle they’d fought.

They’d died in the fight to break the Human’s encirclement. More had died fighting the Clairei Knights and other pursuers just now. The fallen were remembered in the Redfang’s way. But no tears were shed, and the deaths were accepted. Not celebrated. And there was mourning. But it was to be expected. Deaths happened. The Redfangs knew they would die in one battle or another.

Fight well as you go. That was the Redfang Tribe. They were the strongest warriors. The quickest, too. It was actually strange—they accepted only the best warriors into their tribe. Regular Goblins as well as Hobs. In fact, Hobs were actually rarer in the tribe because they had to be able to ride these days, and there were some types of Hobs, like Pyrite, for whom no horse would bear their weight.

That was a change from the old days. Before, the Redfangs had been both riders and infantry. But ever since the betrayal, the split, Garen had made theirs a fully-mounted force that could fight on the ground if need be, but prioritized movement.

The split had changed a lot of things. It had been the hardest challenge the Redfang tribe had ever faced. Harder than their first war against the Eater Goats until they’d managed to imprint a kind of truce into the goat’s minds. More strenuous than fighting Gargoyles, or even the other horrors lurking at the bottom of the High Passes. More deadly than going above? No—but it had taken just as many of their number without a single blade being drawn.

Rags or Garen. Garen or Rags. He’d submitted to her, let her become Chieftain, but everyone knew he’d thrown the battle. He’d tested her, and the Redfangs knew she was a…better leader. At least, in areas not relating to battle. She was good at strategy, keeping the wolves fed—Garen was a warrior and his skills in every other area were beyond lacking. And they had made her their Chieftain. They owed her loyalty, so that even if it meant leaving Garen, it was right. Because she was a Chieftain?

No. Yes. The Redfangs were still reluctant to talk about that. They’d stayed because they couldn’t leave the tribe, even if parts of them had thought that was the right thing to do. Redscar and all the ones who’d seen it that way had left. But they’d stayed.

All the things that had gone before had been …not good. Messy. Abandoning their new Chieftain, Rags, having to sit in Tremborag’s mountain while his Goblins disgraced themselves, running from the Humans—all of that wasn’t good. The Redfangs didn’t talk about it. They didn’t like to think on it, really. But they stayed because they’d made their choice. And of course, there was their Chieftain.

Who could replace him? No one Goblin was his equal. Not Tremborag, not the Goblin Lord, not Rags—not even Greydath of Blades. He was their hero. He defined the tribe. They couldn’t leave him. When he called, they answered. They were his warriors, and the Redfangs didn’t desert their own. Not the first. Not the one who had forged them, given him their name to shout, to be proud of.

The Hobgoblin who had been a Gold-rank adventurer.

The brother of the Goblin Lord.

Garen Redfang.

 

—-

 

After another twenty minutes more of riding, Garen called a halt. It was time to change things up, especially if he wanted to pass by Liscor tonight. His tribe came to a standstill as they circled around him, Goblins jumping off of Carn Wolves. Those with horses had to do more work; temporarily unsaddling their mounts and rubbing them down. There wasn’t much grass about—the area around the High Passes grew rockier the further in you went. So dried hay was broken out and the horse handlers munched on a few stalks while their affronted mounts quickly ate the rest.

Garen’s Carn Wolf lolled on the ground, panting lightly. It wasn’t winded from the run, but some of the other wolves were younger, had less wind. Garen understood that. He knew his tribe’s ability to move, how much they could fight, and what kind of enemies they could take on most easily. He knew war. Little else but that, but it was enough.

He was Garen Redfang. Leader of the Redfang tribe. Former Gold-rank adventurer. And he had been betrayed.

Again. The taste was bitter in Garen’s mouth, like bile. He remembered the Goblins staring up at him, Redscar looking towards Garen. Turning away.

It had happened again. First in the mountain, then after Tremborag’s death. And then today. And before that—and before that too—

Garen’s life was a litany of betrayals. Of false friends. The memories were still with him. They surged in times like these, and he let them pass through his head as he squatted, offering his wolf a handful of meat scraps. It ate them greedily, licking his hand. Garen smiled and scratched his wolf behind the ears. You could trust a Carn Wolf. They were ferocious and if they didn’t respect you they’d kill you. But loyalty, once won, was never lost. His wolf wouldn’t leave Garen.

Everyone else would. That was what Garen had learned over the years. You couldn’t really trust anyone. Not your fellow Goblins, and certainly not other species. Not even your own tribe, apparently. Redscar, his right hand, had left him. Another lesson.

“Chieftain?”

Garen looked up. He saw his new second, Spiderslicer, walking towards him. Garen nodded and stood up.

“Time, Chieftain?”

Garen nodded. He grunted.

“Time. Get treasure. Pile.”

The other Redfangs looked up. The new recruits didn’t understand what was going on, but they followed along willingly. They didn’t have to be told; they’d learn by watching. The Redfangs congregated around Garen. They tossed items on the ground at his feet. A sword snatched from a Human’s hand, a potion bottle ripped from a belt. Magic rings, armor, and so on. The spoils of war. Each Goblin did it. There were a lot of them, so it took a while, but soon there was a pile of every object they’d snatched in the latest battles.

Garen looked down at the pile when it was done. He squatted down and pushed items back and forth. He’d seen most of what had been dropped, and he knew he only wanted a new potion. He found a strong healing potion, or what seemed like one and tested it. He grunted and corked the bottle after one swig.

“Bleh. Mana potion.”

He tried again with another. The Redfangs nudged each other, pointing out what they’d taken, laughing at their leader’s expression. The second potion was a healing potion and the third surprised Garen.

“Ironhide Potion.”

He blinked down at the bottle of greyish liquid which tasted like metal and looked like sludge. Garen stowed it on his belt at once and stood up. He nodded at the others, indicating that it was their turn. He had no need of other weapons besides his sword and he hadn’t seen any lightweight enchanted armor that would fit him.

Spiderslicer went next. He looked through the items, found a potion like Garen, and stood up with it. The other veterans, the oldest Redfangs who rode Carn Wolves had had been fighting with Garen for years followed him in a group. They found rings they were willing to try on as an experiment, potions, and a magic buckler. Then came the newer Goblins, who took armor and weapons. The last ones, the recruits who had joined today, got to argue over what was left at the end.

Garen watched the new Goblins pick up weapons and test them out. They looked surprised; there was still good iron and steel weapons left over, and bits of armor for them. They needn’t have been, though.

This was how the Redfangs divided loot. Garen had first pick, and then the more experienced Goblins. They usually took potions unless there was something really good that had been found. And they left weapons, even good ones, for Goblins who needed it. Not all of Garen’s warriors had enchanted weapons—only a few, really. But all of the ones who’d ridden with him for a few years wore steel and carried as much gear as any Silver-rank adventurer.

The Redfangs equipped the last of their weapons, replacing damaged bucklers, spears, swords, and other pieces of gear too badly damaged to mend, and stood up. What was left they let lie. It was a haul for another tribe or anyone who chanced upon the collection on the ground. But the Redfangs wouldn’t carry it. They had secondary weapons, spare blades, but they didn’t carry anything else. They moved and travelled light. And neither would they hoard their new artifacts and potions either. In the next big battle, they’d use up most of their potions.

The Redfang tribe had no motto. But if they did have one, it would probably be the opposite of ‘be prepared’. They used everything they had right away. Anything for an edge. You won the battle in front of you and let everything else work itself out. Beyond that, you just trusted that the next fight would be coming soon.

That was how it worked. The Redfangs followed Garen into battle and didn’t sweat the rest. They trusted him to lead them to bigger opponents. After all, he was Garen Redfang. He had made them into what they were.

Warriors. Elites of the Goblin world. You could see it if you looked. The Goblins sitting around Garen, the original Redfangs, were head-and-shoulders apart from the new ones. Tremborag’s Goblins, the new recruits gained in the mountain and on the road—they were good. The best in the mountain, probably. They could probably boast any number of kills and some of them even had weakly enchanted gear, a mark of their status. But they weren’t Redfangs. And it showed.

Muscles, a honed body beyond regular Goblin warriors. Economy of movement. A fearless walk. And coordination in battle. Redfangs trained in their off time, where regular Goblin warriors just lazed about. Even now, as Garen walked about, stretching his legs, he saw the new warriors talking with the old ones. About the last battle, about tactics. Learning. Watching the veterans stretch, swap stories, laugh. In time, they’d become reflections of the best. If they lived long enough, that was.

They made Garen proud. The Redfangs were his tribe. His family, the ones who he trusted. Never mind the ones who’d left. He’d taken them and changed them from weak Goblins into warriors. He’d given them pride, strength. And most importantly, brotherhood.

One of the Goblins caught Garen’s eye as he walked around the sitting warriors. He spotted a younger Goblin, a full Redfang, but newer. He was clutching something.

The severed stump of his left hand. The skin was nearly healed—a healing potion had been used, but it couldn’t regrow what was lost. The Goblin looked up as Garen paused.

“Chieftain.”

“Furgatherer.”

Garen looked down at him. The young Goblin nodded. He bared his teeth as Garen squatted down. The Chieftain looked at his hand.

“Lost?”

“[Knight] cut off, Chieftain. Bad block. Sorry.”

Furgatherer looked down at his hand. One of the other Redfangs punched him softly in the shoulder. Garen looked at the young Goblin. Furgatherer was trying to keep a strong face up, but anyone could tell he was upset. His Carn Wolf padded around him, too upset to rest, licking him.

“You left handed?”

“Was, Chieftain.”

That explained it. Furgatherer gave Garen an anguished look. He’d lost his dominant hand. Fear was in his eyes. Fear of being useless. Crippled. Garen thought for a second, then reached out. He plucked Furgatherer’s mace from his belt.

“Try right hand.”

The young Goblin took the mace awkwardly. Garen made him swing at him. Furgatherer adjusted his grip, attacked fast and hard, but awkwardly. Garen blocked the blocks with his sword as the other Redfangs turned to look.

“Slow! Faster! Hit high low, faster!

He spun, dodging a blow to the face, and kicked. Furgatherer stumbled back, wincing. Garen let him charge back towards him and blocked a strike to his chest, groin, arm—he knocked the mace down and Furgatherer stopped, panting. He looked up at Garen, afraid. And his Chieftain smiled.

“Good! Not bad for right hand.”

The other Redfangs called out encouragement as well. Furgatherer flushed, and then his face fell. He gestured at his missing left hand.

“But Chieftain—can’t fight on left.”

“So?”

Garen challenged him. He kicked at Furgatherer’s left side, dismissively.

“Can’t fight on left? Fight on right! Let others fight on left! Find partner. Doesn’t matter.”

Furgatherer nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

“But if weak—”

He got no further. Garen punched him lightly on the shoulder. He roared, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“If weak? If weak, get stronger! Other Goblins guard left! Doesn’t matter! Redfangs don’t fight alone!”

He turned. The other Redfangs knew the cue and raised their weapons. They shouted, and Furgatherer looked up. More Goblins came around him, critiquing his stance, the way he held his mace.

“Wear buckler. Tie to arm. Can still block.”

One of the older Redfangs, a female Hob, advised Furgatherer. She winked at Garen, who nodded as Furgatherer found himself supported. He turned away, reassured the younger Goblin wouldn’t do something stupid like get himself killed on purpose or run away. The other Redfangs grinned at the sight as Furgatherer sat among his peers.

Redfangs don’t fight alone. It was what made them strong. They didn’t abandon their own. It was what Garen had taught them. The Chieftain’s own smile lasted for a few more seconds. Then his mood grew dark again.

He’d taught them that. So why had Redscar left? He’d never gotten a chance to ask him. Why had he and so many of the others abandoned Garen, after all he’d done for them? That was like last time.

Annoyed, but determined not to show it, Garen walked back over to his Carn Wolf and lay down. Just for a few minutes. He turned his face towards the fur of his wolf. They’d have to go soon. This was only a short break. And then they’d go…to Liscor, right? There weren’t many other options, not with the Humans behind them. And what about after there? Which way?

The memory stole over Garen, too fast to stop.

“Which way?”

“Hmm?”

Garen looked up. He heard a male voice, unfamiliar for a second. Then he remembered and recognized it was Jelaqua who was speaking to him.

“Garen? Which way now? North? South? West? East? Pick a direction, would you? I’m out of ideas and Seborn keeps bugging me about which way we’re headed.”

Garen turned. He blinked at Jelaqua as she grinned at him, her pale face Human, at least for now. She pointed down at the map. Her fingers were hairy. She wore a male Human’s body, big and burly. She wasn’t comfortable in it. Neither was he, but he edged over anyways and stared at the map.

Jelaqua didn’t often ask him for advice. Well, she did, but he seldom gave it. As the newest member of the Halfseekers, he felt out of place still, even though he’d been with them for a year already. He shrugged, a tad uncomfortably.

“What about others?”

“Oh, you know what Halassia and Ukrina always want. Go south, as if we’d find more work around the Walled Cities. Moore’s still moping over that girl, and Keilam’s snoring away upstairs. I’d get Seborn to pick a spot, but he keeps telling me it’s my choice. Jerk. So uh, why don’t you pick a good spot?”

Jelaqua’s finger slid across the map, tapping spots as she talked conversationally.

“We could go to Invrisil. Always work over there. Or hey—why don’t we head towards Celum? They dug up some treasure in Albez. Or the bug caverns? I hate that place, but heck, I’m sure it’s not fully explored. Just pick a spot and I’ll pretend it was my idea, okay, Garen?”

“Garen?”

The Hobgoblin opened his eyes. For a second he didn’t know where he was. Then he recognized Spiderslicer staring at him. He sat up as the past faded away.

“What?”

“Which way, Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer looked a bit uncomfortable asking. Garen spotted several Redfangs behind him glancing their way and then pretending to be chattering. So they’d gotten Spiderslicer to ask the question on everyone’s minds. He rubbed his face, trying to erase the past. But it was impossible. He heard an echo.

“Crawling caverns sound good.”

“Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer stared at Garen. The Redfang Chieftain shook himself.

“Nothing. We go south. Past Liscor.”

The other Redfangs stirred. Spiderslicer frowned.

“Not going to High Passes, Chieftain?”

“Yes. But going other way. Past Liscor. Down south into Drake lands. West, back through High Passes from other side.”

Garen grunted as he sketched a quick map. They’d have to go through Liscor and loop a long ways around to get to the other side of the High Passes. Spiderslicer made a face.

“Long trip.”

“Better than fighting hungry Eater Goats and Humans. Too many. Too much slaughter.”

Spiderslicer grimaced and nodded. All that slaughter had called the Eater Goats down from the High Passes. They’d be ravening, and might even attack the Redfang tribe, red stripes or not.

“And after that, Chieftain?”

“After that?”

Garen gave Spiderslicer a blank look. He shrugged.

“After that—we’re in High Passes. We’ll fight. Train. Push Gargoyles out of territory. Expand up, maybe. Find more Carn Wolves instead of horses. Normal stuff.”

That was all Garen wanted. A return to normality. He saw Spiderslicer nod, but hesitantly.

“What?”

The Goblin squirmed. He looked back at the others and they waved him on, clearly saying ‘get on with it’. That was Spiderslicer’s trouble. He was an excellent warrior, but he was no Redscar, brave with words as well as battle. Spiderslicer muttered to himself, and then looked at Garen.

“Chieftain—we not fighting Goblin Lord? Or Humans?”

“No.”

Garen scowled. He looked around and raised his voice a little louder, so all could hear.

“Too risky. Too many Goblins. Too many stupid Humans.”

The others nodded. It was suicide, even for Redfangs to fight that many. Still—they looked at Spiderslicer. He hesitated.

“Could have fought with Flooded Waters tribe, Chieftain. Reiss—Goblin Lord—was exposed.”

They could have cut towards him. Garen knew that. His scowl deepened.

“Yes, but—too risky. No way out. No. Let Reiss fight. Don’t need to waste lives.”

Some of the Redfangs nodded, but most looked confused. Risky? That wasn’t what Garen would normally say, and both they and he knew it. Garen growled. Spiderslicer eyed him, but the peer pressure was too great for him to drop it.

“So Chieftain. We go back. Then we fight Gargoyles. Get more wolves. And…use key?”

He gestured obliquely to Garen’s side. Instantly, the chieftain clamped a hand to the small key he carried on him at all times. Spiderslicer sat back on his heels. Garen tried not to glare at him. He trusted Spiderslicer. He was just asking. He forced himself to respond normally.

“Not yet. Other one missing.”

“Okay. We get?”

“Not yet. Later. I—I’ll come up with plan. Later.”

Garen growled. Spiderslicer nodded. He seemed to sense Garen’s patience was at an end and looked back towards the others.

“Okay, Chieftain. Past Liscor. We ride soon?”

“Yes. Get ready.”

Garen watched the Goblin move back. He saw him exchange looks, not quite glance back at him, and begin a rapid and furtive conversation with the others. Garen didn’t need to know what they said. They were probably debating his words.

They could sense it too. Garen didn’t know what he’d do after he got back home. The High Passes always had something to fight, something to do. But he didn’t have any plans beyond surviving there. He just knew he was done. Done with Rags and Reiss and the Humans. Done with betrayal. After all, what reason did he have to stay? It wasn’t his battle. It wasn’t his war. Reiss could die fighting for his master. Garen didn’t care anymore.

He was going home.

 

—-

 

Olesm had seen armies passing by Liscor. Human ones, going to battle in the Blood Fields. Recently he had seen the Goblin Lord’s army, a vast host passing in the darkness. And he had seen Skinner’s undead—the hordes of Face-Eater Moths. Each time he’d been cowed by the numbers, but he had trusted Liscor’s walls to hold.

However, today he felt uneasy for a reason that had nothing to do with numbers. The army of Cave Goblins spread out in front of him, twenty four thousand strong. Enough Goblins to cover the muddy hills. They were spread out, camped on the wet Floodplains. Some were fishing from the water. Others were milling about, kicking mud at each other. A few were trying to spar. But the rest were motionless.

They were staring at the city. Thousands of Goblins, just standing or sitting. Staring. Olesm recognized the Hobgoblin leading them. Numbtongue.

“What are they doing now, Olesm?”

He turned. Wing Commander Embria was standing on the walls next to him. She was staring at the Cave Goblins. She could see as well as he could, but he stated the obvious for both their sakes.

“Nothing yet, Wing Commander. They’ve stopped chanting, but I expect they’ll start up in a few minutes.”

The Cave Goblins were indeed silent. But that wouldn’t last. For the last thirty minutes, they’d been chanting. A single name.

Redfang. They would shout it as one, scream it at Liscor’s walls, and then go silent. But it would start up again, Olesm knew. He looked around.

The battlements were occupied. Full, in fact. The City Watch manned the walls with bows, Gnolls and Drakes ready to unleash volley after volley. But not just them. Embria’s 4th Company also held the walls, and Olesm saw four of her [Captains] taking posts along the wall. And spread out between Watch and Liscor’s army were other [Soldiers] in yellow armor. Pallassian troops, the ones brought through the door before it had been sabotaged. And if Olesm looked over his shoulder—

He looked and wished he hadn’t. A crowd of faces, furry and scaled, looked up at him. Liscor’s citizens had gathered by the eastern wall, and they were staring up at Olesm’s back. They’d heard the chanting of course, and you’d have to be blind as a Dropclaw Bat to miss the Goblin army camped outside the walls. There had been panic at first—people had thought it was the Goblin Lord’s army. But Zevara had restored order and now everyone was watching. Wary and silent.

“Could you take the Hob out with a spell? Would that disperse them, do you think?”

Olesm looked up. Embria was eying the set of key-scrolls that triggered the enchantments on Liscor’s walls. He covered them with one claw.

“I don’t have perfect accuracy, Wing Commander. And I don’t think that would be wise. The Goblins might disperse if Numbtongue dies. Or they might rush the city all at once.”

“Hrmph. I see.”

Embria looked disgruntled, but she dropped it. Privately, Olesm doubted the Cave Goblins would do something as stupid as attack the walls, but he was sure, absolutely sure that blasting Numbtongue was not in Liscor’s interests. He drummed his claws on the stone battlements and then heard a voice.

Watch Commander on the walls! Wall Lord on the walls!

He turned. Zevara and Ilvriss were striding up the battlements. The Gnoll who’d called them out, as per military rules, stepped aside. The two made a beeline for Olesm and Embria.

“Wing Commander. Olesm. What’s the situation?”

“Unchanged, Watch Captain.”

Olesm eyed Zevara. She looked tired, grumpy, and sleep-deprived. Not much different than usual, really, but she looked even more stressed than normal. Ilvriss looked better—but even he seemed at a loss as he stared down at the Cave Goblins.

“The citizenry have calmed down. We’re not in danger of a panic any longer. I have also reassured the Walled Cities that were alerted by those scatterbrained idiots in the Mage’s Guild that we were under siege.”

Ilvriss grumbled as he adjusted his armor. He was wearing a blood red cloak made of what appeared to be liquid. Olesm eyed it, but forbade comment. Ilvriss turned to him.

“So. The Cave Goblins have left the dungeon. And there are quite a bit more of them than any of us expected. I take it this is related to the four Hobgoblins in Liscor’s dungeon? And Miss Solstice, no doubt?”

Olesm winced.

“Yes, sir. I uh, think they’re angry. I didn’t know it would lead to this, I truly didn’t. If I had known—”

Ilvriss shook his head.

“The fact that one of them got away is distressing, but it was the right move to make. We could hardly have Hobgoblins running about, especially in light of the Antinium Queen’s wrath. Not to mention this mysterious bearded one in your report. My only concern now is this situation. How do we resolve it? Thoughts?”

He looked at Zevara and Embria. The two female Drakes were silent. Zevara was thinking. Embria looked at her, and then stood straighter.

“Give me command of the Pallassian forces and a thousand of the Watch and I can rout the Goblins, Wall Lord. With fire from the walls and spell artillery, we can easily defeat the Goblins.”

“What? No!”

Olesm’s jaw fell in horror. His tail curled up as Embria glanced sideways at him. If Embria slaughtered the Goblins, Erin would never talk to him again. Ilvriss also looked concerned, but for different reasons.

“You think you could achieve a victory with just two thousand soldiers and your 4th Company, Wing Commander Embria?”

The fiery Drake nodded. She folded her claws behind her back.

“I told you we could take on a regular army twice our size, Wall Lord Ilvriss. These Goblins lack Hobs—fully grown ones at any rate. With archery support and at least two of Liscor’s wall spells it would be easy to take them down in droves.”

“But that’s not a good idea. Respectfully, Wing Commander, Wall Lord.”

Olesm hopped from one foot to another in his urgency. Ilvriss looked at him.

“How so, Swifttail.”

Embria looked annoyed as well. Perhaps she thought he was disputing her abilities. Olesm tried to explain as fast as he could.

“I have no doubt that Wing Commander Embria could achieve a victory. But it would cost hundreds of casualties, at least. Casualties Liscor cannot afford. Moreover, Wing Commander Embria would rout the enemy. That doesn’t mean the same thing as obliterating the Cave Goblins.”

“True. It would be impossible to slaughter them all.”

Ilvriss stroked his chin with a claw. Olesm nodded frantically.

“—and while that works with regular armies, it just means the Goblins would go to ground and hide. And if they do, then they’ll heal up and pop out when the Goblin Lord’s army gets here. So then we’ll have a bunch of angry Cave Goblins—”

“—as well as the Goblin Lord and the Humans to deal with. Indeed. I don’t suppose you could encircle and obliterate the entire tribe, Wing Commander?”

Ilvriss sighed. Embria looked unhappy.

“No, Wall Lord. That would be impossible, I’m afraid. Or, as Strategist Olesm said, not without excessive casualties. I could take down that Hob in a lightning strike though…”

“Indeed. But that’s not the issue, is it? I doubt the Cave Goblins will disperse from the loss of one Chieftain—if that Goblin even is the Chieftain. There are five of them. We need to drive them off somehow without incurring losses to the city. Perhaps it would be possible to—”

Embria and Ilvriss began to debate. Olesm watched them anxiously. He saw Zevara look up from her study of the Cave Goblins. She glanced at him and lowered her voice.

“That’s the Hob at Erin’s inn, right, Olesm?”

“Yes.”

“The one with the guitar?”

“Numbtongue.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“At a guess? His friends back.”

Zevara grunted. Olesm’s tail twitched nervously. This was all his fault.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have arrested them.”

“I would have. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“But maybe if—”

Olesm’s next words were cut off. He saw Numbtongue raise his guitar out of the corner of his eye and his body was already wincing before the roar of noise came up from the Cave Goblins.

Redfang!

It was one word, a roar of sound. Zevara recoiled and both Ilvriss and Embria reached instinctively for their weapons. The City Watch half-raised their bows, then forced themselves to hold. Numbtongue raised his arms and the word rolled across the Floodplains again.

Redfang.

This time the cadence was different. Zevara frowned and turned towards the others.

“They’ve been shouting that all this time?”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Olesm watched Numbtongue lower his guitar, his stomach churning. Zevara frowned. Her own tail was very still, but Olesm could see it slightly squirming. She had to be holding it still so she wouldn’t alarm anyone else.

“I see. Then it seems to me, Wall Lord, Wing Commander, that the Cave Goblins want a parley.”

Parley?

The other Drakes looked astonished. And affronted. Zevara nodded.

“They haven’t assaulted the city and that isn’t an aggressive formation. They’re out of bow range and all they’ve been doing is chanting a name. The name of the Redfang Goblins, in fact. We have four Hobs in lockup. They’re the leaders of this tribe. Or allies. Or something.”

“So, what? We should release them under duress? Unacceptable.”

Ilvriss snapped. Olesm hesitated.

“Well…I did arrest them on a technicality. They were Goblins in the city, which is illegal, but they were helping Erin—”

“And they’re Goblins. You’re not suggesting we accede to their demands, surely, Watch Captain?”

Embria stared at Zevara. The older Drake glared at her.

“And what would you propose? An assault? This is an army we do not need right now. The Hobs staying at Erin’s inn are reasonable—for Goblins, or so I’ve been given to understand.”

She shot a quick glance at Olesm, who nodded slowly. Zevara shrugged.

“In that case, what do we have to lose by giving them what they want?”

“But if we return their leaders—”

Zevara brusquely interrupted Embria. She addressed Ilvriss, who was staring down at the Goblins with narrowed eyes.

“Four Hobs won’t make a difference in the battle for Liscor. Twenty thousand Goblins might. I propose we make a deal with them. If we can force them to retreat south, towards the Blood Fields in exchange for letting the other Hobs go—”

“We’d keep them from reinforcing the Goblin Lord. A sound idea, Watch Captain.”

Ilvriss spoke slowly. He looked up, at Olesm, Zevara, and Embria.

“As options go, I think that is the best one in front of us. Unless you have any better suggestions, Wing Commander? Strategist Olesm?”

Neither one did, although Embria looked upset. Ilvriss nodded.

“In that case, I would agree to Watch Captain Zevara’s proposal. It is unprecedented—but it seems precedent is damned around Liscor in any case. I have only one objection, though.”

“Which is?”

Zevara looked sharply at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord frowned.

“We do not negotiate with monsters. It is beneath us as a species.”

Olesm groaned internally. Zevara opened her mouth, but Ilvriss forestalled her. He raised a claw, and then looked around.

“Someone get the Human.”

 

—-

 

After a few more minutes of rest, Garen ordered his tribe to keep moving. They had to cover ground fast—not because they were afraid of the Goblin Lord or the Humans catching up, but because Garen wanted to outrun his nagging thoughts. So the Redfangs took a different strategy. Rather than gallop on wolf or horseback the entire way, they jumped off their mounts and began running alongside them.

It was a trick mounted units had used throughout the ages. The Redfangs kept up a quick pace, letting the wolves and horses take up a slow gait, for them. And when the Goblins tired, they leapt on the backs of their wolves, resting until they were able to run again. It paced both rider and mount. The only thing faster would be if Garen had multiple Skills that could enhance his tribe’s speed all the time, like Rags. Or if they had enough stamina and healing potions to run at full-sprint all day and night.

They did not. And it didn’t matter anyways, because their progress was lightning-fast compared to the slow pace they’d taken while on the march with the armies on foot. In no time, they were running down the wide pass. Sparse trees and grass mixed with the rugged terrain. There was little of worth here, although there were a few mining spots in the area, and space enough for grazing or limited agriculture. Some people had thought it was worth settling, because quick enough, Spiderslicer called out to Garen.

“City approaching!”

The scouts had spotted the sole city in the pass before it opened into the Floodplains and Liscor. Garen saw the distant city as he passed by a bend in the mountainous pass. He spoke a word.

“Esthelm.”

“Thought it got smashed.”

One of the Hobs commented. Garen shrugged. He’d heard the same. But the city was standing and populated. There was damage along its walls, but it looked repaired, and the walls were sturdy. And now that he looked twice, there were a lot of Humans on the walls.

“[Archers]!”

A Redfang shouted a warning. The Humans had spotted their tribe and a few were loosing arrows even now. They fell far short of the approaching Redfang tribe, but it was enough to make Garen eye Esthelm twice. The city was small, but its defenders looked ready for a fight. They must have retaken the city. By the laws of leveling and classes, that meant they would be tougher than before. Not a city he would assault if he had a choice. And he didn’t need to anyways.

“Go around city. Ignore it.”

“Watch out for arrows.”

One of the older Hobs instructed the others. He looked to Garen, his one good eye flashing at his Chieftain out of a scarred face.

“Chieftain, what to do if Humans shoot arrows?”

“Hmm?”

Garen turned his head. He looked for the grizzled Hobgoblin’s face, and saw a Drake grinning at him instead.

Her scales were blackened, as if by soot. Many were missing, so her burnt flesh stood out instead. On a Drake, it was a disturbing sight, but her entire body was like that. Burned, ashy. Scarred by her nature. She was of the Oldblood, but cursed by it. Fire burned within her and unlike the Drakes who could breathe flame, it had ravaged her. She was an outcast among Drakes, a Scorchling, rumored to be cursed or tainted. But those were only rumors. To Garen, she was his friend.

Halassia Evergleam smiled as she thought about his question. She shrugged lightly and tapped the wand at her side.

“Shoot arrows at you? Don’t worry about it. If they try, I’ll block the arrows with a spell.”

“And I’ll swat them down, don’t worry about it!”

Another Drake, also female but broad-shouldered, laughed and slapped her chest. She was a full Drake, but she was an outcast in a different way. For different reasons. Ukrina had been exiled from Drake society for what she was known for, rather than her looks. She was a Turnscale, a word Garen didn’t quite understand. But it qualified her for the Halfseekers, who accepted anyone who was outcast from society.

The two Drakes nodded. Garen turned and saw Jelaqua, riding ahead of them and wearing a Gnoll’s body, turn.

“You still worried, Garen? Relax! You say this every time we visit a new city.”

The others laughed. Garen hunched his shoulders.

“Went to this one before. Got caught.”

“Well, you didn’t kill anyone, did you? No? Then relax. It’s best to relax on trips, yes? Relax, take a nap…do we have to work today?”

A purring voice from Garen’s left made him look. Keilam, the group’s third [Mage] if you counted Moore—who doubled as a front-line fighter—draped himself over his disgruntled mare. He was half-Gnoll, half Cat-tribe Beastkin. He had inherited his feline ancestry, but there was enough Gnoll to make him both sinuous and strong. Too barbarian for the Cat-tribe, and too strange for Gnoll tribes. Wit and laziness came to him in equal measures.

“Could still shoot arrows.”

Garen wasn’t convinced. Seborn shrugged. Moore stroked his chin, looking worried. He had to walk; there wasn’t a horse large enough for him. Garen was walking too, in solidarity. He hated riding horses anyways. They bit.

“I know the feeling. Some villages would shoot arrows at me. They thought I was an Ogre or a Troll. Can you believe it? Me, a Troll?”

“I can believe it.”

An amused voice from Moore’s right made the half-Giant look down, crestfallen. The half-Elf walking with him laughed up at him. Thornst, a half-Elf from Terandria and the newest Halfseeker, grinned up at Moore.

“It’s not an insult, friend Moore. But you must admit, you’re a startling sight to anyone who’s not seen a half-Giant before. They’ll panic, and when they panic, the first monster that fits comes to mind.”

“I suppose so. It’s hurtful, though. But at least they hesitate. I can’t imagine what it would be like to—”

Moore broke off and eyed Garen. The Hobgoblin pretended not to notice. Halassia cleared her throat, shedding an ashy scale.

“Just stay behind us, Garen. Let me do the talking. We’re a Gold-rank team. If they want to start a fight with the Adventurer’s Guilds, let them.”

“That’s right! Here’s to Gold-rank! I knew we’d make it! Let’s have another party!”

Keilam waved a paw. The other Halfseekers grinned. Seborn just sighed.

Some of us were Gold-ranks before we joined the team. It’s just that we’re a certified team, now. It was going to happen.

“Yeah, but there’s always time for another drink.”

Jelaqua grinned and slapped Seborn on the back. The Drowned Man glared, but Jelaqua just laughed.

“Come on, everyone! To the city! And if Garen gets shot, we’ll buy him a round. Watch for arrows, now!”

Garen grumbled as the others laughed. But he followed them, not as worried as he normally was. After all, for his team he’d gladly take an arrow, or a dozen—

Reality came back in a moment. Garen stared at the Hobgoblin with the missing eye for a moment, and then came to his senses. It was like the Chieftain’s memories, but stronger! He realized he’d been staring too long. The others were looking at him. Garen raised his voice.

“Ignore arrows. Don’t shoot. Keep out of range. Get moving.”

He turned back and kept riding. Why was this happening? It didn’t happen often in the High Passes. But these flashes of memory had been growing stronger day after day. At first it had just been moments, or replayed conversations. But now—

He’d never heard of another Chieftain remembering their own life like this. But he knew some of them, like Rags, had dreams or visions of past Goblins, uncontrollable ones. Sometimes it was need, or seeing a familiar scene that brought it on. In Garen’s case…it was nostalgia. Unresolved business.

Some days he wanted to ask them why. Why it had gone down like it had. But the dead were dead and the living—impossible. Garen had been a Halfseeker once. No more.

Reiss had called him a traitor. So had Greydath. But that was all wrong. What had happened was—Garen closed his eyes.

No. It didn’t matter. It was in the past. He’d left it behind. He’d become a Chieftain, gone back to his kind. He’d leave it behind him. Rags too. And Reiss. Go back to the mountains. Forget. Garen urged his Carn Wolf to go faster. But the memories kept coming back and back. Growing stronger. He didn’t know why.

 

—-

 

In the end, three of them went to get Erin. Embria stayed on the walls just in case. Olesm, Zevara, and Ilvriss walked together.

“Getting her to deal with the Goblins will be a hassle. But then again, I’d expect nothing less.”

“Will she be willing to help is my question.”

Zevara muttered. She glanced at Olesm. The [Strategist] shrugged.

“I think—she does care about Liscor. But she cares about the Goblins. So…I don’t know what to say.”

“If she cares about the Goblins she will tell them to move. Need we do anything else besides release them?”

Ilvriss strode ahead of them, towards Liscor’s dungeon. Olesm coughed and eyed the red cloak on Ilvriss’ back meaningfully.

“We might have to return their possessions, Wall Lord. Weapons and armor at least.”

“What? Oh.”

The Wall Lord of Salazsar took a moment to figure out what Olesm meant. He stopped and put a claw on the flowing cloak.

“But it would be a crime to—you don’t suppose I could provide a different cloak in exchange? No?”

Zevara and Olesm exchanged a glance.

“That cloak’s not that valuable, surely, Wall Lord? It’s one of a few artifacts the Goblins have. That damn bell, the axe that I have never seen before, that cloak—it’s just a liquid cloak, right?”

“Liquid cloak? It’s not a—Great Ancestors. Have neither of you any understanding of what this is? This is a Cloak of Plenty! It’s an incredibly valuable artifact! Far more expensive than an axe!

Ilvriss brandished the cloak at the two Drakes. Zevara raised her brows and Olesm restrained the urge to whistle.

“A Cloak of Plenty? Are you serious, Wall Lord?”

He nodded.

“I tested it myself. It can replicate mundane liquids. Nothing magical or complex mixtures, which rules out alchemical liquids, but with it you could provision a thirsty army with water, or create a nourishing broth. Or supply [Mages] with blood or other liquid reagents. Of course, that’s hardly the only function of such a cloak. I would have it for myself.”

“How do you mean?”

Olesm couldn’t see Ilvriss needing a fresh supply of water, which was the standard use for objects of plenty. He’d heard of cornucopias that dispensed free food each day, which was a boon to armies and adventurers alike. Although if you ate too much of the enchanted food alone, you’d eventually grow sick. Ilvriss sighed.

“It’s wine, Swifttail. Wine. There are fine vintages—incredibly fine ones—that have no magical component to them at all. In fact, non-magical wines are preferable to magical ones. When did the custom of adding magic to every dish arise? As if that guarantees better taste—anyways, I digress. With a single drop of a quality vintage, I could serve my guests the most delicate bouquets at my estates each night without it costing a copper penny. Even I would consider that a windfall in saved coin, although of course I’d have to keep the cloak secret…”

He broke off, clearing his throat. Olesm and Zevara exchanged a glance. That was Wall Lords for you. Ilvriss stroked the cloak.

“I suppose I must give it up?”

“I don’t think the Goblins care to trade, Wall Lord. Although I can ask Erin if she’d be willing to intercede—I thought the cloak kept changing properties, though. Wouldn’t that be inconvenient?”

Ilvriss looked mildly insulted.

“Changing properties? Oh, you mean if it comes in contact with another liquid. That isn’t an issue, Olesm. Willpower is enough to fix the cloak into whatever property I wish. In this case wine.”

He raised a fold of the liquid wine cloak. Olesm blinked.

“Have you been sampling that cloak all day, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss looked mildly abashed.

“Not me. I’m not drinking—I had my subordinates test the quality of the cloak. Along with the [Innkeeper] in my inn and a number of interested patrons. I believe they’re all asleep at the moment. The changing nature of the cloak was not an issue. I knew what I wanted.”

“Really. In my talk with Erin, as uh, translator, she said the cloak kept changing and the Hob who owned it—Rabbiteater—couldn’t get it to stop.”

“The flaw of being open-minded, one supposes. Curiosity will inevitably lead to change. Ah well, if we must give it to the Goblins…I’ll ask about it later. Dealing with this issue takes priority.”

The Wall Lord ignored the look Zevara and Olesm gave each other and undid the claps of the cloak. He reluctantly handed it to Olesm and kept walking.

A few [Guards] met them at the prison, along with the rest of the Hobgoblin’s gear. Zevara eyed the collection of weapons and armor.

“Put it in a holding spot. We’re not letting them go just yet. How’s the Human?”

The Drake on duty grimaced.

“Good, Watch Captain. Although we had to shut her up several times last night and this morning. She kept trying to get the other prisoners to sing.”

“And?”

“She succeeded.”

Zevara stared at the Drake. Olesm sighed. That said it all, really.

“Anything else?”

“No, Watch Captain. Nothing from the Hobs. Or the Minotaur. The Gold-ranks are clamoring to be let out, though.”

Zevara grimaced.

“I bet they are. Release the overnight prisoners then, with a warning. We’ll see to the Human ourselves.”

The [Guardsman] nodded. He handed Zevara a key and followed them into the prison. The three Drakes walked down the line of cells as those with menial offenses were let go, provided they’d paid their fines. They walked down to the major holding cells and Olesm froze as he saw a tall, horned figure standing silently in his cell. Ilvriss stared at the Minotaur who stared blankly at them and looked away.

“Scum.”

The Drakes turned to a cell just before Calruz. Four Hobs sat or stood in their cells, watching the Drakes warily. A young woman lay on a cot. She’d been standing, talking to the others, but she’d scrambled into her bed. She stared up at the ceiling, hands folded behind her head, as Zevara paused before the cage. She didn’t look up. The Watch Captain eyed Erin Solstice and looked at Olesm. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Erin?”

She didn’t respond. Olesm looked at Zevara. The Watch Captain made a face. Was Erin upset? She hadn’t been here more than a single night. Olesm called out to her.

“Erin, we’re going to let you go. You’ve uh, served your sentence and there’s a situation we might need your help with.”

“I can’t go back.”

Erin spoke slowly, not looking away from the ceiling. Olesm paused.

“Excuse me?”

He saw Erin’s head slowly turn towards him. The young woman spoke in a slow, monotone voice.

“I can’t go back, Olesm. I’ve been in here too long. Prison’s changed me, man. I’ve seen things. How can I return to the outside world?”

The Drakes stared at her. Olesm scratched the back of his head.

“This is an act, right? You’re doing something like those plays again.”

Erin stared at the ceiling.

“…No?”

Olesm sighed.

“Erin, this is an emergency. We don’t have time for—any of this!”

Erin blinked. She sat up a bit and eyed Olesm.

“It is? Okay, just a few more.”

To Olesm’s consternation, she lay back down and stared at the ceiling.

“It’s funny. I was an honest [Innkeeper] before all of this. I had to go to prison to become a [Criminal]. [Thug]. Whatever. This is a [Thug]’s life, y’know?”

Zevara slammed the cell door open.

“Get. Out.”

“Aw, fine.

Erin swung herself up. She walked over, stretching. Then she blinked at Ilvriss.

“Hey, Wall Lord. Hey, Zevara. Olesm. How’s the eye? Are you letting me and the Redfangs out? Or just me?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss glanced severely at the watching Hobs.

“That remains to be seen. For now, you will come with us. There’s a situation that has arisen that—strangely—we believe only you can resolve.”

“Really? Me? Well, okay then. Let’s go. Hey guys, I’ll be back soon! Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here, even if I have to bake a cake! If I do—don’t eat the entire thing, got it?”

Erin waved at the Hobs. They waved back. She smiled at them as she left the prison, and then looked at Olesm. She didn’t smile then.

“So what’s the problem?”

Olesm shuffled his feet. He couldn’t look Erin in the eye. He’d been—upset—yesterday. And maybe he’d made some rash decisions. But she had hit him. However, Olesm was certain that he wasn’t going to be receiving an apology any time soon.

“You’ll see. Follow us, and keep up.”

 

—-

 

It wasn’t that Erin resented being in jail for so long. Okay, she resented it a bit. It was already past midday and quickly becoming evening and she was sick of staring at the stone walls of her cell. Walking through the streets of Liscor did feel great by comparison. Maybe there was something to going to prison after all that gave you a new lease on life.

Anyways, Erin wasn’t about to hold a grudge. At least, not right now. Something was up, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out it had to do with Goblins. Or that it was serious. Drakes and Gnolls were doing that ‘standing in the streets’ thing that meant something was occurring that city life couldn’t work around. And they were coming up to Zevara and Ilvriss, or trying to.

“Keep moving! Watch business! Clear the streets!”

Zevara barked orders and her [Guardspeople] headed off anyone trying to get to her. The people of Liscor stared at her. And at Ilvriss. And Olesm. And at Erin. She could hear them whispering, and caught fragments of what was being said.

“—Watch Captain and Wall Lord. And the Strategist

“—the Human. You know, the one who runs The Wandering Inn? The one with—”

“—friends to Goblins. Think she’ll—”

“—Goblin Lord camped right outside—”

Erin looked around nervously.

“So uh, what exactly is going on?”

“You’ll see.”

Ilvriss glanced impassively back at Erin. The Drakes led her up to the eastern wall, past a large gathering of people. And Erin did see, then. She stared at the Goblins, thousands of Goblins standing on the hilltops. She listened to the roar as they shouted the Redfang’s battle cry. She blinked.

“Huh. That’s a lot of Goblins.”

Erin stared at the Cave Goblins. Her eyes found Numbtongue. She looked around at the grim Drakes, the wary Gnolls.

“So what did you want me to do, again?”

“Get them to leave. Speak to that Goblin. Tell them we will only release the Hobs once they march south. Fifty miles, perhaps. We’ll release the prisoners then.”

Ilvriss folded his arms. Erin stared at him. She looked at Numbtongue, brave Numbtongue holding his guitar aloft like a banner. He still had the manacles attached to his arms, the cuffs at least.

“And then what? They just leave?”

“If they return to the Floodplains we’ll bombard them. They cannot remain here when the Goblin Lord arrives.”

Zevara’s eyes were hard as she stared at the Goblins. She glanced at Erin.

“You need to make them understand that.”

“I see.”

Erin looked at Olesm. He looked uneasy and kept glancing at her. She gazed at Embria, who was watching her warily, and then looked back at the Goblins.

It can’t be this way forever. Erin had said something like that to Headscratcher in jail. And yet, when she looked at Numbtongue, at the Cave Goblins—her heart hurt. They’d done no wrong. No wrong, if you understood that they had been slaves to the Raskghar before that. And now they were marching on Liscor, peacefully, all for Numbtongue’s friends.

“Okay.”

“You’ll do it? In that case—”

Zevara turned, relieved. Erin shook her head.

“No. Take me back to jail.”

She held out her hands. The Drakes froze.

“Wait, what?”

Erin looked at Olesm.

“I can’t deal with them. And I can’t get them to go. So…take me back to jail. I hear we’re getting beef stew for dinner.”

“You cannot do that.”

Zevara stared at Erin. The young woman smiled, a bit mockingly.

“Oh yeah? Why not? I’m not cooperating. What’re you gonna do, arrest me twice?”

“We could kick you off this wall for aiding the enemy.”

Embria offered. Ilvriss quieted her with a look. He stared at Erin and then sighed.

“What do you want, then?”

Erin smiled.

“You’re willing to talk instead of give ultimatums?”

“If there is no other choice…my patience is limited, however. As are the concessions I’m willing to make. The Goblins leaving is paramount. Tell me your demands.”

Ilvriss looked down at Erin. She nodded.

“In that case, give the Redfangs back their gear and get ready to let them go. And let me negotiate with Numbtongue. On my own terms.”

“You’ll get them to leave? Really?”

Olesm looked at Erin. She hesitated.

“I think so. He’s not an idiot. But you have to let the Redfangs go. I’m positive Numbtongue won’t budge unless we do.”

A grinding sound came from Embria. She did not like this plan, any more than the others did.

“And if we refuse? If we attack the Goblins or don’t release our hostages?”

Erin shrugged. She stared at Embria without blinking.

“If you kill them, or hurt them or refuse to let them go? I guess he’ll stay put. Without hurting anyone or doing much more than this. Horrible, right? He probably won’t hurt me or attack my inn. But I’ll bet you that when the Goblin Lord arrives, Numbtongue will join right up. So there you are.”

She waited. Ilvriss looked disgusted and resigned by turns. Zevara just nodded.

“We’ll get the Hobgoblins out of prison. We have some terms of our own.”

She outlined them succinctly. Erin shrugged.

“I’ll tell him that. Now, if you could let me get back to my inn? And give me a key for Numbtongue’s shackles. Oh, and get me a new guitar. His is broken.”

 

—-

 

Erin climbed down a ladder down to the muddy Floodplains. She still couldn’t leave the city via the gates—not because of the water, but because of the Goblin ‘threat’. She grimaced as her feet landed in the mud.

“Ew. Squishy.”

At least the bridge to her inn was still there. The valleys were still flooded and Erin could make out dark shapes swimming in the murky waters. She crossed her bridge, trying not to slip on the wooden slats as she clung to the damp ropes. Her inn was farther away than she remembered it being—then again, she’d been used to the magic door so she’d forgotten it was a ten minute walk.

For some reason the magic door hadn’t connected to Liscor no matter how long Erin had waited. So she made the journey on foot, key in hand. Zevara had refused to get Erin a guitar and she hadn’t let Erin go buy one either. Erin was nearly at her inn when the door flew open and someone rushed out. Several someones, in fact.

“Mrsha, no, don’t jump—”

Erin yelped and nearly tumbled down the hill as Mrsha leapt at her. Her feet skidded in the mud and Erin nearly fell butt-first into the mud. She was only saved by Lyonette grabbing her. The two girls skidded halfway down the hill, then saved themselves.

“Erin! You’re back! Are you okay?”

“I’m good! Mrsha, you’re covered in mud! Let’s get to the inn!”

Erin shepherded the muddy Mrsha up the hill and entered the inn. Lyonette was speaking rapidly the entire time.

“You’ve seen the Goblins, right? Numbtongue is leading them! And there was an attack on the inn while you were away, Erin! Someone stole the door!”

“I heard. Olesm told me some of it. And we got the door back?”

“Yes! But the mana stone that connects us to Pallass is—”

“—gone. Which puts Liscor up poo creek without a paddle.”

Erin succinctly summarized the situation. She stared around her inn as Mrsha went to roll on some white towels. She saw heads turn.

“Erin?”

Her inn was full. Not of her regular clientele, but adventurers. The Horns, Griffon Hunt, the Silver Swords…even teams like Bevussa’s Wings of Pallass were there, sitting together. It seemed as though all the teams in Liscor had congregated in Erin’s inn—they were the only ones willing to leave the city with the Goblins so nearby.

“Erin! How was jail? Wait—how’s Bird? Lyonette asked at the Hive and they only said that he was alive!”

Ceria stood up. Pisces sniffed as he passed by Mrsha.

“It seems we’re both fellow victims of incarceration now. Has your sojourn in prison kept you from noticing the obvious, Erin? There are quite a number of Goblins roaming the Floodplains.”

Erin laughed as her friends greeted her.

“Hi Ceria, hi Pisces. Yvlon, Ksmvr. Hey Halrac, Revi—yes, I saw the Goblins, Pisces. I’m actually supposed to do something about them. Bevussa! I just saw you and Keldrass in jail!”

The Garuda raised a mug and Keldrass nodded to her. Both teams were sitting far apart and giving each other the stink-eye now and then. It had been a brawl between a number of adventuring teams in the guild that had landed them in prison.

“What are you going to do, Erin?”

The young woman paused. She was wiping away some mud with a towel—not that it would matter since she was going right back out in the thick of it. She scratched her head and shrugged.

“Talk to him. That’s all. I think it’ll be fine. But I need to go now, before Zevara burns my inn down. I’ll be back in a moment to talk with you all.”

The adventurers exchanged a glance. Ceria cleared her throat.

“Need an escort? We have some things we need to tell you, Erin.”

“We’d be honored.”

Ylawes sat up. Erin frowned. She glanced around her inn and noticed a conspicuous absence. And Lyonette was giving Erin a meaningful look.

“No…I think I’m good, Ceria, Ylawes. Adventurers make Goblins uneasy. I’ll go and be back soon. Lyonette, can you walk with me part of the way? Just for a few minutes. Not you, Mrsha. You have to stay.”

The Gnoll cub didn’t like that, but Yvlon picked her up and even squirming as hard as she could, Mrsha couldn’t get free. She whined as Lyonette and Erin left the inn. They walked down the hill and Erin grimaced.

“Ew. There’s a path, but it’s mud.”

Indeed, to get to where the Goblins were standing, Erin would have to go up and down the hills, which meant walking through the mud and occasionally through knee-deep water. If she slipped, Erin would tumble to the bottom of the hill—which meant a reintroduction to water if the valley was deep.

“There are boots and a special type of stick they use to walk around in. Do you want me to try and get one?”

“No. I’ll walk. It’s a big mess and I can’t delay.”

Erin sighed. She and Lyonette began to slip their way down a hill and up the first one. As they walked, Erin talked.

“So who stole the door? Any ideas?”

“No one knows. But some people came through it, from Celum. That’s why Olesm confiscated the mana stone leading there. None of the adventurers were happy. Also, this isn’t proof, but the night the door was stolen, that [Magician]—Eltistiman—he vanished.”

“What? But I liked him.”

Erin’s face fell. Lyonette pursed her lips.

“He might be innocent. Or a victim.”

“You think so?”

“No. And neither does Olesm. There’s a bounty on his head.”

“Damn.”

Erin cursed. It felt wholly insufficient to the moment. She glared at nothing, remembering the smiling, charming illusion-mage.

“Eltistiman Verdue. I’m gonna remember his…face. Not the name. If I see that guy again, he’s gonna get what for. Okay, what’s the next problem?”

Lyonette glanced back at the inn.

“The door to Celum’s out. And so is the door to Pallass. All the adventurers are stuck in Liscor and they want out.”

“Oh, is that why they’re all at my inn?”

“Yes. They won’t say as much to Watch Captain Zevara—much less Wall Lord Ilvriss—but I think that even the Pallassian adventurers don’t want to stay and fight. They all want to leave.”

“Makes sense. But Liscor will be under attack. And my door’s outta juice. So what’s their plan?”

Lyonette glanced around again. But there was no one nearby. Just the watchers on Liscor, the adventurers following their slow progress in the mud—and the Goblins on the nearby hills. They were staring at Erin and Lyonette, although not with hostility. So many watchers. It  made Erin’s shoulders itch. The [Princess] whispered to her, keeping a wary eye on the Cave Goblins.

“They still want to use your door. They’re trying to leave Liscor, Erin. They’re going north. Towards Celum.”

“Who is?”

All of the adventurers!”

“You’re kidding. And Olesm is okay with that?”

“He doesn’t know! They’re taking a door with them with a new mana stone embedded in it. I objected—so did Typhenous and Dawil and Ceria. They wanted you to weigh in before they started this. But the other teams said they had to go now, or at least get started.”

“Oh boy. That’s not good.”

Erin’s stomach, already a bit seasick from all the churning, began to make gastric butter. Lyonette nodded.

“Remember how you got here from Celum? They’re doing the same thing—but in reverse. They’re trading it off, going back through the door so only one team has to carry it each time. They’re going to try and get to Esthelm and hire horses—or a wagon to move faster—by tonight. They think they can get out of the pass before the Goblin Lord’s army arrives.”

“Wonderful. At least it’s a tried and true method. And how far are they?”

“Jelaqua’s team was the first shift, and they left this morning. I think they’re nearing the edge of the Floodplains by foot. It’s slow progress right now, but soon—Erin, what are we going to do?”

“Tell Olesm. Or maybe not. I dunno. Liscor needs to be defended, but the adventurers don’t want to fight. I’ll think about it. Right now I have to deal with the Cave Goblins. You want to go back?”

“I’ll stick with you.”

Lyonette squared her shoulders. Erin smiled at her. The two climbed a hill. And then they saw the Cave Goblins spread out ahead of them.

It was a strange sight. Goblins sat about on hilltops, twenty odd thousand of them scattered in different spots. Some were cooking or sitting around the fires, others fishing, or just…going about the task of living. Erin saw some of them diving around the rift to the dungeon and hauling stuff up. The Cave Goblins were everywhere.

“Holy smokes. I knew there were more than I thought, but this many?”

Erin blinked at the Goblins. Lyonette shook her head in wonder.

“There are so many. How are they feeding themselves? There’s no way the food you were giving them was enough!”

“I think they had food from the dungeon. And—oh wow. Yeah, they have food. Just not good food. Look at that.”

Erin pointed. She’d spotted the Cave Goblins bringing up something from the underwater rift to the dungeon. Lyonette saw what they were lugging across the muddy floodplains to a waiting fire. She put a hand over her mouth.

“Is that—”

“Uh huh. That’s a dead, giant caterpillar. A dead caterpillar with hair. They’re sautéing it.”

Lyonette turned green. Erin felt her stomach lurch.

“Well, I guess monsters from the dungeon are like…half of their food supply. I did wonder what all that salt and oil was being used for. And they’ve got fish here, cooking equipment…”

Pleasantly, the only smells the two girls were inhaling were coming from a nearby cook fire, where some Goblins were frying up muddy fish they’d scooped from the valley-lakes. Erin stared at them, to get the image of Goblins sawing chunks off the caterpillar out of her head.

“I’m going in. You stay put, Lyonette. Or go back. That caterpillar’s gonna smell soon.”

“What does Zevara want you to do?”

Lyonette called after Erin as the [Innkeeper] began to walk down the hill. Erin didn’t respond.

What did Zevara want her to do? What did Ilvriss and Olesm want? Well, they wanted her to wave her hands and make the Goblins go away. They were about to fight a war. A war. And Erin was going to be caught up in it.

It didn’t feel quite real. Erin had trouble taking it seriously. War was coming to Liscor? Actual armies and a siege? She couldn’t imagine it. She’d never seen an army—well, the Goblin Lord maybe—but the idea of a bunch of Humans, her people, coming to attack Liscor? It was too much to imagine.

Erin thought of Magnolia and her incredible mansion. She remembered the landscape flashing by as she rode with Reynold. Hundreds of miles of land she’d never set foot on. An entire world and politics and people she knew nothing about. Liscor was her home. She’d only gone to Pallass, and even then, she’d barely explored the city. All she knew was this one place.

In some ways, Erin knew so little of this world for all the time she’d been in it. She wished Ryoka were here, to give her some perspective. She wished she knew more of what to do. But as she walked down the hill and the Cave Goblin’s heads turned, she knew there was no one who could give her advice. She saw a ripple go through the Cave Goblins, and then a tall figure appeared at the top of a hill. Erin stared up and smiled.

“Numbtongue.”

He walked down the hill towards her, his eyes wide. She smiled up at him as Cave Goblins poured over the sides of the hills. They watched as Erin and Numbtongue met. The Hobgoblin [Bard] and Human girl stared at each other. Then Erin smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Numbtongue was oddly shy. Erin smiled. She reached out and hugged him. A susurration ran through the Cave Goblins. Numbtongue froze, and then patted Erin on the shoulder. Erin stared at his hands. The shackles had been broken—snapped by a bunch of impacts by the looks of it. She dug in her pocket.

“I’ve got a key for those cuffs. Let’s go find somewhere dry to sit, okay?”

The two found a dry spot to sit. Next to a fire, actually. The Cave Goblins had found some kind of fuel supply—made it, rather. Erin saw dried grass pellets being tossed into fires along with the precious and scarce wood. She asked Numbtongue about it.

“They dragged it from the pass.”

He pointed north. Erin’s blinked.

“That’s far! And they carried all that wood here?”

He shrugged.

“Lots of wood is easy to carry. If you have lots of hands.”

“That’s true.”

They sat together in silence for a bit. A small Goblin with a huge chef’s hat came by and offered Erin some roast fish. To be polite, Erin nibbled it and found it was actually really good.

“Thanks, Pebblesnatch. You’ve outdone yourself!”

The Cave Goblin beamed with pride. She adjusted her hat and walked off self-importantly. Numbtongue watched Erin spit out a fish bone. At last, he came out with it.

“Are they alive? Is Bird alive?”

“Yes, and yes. They’re both fine. Bird’s in the Hive. Klbkch won’t say how he’s doing, but he made it. And the Redfangs are in prison. I was with them just now and they’re fine.”

Numbtongue breathed out slowly. He relaxed, and some of the tension in him that had been there all day slowly eased. Erin looked at him.

“You did a lot while I was in jail, huh?”

“Yes. I did not know what to do. So I did—”

Numbtongue waved a claw at the Cave Goblins. Erin looked at them. Some were carrying weapons. Others were even sparring, practicing fighting in the mud. Some were cooks and some—

“Are they making guitars?

She pointed. Numbtongue glanced at a group of Goblins energetically carving at a piece of wood and fumbling with pieces of string.

“Maybe. Will Liscor let my…will they let the Hobgoblins go?”

“Yes. I think so. But it’s tricky. You scared them, Numbtongue. You know what’s happening, right?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged again.

“The Goblin Lord is coming. Humans are forcing him to attack Liscor. A big war is coming. Dangerous. For Drakes, for Gnolls…for Humans too.”

“That’s about it. How do you know about what’s going on?”

Erin was impressed. Numbtongue didn’t look that surprised by what was happening. He tapped one ear.

“People talk in the inn all the time. No one pays attention to listening Goblins. Even big Hobs.”

“Huh. Okay. So…what is your tribe going to do?”

“If they let the others go—”

“They will.”

“—then we will go south. No point staying here. It would be a pointless-death. Against Humans. Against the Goblin Lord.”

Erin glanced sideways at Numbtongue.

“You wouldn’t join up with him?”

He bared his teeth.

“No. He is our tribe’s enemy.”

“But you don’t know where your tribe is.”

Numbtongue hesitated. He bowed his head.

“No. Don’t even know if Chieftain is alive. I think she is. But I don’t know.”

Erin was tempted to ask who his Chieftain was. She’d never gotten a chance to talk. In fact, this was the most Numbtongue had ever said to her without being coaxed. She thought about what he’d said.

“Okay. So you’re going south.”

“Yes. We’ll take Cave Goblins south. Go west, towards High Passes. That is home. Maybe our tribe went back. Maybe—we know how to live there.”

“That’s a long way away.”

“Yes.”

Numbtongue looked towards Liscor, and then past it. He looked at Erin.

“Liscor will let my brothers go?”

Erin smiled.

“If they don’t, you’ll stay here. And that would be bad for them. They think you might join the Goblin Lord. So yeah, they’ll let Headscratcher and the others go.”

“Good.”

Numbtongue nodded a few times. Then he hesitated. He looked at Erin.

“The Human army is coming. The Goblin Lord is coming. They’ll kill a city and start a war. Will you stay? Will you run? We can protect you.”

The question caught Erin off-guard. She hesitated.

“I—I’m not going. Not yet.  But I don’t want to leave you guys. I was thinking—I’ll send a magic doorway with you. How about that? That way, you can stay at my inn.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. I heard how you protected my inn. And got the door back. Thank you for that.”

Erin smiled at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin looked abashed. He waved a claw.

“We saw the door. Saw Humans—[Rogues]. Ambushed them. It wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Well, that’s the best kind of fight. And I was in jail the entire time. It’s not actually that bad in there. But I got out early because you showed up.”

“Sorry?”

Erin laughed. Numbtongue smiled, and for a second the two sat together. Erin had so many things she wanted to say, or ask, or do. But she thought of the adventurers marching north and knew she couldn’t. Regretfully, she stood up.

“They’ll let the other guys go now. Zevara says she’ll do it as a sign of goodwill—but if you’re not gone by night, she’ll start bombarding you with spells. So…I guess that’s sorta nice. For her.”

“For her. We’ll leave as soon as I see the others.”

Numbtongue agreed. He stood up with Erin and looked towards Liscor. She saw movement on the battlements and waved her hands. That meant ‘yes’, or so she’d agreed with Zevara. Numbtongue stood beside her. He hesitated.

“Is it a good idea? Going away? We—I feel like it’s running away.”

Erin frowned. She looked at Numbtongue.

“But this isn’t your battle. It’s a silly Human thing. And a Drake thing, I guess. The Goblin Lord’s a Goblin, yeah, but he’s not your problem.”

For a long time the Hobgoblin hesitated. He looked at Erin. He opened and closed his mouth and then whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, but you’re—”

He didn’t get to finish. Erin jumped up excitedly.

“Hey. There they come! Look, look!”

Numbtongue’s head snapped around. He saw four shapes appear on the battlements. The Cave Goblins leapt to their feet. The figures were tiny, but familiar. Numbtongue watched as a rope ladder was lowered, and the people on the wall exchanged brief words with the Hobgoblins. Then, slowly, they began to descend.

“There they are! I told you! Headscratcher and Badarrow and—whoa! Where’s everyone going?”

The Cave Goblins charged across the muddy plains as one. On the walls, the Drakes readied themselves, but the Goblins weren’t headed towards them. They swarmed towards the four figures that walked towards them. The Redfang Warriors were surrounded in an instant. Numbtongue and Erin stood together. Erin was smiling. Numbtongue couldn’t contain his grin either. She turned to him.

“Well, that’s that. You guys should start going south. But stop by my inn—I need to get a door and a mana stone. Or—can you bring the one from your cave? I’ll get in contact with you tonight, but I have this thing with adventurers…”

He looked at her. There were so many things Numbtongue wanted to say. And do. Not least of which was hug her again, but he was too embarrassed. But if he could talk to her—he hesitated.

“You’re going?”

She smiled at him. A kind smile, a happy one. The kind that lit you up from your toes to the top of your head.

“Sorry, Numbtongue. But it’s okay! I’ve got a magic door. We’ll see each other tonight. Just get somewhere safe. You and the Cave Goblins shouldn’t get mixed up in all this mess.”

“What about you?”

She was already marching down the hill, back towards her inn. Numbtongue could see his friends, his companions, running towards him. He saw Erin turn. Heard her call out.

“I’m not leaving. Not yet.”

And then she was gone. Erin took two steps, slipped, and cursed as she slipped and fell down the side of a hill. Numbtongue listened to her swearing a blue streak, and then turned. His four brothers came towards him, surrounded by a tribe. Only, they weren’t Chieftains. Not proper ones. And they had no purpose or place. Except here. Numbtongue narrowed his eyes. He stared back at Erin. At her inn. And at Liscor.

Well then. It was time to speak with Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Rabbiteater. And really figure out what they were going to do next.

 

—-

 

The Redfang tribe was rounding the last bend in the pass leading to Liscor. They could already smell the moisture ahead of them, the mud and evaporating water in the air. Their Carn Wolves panted, and Garen wondered if they’d have to swim across the Floodplains. Probably not. Rags had said it would drain around now. Was that why the Humans were driving Reiss’ army this way? What was their plan?

Not that he cared. Not that it mattered. It was just that if Reiss was going to die, Garen would like to know. He was going to fail, obviously. His master was deranged and a monster. Reiss would never realize his stupid dream. He might have, with Garen’s help. With his help, Garen could have defeated any enemy. But he’d betrayed Garen.

Just like the others. Just like—

They came up across one another as the Redfang Tribe raced past a cave set into the side of a mountain. Strangely, it looked like there were Goblins around here, and the Redfangs had paused to investigate. They were heading inside the cave, noting the archery targets and deforestation of the area—sure signs of a growing tribe—when one of the sentries whistled.

Travellers on the road. Three!

Garen relaxed. Three travellers—no matter who they were—weren’t a match for his warriors. Still, he decided to check them out himself, in case it was three [Mages] or something dangerous. He rode his Carn Wolf down the road and saw a strange sight.

Three people were headed up the road, talking to each other, laughing. They weren’t your run-of-the-mill wanderers either. One was huge, a man, but a giant as well, easily eight feet tall, possibly nine. He wore patchwork clothing, smaller strips sewn together to fit his frame. He walked with a staff in hand, and under his arm he carried a wooden door of all things. Inset in the door’s frame was a glowing white stone.

Beside him walked two smaller folk, but both just as unique. One was a Drake, or at least, appeared to be a Drake on first glance. Her scales were too pale, and no blood flowed beneath her skin. She was dead. Or at least, her body was. She carried a flail on her shoulder, but wore only light leather armor.

The last was a man who seemed to blend with the shadows, even in the light. He wore dark clothing and half his body was carapace, his left hand a crab’s claw as opposed to his hand. His face, his leg—his left side looked like it had merged with some kind of crustacean from the ocean. And indeed, it was from there that he had come. He seldom laughed, but he did smile, if you looked for it.

The three were adventurers. And they had been walking for a while to judge by the mud stains on their clothing. Nevertheless, they were in good humor. They walked easily. Until they saw the Goblins, that was.

The Redfang Tribe spread out in front of the cave made the adventurers freeze. But rather than scream, flee, or panic, they moved at once, setting themselves together and preparing for combat. Their leader, the Selphid, shouted for the half-Giant to send a [Message] spell. The Redfangs roused themselves, sensing a fight. They looked to their leader, waiting for the order to attack.

But it didn’t come. Garen Redfang sat on his Carn Wolf, frozen. He stared at the three adventurers. They were here. As if his mind had called them into existence. Or perhaps they had called to him. Almost exactly as he remembered them. And as the three adventurers looked around, weighing the odds, bracing themselves for the worst, they looked up and saw him.

All three froze. Garen stared into Jelaqua’s eyes as she went limp with shock. At Moore, who froze, door half-raised like a shield. At Seborn, who gripped his daggers and uttered an oath. At his friends. And he saw hatred—and the knowledge of what he’d done. The blood—

The blood was on his hands. It ran from the tabletop, dripped onto the floor. Blood. It splashed across the rest of the room as well. The private sitting area the Halfseekers had requested to divide up their loot was painted with it.

Blood. So little of it was Garen’s own. It dripped from the bodies. Four of them. Garen looked around. Slumped shapes. Twisted expressions, caught in their final moments. And then one of the bodies moved and he realized she was still alive.

“You—you’re just—”

Halassia Evergleam croaked, blood running around her bloody scales. For once they weren’t ashy or black. Red and black mixed as she tried to raise the wand, not realizing that her clawed hand was severed. Torn flesh and bone stared at Garen as he looked down at her.

“They’re all—all dead.

Dead. Yes. Garen looked around. Keilam lay in a pool of his blood, dead before he’d been able to chant a spell. Thornst was fallen, bow in hand. Like Keilam he’d not been able to attack in the brief moments before his death. Ukrina’s body lay in the center of the room, surrounded by destruction. She hadn’t fallen half as easily. And she had fought until her body was nothing but tatters.

The last was Halassia. He’d thought he killed her in the first moments, but she’d survived. The Scorchling gurgled, and blood ran from her mouth. She looked at Garen, and the hate in her made him flinch.

“We never should have taken you in. Never. We shouldn’t have trusted you. You can’t trust—they’ll get you for this. You. Traitor. I hope you and every last one of your kind burns in—”

She raised her stump of a hand and Garen saw a flash of magic. He moved unconsciously, reflexively. The crimson blade he had named Redfang buried itself in Halassia’s chest. She jerked once, fell still. And then it was over.

Garen stood in the room, surrounded by his friends, his companions. Blood ran over the treasure they’d worked so hard to acquire that day. It ran over the key he held in his trembling left hand. He stared down at his bloody blade, the key, and then at his team. Four out of the seven people he trusted more than anything in his life. Dead. By his hand.

Garen screamed, then. He screamed and screamed, until his throat was raw. Then he ran, key in hand. He fled the city, ignoring the Humans who panicked at the sight of him, covered in blood. He ran and ran, knowing there was no way back. But it wasn’t his fault. He had been betrayed. He had done the killing but it wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t his—

“Hey. Is that who I think it is?”

Jelaqua spoke dreamily. She looked at Moore and Seborn and shook herself. The other two were staring. Jelaqua stared at the Hobgoblin sitting astride the Carn Wolf. She blinked. Rubbed at one eye. Then she looked up.

“I’ve gotta be dreaming. Moore. Moore. Hit me!”

The half-Giant blinked. He looked down and swatted Jelaqua across the back of the head. The watching Goblins heard a tremendous thud, slightly hollow. Jelaqua fell over. When she got up, there was a dent in the back of her head. She felt at it and grinned.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not dreaming. That’s Garen.”

The name made the other two start. Seborn straightened. Moore ground his staff into the ground.

“Here? After we looked for so long?”

“Yeah. And here I thought we’d have to go into the High Passes with an army one day. And here he is. Funny coincidence, that.”

Jelaqua smiled. She looked at the other two.

“You up for this? Moore, you might wanna cancel that [Message].”

“Right.”

The half-Giant put a finger to his temple. He let the door fall onto the ground with a soft thump. Seborn eyed the watching Goblins. The Redfangs hadn’t moved from their spot. They were looking at Garen and at the adventurers, waiting, but growing more and more confused by the second. And Garen was just watching, his eyes flicking from face to face.

“Seborn.”

Jelaqua.

The two turned to each other. They shook hands. Then Moore lowered his fingers from his temple. He breathed out raggedly.

“I told them. It’s done. Let’s go.”

“Alright.”

Jelaqua slapped Moore on the arm. Seborn touched the half-Giant’s elbow. The three walked forwards. Jelaqua smiling. Moore’s eyes on Garen’s face. Seborn reaching for the daggers at his sides.

“Hey Garen. Long time no see!”

Jelaqua called out cheerfully. Garen started. He looked down as the Selphid walked towards him. The Goblins and Carn Wolves growled warningly, but the Gold-rank adventurers had no eyes for them. The four thousand Goblins could have been dust to Jelaqua. She looked up at Garen and smiled.

His former captain. His former friends. They spread out, adopting an old formation. Only, there were five empty spaces. So it wasn’t a formation, but a memory. A calling. Jelaqua beamed up at Garen as she gripped the flail with both hands. For a moment she was the Jelaqua he remembered. She spoke softly, her eyes meeting Garen’s.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

Then she screamed and leapt for him. Seborn drew his blades and Moore bellowed. It was a sound that made the howling Carn Wolves fall silent, that sent a cold jolt of fear through Garen’s heart. A sound as loud as grief, a cry torn by years of anguish, of hatred and rage. Jelaqua took up the cry and Seborn charged, silent. They came for him, with all the fury in the world.

Old friends. Garen drew his sword. Familiar faces. Friends for life. The flail whirled towards his head. Twin daggers sought his heart. His family. A staff fell towards his head like thunder.

The Halfseekers.

Together at last.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.58

They came for him. Three of them. Old friends. They charged forwards, howling, ghosts from his past, aiming at him through thousands of Goblins. For a second Garen was frozen, staring into each face. Then he reacted. He drew his sword and time slowed.

In battle, time always felt elongated to Garen. It wasn’t that he didn’t move as quickly, but his mind outpaced his body. He turned his Carn Wolf as the three came at him and saw his tribe react. Like him, they had been caught off-guard by the Halfseekers’ attack. But only for a moment. As they saw the Gold-rank adventurers going for their Chieftain, they moved to intercept, to bring the three down.

Just like Garen had taught them. In fact, his entire tribe had been forged, trained for this very moment. Garen had dreamed of a day when his past would catch up to him. He had imagined an army of adventurers, a war in the High Passes. Instead he fought in a quiet bend in the road, next to a cave, just north of Liscor. It changed nothing. The three didn’t so much as hesitate, though they had to know the odds.

They didn’t stop.

The first was Jelaqua. She ran ahead, so fast that she was running past Carn Wolves and Goblins on horseback as they turned to catch her. Her legs moved at a pace few creatures could match, Skills or not. She was wearing a Drake’s body, the skin dead and pale. But Garen knew her by the two-handed flail she whirled around her, and the look in her eye.

A Goblin raced at her, falchion raised. Spiderslicer slashed down at Jelaqua and she twisted. The whirling flail struck Spiderslicer’s Carn Wolf and nearly struck the Goblin in the face as Spiderslicer pulled back. He cursed—the other Goblins were caught by the spinning flail and screamed in pain. Jelaqua kept running. She was already rampaging, forcing her body beyond its normal limits.

Garen!

She screamed his name. The Hob turned in his saddle. He was urging his Carn Wolf away, further behind his warriors. He couldn’t afford to fight her. Jelaqua was—she had been his Captain. When she was using a fresh body and rampaging, she was stronger and quicker than he was. Or, she had been. Her flail could strike from any angle. She’d stop him, and let the other two catch up for the kill.

Archers!

The word came not from Garen’s mouth, but from Spiderslicer. The Goblin raced around Jelaqua, pointing at her. Goblins grabbed bows, and a Hob lifted his spear. Jelaqua ignored the threat. She crashed into a pair of riders who charged at her with stolen lances and downed both in a moment. Their horses collapsed, screaming. Jelaqua knocked one aside, looking for Garen—

And a spear struck her in the back. It passed through her leather armor and embedded itself in her right shoulder blade. The force made Jelaqua stagger. The Redfang warriors shouted in triumph and moved forwards to finish her off.

“No, back!

He bellowed at them too late. They came at her, eight of them from every direction. Jelaqua turned, and her flail spun.

Death. Garen heard the sickening thumps, saw his warriors fall. Jelaqua turned and the Redfangs faltered. The spear stuck out of her back, but she did not bleed. She looked around and Garen and Jelaqua both saw the other two faltering. Goblins were intercepting both. Jelaqua cursed.

You two! Go! I’ll cover you!

She ran back. The Redfang Warriors heard her of course, and moved to intercept. They were contemptuous, still. There were thousands of them, and they’d fought and killed Gold-rank adventurers before. What could one warrior do?

Everything. Nothing. Garen was looking for a spot to make a stand. He saw Jelaqua leap, bring down two warriors as her flail tore at the air. She landed and the other two ran past her. The other Redfangs were slowed by the zone threatened by Jelaqua’s spinning flail. They hesitated, realizing how suicidal it would be to charge. So instead they raised their bows and shot her.

Arrows snapped and spun as Jelaqua’s whirling flail caught some mid-flight. But she couldn’t strike them all down. Again, Jelaqua staggered as arrows struck her from all sides. One struck her in the cheek and the Redfang Goblins roared. Again they surged forwards. Jelaqua crushed the first wave and the second without slowing. The Redfang Warriors backed up, wide-eyed. An arrow struck Jelaqua in the chest and she didn’t slow. And then they realized.

She didn’t bleed.

Garen saw his tribe slow, bottlenecked by the Selphid. It wasn’t that they couldn’t run past her or around her, but she dominated the field. Redfangs didn’t run from a fight. But they had never fought a Selphid before. Jelaqua turned, the spear sticking out of her back. The spear splintered as the whirling flail struck the haft. The tip of the spear twisted in Jelaqua’s back. She turned and the Redfang tribe saw no fear in her eyes, no pain.

Go! I’ll hold them here!

She called at her companions. But it was a futile boast. Garen saw it. The other two were still far from him and Jelaqua couldn’t hold his warriors. Not alone. He dared to relax. He’d ridden around the perimeter of his tribe rather than charge in. Against any other adventurers he would have. But them? He met the burning gaze that hid behind Jelaqua’s body. The intelligence that lived in the dead body, Jelaqua’s true form, stared back.

Not them. Not her. He would let his warriors bring them down. Garen relaxed. He stared down at the strange thing they’d dropped. A door, lying on the grass. Strange. It was just a…door. As if someone had yanked it off its hinges. Garen frowned down at it. Why would they be carrying…?

Then he saw the white, glowing stone set in the door brighten. The door moved. It swung over in the grass. Garen’s Carn Wolf leapt back. He saw another place appear where grass should be. He stared down, into a room that looked like an inn—and then he saw something blue charging at him. The feathered adventurer leapt and Garen saw her dive forwards, and then she was flying up through the door and into the sky.

Wings of Pallass! On me!

Bevussa shrieked and the other three Drakes flew through the door. They shot up into the air and faltered—they had run through the door, but because it was on the ground, they had shot straight up. They turned and the Redfangs looked up, surprised by the sudden appearance of these strangers. But then Spiderslicer pointed and bows raised. Goblins drew back, aiming for the fliers.

The Wings of Pallass didn’t hesitate. As their leader shouted, they dove, and the arrows missed. They slashed down, striking, and four Goblins fell, struck from behind and above. The Wings of Pallass flew up again as more arrows flew, choosing another target as the Redfang tribe scattered, trying to adjust to this new foe. Garen snarled. He urged his Carn Wolf towards the door—

And then there was fire.

Another figure jumped out—a Drake wearing full-body plate armor. He spat blue fire and the Goblins retreated, Carn Wolves howling and bounding away to roll on the ground. More Drakes ran out of the door, leaping up and them stumbling, finding themselves oriented differently. The first group was like the Drake, and breathed fire. The next was a Human in armor. A half-Elf who began throwing spells, a Dwarf who climbed out of the door and pushed himself up.

Adventurers. They were coming from the open door, from another place! Garen roared and pointed at it.

“Break the door!”

His warriors moved to obey. They charged the adventurers. Garen turned. His Carn Wolf howled, and Garen swatted at the fire that had ignited part of its coat. He heard a voice coming from the open door as he backed away from it, eying the adventurers, looking for a weak spot. The Drakes in armor were tough, forming a wall. The [Knight] and Dwarf both wore heavy armor, but that half-Elf—

“Move the door! Move the fucking door! We’re jumping out the wrong way!”

Revi screamed as she and Griffon Hunt waited on the other side. Halrac was standing at the door as Dawil and Yvlon wrestled it upright. The [Scout]’s hand shot up and he snatched an arrow aimed at Typhenous out of the air. Revi ducked as the Redfangs began shooting arrows through the doorway.

“Get clear! Get the civilians outside or upstairs! And get the other teams! Tell Erin—

Garen saw more adventurers gathered behind the team in the doorway. He snarled. A portal door? Well then, he’d break the door and cut the adventurers off. He pointed forwards, uttered a command. His Carn Wolf whoofed, and turned its head. Garen felt a prickle on his spine and turned as a shadow blocked the setting sun. His heart skipped a beat.

A huge head covered in thorns blocked the light. A body wreathed in an armor of vines reached out. Garen’s huge Carn Wolf, the largest of its kind, snapped and bit. The colossus swatted it aside, knocking Garen from the saddle. His staff swung—the Redfangs trying to charge him flew like broken toys.

There he stood. He’d simply run through the lines of Garen’s tribe. His eyes shone with the magic of the green. But he didn’t use magic. He just swung again, and Garen had to roll away or die as the staff thudded into the ground where he had been. He looked up, at the half-Giant who claimed the sky.

“Moore.”

A fist punched down at him. Garen dodged left, cutting at the hand. Moore’s [Armor of Thorns] spell took most of the cut, but Garen’s crimson blade sheared through the thick vines. But Moore’s skin was barely cut. [Barkskin]. Garen twisted. He saw a staff swinging at him, and ducked rather than block. It whistled over his head. Moore let go of his staff as Garen charged forwards, trying to get past the half-Giant. He grabbed at Garen, bellowing.

You! How could you? How dare you? They were your friends! We were your friends!

Garen didn’t reply. He cut at Moore’s legs. He had to bring Moore down, get behind his warriors. Or else finish him.

Finish him? Garen hesitated. The half-Giant did not. One hand shot out. Garen reflexively stabbed at it. This time his strike was good.

The tip of his sword pierced Moore’s palm, with almost no resistance. Garen stared in horror at the splintered bone and flesh. He heard Moore scream. He tried to pull the blade out—then caught himself and began to twist. But the hand never stopped. It closed around Garen and he felt the thorns and vines dig into his flesh. Something squeezed him, grinding his bones and flesh together. Moore raised him up.

“Thornst! Keilam! Ukrina! Hallassia! Do you remember them?”

He slammed Garen into the ground, and Garen’s entire world went black for a moment. The Goblin woke up staring at Moore. The half-Giant’s fist was raised. Garen blinked at it.

“Nice punch.”

He and Moore stood together in the bar. Or rather, what remained of it. The brief bar fight had carried them halfway out into the street, but given the wrecked walls of the bar, that meant they could still stare back inside. Two adventuring teams lay slumped over as the horrified bar owner stared around at the destruction.

The half-Giant groaned and massaged his knuckles. Garen grinned up at him. Moore looked a bit reproachful as he shook his head.

“Don’t say that. I regret it, Garen. Truly. That man shouldn’t have drawn steel on you, but this?”

He gestured to the devastation. Garen eyed it and wondered if it would mean they’d have to leave the city. Again. He hoped they wouldn’t have to pay for the damages; the City Watch would surely want someone to pay, but they were too afraid to approach right now. He could see them hanging back, calling for reinforcements.

“He started it. Captain will agree.”

Moore sighed. He ran one huge hand through his hair worriedly, as he often did when he was around Garen. Or Jelaqua. Or Ukrina.

“It’s not about who started what, Garen. We’re all adventurers. We should be working together, not fighting over issues like species. If we could show them that not all Goblins are monsters—”

He broke off, sadly shaking his head. Garen looked up at Moore, blinking. He didn’t often understand the half-Giant. Moore was a walking contradiction. He hated fighting, but he had just thrown a Gold-rank adventurer through a wall. He spoke of peace, but he slew monsters for a living. Garen didn’t know what to make of Moore. But he couldn’t help but like the half-Giant, for all he had been with the Halfseekers only four months. Moore was a gentle soul. He grinned and looked up.

“Want to kick them?”

“Honestly, Garen…”

The half-Giant’s fist fell downwards. Garen raised his arms, crossing them, trying to block. Moore roared a word.

Murderer.

The fist crushed Garen against the ground, a hammer blow that made the earth shake. The impact drove the breath from Garen’s body. He lay there, and saw Moore raising a foot. The half-Giant’s face was twisted in fury. Garen had only seen him like that—like that—

Move. Garen rolled and Moore’s foot missed him. The Hobgoblin grabbed his sword and stood. Without breath. He sucked in air and then cut Moore’s hand as it reached for him again. This time, Garen stabbed into Moore’s arm. The half-Giant screamed and Garen leapt away.

“Come back!”

Moore charged after him. But more Redfang warriors raced around him. The half-Giant turned as someone thrust a spear at his side. He snapped the haft, grabbed the Goblin, and squeezed. Moore grabbed a Carn Wolf and hurled it over the heads of the other Redfang warriors. The other Redfangs hung back, out of reach. But they did not fall back. They surrounded Moore, and reached for a different weapon.

Rope. The first noose missed Moore, and then the second. But a pair of Redfang veterans clotheslined him and another snared his arm. More ropes flew and Moore roared as the Carn Wolves and horses strained to drag him down. The Redfangs shouted and dug in. They had fought Gargoyles in the passes. They knew how to bring giants down. But this one spoke.

Garen!

He kept coming, dragging horses and wolves out of place, ignoring the arrows and blades that cut him from all sides. He bellowed, with enough fury to make even the Carn Wolves back up. He never looked away from Garen. The Hobgoblin staggered away from him, drinking a healing potion and reaching for the Ironhide bottle. He drank it down in one gulp and looked for his wolf. The adventurers were fighting his tribe, holding a position around the door. Garen stared at them, saw one of the Drakes point directly at him.

“Burn left! Aim for that Chieftain! On me!”

Keldrass and his Flamewardens took aim at Garen. As one they inhaled and opened their mouths. They were poised to obliterate everything in front of them. They commanded destructive power worthy of any Gold-rank team. But Garen sneered at them. As Keldrass opened his mouth, a Redfang warrior with a crossbow pulled the trigger. A crossbow bolt shot towards the Drake’s mouth.

Other archers loosed at the same time. Keldrass’ eyes went wide. He turned his head. The crossbow bolt struck the side of his helmet instead. Keldrass staggered, swore. The other Flamewardens raised their shields or covered their faces, unable to breathe.

“Ancestors!”

They hunched behind their shields, unable to use their flaming breath. Garen turned away dismissively. He saw the [Knight] fighting three Redfangs at once, bellowing.

“Falene! Buy us an opening! Dawil, with me!”

“I’m trying! But—”

The half-Elf turned and her lips moved wordlessly. Another [Force Wall] rose as the last failed. The Redfang tribe was mercilessly assaulting the adventurers, giving them no quarter to press their attack. Ylawes stared incredulously at Spiderslicer as the Goblin held him back with two veterans.

“Impossible.”

“They’re elites! Pull back, lad!”

Dawil swung his hammer and shielded his face with one arm as an alchemist’s potion exploded, showering him with flaming liquid. The Redfang Goblins were using potions and alchemist weapons as well! Another flew towards Keldrass’ group, and an arrow shot it, making the Tripvine Bag explode harmlessly in the air.

Hold the line.

Halrac nocked another arrow, loosed it, and then took cover behind the wall of stone that Typhenous had raised. Revi’s summoned warriors held another gap, and another adventuring team came through the door. But even the teams trying to pass through the door had to come in slowly—the Redfangs were assaulting the door relentlessly.

It was their battle to lose. Garen knew that. But his eyes were scanning the milling Goblins, moving past the struggling Moore. The half-Giant was as obvious as the sun. But he never attacked where you expected it. He was silent. Relentless. Garen had always admired that about him. The Hobgoblin turned. He saw a black shadow flash, heard a Goblin shout.

A dark figure leapt over the heads of the warriors riding Carn Wolves. He flipped and landed in a gap. His crab arm moved at the same time as his left one, stabbing left and right. Into a horse’s side and a Goblin’s chest. The enchanted blades seared and chilled at the same time. He slid under the surprised Redfang warriors who tried to cut at him, leapt forwards and vanished between the press of bodies. And then he was there, thrusting at Garen’s stomach.

Seborn.

Garen deflected the first dagger that went for his stomach. He swung at Seborn’s chest, but the Drowned Man wasn’t there any longer. He had leapt and vanished, his body half-turning to shadows. Or smoke. It was an illusion. Garen whirled, and caught the second dagger thrusting for his face. A terrible cold chilled him—his left arm went numb for a second. But Garen felt the pain as soon as the dagger left it. Seborn’s slash opened up Garen’s arm. If not for the Ironhide Potion, it might have cut a tendon.

The [Rogue] danced back as Garen whirled his blade at his chest. Garen was too quick for Seborn to dodge fully—the enchanted blade nicked his own magical leather armor. The two enchantments clashed and Garen’s sword won, shearing through the leather and drawing blood. Just a scratch above the chest. The Drowned Man and Hobgoblin stared at each other. Seborn raised his blades and advanced. Garen—hesitated.

Garen was a [Warrior] and Seborn was a [Rogue]. Broadly speaking, it was impossible for Seborn to win a battle head-on. He and Garen were roughly the same level. It was insane for him to challenge Garen like this. But Seborn had never been afraid. And he left no opening for Garen to exploit as he came at Garen, blades whirling.

Left, right, head, knee. Stomach, side—Seborn’s daggers flashed, leaving glowing orange and blue trails in the air. He never stopped stabbing, cutting at Garen’s body, ignoring his own safety. That was what saved him. If he’d given Garen a single opening—

Instead he cut. Garen felt small slashes opening across his body. Light cuts, but they burned or froze him by degrees. He growled.

“Not—”

This time he used a Skill. [Frenzy Cuts]. Garen hacked, feeling his blade grow lighter, move faster, strike harder for a brief instant. The sword left red afterimages in the air. Each cut sought Seborn, but the Drowned Man dodged each one. He danced back, leaning, dodging, becoming shadow and mist.

[Shadowsteps]. [Blur Leap]. [Cat’s Evasion]. And then it was his turn. Garen saw Seborn feint left, then come close. The two were so close Seborn’s shoulder was at Garen’s chest. The Drowned Man looked up and met Garen’s gaze.

“[Flurry Blades].”

Fire and ice. Garen howled as the blades pierced his stomach and chest. He felt the tips strike a dozen times, seeking his heart. But too shallow—just—Garen stumbled back, slashing at Seborn. Reaching for a potion. The Drowned Man didn’t want to let him use it. He narrowed his eyes. Vanished.

[Rearward Cut]. Garen felt Seborn appear at his back. He lurched forwards, feeling the blades tear open his back. It didn’t matter. He drank the potion as Seborn cursed. The enchanted wounds refused to heal quickly. But they did begin to heal. Lucky. If Seborn had had his old blade—

It’s worth buying.

Seborn showed Garen the dagger. The Hobgoblin eyed the sickly green edge of his new dagger skeptically.

“Lots of money. Why not other dagger?”

The Drowned Man sighed. He and Garen had been arguing over blades for the last half-hour, and the [Blacksmith] was clearly growing impatient. Still, Seborn explained patiently. He was very patient. He didn’t speak much, but when it came to his opinion, he was as impossible to shift as the ocean he hailed from.

It’s an acid enchantment, Garen. A weak one, I know, but it’s all I can afford. I have one blade enchanted with [Frostbite] already.

“Could buy two new blades. Very fiery. See?”

Garen pointed out the longer, and decidedly more menacing daggers, both of which were enchanted with a higher-grade spell. Seborn nodded.

I could. And if I was a warrior, I might. But I’m a [Rogue]. Acid works best. A thousand cuts that grow worse is better than a cheap fire spell. Anyone with an eye for fighting knows that, which is why this is worth twice as much as a regular blade. I saved up for this.

He gestured to the acid dagger, which the [Blacksmith] had indeed priced much higher than the other daggers. The Drake grunted, which was a mark of approval. Garen still wasn’t convinced.

“Why all other daggers enchanted with other spells, then? Why not all acid?”

Because it’s harder? That’s what I’ve heard. And [Enchanters] get to decide what they spell a blade with. Maybe the metal isn’t good for acid. Maybe they need something else. They probably think fire spells are more attractive anyways. Just let me buy this.

Seborn watched as Garen grumbled and folded his arm, but the Hobgoblin didn’t object. The two often talked or argued, but it was a difference of opinion on how to do things. Garen liked hitting things and Seborn was the cold voice of reason in the group. And yet—Seborn flashed one of his rare smiles as he made his purchase.

I’ve been waiting for this for a while. If we get another big payout, I can change my other blade to lightning.

“Why lightning?”

Paralyzes, makes the muscles weak.

Garen grunted.

“This blade is better. One strong enchantment is best.”

He tapped his own sword. Seborn smiled.

Goblin’s logic. Isn’t two better than one, then?

He showed Garen his two daggers. The Hobgoblin scowled, and Seborn laughed—

If he’d had his old blade, it would be over. Garen turned. White flames burst from his blade. Redfang glowed as Seborn cursed and backed up. He knew what was coming.

“Redfang.”

Garen whispered. His blade turned transparent. Seborn leapt, shielding himself—but Garen’s slash went through his enchanted armor. It cut down the Drowned Man’s side, laid open his flesh, sawed through the carapace that was his monster half, his aquatic self. Again, Seborn tried to block with his daggers, but it was futile. Garen’s blade could pass through lesser enchantments, cut even the thickest hides.

Blood. Seborn staggered. Like Garen, he reached for a potion, breaking the vial across his wounds before Garen could stop him. He stood up, panting. Garen waited for him.

It was over. Seborn had used two of his Skills. He hadn’t downed Garen, and the Redfang Warriors had caught up. The Drowned Man looked around as Goblins dismounted rather than try and fight him from above where he could dodge and disappear. He bared his teeth.

“Come on. Come on, traitor!

He leapt at Garen. The Hob pivoted, taking another slice from the flaming blade across his chest. He kicked Seborn back. The other Redfang warriors closed in, attacking Seborn from all sides. The Drowned Man spun, slashing, cursing.

“Alive. Alive!

Garen bellowed at his warriors. He saw them adjust, slightly. Garen didn’t know why he’d said it. But he could afford to say it. The battle was going his way.

The Wings of Pallass dove and struck, again and again. Like hawks, they circled before finding unwary targets and striking. Or at least, they had for a minute. But the next time they dove, they had a surprise waiting for them. One of the Redfang warriors riding a Carn Wolf rode at the diving Drakes and Garuda. He shouted and his Carn Wolf leapt. The Redfang Warrior jumped from the back of his mount and caught one of the fliers. The Drake, Zassil, shouted in panic as the Redfang Warrior began stabbing at him, grabbing at his wings, trying to bring him down.

“Ancestors preserve us! Get off! Get—

Bevussa grabbed the Redfang warrior and hurled him off. Zassil flapped higher and Bevussa shouted.

Watch out!

More Goblins were leaping, using their Carn Wolves as launching pads. Each time the Wings of Pallass dove, dozens of Goblins leapt for them, and more shot arrows, trying to intercept them on the wing. And now the adventurers were being pressed from all sides on the ground as well.

Moore was wrapped up in ropes. Seborn was downed. Garen walked forwards, feeling his wounds healing slowly. His Carn Wolf padded towards him. He reached for it, and stopped.

The adventurers still fought around their door. And the winged adventurers held the skies, posing a threat from above. But everywhere else the Redfangs were present. They filled the pass. They blocked every path towards Garen with their bodies. Despite that, she was there.

Arrows feathered her body like spores. Broken spears and swords and daggers torn out of their owner’s hands were still embedded in her flesh. She was damaged beyond any living creature’s ability to survive. But her body was dead. And she was still moving, coming towards him.

Jelaqua Ivirith.

Garen stopped. He turned, and his Carn Wolf backed up. It couldn’t help it. It smelled Jelaqua’s dead body. And it saw her wounds. But she did not fall. And that terrified the animal, just as it frightened the Redfang warriors.

They surrounded her, every line in their bodies radiating uncertainty. Fear. The Redfang tribe had fought the horrors of the High Passes. They had fought creatures that looked like them, braved Creler invasions—even brought down the seemingly immortal colossi of stone and ice. But they had never met someone like her.

“Hey Garen.”

She grinned bloodlessly at him. Garen hesitated. Jelaqua was walking towards him. Just walking. But her body—he raised his blade.

“You can’t win.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it, you coward.”

Jelaqua rasped. She raised her flail as the other Redfangs drew back, trusting their Chieftain to win. Expecting him to. Garen wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Seborn’s blood still dripped from his blade. He and Jelaqua looked at each other.

“I trusted you.”

That was all she said. The knife twisted in Garen’s heart. Jelaqua ran at him and he raised his blade—

“Drop it, Goblin.”

Keilam pointed his wand at Garen. The Hob hesitated, his steel sword raised. The dead Eater Goat’s blood ran from his sword. It had been an easy kill, and one Garen was confident in doing. He’d earned his bounty—or so he’d thought. But he hadn’t expected company, and so his mask and hood had come loose during the battle. And they had seen.

Six adventurers. A huge, terrifying creature that looked like an oversized Human. A half man, half…crab? A Drake whose scales looked burnt, a regular Drake, at least, seemingly, and a Gnoll who looked like a cat. And—Garen’s eyes flicked to the last figure. A Human woman, or so she looked at first glance. But her skin was too pale. She looked dead. But it was she who stopped Keilam, the half-Gnoll, half-Cat, before he could cast a spell.

“Hold it, Keilam. See that? He’s an adventurer. Same as us. Bronze-rank.”

“No way. That’s a Goblin, Jelaqua!”

The half-Gnoll exclaimed. Jelaqua, the dead woman, ignored him. She studied Garen as the Hobgoblin backed up. He was ready to fight—or run. This wasn’t the first time he’d been discovered. But she didn’t seem hostile, just curious, and amused. Jelaqua eyed Garen.

“So this is the ‘terrifying monster’ everyone’s been talking about, huh? The scourge of local villages. Slayer of innocent sheep and cows everywhere?”

“Why would a Hob pretend to be an adventurer just to prey on livestock?”

The Drake with the ashy scales asked curiously. Jelaqua rolled her eyes.

“Not him, Halassia. That dead goat-thing. I think he got to the monster before we did.”

“Oh.”

The adventurers stared at the dead goat. Garen heard them whispering amongst themselves.

“It really killed the monster? It’s…an adventurer?”

“But it’s a Goblin!”

“Now, now, Ukrina. Let’s not judge by appearances.”

“By—Moore! That is a Goblin!”

“Yes.”

Jelaqua spoke calmly. She looked at Garen and he thought she could see everything that had led to this point. Him struggling to learn how to speak, figuring out how to disguise himself, give excuses, learn Human customs. Entering cities, being found out, running, pretending—trying so hard to fit in, to learn—all of the long months he’d endured were laid out in a glance. As if she could stare into his soul. As if she knew what it was like.

“Nice kill. What’s your name, friend?”

Garen started. He stared at Jelaqua and backed up a step. He saw the other adventurers tensing, but Jelaqua just smiled.

“The name’s Jelaqua Ivirith. I lead a team of Silver-rank adventurers. Well, we’re Silver-rank on this continent, but two of us are already Gold-ranks and Moore’d be Gold-rank too if they ever gave him a fair test.”

She waited, but Garen didn’t speak. The Human’s language came hard to him, not like his brother. He could still barely read. Jelaqua didn’t seem to mind, though. She looked around, and seemed to come to a quick decision.

“We’re a band of misfits. And we could always use a new member.”

“What? Jelaqua, are you insane?

One of the Drakes, the normal-looking one, exclaimed. But the strange woman just turned to argue with her. Garen watched her face, her ready smile. Then he heard the shriek and turned. His heart sank. He’d forgotten about the others! He hadn’t time to poison the first Eater Goat’s corpse. Jelaqua looked up sharply as more Eater Goats emerged, scenting their comrade’s blood.

“Aha! Knew it. It had to be a pack. Hold on, strange Goblin guy. Halfseekers, to arms!”

They fought, then, as the Eater Goats came from all sides. As stupid and suicidal as their kind, but deadly. Garen finished them off, making sure each was dead. Eater Goats could survive incredible amounts of damage and heal fast. All they needed was food and a mate and they’d repopulate rapidly. He stood, wiping his steel sword, when Jelaqua came over to him. He froze again, but she just grinned at him.

“What’s your name, stranger? If you don’t want to say, that’s fine. But I’d rather know who fought by my side.”

He looked into her eyes, then. And he saw that her body was dead, but something lived in her. Garen hesitated, then took a chance. He held out a gloved hand, as he had seen Humans do.

“Garen.”

She took his hand and grinned. And that was how he became a Halfseeker, an adventurer in truth. And in time he would lose his mask, walk openly as a Goblin and she and the others would pit themselves against the Adventurer’s Guild and other adventurers for him. For that he would follow her for years, into battle, trying to be her greatest warrior. Because he owed her nothing less.

Yes, it was that smile which had captivated him. That look. The age in her voice, the feeling that she understood him despite their many differences. She was the Captain of the Halfseekers, someone he looked up to. Admired. The only being in the world that Garen had ever called his—his—

Chieftain—

He ran her through. Jelaqua’s flail struck his shoulder. Garen heard a crunch, but if it was a fractured bone, it wasn’t a strong one. He tore up with the blade and Jelaqua caught it.

“Not yet. Not yet!

She kicked, and Garen felt his sword twist out of his grip. Seborn’s blood. He stumbled back. She was still strong. Jelaqua tore the sword from her stomach and tossed it behind her. She’d dropped her flail. But she still came at him. Garen grabbed her arms as they went for his neck.

Strong. Unbelievably strong! Jelaqua cursed as her arms slowly moved towards Garen’s neck. He tried to hold her off, but even now, even now she was stronger.

“Tell me why. Tell me why!

He couldn’t answer. Jelaqua’s claws were around his throat, squeezing, talons digging into his flesh. He saw Redfangs shouting, striking at Jelaqua’s back, but she ignored the blows. She was squeezing, and it was all Garen could do to push at her arms. He pushed her claws off of him, and the two were deadlocked for a moment. But he was growing tired.

His arms trembled—and then he felt something tear in Jelaqua’s body. The Selphid’s right arm suddenly lost all its strength. She cursed as Garen began striking her chest, frantically, trying to tear open her wounds and expose her true body. She leaned forwards—

And she bit him. The Drake’s teeth tore at Garen’s skin and he roared and threw her off. Jelaqua fell back, and Garen struck her in the chest with his foot. She sat back.

Sword!

Garen bellowed and a Goblin tossed his blade at him. Jelaqua looked up, bitterly.

“Just like the others, eh?”

He stabbed her in the chest. Jelaqua fell back. Not dead. She tried to move and Garen stabbed her again and again, aiming for her stomach, her heart. He knew she was in there. It was hard, very hard to kill a Selphid with a blade. But he could incapacitate her body. At last, Jelaqua lay still. She stared up at him and her mouth opened.

“Damn it.”

That was all. Garen turned, shaking, coughing. The battle was over. The Halfseekers were down. And the adventurers were in full retreat.

“Fall back. I said, fall back! Revi, buy us a window! Typhenous, webs!”

Halrac bellowed at the others. Keldrass stumbled towards the door, bearing one of his wounded teammates to safety. Garen saw the [Scout] shout into the door as more of the summoned warriors and a giant Face-Eater Moth held back the advancing Redfangs. They were moving slowly, pushing the adventurers back rather than risk losing their numbers. Wisely as it turned out.

Get those undead through the door, now!

Garen didn’t believe his ears for a second. Then he saw the first shape of yellowed bone duck through the doorway and unfold. A grinning bear’s skull looked down at him. Three of them. The Redfang Goblins backed up as a three-headed Bone Horror, nearly as tall as Moore, moved forwards, swinging multiple whip-arms of bone and striking at everything in range. The Redfangs bared their teeth, but didn’t retreat.

Undead, half-Giant, monster, adventurer. It didn’t matter. They could kill anything. They reached for their ropes, but this time added hooks, snaring the Bone Horror as it tried to advance. A cry went up from the Goblins at the front.

Hobs!

Two of them rode forwards on huge warhorses. The first Hob had a warhammer, the second a mace. As the other Redfangs snared the Bone Horrors with their hooks, the Hobs began smashing the creature to pieces, raining blows on the joints and hammering at the skull.

“Dead gods damn it! Retreat! Retreat!”

Halrac moved back towards the door. The Silver Swords were running back, blood running down Ylawes’ head, Falene half-dragging Dawil, who was roaring, trying to extinguish the flaming oil burning his face and armor. Ylawes half-turned at the door and shouted. Someone came through it. Several someones.

“Erin! What are you doing? Get back—”

He grabbed for her. Too late. A young woman ran past him. The Redfangs in front saw her running at them and raised their weapons, eying her dubiously. Spiderslicer lifted his falchion and aimed for her head, waiting for a trap. He saw the young woman look up, and then another figure ran forwards. They’d come from the door too. Spiderslicer turned, poised to strike—

And froze when he saw a Hobgoblin’s face. The Hob lifted his axe, protecting the young woman. The jade edge and golden axe gleamed, and the Hobgoblin’s muscles stood out as he swung, forcing the other Redfang warriors back.

A foreign Goblin? Why was he on the Human’s side? Spiderslicer snarled in surprise, raising his weapon. But—no! This Hob had the war paint of the Redfang tribe on his body! He stared, hesitating, as the young woman raced past him. The Hob looked up. His face was unfamiliar, and Spiderslicer knew almost every Goblin in the Redfang tribe. But the war paint was a pattern, unique to him. Spiderslicer’s eyes widened.

“Headscratcher?”

The Hob looked up at him.

“Spiderslicer?”

The two gaped at each other. Then, Spiderslicer saw another Goblin he half-recognized run past. Was that Badarrow? Numbtongue, with a strange stringed instrument in his hand? Shorthilt—that had to be Shorthilt with the gleaming sword. And…who was that Goblin with the shining armor and the glistening red cloak?

Hobs. They were all Hobs. Spiderslicer faltered, so amazed he forgot about the Human for a second. But then he realized: they were shielding her! The young woman ran through the tribe of Redfangs, who turned, ready to cut her down. But each time her guardians were in the way.

The five Hobgoblins blocked them, shielding her with their bodies, shouting at the others. And the Goblins of the Redfang tribe recognized their own, and hesitated for that crucial second. The young woman ran forwards, towards the Selphid.

“Jelaqua!”

She skidded to a halt and knelt by the Selphid, wide-eyed. Jelaqua blinked up at her.

“Erin? What the hell are you doing—get away! Run! Moore told you to go!”

Erin ignored her. She knelt, hesitating, then grabbed Jelaqua’s nearly destroyed arm. She looked at the other Hobs desperately.

“Come on, come on. Someone help me lift—”

She was trying to pull Jelaqua up. The Selphid was shouting at her to go. That was when Erin turned and saw him. And he saw her.

Garen Redfang couldn’t have missed the strange sight, or the Hobs. He hadn’t recognized them as Spiderslicer had—he was focused on the Human. She looked familiar. A distant part of Garen told him he had seen her, but he was too focused on what she was doing. She was trying to drag Jelaqua to the door. Unacceptable. He snarled and advanced on her.

“Run, Erin.”

Jelaqua turned her head towards Garen. The young woman hesitated. The Selphid slowly sat up.

“Get away from her, you bastard.”

Garen stared at her, and then lifted his blade. Jelaqua lunged. For the third time, Garen ran her through. This time he aimed for the Selphid’s stomach and pinned her to the ground, impaling her onto the dirt. She grabbed his sword with both claws. Garen growled, let go of the hilt. He saw the Human girl raise a fist.

[Minotaur P—

He stood up and struck her in the chest, twice. The Human stumbled back, choking. Garen paused. He’d expected her to be a Gold-rank of some kind, perhaps a high-level [Brawler] or a [Mage]. But she was too slow to be a Gold-rank adventurer. Silver-rank? She had no armor. She raised a fist again.

[M—

This time he hit her in the jaw and felt her teeth break. The Human fell back, making a pained sound. Garen advanced, kicking her in the chest. She tried to dodge. He saw that. But she was far, far slower than he was. He looked for his sword, then just aimed for her neck. He raised a hand and someone grabbed it. Garen twisted, outraged, and saw a Hobgoblin staring at him. An unfamiliar face. The Hob howled and grabbed Garen’s other arm as the Chieftain tried to punch him.

The strength! Garen roared as the unknown Hob lifted him up and then hurled him to the ground. He rolled as a foot stomped, nearly striking him in the chest, and got up. He caught a punch and staggered. The Hob was as strong as he was! He looked into two familiar eyes and received a head butt that made his head ring.

Garen shook his head, shoved the Hob back, and heard a shout. The Redfang warriors all around him had finally decided these strangers were not their allies, for all they wore their colors. They trained their weapons on the Hob and his allies, who froze. The Hob who’d struck Garen panted as the Chieftain shook his head to clear the stars. Garen clenched one fist, stared at the strange Hob, and then, at last, his eyes went to the war paint. He froze.

All the Redfang warriors not pressing the last of the adventurers into the doorway stared at their Chieftain. They saw his eyes go wide, his ears twitch, and then visibly jerk in shock. They waited, eyes on the strange Hobs as Garen peered at the one who’d struck him. The Chieftain of the Redfang tribe blinked.

“Headscratcher?”

Headscratcher jumped. He looked at Garen, half-afraid, but still burning with fury. Garen felt at his bruised forehead and remembered the strength with which he’d been thrown. He stared at Headscratcher and the others, who he recognized as well by their war paint. One of them, the one with chainmail, had a lot of his war paint obscured, but the rest were familiar from other clues.

Badarrow, Numbtongue, Shorthilt. And the last had to be one of the others he’d sent out, so long ago. Garen remembered. He looked from face to face. And then, to the surprise of his tribe, he laughed.

It was a joyous, amazed, relieved, happy sound. Garen laughed. He rose, laughing with delight and gripped Headscratcher by the arms, slapping him on the shoulder. The confused Hob looked at him, but Garen’s joy needed no reciprocation.

“Headscratcher! So long! And now a Hob! So much stronger! How?”

He looked at the other Redfangs.

“Put weapons down! It is Headscratcher! Badarrow! Numbtongue, Shorthilt! And…Rabbiteater?

The other Redfangs blinked. They stared and more recognized their lost comrades. They exclaimed, and Garen greeted the others, no less exuberant. They blinked, and then smiled shyly. Here was their Chieftain. Their hero. And the rest of their tribe gathered around them. Until Garen noticed the young woman.

She had gotten up. She was trying to pull Jelaqua away. He snarled and turned on her. A hand gripped his shoulder.

“Kill—”

No!

Headscratcher grabbed Garen. So did Numbtongue, and Shorthilt. Garen froze, and the Redfangs did likewise. Numbtongue looked around, desperately.

“No. Chieftain—let her go.”

Spiderslicer gripped his falchion, eyes narrowing. No one laid hands on their Chieftain. Garen stared at Headscratcher. He looked down at the Human girl, who abandoned the Selphid and turned. She gave him a look without fear and raised a hand, made a fist. The Goblins waited as Garen looked back at the five Hobs. He hesitated, and then looked at the young woman.

Go.

She hesitated. She looked down at Jelaqua, and the Selphid croaked at her.

“Don’t be stupid. Run. I’ll—settle my tab later.”

The young woman hesitated. For a long second, Garen thought she’d stay. But then she ran, stumbling towards the door. She half-collapsed by it and the [Scout] dragged her through. Garen barked an order as the Redfangs loosed arrows at him.

“Leave adventurers!”

The hail of projectiles stopped. The door closed. The Hob with the warhammer strode forwards and brought it down. The doorway splintered, and it was done. The Wings of Pallass flew south, and the Redfangs were left with their wounded and dead.

And the adventurers. There were three of them. The Halfseekers, bound and bleeding. And…the five Hobgoblins.

And a lot of Cave Goblins. They came north as Garen looked around, smiling once more. He blinked in astonishment at them as they stared in awe at this strange and powerful tribe. He listened to a garbled explanation from Numbtongue, and smiled and shook his head. He laughed—

And then he saw them looking at him. Moore. Seborn. Jelaqua. They sat under guard, bleeding, captive. But their eyes never left him. They looked just like he remembered—except for Jelaqua. But she was the same, if not in body. They were what he had dreamed of, what he had feared in his nightmares.

Garen’s smile faded. He turned away as memory became reality. The past had caught up and it was time. To put an end to it for good.

 

—-

 

They were the Redfang tribe. Where they were didn’t really matter. It was who they were that mattered, how they fought. They had fought another battle and won. There was glory and that. But death, too. There was always death.

Many Redfangs had died fighting the adventurers. Over a hundred, and most to the Halfseekers. The adventurers at the door had been contained fairly well—it was only the half-Elf [Mage]’s spells and the [Scout] and his cursed enchanted arrows who had done a lot of damage. And the Garuda had killed a half dozen.

Too many. It was to be expected when one fought Gold-ranks, but it hurt. The Redfangs mourned their dead, even as they became food or were stripped of their gear. But unlike other Goblins, they had a different sort of culture. As the dead were laid to rest, Redfangs, the closest friends of the fallen, would bend down and collect blood from the fallen. Barring that, they would cut themselves and add markings to their body.

A stripe of blood on a cheek. An added bit of blood on an arm, or ear. The location didn’t matter, or the length of the marking. But the blood would stay. And when it faded, it would be replaced by paint. Forever. So long as the Redfang in question had access to war paints, he or she would decorate their body with their individual set of markings.

And they would never forget where they were, even if circumstances dictated that they be clean, or prohibited them from using their war paints. The red stripes would always be there. Reminders of failure. Of the fallen. It was a promise not to fail next time.

The new Redfangs earned their first stripes that day. It was a mark of shame and honor. They had survived a battle. The veterans had red paint all over their body. But they did not revel in the markings, like the young Goblins. It was a symbol, that was all. It made them unique. Stronger.

Five Hobgoblins sat in the center of the Redfang tribe. Unlike the others, they didn’t need to bandage their wounds or tend to their mounts. They hadn’t fought. Rather, they’d come through the magic door as soon as they’d heard what was going on. The Redfang Warriors—that was to say, the five Hobgoblins who stayed at Erin’s inn—sat uneasily, just across from their Chieftain. Or their former Chieftain?

Garen Redfang grinned at them, not put out one bit that Headscratcher had attacked him. He had even let Erin go. He was…just as they’d remembered. Larger than life. Glorious. And his famous blade hung by his side. He couldn’t stop looking at the five. Garen faced them, and deliberately did not look behind him. He didn’t listen to the three adventurers, who had been unceremoniously carried to the same spot and were under heavy guard.

Jelaqua could barely move and the broken weapons in her body protruded from her flesh. Seborn’s bleeding had stopped, but Moore was still injured from dozens upon dozens of wounds. Their voices were low.

“Can’t move my right arm. Ripped almost all my muscle fibers there. I’m torn up everywhere else too.”

I’m bleeding, but I managed to heal up before they got me. I don’t have any weapons. They found all of my daggers.

“Moore…?”

He needs a healing potion.

The half-Giant was breathing laboriously. Jelaqua looked up. She bit her lip.

“Think we’ll get him to let us use one before he axes us?”

Seborn stared at Garen’s back.

Don’t count on it. If you can give me an opening—

“Forget it. He’s expecting it. Let’s just…wait. Damn it. It’ll be over soon.”

I’m sorry.

“For what? I had the best shot. Damn arm gave out. I should have—”

Garen ignored them. He looked around instead, focusing on the Goblins who were sitting just outside the circle of his Redfang tribe. They were curious. Small, many of them smaller than even the average Goblin. They had greyer skin, but besides that they were identical to regular Goblins. He spotted what looked like emerging Hobgoblins among them. But what really stood out was their numbers.

The Cave Goblins of the dungeon sat, watching the Redfangs with awe. They had followed their five leaders north, not bothering with the door but streaming across the Floodplains, much to the horror of the Drakes in Liscor.

Garen didn’t know all the details, of what had happened to have so many Cave Goblins following his warriors, but he had gotten the details, at least a broad outline from Numbtongue. Pressed, the Hobgoblin had given a quick summary and Garen had gotten the basics.

So, his warriors had gone into a dungeon and liberated the Cave Goblins there? They’d fought strange primordial Gnolls—Raskghar—and triumphed. They’d become Hobs, all of them. Hobs!

He could remember them before they’d left. Tiny, regular-sized Goblins. Good warriors, some of his best, but infantry. Not his prized Carn Wolf [Riders] and not his few Hobs. Garen’s heart hurt. He remembered he’d sent Grunter to lead them, Grunter and seven more. He’d asked, but the silence had been enough of an answer.

Thirteen had left, five remained. As outcomes went, that was good for Goblins. And they were Hobs.

Garen couldn’t get over that fact. Hobgoblins only emerged as a result of great strength or triumph. Each of the Redfangs had a unique class. The other members of his tribe were glancing at them in awe, especially after they’d heard what their classes were.

“[Berserker]. [Weapon Master]. [Sniper]. [Bard]. And [Champion]!”

Garen spoke loudly, looking from face to face with overwhelming pride. Each of the Redfangs ducked their heads. Garen looked at Rabbiteater last, twice as amazed. Rabbiteater—now there was a shock. He was a good fighter, decent at most things, but a [Champion]? Those who knew him were beside themselves with surprise.

“And these…Cave Goblins? You taught them how to fight?”

“Small bit, Chieftain.”

Shorthilt answered for the others. He played with his sword, an action that was familiar to Garen, but with a different body. Shorthilt gestured and Garen saw a group of Goblins with sharp weapons raise them over their heads and cheer.

“Taught to fight like Redfangs. By a Redfang.”

Spiderslicer grumbled, seemingly unsure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But Garen knew it was a good thing. He looked at the Cave Goblins.

Twenty thousand new Redfangs. That was what they were. Twenty thousand warriors—or the makings of them. He couldn’t help smiling.

“Tell me what happened. From the start. Not a summary. Tell me—all of it!”

He urged Headscratcher. The Goblin was bashful, embarrassed. He looked at the others and then hesitated. He had smiled with pure joy to see Garen, but now he was concerned.

“Chieft…”

He trailed off. Garen waited, smiling. Headscratcher looked at him. What was it? He looked so worried. And then Headscratcher said it.

“Where is Chieftain? Where is Rags?”

Garen—froze. So did the other Redfangs. For a beat Garen stared at Headscratcher, wondering what had possessed him to ask that? Chieftain? He was Chieftain! Why would Headscratcher—

He hadn’t been here. He didn’t know. None of them did. The rest of the tribe realized that and sat still, an army of statues. The five Hobs looked around, confused. They focused on Garen and he realized he had to say something. He spoke haltingly.

“Rags is…gone. Maybe dead. Her tribe split from Redfangs. Betrayed us.”

Betrayed? How?

The five reacted in shock. The other Redfangs avoided looking at them. Garen ignored the question as well.

“They did. And then they were attacked by Reiss—by the Goblin Lord. He betrayed them, too. Rags disappeared in fighting. May be dead. Rest of her tribe is broken. Fleeing this way. We left too.”

The five stared at Garen, jaws agape, full of horror. They began to ask questions all at once, but Garen didn’t want to answer them. He shook his head, then raised his voice.

“No. No! It is in the past! They betrayed us. Rags is gone. The Redfang are the Redfangs. Same as before.”

Badarrow stared at Garen. The Chieftain avoided his gaze. It was true. He turned, seeking another topic. Three pairs of eyes stared at him. He froze.

“Chieftain. Who are they? Should we kill?”

Spiderslicer stared at the Halfseekers with hatred in his eyes. He fingered the handle of the falchion. The other Redfangs murmured agreement. Headscratcher and the other four Hobs looked uneasy. Rabbiteater opened his mouth and the others elbowed him quickly. Garen ignored that and shook his head slowly.

“I will deal with them. Myself.”

“Chieftain knows them?”

Garen nodded slowly. He couldn’t avoid it after all. He got up and looked at the Halfseekers.

“Yes. I do know them. And so do you.”

The Redfang tribe looked at each other. He couldn’t mean—they had all heard the old stories. They turned as one and focused on the Halfseekers and Garen walked over to them. He studied each face. Moore tried to sit up and groaned as blood ran from his wounds.

“They are my old team. The Halfseekers. Half Freaks. A Gold-rank team. The ones who betrayed me.”

An awed silence fell over the Redfang tribe. They stared at the Halfseekers, not with anger, but with amazement now. Garen’s original team. They all knew the story—or a version of the tale. They had heard how his team betrayed him, how he had retreated, formed a tribe in the High Passes. But to see them in real life was different. Garen stared down at his old comrades, and then heard a strangled laugh.

“We betrayed you? You damn liar.”

Jelaqua sat up. Her eyes focused unsteadily on Garen, one drifting slightly. But her voice was strong. Furious.

“You betrayed us. Don’t lie!”

The accusation made Garen freeze in place. He felt a hot flash of shame, and then fury go through him. He snapped back at Jelaqua.

I did not! The others did!”

Liar.

The voice came from Moore. He hauled himself upright. The Redfangs guarding him stirred uneasily. The half-Giant’s voice rose. He boomed, and the Redfangs instinctively flinched as he shouted Garen.

“You lie! You killed them! In cold blood! You murderer! You—”

He tried to break the ropes holding him, but failed. He sat back, face white as a sheet. Garen looked away from him. He clenched his claw into a fist.

“I did not betray. They did.”

Liar.

This time Garen whirled and nearly kicked Seborn. The Drowned Man looked up at him. His voice echoed, quieter than the other two. But it was no less furious.

We know what we saw. You ran, and we’ve been waiting for this day for years. If you had any courage you’d fight me. Give me a dagger, Garen. And we’ll end this.

“No. You are my prisoners. I beat you.”

Garen clenched his fists. Seborn looked away.

With numbers. Coward.

The Redfangs rumbled. Garen roared.

“I am not a coward!

He strode up to Seborn and grabbed the [Rogue]. Quick as a flash, Seborn lunged at him. He’d untied himself! Garen saw the claw go for his throat, threw Seborn back. The Redfangs tackled him. There was a brief scuffle, then Seborn was back in his bindings, worse for the wear.

“You are the coward. You—”

Garen was still breathing heavily. Seborn looked up at him, speaking around a bloody lip.

No less than you deserve. Team killer.

“Monster.”

The whisper came from Moore. Garen howled in fury.

“I am not! They were! They were!

He strode back and forth, trembling, unable to speak straight. His tribe watched, uncertain. They had never seen their Chieftain like this. They watched, and so did the Cave Goblins. They were all witness to the argument. But they had not been there.

Jelaqua looked up at Garen, silent, letting him vent his fury at the other two. She tugged at her bindings, but her right arm was torn. And Garen was quick. She looked around for anything, but there were hundreds of eyes on her. And yet—Jelaqua looked straight at Numbtongue, at Headscratcher.

They were watching her. All five of the Redfangs. Uncertainly, nervously eying their Chieftain, whom they’d just reunited with. Or was he their Chieftain? Jelaqua’s eyes narrowed slightly. She looked up as Garen rounded on Moore and spoke, her dead voice rasping, the broken body she was wearing slowly deteriorating every time she moved.

“You’re a filthy liar, Garen. Do your tribe know you’ve been lying to them all this time? Or have you told them your story of what happened?”

He turned on her, full of wrath. Just like she remembered in some ways. The same face, the same body. But not the same person. Selphids counted personality more than physical appearance, and this Garen was nothing like the one Jelaqua knew. He was uncontrolled, raging. Guilty.

“I told them the truth! The truth! I was betrayed!”

“Oh yeah? That’s not how we remember it. And we were there. Right, Moore? Seborn? You guys remember what went down.”

Jelaqua looked sideways at Moore and Seborn, hoping they’d understand what she wanted. The other two looked at her and caught on. As always. They glanced around, and abandoned their fury for one second. Seborn nodded.

I remember. So does Moore.

“In my dreams. Every night.”

The half-Giant rasped. Blood ran from his hand, his side. Jelaqua was worried. He’d bleed out soon. But Garen wasn’t about to heal him. So the Selphid spoke as quickly as she could. She looked up at Garen and raised her voice so everyone, all the Goblins both Redfang and Cave Goblin, could hear.

“Tell me, Garen. Did you tell your tribe what happened before we ‘betrayed’ you? Did you give them all the details? Because I remember that night very well. We’d just cleared that damn cavern. Gone deeper than anyone had ever gone before. Past the roaches and the other crawling monsters. Into the heart of the caves. I thought we’d die when we fought the things down there, but somehow our team made it out, in one piece no less.”

She looked around. The Redfang warriors were staring at her, listening to her words. Jelaqua nodded. Of course, they’d listen to any story about their Chieftain. She looked at Garen, and saw the Hob had stopped raging. Cold memory flickered in his eyes, the same one in Jelaqua’s own mind as she went on.

“Of course there were costs. We’d blown all our healing potions—and we took over a hundred bottles—wasted more alchemist brews than I could count. My body was almost destroyed, Seborn had broken one of his enchanted daggers, and Moore was throwing up all the bugs he ate.”

“I was sick. I remember being in my room until Seborn came to get me.”

Moore spoke guiltily. Seborn nodded.

I was speaking to a [Blacksmith]. Jelaqua was the first to return.

The Selphid shifted. She had perfect control over her body. But she still wanted to shake, to clench her hands.

“That’s right. I got back, in a new body. And I found the inn was surrounded by [Guards], and blood and corpses where my team should have been. I thought it was an attack at first. Or—or one of our enemies had hired an assassin. Or worse, the items we’d recovered had been cursed. But it was none of those things. The [Innkeeper] told us that he’d seen a Goblin running out of our private rooms with a bloody sword. And then he’d found the bodies.”

Garen was silent. Jelaqua shook her head as Moore bit back a sound.

“Seborn came running as soon as he heard and got Moore. We had to figure out what had happened. None of us wanted to believe it. But there were eye witnesses and nothing else could have happened. None of the items were cursed. They were all there, except for one small thing you’d taken. So we figured it out.”

Moore interrupted. He looked up at Garen, eyes wet.

“You killed them. You killed them and stole that key and ran. In cold blood. With no warning.”

Garen didn’t reply. He stood there, face pale. Jelaqua spoke quietly.

“You filthy traitor. We welcomed you into our team. We fought with you, side-by-side for years. And you killed your friends in a moment. For what? A key? We would have given it to you!”

“I did not betray.”

Garen repeated the words like a mantra. Jelaqua spat. She looked at the other Redfangs.

“False words, Garen. Do they know what you did? Did you tell them? Or are they just tools for you to throw away, like we were?”

The Goblins stirred. Garen started, and then stared down at Jelaqua. He seemed to realize what she was doing at last. A note of heat entered his tone.

“They are not! They are my tribe! I did not betray my team! I—it was not like that. It did not happen that way. I was betrayed.

Liar!

The word came from all three Halfseekers. Garen recoiled, and then he shouted back.

“You were not there! You did not hear! Only I was there!”

“Then tell us! What happened?”

Jelaqua hurled it at Garen. She strained against the ropes, not needing to act. Garen hesitated. He looked from face to face. And then he nodded. He looked around, at the watching Redfangs. At Spiderslicer, at the five returned warriors. He raised his voice.

“You want to know? Fine. This is what happened. This. This is how I was betrayed.”

The Halfseekers stared up at Garen. He saw them exchange glances, strain against their bindings, and then, slowly, relax.

For a second their anger faded, and Garen saw a burning hole. A yearning to know. He turned away. The memories rose in him, until he could remember the smell of the room, how he’d felt, even the smallest details, like the way his heart started to jump as they unpacked the treasure and he knew he was right.

Garen’s voice was hollow in his ears. He looked at Jelaqua. She had not been a female Drake, then. She had been a male Human, a castoff body, the only one she’d been able to find.

“Do you remember that day? Before the adventurer?”

“Yes.”

Jelaqua closed her eyes. She spoke hollowly, replaying the memories in her own mind as they flashed before Garen’s eyes.

“Back then, I remember it was you that told us there was treasure at the bottom of the roach caverns. Other adventurers had cleared the caverns before, but given up. The place was—is—disgusting. No one ever wanted to go near the place. But you insisted. You told us you were certain. And when I asked, you said you’d learned it from another Goblin. A Chieftain. I remember thinking it was curious how a Goblin would know about the treasure, but I didn’t ask then.”

Seborn nodded.

We thought we knew the depths, but you kept insisting we go deeper. Farther down. You could drown amid the insects down there. But those were only the ones who lived near the surface. The ones who ate the roaches and other bugs lived deeper. And we had to fight through them.

The Selphid’s voice was soft. Now all three—all four were in a sort of trance. The Goblins listened as the Halfseekers recalled that day and night. Jelaqua stared at another sight, and Garen heard the clicking, moving sounds, the shouting of voices, crunching.

“Walls of vines while we recovered. Halassia and Keilam had to burn us a path. If we hadn’t been at our best, we would have been overwhelmed. And when we got to the bottom and those things began crawling towards us—Seborn nearly died grabbing the chest. But he tossed it into the bag of holding and we ran for it.”

“We had the treasure.”

Garen spoke quietly. Jelaqua smiled without mirth.

“We did. We checked the treasure the moment we got out of the cave. Good stuff, but we decided to unpack it at the inn. We headed for the nearest city. Celebrating. We were happy.”

“We were.”

Moore hunched over. He looked up, his voice hollow.

“I remember I was so happy that day. For all I was as sick as a dog. And it was all thanks to you, Garen. A Goblin’s tipoff. A fortune, or at least, we hoped. It was a fortune, a small one at least. It paid for the funerals. For money to the families of Thornst, Keilam, and Halassia. Ukrina’s kin wanted nothing to do with her.”

We left you in a private room we’d rented. That was the last time we were together.

Yes. Garen closed his eyes. He looked up—

And dodged. Just in time. Moore spewed onto the table again. Halassia made a horrified sound and Jelaqua groaned.

“Aw, Moore!”

“Sorry.”

The half-Giant wiped his mouth. Something crawled out of what he’d puked up and the half-Giant was immediately sick again. All of the adventurers had swallowed bugs in the caverns, but he’d been the biggest target. Garen patted him on the back as Ukrina went for another bucket and cloths. The [Innkeeper] had not been happy about them trooping into his inn covered in filth and insects, but they’d paid him enough. Well, probably enough.

“I think Moore’s done in, guys. And my body’s shot.”

Jelaqua looked tired. She gestured at her body—with her left arm. She’d left the right one behind, and her current body was not only bitten in a thousand places, but—infested. Moore avoided looking at her as he wiped his mouth. He looked pale and green. Garen silently plucked a wiggling bug off of Moore’s ear and popped it into his mouth.

“Ew, Garen!”

Halassia covered her eyes. Moore looked at Garen and then covered his mouth. Ukrina sighed.

“Moore, please don’t throw up, or that [Innkeeper] will kick us out. At least he’s giving us enough soap and water and hot towels.”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“They’d better, with what we’re paying them. Moore, get yourself to your room. And uh, let’s get him a few basins. And a cleansing spell?”

I’ll do it. I need to see if my dagger can be repaired.

Seborn volunteered, lifting the broken acid dagger he’d sacrificed to distract one of the insects at the bottom of the caverns. Jelaqua nodded.

“Then I’ll haul myself off to the local crypt. I think the [Gravedigger] told me they’ve got a body that’s not too rotten…anything’s better than this. You lot think you can hold down the fort?”

Thornst, the half-Elf and newest member of their group, looked up hopefully. He was the oldest among them save for Jelaqua, but he acted like the youngest at times, younger than even Garen.

“If we can check the treasure—”

“Be our guests. But no fighting over the items until I get back, okay, kids?”

“Deal.”

Ukrina rubbed her claws together in delight. Keilam, who had stayed out of range of Moore’s vomiting, leapt to the ground as the other three departed. He peered at the moldy, worn treasure chest that had been sitting at the bottom of the caverns. Garen eyed another bug that crawled from the edge of the chest, but decided he was full. Keilam prowled around the chest.

“Tell me what we got. If there’s a spellbook, I’d like—”

“No dibs, Keilam! Jelaqua just said! Hold on, let’s open it. Garen, do you want to do the honors? You did give us the lead on this one.”

Halassia smiled at Garen. Her dark, ashy scales were flaking off, and red, distressed skin, showed in placed where her scales had fallen off. But it was a familiar sight and Garen admired his teammate. He nodded, heart pounding.

“I will. It was good secret, right?”

“Right!”

The others chorused. Ukrina laughed. She slapped Garen on the back.

“A Goblin’s secrets! Every team should have a Goblin in it, right Garen? What other treasures does your kind know about? I should have been shaking down Goblins left and right instead of—uh, never mind.”

She trailed off awkwardly. Garen just shook his head.

“Goblins have few secrets. Just…a few. This one, and some others. But this is important. Think so, anyways.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. He was afraid, terribly afraid that he was wrong. But if he was right—his claws trembled as he reached for the lid of the chest. The others held their breaths. They’d done a quick inventory already, but this was different. Garen opened the chest and they sighed as a glitter shone from within.

“Well, would you look at that.

Keilam prowled around the chest, reaching into it. Halassia slapped his paws away.

“Hands off! Let Garen pull them out.”

“Should we be careful of traps?”

Thornst asked the question a bit too late. Halassia shook her head.

“Seborn checked it already. Besides, it would have gone off when he grabbed it anyways, right? Go on, Garen.”

The Hobgoblin nodded and began pulling items out. Ukrina whistled as he lifted a large, golden yellow orb, translucent and set on a small bronze stand.

“Looks like a scrying orb. Nice size. And this—this is a fine set of gemstones.”

She eyed the handful of sparkling gems Garen pulled out. The next item made Keilam reach for it and earn another swat. His tail wagged back and forth as he peered at a studded silver gauntlet, shaped for a Drake’s claws rather than a Human’s hand.

“A gauntlet! I wonder what its enchantment is? And look, a wand! I call it!”

Keilam! I told you no!”

Halassia sprayed a bit of water from the tip of her staff at Keilam. The half-Gnoll yowled and backed up, raising his paws. Halassia sighed, but then her face burst into a smile as Garen kept pulling out item after item.

“Would you look at this? Potions and gems and magical artifacts! We’re rich! This is twice as good as the treasure we got in Meribeth’s Sanctum!”

The others nodded. Halassia paused, a frown crossing her face.

“An odd collection, though. All of this stuff’s expensive, but who just packs this randomly into a chest? And leaves it at the bottom of a cavern full of bugs?”

Garen had reached the bottom of the chest. His breath caught as, at last, he found what he was looking for. He answered Halassia with a trembling voice.

“A distraction. Small treasure. Reward for getting chest. But this—”

He reached into the chest and came up with something. A small key, iron, or so it seemed. The other Halfseekers stared at it, perplexed.

“What? Are you serious, Garen? There’s no way that this is a distraction. You’re telling me that’s the treasure? How did you know about it?”

Ukrina looked skeptically at the key. Keilam’s ears perked up. Halassia blinked and Thornst leaned forwards.

“What’s that key for, Garen? What does it unlock? Is this another Goblin secret?”

Garen smiled at them. He hesitated, and looked down at the key. This was it. Every part of him knew it was the key. It was the same as the one he had seen in his memories. But should he tell them?

Yes. Every part of him said yes. Garen had debated this very question for months now, ever since he had taken a leave of absence from the Halfseekers and discovered his brother had given his soul away. But now even that memory couldn’t dampen his spirits.

Yes, tell them! His brother was wrong. His strange master couldn’t be trusted. Undead couldn’t be trusted. But Garen knew his team. He looked around and held the key up proudly. It shone dully in the light. It looked just like iron, and it didn’t seem enchanted, not on first inspection. But Garen felt the power in it. He looked at the others, practically trembling with joy.

“This is the true treasure. The one I knew of. It was hidden in caverns. Rest of the treasure is a distraction a…”

“Decoy?”

Halassia offered. Garen nodded.

“Yes. Decoy. But this. This is valuable. It is—it is the key of the Goblin King.”  

The others felt silent. Their eyes went wide. Fixed on Garen and the key. He looked around, smiling at them. His friends. He waved the key.

“This is his key. I know it from memory. All Goblins who remember do. This is Velan’s key. One of two. And it unlocks a great, great treasure in the High Passes. The treasure of Goblins. Our hope. Our legacy. Will you help me find it?”

He waited for them to say yes. To smile and congratulate him. To agree. He waited, and waited. But that was not what they said. Instead, they broke Garen’s heart.

 

—-

 

“The key of the Goblin King.”

Garen held it up. The little iron key was dull, worn. Small. But it had never broken, and he could still feel the power within. The Halfseekers, the living ones, stared at him.

“And that was it? You killed them for that?”

Jelaqua whispered through bloodless lips. Garen jerked. He twisted and looked at her.

“No! I told them what it was! I told you—”

“And then what? It makes no sense! Did you try and keep the key and they stopped you? Did you ask for it? We didn’t even divide the loot yet! Why did you steal it and run?”

Jelaqua cried out, frustrated. Garen clenched the key in his fist, feeling the teeth dig into his palm.

“I did not steal it! You didn’t listen! I told them exactly what I told you! I told them everything! I told them this key was the key of Velan. One of two! And it unlocked a greater treasure.”

Garen stared down at the key. Such a precious thing. Such a terrible weight. He had debated throwing it away a thousand times. It was a reminder. He put it in the pouch at his belt, closed it, looked around. His tribe stared at him. The Halfseekers stared at him. Did they not see it yet? Garen spoke quietly.

“I told them. Our hope. A treasure for my kind. The only thing Goblins have ever been left besides death. I thought they would be happy. But they weren’t. They tried to take the key from me. They said I should never have it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Garen didn’t look up. He stared down at his hands.

“That was what Halassia said. She looked at me. And Ukrina told me to give her the key or bleed. But Halassia said—she said—”

He swallowed. The words came back to him, burning, unforgettable. Garen looked up and stared into her eyes as she pointed a wand at his chest.

“This cannot be. And this can never be, Garen. I am sorry, but your species is too dangerous. Too monstrous. The world must never have another Goblin King, not if we can prevent it. Give me the key.”

He looked around, and there was silence. No one spoke. Garen stared at Jelaqua, at Seborn, at Moore. He looked around at his warriors, at the Cave Goblins, and then stared back years at Halassia’s face. He stared and stared, until a strangled, halting voice spoke. Moore looked up, shaking his head in denial.

“No, no. Halassia wouldn’t try to attack you. She wouldn’t do that. She was gentle. She would never—”

“She did.”

“She couldn’t! She would never threaten one of her teammates. You lie, Garen. She wouldn’t do—”

I am not lying!

Garen bellowed at Moore. The half-Giant opened his mouth. Jelaqua interrupted him quietly.

“I think she might have, Moore.”

He made a small noise. Jelaqua looked up at him, her expression bleak. She looked at Garen, shook her head.

“She said that? Exactly? Word for word?”

He nodded. Jelaqua closed her eyes.

“Halassia. She shouldn’t have—and Ukrina would—those idiots always did love their cities, even if they were outcast. They should have waited for me to…”

She trailed off. Moore looked at Jelaqua and then seemed to fold in on himself. The two sat there, and Garen felt a surge of—what? Vindictiveness? Triumph? Relief? It didn’t make him feel better. But then Seborn looked up.

So what?

The other two looked at him. Garen did too. Seborn shook his head. His eyes were cold. Unchanged. He looked at Jelaqua,  then straight at Garen.

“So what? This changes nothing. They tried to take the key from you. You were the one who struck first. I saw their bodies. You stabbed the other three before they could so much as move. Only Ukrina fought.

“I was…”

Garen remembered that moment. He remembered Ukrina pressing him, Halassia insisting. Reaching for the key. Reaching for hope. And the way their expressions changed. He remembered the sword in his hand, making a decision—

“It was not my fault.”

Wrong.

Garen shook. He looked at Seborn, at Jelaqua, and at Moore. He whipped his head back and forth.

“Wrong? Wrong? I did nothing wrong! They threatened me! They denied me! To my face! I told them all, the greatest Goblin secrets, and they told me I was wrong. They threatened to kill me.”

To stop a Goblin King? Absolutely.

Seborn nodded. Garen shouted at him.

“But I am not a King! I was a teammate! Part of—part of the tribe! A Halfseeker! It was not my fault! I fought with others for years! I gave all to team! But I was betrayed. Again. And again.”

He turned away from the Halfseekers, looked past his tribe. They stared at him, still, silent. Garen spoke, bitterly.

“I have always been betrayed. Before, I would have been my brother’s champion. Strongest warrior in a tribe. But I was betrayed. And then, I would have been part of my team, become Named Adventurer. Found the Goblin King’s treasure, shared it if it could be shared. But I was betrayed. And then I would have fought with Rags as Chieftain. But she betrayed me. Redscar betrayed me and others. And then Tremborag’s tribe betrayed. Reiss betrayed. It is all betrayal. All of you. I did nothing wrong.

He looked around, pointing at the Halfseekers, at each face in turn. Garen waited for them to acknowledged their guilt, to agree, at last. Now the truth had come out. But they didn’t. They looked at each other. Each face was different. There was pain, regret, and shaken beliefs. But Jelaqua still shook her head. She looked back at Garen.

“But you killed them.”

Garen’s stomach turned over. The Selphid looked at him from behind the dead eyes, and her tone was bitter.

“You keep saying you were betrayed. And they did wrong, Garen. I can’t deny that. They shouldn’t have threatened their teammate. Not like that. But. You. Killed. Them. And that we do not forgive.”

She glanced down at her claws. Then she gazed up at him and her eyes were cold again.

“This changes nothing. Let us go and give us our weapons, Garen. We’ll finish this here in front of your precious tribe.”

He felt as if he’d been punched. Garen looked at Jelaqua. She shook her head.

“Traitor.”

The word struck him like a rock. Garen rocked back on his heels and saw a huge head lift. Moore hunched his broad shoulders. His voice was low, pained. He stared at Garen with grief and helpless anger. Regret.

“Traitor.”

There was no pity in Seborn’s eyes. He sat, motionless, his eyes burning. He spoke, his echoing voice a condemnation, a promise.

“Traitor.

The Halfseekers stared at him. And Garen knew then that he would never hear anything else from them. Ever. They would never look at him differently. That knowledge was the bitterest poison on his tongue. He turned away from them.

“Fine. That is what you call me.”

He looked up. At his warriors, at Spiderslicer. Garen waved a claw.

“Kill them.”

Spiderslicer hesitated. He looked around. The other Redfangs looked from him to Garen, uncertain. Garen raised his voice, impatiently, hearing it break and hating that weakness.

Kill them!

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Mechanically, Spiderslicer stood. He drew his falchion, and walked forwards slowly. The other Redfangs looked at Garen. They had heard everything. They had heard his betrayal, and seen how his comrades, his old team refused to understand. Refused to listen. So why did they look at him with such horror? Garen tried to look away, but they were all around him. Why, why—

“Chieftain Garen!”

A voice spoke up. A body rose. Headscratcher barred Spiderslicer’s way. The shorter Goblin stared up at him. Spiderslicer frowned.

“Move, Headscratcher.”

Headscratcher didn’t budge. He spread his arms wide and looked at Garen.

“Chieftain Garen. Question.”

“Ask.”

Garen looked up. The sun had set. The stars were coming out. A cool wind blew on his face. He just wanted it to be done with. The Halfseekers could die. Then he could forget at last and go…go to the High Passes. Leave this place and never come back. Headscratcher’s voice was insistent as he blocked Spiderslicer. The smaller Goblin hesitated, and then decided to stay put.

“Chieftain Garen gave orders to us. Redfangs sent on mission. To kill Human. Innkeeper.”

“I did. And you did. So what?”

Rags didn’t know about that. Garen stared blankly at the rising moon. He heard a noise from one of the Halfseekers. Moore? Headscratcher lowered his voice.

“Didn’t.”

“What?”

Garen turned. He glared at Headscratcher. The Hob hunched his shoulders.

“Didn’t. Met innkeeper. She was nice.”

Rabbiteater nodded. He spoke up, his voice trembling slightly.

“She is good. Very good!”

“And has name.”

Shorthilt glanced up. Numbtongue nodded.

“Erin Solstice.”

“I told you to kill her.”

Garen’s voice was low. Furious. He glared at the Hobs and then realized the young woman he’d hit had been her. He’d wiped her from his mind, assuming she was dead. Garen thrust a finger at the Hobs, who flinched as one.

“You failed! Disobeyed orders!”

“Bad orders. And we tried.”

Badarrow met Garen’s eyes. The other Redfangs nodded. They spoke all together. Headscratcher was first. He summed up the entirety of the problem in four words.

“Got orders. Got lost.”

The other Redfangs groaned. They understood that. Garen held his tongue. Rabbiteater nodded quickly.

“Innkeeper left Celum. Couldn’t find trail. Many days walk.”

He gestured wildly, and Garen remembered that neither Grunter nor any of the warriors he’d sent had tracking Skills or classes. The other Redfangs nodded. Numbtongue spoke, his voice clear, as fluent as any Human. When had he begun talking so much? He used to refuse to speak so much as a word…

“We searched for her, and ran into a raiding party sent by the Goblin Lord. We found a city—Esthelm—”

He faltered at the magnitude of what had happened next. Shorthilt shook his head.

“Undead. City destroyed. Many Humans. Panic death. Goblin Lord forces come back, big fight, three sides…”

He spread his arms, trying to encompass the magnitude of what had happened. Then he looked at Badarrow. The [Sniper] cradled his bow and rasped.

“Grunter died. Orangepoo died. Leftstep died. Patchhelm died. Justrust died. Rocksoup died…”

The words were deafening. The Redfang tribe sat still. The five Hobs looked at each other. And then they began to tell their tale from the beginning. In whole, not just in parts.

Each one told a part of the story, gesturing, faltering, falling silent. Then another would take up the momentum, telling it to their audience, to Garen.

A skeleton with purple eyes. A [Knight] in shining armor. A girl who was a monster and a person. A battle for the city. Leaving the fallen. Wandering. Hiding. The Eater Goats. A village in danger, and the young woman who offered them food. Eating, becoming welcome. Becoming security, seeing plays, defending the inn. Fighting Raskghar, going into the dungeon. Leading the Cave Goblins. Fighting the strange Hob. Being arrested.

They had gone through so much. Garen listened with awe, surprise, and pride. He couldn’t help it. The Hobs had gone through a story of their own, as much as he had—more than he had when he was just starting out. And they had come through it together. When they finished, the other Redfangs looked at them as they looked at him when he told their own tales. The five Redfang warriors stood together, proud, tired, looking up at him.

Their Chieftain. Only, there was something different in their eyes. Chieftain Garen, they’d called him. Not just Chieftain. Headscratcher spoke at last.

“Chieftain Garen gave orders. But…”

He looked at the others. They nodded, giving him support. Headscratcher looked up and took a deep breath.

“Bad orders, Chieftain Garen. Rags was Chieftain, so old Chieftain’s orders not good. Rags liked innkeeper. Erin Solstice is good. Can’t kill her.”

“I see.”

That was all Garen said. He stared numbly down at the Redfangs. So they couldn’t kill her. Did they even realize why? It wasn’t just that she was good. He wondered. They were so young. Did they know they loved her? As much as any Goblin could love a Human. He had loved someone, once. As much as a Goblin could love a Drake.

What a bitter poison. Garen shook his head. He tried to think of something to say, and just gave up. He looked at the five and couldn’t find it in his heart to chastise them.

“Fine. Fine. Don’t kill her.”

The five relaxed. Garen pointed at Spiderslicer, who’d sat down to listen.

“But Halfseekers. They die. And then we go south. All of us. Cave Goblins, old Redfangs and new—we go south. Past Liscor, back to High Passes.”

Spiderslicer slowly got up. Headscratcher stiffened. Again, he shook his head.

“No, Chieftain.”

Garen frowned.

“Why not?”

Headscratcher struggled for words. He flushed, conscious he was in front of his peers, some of them Goblins who were far older than he was. And his Chieftain. He gestured, speaking slowly.

“If Goblin Lord is coming, Redfangs should fight! That what Chieftain Garen said to Rags, said to us! If Chieftain Rags is alive—should go to her. Chieftain is still Chieftain. Can’t abandon her. Would be not-Goblin.

The Redfangs stirred. They looked at Headscratcher, ashamed, embarrassed, but no one said a word. Rags was Chieftain. And they had betrayed her.

That was true. You couldn’t deny that. Yes, Garen had usurped Rags’ authority. He had—done a Human thing. Pretended to be part of her tribe, then not listened to her orders. Gone behind her back. That was not a Goblin thing. And yes, she had left Tremborag’s mountain, betrayed him. But that was her betrayal. They had still abandoned her.

Betrayal, and betrayal again. Garen was angry. It was all that seemed to happen to him. He snapped down at Headscratcher.

“That was different! Rags was—not strong! Not enough! She could not be Chieftain! She was too weak! Who could lead the Redfangs but me?”

No one answered. Obviously, only Garen could be their Chieftain. There was no Goblin that could match him. No one could replace him, or defeat him. And yet, Headscratcher looked up steadily.

“That true, Chieftain Garen. But Rags was still true Chieftain. She was smart.

Garen opened his mouth. He looked around, and the Redfang tribe gazed down at Headscratcher, ready to shout agreement. But for some reason the words didn’t come out. The five Hobs, Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue, Badarrow, and Shorthilt, looked around, their eyes steady. Confident that what they were saying was true, was right.

They had not been here for Tremborag, or the betrayal at the mountain. They had not witnessed the Human army bearing down on them, or felt the fear of seeing the Kingslayer staring down at them. They had not seen Tremborag fall, or Rags’ new tribe. Or Reiss’ betrayal. They had not seen…anything.

And they remembered a different time. A time when their tribe had been under Rags’ command, however tenuous. The other Redfang goblins shifted uneasily. How could you explain all that had passed to bring them here?

“Enough.”

Garen croaked the words. He waved a claw.

“Just—enough. Rags is gone. Maybe dead. Won’t get to her tribe. Reiss defeated her. Too far, too many Humans and Reiss’ army in the way. We go. Kill Halfseekers.”

It sounded like a plea. Garen’s sword weighed at his side. He could do it himself, in an instant. But he couldn’t—no, he had given an order. But still Headscratcher barred Spiderslicer’s way. The smaller Goblin raised his weapon threateningly, but this time Numbtongue blocked him, guitar in hand. He looked around, his words loud, authoritative.

“No. The Halfseekers are her friends. If they die, she will be sad. They fought with us. They were your tribe.”

He pointed at Garen. The Chieftain felt a thrill of outrage and something else. The other Hobs nodded. Shorthilt polished his sword.

“Can’t kill own tribe.”

“They are traitors!

Garen couldn’t believe he was arguing with them. He strode forwards, pointing at Headscratcher, who began to back up and then caught himself. Garen shouted at Headscratcher.

“I am your Chieftain! You do not argue! You obey!”

Headscratcher’s knees shook. But he refused to step back. He looked Garen in the eye, and Garen saw all their history together. He had taught Headscratcher how to fight. He had shown him how to work with his tribe to bring down larger foes. He had given Headscratcher everything that made him what he was. And Headscratcher saw the same thing. But still, he shook his head.

“Only Chieftain can give orders. And true Chieftain is Rags. Not you. Garen.”

You could have dropped a pin and heard the sound as the tribe stared at Headscratcher in silence. Garen’s hand closed over the hilt of his sword.

“Traitor.”

Headscratcher flinched. Garen looked at Spiderslicer, and the Goblin looked around. Redfang warriors got to their feet, uncertainly. Garen began to unsheathe his sword, waiting for Headscratcher to take back his words. Then he heard a sound.

Rustling. He turned his head and saw the sea of grey-green bodies get to their feet. Twenty thousand Cave Goblins stood up. Their crimson eyes gleamed as they hoisted weapons into the air. The Redfangs turned, warily.

Sit.”

Garen turned and growled an order. The Cave Goblins rippled and some began to sit at the authority in his tone. But they didn’t. He was a Chieftain, the only [Chieftain] present. But somehow, the Cave Goblins stood. They had overthrown their masters once. They stared down at the Redfang tribe, who stared back without fear.

They were Redfangs, and the Cave Goblins, for all there were five times as many, were far weaker. If it was a battle, the Redfangs would take to their mounts and ride forth until the last one was dead. But still—they looked at Garen, their Chieftain, and hesitated. It was in the air. Headscratcher looked Garen in the eye. He was afraid, terribly afraid. But he still barred Garen’s way.

“Can’t let you kill Halfseekers. Can’t let them die. Won’t go.”

“Then leave.

Garen hissed at him. He just wanted Headscratcher out of his sight. But the Hob refused to budge. He shook his head.

“I am Redfang. We are Redfang. They are Redfang.”

He touched his chest, gestured at his four friends, and pointed at the Cave Goblins. They echoed the word, a whisper twenty thousand times.

Redfang.

Headscratcher nodded. He closed his eyes, and then looked at the others. They nodded too. Garen didn’t understand. Not until Headscratcher reached for his axe. He drew the precious, enchanted blade, and pointed it at Garen’s chest. He spoke softly, but in words every member of the Redfang tribe heard.

“Garen Redfang. I challenge you for Chieftain of Redfang tribe.”

For a moment all was still. Then Garen laughed. He threw his head back and laughed, surprising everyone present. Headscratcher looked at him uncertainly. Then Garen moved, in one motion, he drew his sword and pointed Redfang, the fabled blade at Headscratcher’s throat. The [Berserker] froze.

“You cannot challenge me. You are dead. Too weak! Too young! Bow! Or die!”

Garen shouted at Headscratcher. The young Hob wavered, but refused to budge. Garen’s grip tightened—and then Numbtongue stepped forwards. He brought his guitar down on the flat of Garen’s blade, knocking it down. The Chieftain stared at him. Numbtongue spoke, his voice echoing.

“I challenge you too.”

A blade slid from its scabbard. Garen turned his head and saw Rabbiteater draw his blade. The [Champion] held his sword up, pointing at Garen’s chest. His crimson cloak—liquid wine, a fine vintage—rippled behind him. He spoke, his voice quavering, his sword arm steady.

“I challenge.”

Another blade. This one barely whispered as it was unsheathed. Shorthilt held the sword in one hand, and a parrying dagger in the other. He smiled.

“Challenge.”

Badarrow calmly nocked an arrow and aimed it at Garen’s throat.

“Me too.”

Garen looked around. The Redfang tribe was frozen in place. Headscratcher looked around and then smiled.

“We challenge you, Chieftain. All of us.”

They stood there, weapons bared, five of them. In the center of a ring of warriors. Garen stared from face to face. And then he sighed. He dropped his sword. It landed tip-first in the ground and slid into the earth like butter. The other Redfangs stared at it. Headscratcher blinked down at the blade. Garen grabbed his axe hand, threw him to the ground, and leapt at the others with a roar.

 

—-

 

This is what Spiderslicer saw. He stood with the other Redfang warriors of the tribe, in a circle of bodies. Carn Wolves prowled restlessly and the horses shuffled, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The Cave Goblins stood and watched. And in the center of the ring, a challenge was fought.

It was without blades. Garen Redfang had dropped his, and he gave the other five Hobs no chance to use their weapons. Shorthilt’s sword went flying as he kicked it out of the Hob’s hand. He kicked Rabbiteater in the groin, threw Badarrow over his shoulder as the arrow went astray, and blocked Numbtongue’s guitar with one arm. He threw a punch and Numbtongue fell backwards, bleeding.

Perhaps there was mercy in it. But Spiderslicer saw Garen’s eyes. They were wide with fury. He caught Headscratcher as the younger Goblin rushed at him and kneed him in the chest, punched him twice, and then turned and backhanded Shorthilt. He wasn’t doing this to be kind. He could have killed all five Hobs in a moment. But he was making them submit. They would surrender to him. Or Garen would kill them with his bare hands.

It wasn’t a fair fight. Not even with their new classes. Not even five against one. Headscratcher roared as he swung at Garen. The two were as strong as each other, but Garen was faster, more experienced. He dodged the swings and struck as Headscratcher was mid-punch. The Hob collapsed and Garen turned and kicked. Rabbiteater choked as the blow drove into his stomach. He folded over and Garen kicked dirt into Badarrow’s face. He brought his hands down on the Hobgoblin’s back.

Flawless. Spiderslicer had seen Garen fight and knew he was beyond his abilities. Beyond Redscar, or anyone else. Garen stood over the battered Redfangs. He wasn’t breathing hard. He spoke one harsh word.

Obey.

They lay on the ground, coughing. Rabbiteater was spewing, and Numbtongue might have a broken nose. Headscratcher had lost a tooth. He was flat on his back. He looked up, past Garen, and mumbled something.

Garen walked over to him. He stared down at Headscratcher. Spiderslicer edged closer. He heard a whisper, a cough, and then Headscratcher’s voice.

“She hugged me.”

Garen stared down at him.

“What?”

Headscratcher didn’t respond. He pushed himself up, and Numbtongue sat up. He spat blood and growled.

“I played music.”

He rose. Shorthilt got up, shaking his head. He wiped blood from his nose.

“Every night, I sleep and feel safe. I smile. She gave me this.”

He patted the sheathed sword at his side and stood. Garen looked at him in disbelief. Badarrow rolled over. Badarrow, who wouldn’t pick up a sword if he could shoot a bow, made a fist.

“I met a friend who hunts for birds.”

He rose. Rabbiteater looked around. He wiped his mouth and looked at Garen, and then past him, at the Cave Goblins.

“They call me [Champion].”

They stood with light shining from their eyes. Garen looked from face to face. He shook his head and made an inarticulate sound. He lashed out and Headscratcher reeled back. The fight continued, but this time it was savage.

Shorthilt had trained with other Redfang warriors and with Garen. He had been battered, bloodied a hundred times. Broken bones. But this time Garen showed no mercy. He struck the Redfangs, knocking them down, hitting them hard enough to fracture their bones. Spiderslicer watched him snap one of Headscratcher’s fingers like that. He saw the Hob stumble, then throw a punch, broken finger or not.

Garen kicked him down. But Badarrow was next. He swung for Garen, ignoring the two punches he received. The third downed him. Shorthilt and Numbtongue jumped forwards and were knocked flat as Garen hurled Numbtongue into Shorthilt. And then Rabbiteater raised his hands. He threw a punch and Garen countered. He threw another punch and received a blow to the face.

He staggered. But he refused to fall. Garen lashed out. He struck Rabbiteater six times in the chest, face, groin. But Rabbiteater kept swinging. He struck Garen’s chest, took a punch in the ribs. He blocked a fist that went for his right shoulder, punched, sidestepped a kick. Garen blinked and Rabbiteater hit him in the stomach.

Rabbiteater. Spiderslicer remembered a little Goblin. He saw a [Champion]. The two traded blows for another second. Garen swept Rabbiteater’s legs out from under him and stomped. Rabbiteater’s ribs did break, then.

Headscratcher lunged at Garen from the side. The two went down, punching, grappling. Garen threw Headscratcher off him. He got up and received a punch from Badarrow. Shorthilt kicked him in the back. Garen seized the leg, gripped Shorthilt by an ankle and threw him into Badarrow. The blow sent both Hobgoblins down. The Redfang tribe winced as they saw the two writhing.

Numbtongue. The Goblin was on his feet. He lifted his guitar and struck. Garen blocked with one arm. Lightning flashed from the strings of the guitar and Garen recoiled. Numbtongue held up his guitar and Garen leapt. He kicked Numbtongue in the chin, snapping his head back. Down Numbtongue fell, like a rock. Garen landed, and Headscratcher was waiting.

One punch. The [Berserker] roared and caught Garen with a blow that lifted the Chieftain’s feet off the ground. He swung again and Garen hit him back. Headscratcher choked but didn’t fall. He swung and Garen knocked him down. The Chieftain turned, panting.

And Rabbiteater got off the ground. Numbtongue was shaking his head. Rabbiteater pulled him up. Shorthilt and Badarrow were getting up too. Garen turned. He knocked all of them down, but it wasn’t enough.

Again and again. Spiderslicer thought that each time one of the Redfangs fell it had to be the last time. They had broken bones now, and blood ran from their ears, noses. But still they rose, supporting each other, leaning on each other’s shoulders. Each time they were struck down, they stood up, battered, broken, but still rising.

It was an impossible foe. There was no way they could beat Garen Redfang. No way. But they took the fight to him, attacking as one. As a team. Garen was a blur, fighting them all at once. But it wasn’t Garen that Spiderslicer and the other Redfangs were looking at now.

It was them. They refused to fall.

It was the essence, the quintessential thing that defined the Redfang Tribe. Spiderslicer felt his eyes sting as he saw the five Redfangs fighting, bleeding. Garen hammered them down, kicked them, beat them as they struggled to land a single blow, two blows—

“Submit or die!”

Garen howled it at them. He stood over Headscratcher as the Hob knelt, too weak to stand. But the Hob still swung at Garen’s legs. A weak blow. Garen struck him and then turned. He strode over to the crimson blade lodged in the ground and drew it.

A groan ran around the circle. It was unconscious. Garen advanced on Headscratcher, kicking Rabbiteater as the Hob lunged at him. He pointed the blade down at Headscratcher.

Surrender.

“No.”

Headscratcher looked up. He reached for an axe he didn’t have. Garen hesitated. He looked down and shook his head. He raised his blade.

To kill Headscratcher. His own tribe. Spiderslicer howled and it felt like every Redfang howled with him. The tale of the Halfseekers’ betrayal played in his mind again. His own tribe! Headscratcher looked up, baring his teeth, waiting. The other four were trying to get up, but they couldn’t. He couldn’t die. Spiderslicer saw Garen swing down, but no one was going to stop him. He couldn’t—

The rust-red blade fell. A sword swept up to stop it. The blade deflected the enchanted sword, swept it away. Spiderslicer stared at the sword. It was thin, a razor’s edge of a blade. A falchion, in fact.

He looked around. He was standing in front of Headscratcher. It was his hand that held the weapon. His falchion rang with the impact. Spiderslicer reflexively checked it to make sure the thin blade hadn’t bent—and then he realized what he’d done. He looked around. Redfang warriors stared at him. Garen looked down.

“Spiderslicer. What are you doing?”

Spiderslicer quivered. He looked up. He tried to move, to back away and leave Headscratcher. But he couldn’t help it. He trembled as he lifted his falchion. But a part of him screamed the words. He looked up at his Chieftain.

“Redfangs don’t fight alone.”

Garen stared down at him. The color drained from his face. He took a step back, and then what Spiderslicer said hit him. He closed his eyes and then looked at Spiderslicer. Bitter anger flared in his gaze.

“Traitor.”

Spiderslicer recoiled from the words. They tore at him, hot barbs reaching for his heart. They were the same words that Garen had spoken when Redscar and the others had left. And they cut no less deep.

The Goblin’s eyes blurred with tears. Spiderslicer looked up at his idol, his Chieftain. The hero who had taught him how to fight, had shown him how to believe in himself, believe he was strong. But that had been when Spiderslicer was young. Now he looked up and just saw a lost Goblin, who did the same things. He was strong, but he did not have a vision like Reiss. He was not confident of himself like Tremborag had been. He did not offer hope, like Rags.

“Sorry, Chieftain.”

And he meant it. With every fiber of his being. But still, he raised the falchion. Garen looked down at him. He looked at Headscratcher, at Rabbiteater, at Numbtongue and Shorthilt and Badarrow.

“Traitor. You are a traitor. All of you are.”

All six Goblins looked up at him. They shook their heads. Slowly. Sadly. How did he not see? Headscratcher was the one who said it.

“No, Chieftain. You are.”

Garen swung his sword. Spiderslicer raised his blade as he threw himself at Headscratcher. The two fell. Spiderslicer felt his sword sunder as Garen’s blade sheared through the steel. He got up and stared at the hilt of his sword. Garen pointed his sword at Spiderslicer’s chest. Then another Goblin stepped forwards.

The Hob who carried the warhammer stepped forwards. She looked down at Garen and shook her head. He turned towards her. On the Hob’s left, another Goblin drew a dirk. A pair of Goblin twins pulled cleavers from their waistbands. They gathered behind Spiderslicer. Garen stopped.

A veteran warrior made a sound of outrage. He moved behind Garen, his spear aimed at the Hob with the warhammer. But then another Goblin moved. He raised a halberd and joined the others behind Spiderslicer and Headscratcher. And another Goblin joined them. And another.

Garen looked around. The Redfang tribe slowly stood. They drew their weapons and walked past him. They formed a line, a mass. Thousands of Goblins stood, weapons drawn, forming a wall between him and Headscratcher and Spiderslicer. Some were weeping. Others were dry-eyed but shaking, holding their weapons so hard their hands began to bleed. But none of them looked away. They met his eyes, and there was nothing but grief there.

But they stood. Some of the Redfangs didn’t join the ones around Headscratcher. They stood at Garen’s back. But so few. Less than a hundred stood around Garen. Less than a hundred. They stared at their friends with shock in their eyes. It was a mirror of Garen’s own expression.

A Hob struggled to his feet, supported by Spiderslicer. Headscratcher coughed. He looked at Garen and his eye ran with blood and water.

“Chieft—”

Headscratcher fell silent. The Redfangs stared at Garen. He looked around, and his expression was hurt. Lost.

“You are my tribe.”

They didn’t answer him. They were his tribe. His. He had made them, given them everything. But still, he was wrong. He had been wrong. He had abandoned his first tribe, abandoned his brother and Rags. It was true. They had betrayed him. But he had betrayed them too. That was the great tragedy.

Sometimes your sisters and brothers struck at you. Sometimes they broke your heart. But he had shed blood first. He had given up on them. And Redfangs did not do that. He had taught them better. So they stood in opposition to him. Meeting his eyes until it became too much for him to bear.

Slowly, Garen began to back up. He stumbled on the uneven ground, no longer surefooted. He looked around and walked towards his Carn Wolf. The great wolf had watched all that had passed, anxious and confused. It had seen Garen sparring, but this was different. It lowered its head, nuzzling Garen. He stood with it as the few Redfangs that had joined him went to their mounts.

Garen began to walk away. Slowly, as if he was in a dream. He looked back once, and then twice. No one moved. Garen’s Carn Wolf whined, slinking over to Garen to lick at his master’s bloody cuts. The Hobgoblin Chieftain kept looking back. Spiderslicer could barely see him. Hot water ran down his face, though it wasn’t raining.

The Chieftain of the Redfang tribe was halfway down the road when someone called out.

“Stop.”

He turned back. Hope in his eyes. But it faded as he saw who was walking towards him. Cave Goblins and Redfangs parted as three figures walked forwards. Jelaqua’s body was torn. Moore clutched at his side, partially healed by a potion. Seborn drew his reclaimed blades.

“We’re not done with you, Garen. Stop.”

He looked back at them, and now he seemed ready to run. But he held his ground and turned, sword in hand. The Halfseekers walked towards him, leaving a trail behind them.

“No.”

Numbtongue moved to block them. The Halfseekers didn’t stop. The Hobgoblin tugged at Jelaqua. She stumbled unsteadily. Her innards were visible through her wounds and something orange and fluid pulsed through her organs.

“You’ll die.”

The Hobgoblin looked from face to face. Jelaqua looked at him once. Then she shook her head.

“We swore an oath. We cannot forgive him. Move or die.”

And because they were his team, his tribe, and because they understood, the Redfangs parted. They couldn’t stop it. They could only bear witness. Garen waited, his eyes fixed on his friends. The Goblins stood back as the four figures stopped for a moment. Maybe they said something. But it was too late, after all. Years too late.

The Redfang tribe bore witness to the end. They stood in the middle of the road and watched as the tale of the Halfseekers drew to its close.

It was not raining. It should have been. The skies should have been dark and cloudy, and the wind should have blown and made the ground shiver and lurch. It should have been dark. But it wasn’t. The skies were starry, and it was a pleasant spring night.

They watched the end. Garen stood over a Drake. She was slumped, unable to move, staring up at him. A half-Giant lay on the grass, clutching at his side. Wet entrails glistened in the starlight. A Drowned Man lay, gasping, reaching for his daggers. Drowning in his blood.

A sword as red as rust, as sharp as memory, swung down. The Drake’s head rolled and her body slumped. The Hobgoblin turned. He looked at the three, as the half-Giant tried to move and failed. Then he climbed onto the Carn Wolf that waited for him.

Less than a hundred Goblins waited for the Hobgoblin as he slowly rode away from the cave. He rode slowly, then faster than faster. The few gathered around him as he headed north. Back. Perhaps to death. Or to something else. Perhaps he just couldn’t ride past them all, or there was nothing left for him to the south. But they saw him go, and knew he was going.

Their Chieftain. The one who defined them. Going. Going. But what hurt most was the flash of crimson that kept appearing in the distance, even when he was a distant shape. It meant little until you remembered that a Goblin’s eyes were crimson. Until you thought of Garen, riding faster and faster as the wind blew across his face. But always the crimson light shone towards the Redfangs gathered there. It meant one thing that hurt most of all.

He kept looking back.

 

—-

 

“Hold. Hold still!”

Pisces trembled as, in The Wandering Inn, he bent over Erin. The [Innkeeper] was half-conscious. Bleeding from her mouth. Pisces was working as quickly as he could, but he dared not apply a healing potion. Not until her teeth were mended.

They weren’t bones, but a [Necromancer] could manipulate any natural part of the body in theory. But it was a thousand times harder to do that to a living person and Pisces was sweating. He’d already fixed broken bones and helped stave the worst of the injuries off.

The inn was bloody. Adventurers lay on the ground, wounded by arrows. Some, like Dawil, were burned, and others had been rushed to Liscor for a [Healer]. Pisces’ hand shook as he tried to mend Erin’s teeth. If only he had the broken fragments.

“It’s not enough. I can’t do it without excess material. If I try to mend it—I’ll make the teeth as fragile as glass. Enough. Enough. I’ll send my undead through the doorway.”

He strode towards the magic door. Erin half-lurched up, but it was Ceria who caught Pisces.

“Don’t be an idiot! A bunch of Gold-rank teams just got torn apart! Sit down and figure something else out! If you can’t fix Erin’s teeth, let her use a potion!”

Pisces clenched his hands, but some of what Ceria was saying got through to him. He stalked back over to the doorway. Bevussa was lying on a table, an arrow that had gone through her side lying in front of her. She looked at the door.

A red gemstone was set in the door. It was open to the Redfang’s cave. It was practically right next to where the fighting had been. Despite the smashed door the Halfseekers had been carrying, they could go back to the spot. But no one had dared open the door.

And yet, Erin had insisted on keeping it open. If the Redfangs, their Redfangs needed a way out, it was there. So the door was set. But closed. And every adventurer was keeping an eye on the door. Halrac had an enchanted arrow nocked and he was sitting, facing the door’s entrance.

“I’ll—try and fix your teeth. It would be possible if I mixed teeth from another skull, but adding a foreign substance to a living body seldom works well. Still, if it’s just a…a cap on your teeth…I have bear teeth…”

Pisces muttered to himself. Erin murmured something and spat some blood. Mrsha offered her a cloth and Erin wiped at her mouth.

“Not a normal tribe. That wasn’t normal. I’ve only heard of Goblins riding wolves in stories. That had to be the Redfang tribe. But I never expected—”

Keldrass was muttering to himself. The other adventurers were groaning, or whispering, but making very little noise. It felt like a vigil. A wake. The Halfseekers had been gone. And the odds of them coming back were shrinking by the moment.

But no one wanted to say it. Pisces was bending over Erin, mending her teeth by attaching shaped enamel to her broken teeth and cursing the blood when the door crashed open. Halrac stood in a flash as everyone spun. He drew the arrow to his cheek and froze.

Help.

A figure stood in the doorway. A bleeding shape. Moore staggered into the room, but something was wrong. He moved awkwardly, in jerking motions. And he was holding something. A dark shape, bleeding.

Seborn.

“Help him.”

Moore whispered. He placed the Drowned Man on a table. Seborn jerked. Blood was spilling from his mouth. Pisces fought off the paralysis and rushed over to him.

“Healing potion—”

Bevussa was there before him.

“His lungs are shot. Someone suck out the blood—”

“Me! [Vacuum Sphere]!”

Falene knocked both aside. Seborn choked as blood rushed out of his lungs, funneling up into a swirling vortex in the air. Pisces grabbed for a healing potion. Bevussa snared it and poured it down Seborn’s throat. He choked.

“Get him upright—”

“Dead gods, his wounds!”

Someone help Moore!

Lyonette shouted. Pisces turned. He saw the half-Giant swaying. Then his eyes went to Moore’s side. He saw entrails spilling out of a cut in his side. Pisces swore. There was no blood coming from the wound. Moore was—he had to be—

Body. Need a body. She needs a body.”

Moore gasped at the others. He looked around. Two voices seemed to come from his mouth. Both were his voice, but one was—different. A different inflection. Pisces froze. His eyes went to Moore’s side as his mind connected the dots. Surely not—

“Moore, you’re dying. The blood—”

Stopped. I stopped it. It’s fine. She needs a body.”

The half-Giant looked around. He sagged to the ground. Pisces stared at him.

“A body? Where would we find a host for—”

“Basement. It’s the basement.”

He turned. Erin staggered to her feet. Her partially fixed teeth moved around her bloody mouth. She looked at the others.

“Raskghar in the basement. Get one. Hurry.”

For a moment no one moved, then Yvlon got up.

“Ylawes.”

They ran to the trapdoor. Moore was sitting on the ground, surrounded by other Gold-rank adventurers. They tried to pack his insides back into his body before applying the healing potion. All the while, the second voice whispered to them, telling them what was wrong. Moore’s eyes were rolling back in his head.

“Here!”

Yvlon came out of the basement, dragging a huge body behind her. Pisces’ heart jumped as he saw a Raskghar’s head and Ceria swore. But Moore lurched over to it. He bent, exposing his open side towards the body.

Don’t look. Don’t look!”

At first the others didn’t know what he meant. Pisces did, and he watched in horror and fascination as something slithered out of Moore’s open wound. The half-Giant groaned and passed out, but the orange, semi-liquid…thing flowed towards the Raskghar’s body.

Yvlon and Ylawes backed up as it crawled down the creature’s mouth. The other adventurers watched in horror. The Raskghar began to jerk, and then a voice began to speak from its mouth, though the gaping muzzle never so much as twitched.

You didn’t see. Didn’t see it.

The voice was confused. Female. It didn’t sound like a voice that came from lips. The Raskghar kept twitching as the thing—the Selphid began invading its nervous system. The adventurers looked at each other.

“What didn’t we see?”

Ceria looked around in confusion. The voice—Jelaqua, whispered again.

They’ll kill us for it. Didn’t happen. You didn’t see. Please.

Bevussa looked around. The Garuda understood, and she spoke decisively.

“We saw nothing. No one will tell anything.”

Pisces nodded. The others began to understand, at least in part. Jelaqua was talking about how she’d entered Moore’s body. To invade a living host, willing or not, was the height of Selphid sin.

The Selphid had almost gained control of the Raskghar’s body. It began sitting up, raising its arms, blinking, as if going through a test. It was unnatural to see. But for all the precision, it seemed like the controller was—damaged. How could she not be? She kept whispering, forgetting to use the Raskghar’s vocal chords and lungs.

I didn’t break the rule. I didn’t—

“What happened? Are the Goblins still there?”

“What about Headscratcher?”

Halrac and Erin pressed Jelaqua. The Raskghar’s head turned and stared blankly at them.

“Garen. It was Garen. His tribe. Others alive.”

“Garen?”

The name evoked confusion in some of the other adventurers. Pisces felt his heart skip a beat. Dawil, his face burned, sat up from his cot.

“That was their old teammate, wasn’t it? I heard about a Goblin Chieftain that no adventuring team had managed to bring down. But he was supposed to be in the High Passes.”

Jelaqua didn’t respond. Halrac looked at the body, then at Seborn and Moore. He stared at the door.

“What in the name of the Five Families happened?”

Erin shook her head. She looked back at the Halfseekers. They were all breathing, but just. She stared at the door, closed again.

“I don’t know. But I think—I think something happened with the Redfangs. I mean, Headscratcher and the others. And Garen. They swore to kill him.”

“By the looks of it, he killed them.

Revi commented softly. A strangled laugh rose from the Raskghar. All of the adventurers jerked as Jelaqua finally spoke with the Raskghar’s growling voice,

“He couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?”

Erin bent down towards her. Jelaqua looked up at her. She laughed again, weakly. Hysterically.

“He couldn’t kill us. He tried, but he didn’t. Who beheads a Selphid?

She laughed, and then tears began seeping from the Raskghar’s eyes. Not water; the Raskghar’s body was dead. But a thin, yellow substance, like a mucus. Erin drew back. Jelaqua kept laughing, a weird giggling sound like a hyena’s laugh.

She was laughing and crying in the Raskghar’s body. It was a strange, unnatural sight and sound. But the sobs that quickly usurped the laughter and the tears were all too familiar.

The adventurers sat and stood in silence. Erin looked around. She was bloody, battered, and the others were hurt as well. She ran her tongue over her broken teeth and winced. She shook her head. For once, no witty quotes came to mind. She just sat down and put her head in her hands.

“I need a drink.”

 

—-

 

The Redfangs stood outside the cave. Four thousand of them and twenty thousand Cave Goblins. They looked at the five swollen and bruised Hobgoblins among them. They had splints and were keeping still, most of them. Even the best healing potions didn’t go so far.

Garen Redfang was gone. And with his absence, a void had opened up in the tribe. After all, no one Goblin could equal Garen Redfang.

And that was the problem. It had been a problem even when Rags was there, and Reiss. But the Redfangs had realized there was a solution.

No one could replace him. That was a fact. But five? Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater sat together. And the Redfangs looked at them. Headscratcher spoke slowly, around a swollen mouth.

“We are Redfangs. We were, and are. And will be. Garen is gone, but he was not us. We were, are, us.”

There was nothing else to say. The Redfangs sat there, as night fell. Wondering what they would be tomorrow.

 

—-

 

So night fell. The Redfangs and Cave Goblins sat, talking, debating. Erin Solstice and the adventurers lay in their inn, not understanding all of what had gone on. And Garen Redfang rode away, haunted by regret, words echoing in his mind. Those were their concerns.

The issues of a small Human city just north of Liscor was more immediate. Esthelm, the city that had fallen and then reclaimed its honor, was in a state of high alert. They’d reported the Redfang tribe riding past their walls. Now they locked their gates, and put everyone they could fit on their walls. They sent a [Message] spell to all the cities, a dire warning.

The Goblin Lord’s army was coming. They were within range of Esthelm’s walls. The news sparked alarm through all the cities, who had expected the Goblin Lord to arrive days later.

Only, it wasn’t the Goblin Lord’s army. They were close behind, but this band of Goblins had outrun them. It was an army large enough to fool Esthelm, but it was not Reiss’ Goblins.

Instead, it was a tribe. Redscar, Poisonbite, and Noears led the broken, bloody Flooded Waters tribe south, running ahead of death, despairing. Their Chieftain was missing. Alive, but lost to them. In her absence, they ran south, past Esthelm, continually on the move, fleeing the traitorous Goblin Lord who was slowly following behind them with the Humans.

They were despairing, hurt, betrayed. Most were half-dead from running all day and all night, but they dared not stop lest the Humans on horseback caught up. In their desperation they’d outpaced even horses, not stopping to sleep or rest or eat. It felt like the end of all things, and all the Goblins could do was keep moving, one step after another, late into the night until they collapsed of exhaustion and woke, only to feel the same fear again. They ran and ran, without purpose or hope.

On the eleventh day, they reached Liscor.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.59

She had to get ready. Erin Solstice woke up on the eleventh day with that thought echoing in her mind. She didn’t know how she knew, or why, but she knew she had to get ready. They were coming. Whoever they were. So Erin opened her eyes, half-sat up—

And decided she could use a few more minutes of sleep.

 

—-

 

“Morning, Lyonette.”

By the time Erin got up for the second time, it was mid-morning, uncharacteristically late. The [Innkeeper] pulled herself upright in time to see Lyonette carefully pulling out a plate of pre-made pasta covered with bolognese out of a cupboard. Since that was completely natural, Erin ignored it at once and focused on the young woman. Lyonette jumped, and then turned guiltily.

“Morning, Erin. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. I was getting up.”

Erin yawned and stretched. She felt awful. Tired, lethargic, and sore. As if she’d spent a day lifting rocks and then having said rocks dropped on her back. She wondered why—usually she was able to get up no matter the early hour. Her [Lesser Endurance] Skill meant that she could keep ticking on less sleep. But not today. Erin remembered the events of last night and unconsciously ran her tongue across her teeth. She frowned as her tongue encountered nothing but smooth enamel.

“How’re the teeth?”

Lyonette put the room-temperature pasta next to the stove’s lit fire to warm it up. Erin shrugged and her belly rumbled.

“Good. They feel different. I think so, but then again it could be in my mind. They feel like they should be different, you know?”

“I’d imagine so. Pisces used bear teeth, didn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“Do they taste or seem…?”

Erin shrugged.

“Not bearish to me. But I keep feeling like they should be. I’m just amazed he fixed them, really.”

She ran her tongue over the caps Pisces had made to fix three of her partially broken teeth and winced. Her tongue was sore from doing that a hundred plus times. But the teeth were good.

“He should be a dentist.”

“A what?”

“Someone who fixes teeth.”

“Ah.”

Erin rummaged around in her nest that occupied one side of the kitchen. She saw Lyonette taking some utensils out of a drawer and opened a cupboard by her side. It contained Erin’s clothes. The [Princess] kept her back turned as Erin quickly changed clothes under her blankets. Too late, Erin remembered she should have asked if anyone was working this morning.

“Is, uh, Ishkr—”

“Drassi’s here.”

“Oh. Good.”

Erin breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she had more than just a few employees, the kitchen was filled with at least one person more often than not. And there had been a few incidents. Erin began stuffing her bedding into another cupboard as Lyonette checked the pasta’s temperature. She shook her head and then looked at Erin.

“You should really stay in a room, you know. There are some rooms available, even if the Hobgoblins come back. And Mrsha and I could share the room if you wanted to. There’s plenty of space. Mrsha does steal your blankets, though.”

“I should. I know.”

Erin made a face. She’d had the same conversation with Lyonette. It was just that—she sighed as she hunted around for her toothbrush. Which cupboard was that? Oh, right. It was the drawer. Erin pulled it out and grabbed the jar of toothpaste Octavia had made up.

“It’s just that I have so much to do, you know? And changing rooms is more work than I want to do.”

“Says the [Innkeeper] who just lost some of her teeth confronting a Goblin Chieftain and got twenty thousand Cave Goblins to run off.”

Erin grimaced as she applied some toothpaste to her toothbrush. It was a very astringent substance that Octavia sold, but it did make Erin’s teeth feel clean.

“They were supposed to go south. I have no idea what happened. Or if they’re coming back.”

Lyonette glanced out of the kitchen and Erin knew she was looking towards the magic door. Her face wasn’t apprehensive, but there was a note of tension in her voice.

“Do you think the Goblins would come here? I mean, if they’re still hostile.”

Erin paused.

“If they do, we’re running into Liscor. The door’s set up. But Numbtongue and the others—they’re not back. And Jelaqua said they did something. The old Chieftain ran off. Garen. If they come back—we’ll see.”

Lyonette nodded. The two waited while Erin scrubbed at her teeth, then decided she had to spit and wash her mouth. She got up as Lyonette took the plate of hot pasta away from the fire. The smell made Erin’s stomach grumble. But…pasta? She pointed at the spaghetti, which had been seasoned with sauce, sliced sausage, and just a little bit of spicy peppers.

Whof fhat for?

She tried not to spit all over the plate. Lyonette stared at Erin’s mouth and the toothbrush sticking out.

“Dawil ordered it.”

Fo? Fhe Filver Fwords fhare here?

Lyonette opened her mouth and then gave up. Erin walked outside into the common room and thus began her day.

“Erin!”

A number of voices greeted Erin as she walked towards the door of her inn. The [Innkeeper] stopped and the people waiting for her saw her turn towards them. A bit of toothpaste was dribbling down her mouth. Despite the myriad and pressing issues that demanded her attention, all those present agreed that she should attend to business first. So Erin stumbled out of her inn and went to the outhouse.

There were three, now. And each one was set far enough apart so as not to carry smells or worse, sounds to the other stall. Unless someone was having a really bad day. That was an important design decision, which had required the outhouses to be moved when Erin had first discovered the issue. The third stall was huge, big enough to accommodate Moore. It was also the nicest, so Erin sat in that after knocking to make sure no one was inside.

“Toilet bowl, toilet bowl. This is…nicer than a toilet bowl, actually.”

Erin sat on the polished hardwood, having spat and washed out her mouth already. Her feet were a bit wet from the walk to the outhouse, but the grass had only been dewy, as opposed to rain-slicked and muddy. The rain had stopped. Now, the air was humid, muggy, and foggy. Erin liked it not one bit; nor did she like the way a lot of the hills had turned to mostly mud and water gathered in the valleys. But it still beat buckets of rain dumping from the sky.

That was why the outhouse had a roof. And it was better than a bathroom, at least in some senses. The wood was just as smooth as porcelain, but it didn’t get as chilly. As for the…other concerns, Erin did have a type of toilet paper at her disposal. The main issue was flushing, or lack of it.

If plumbing had been invented, it was too costly and too unknown in Liscor for Erin to obtain. So the outhouse was an outhouse, which meant that it accumulated rather than moved waste. Erin had originally solved the issue of acquisition by making Toren pour acid into the pit below the outhouse, handily vaporizing the problem. But since he was gone, she’d had to resort to other measures. She still used acid, though.

Octavia had a wonderful mixture that dissolved undesirable objects slowly. It was enough to keep the outhouses from needing to be emptied, and a lot of fresh-smelling herbs did the rest of the job. Erin looked at the bundle of herbs that Lyonette had placed just the other day. Not having to tend to the outhouse herself was another perk of being the boss.

Now, what did the evolving and dynamic nature of Erin’s restroom facilities have to do with today or recent events? Nothing. But Erin sat on the toilet for a good while. She had a feeling she was going to be busy if the faces that had been waiting for her were any indication. And she wanted to delay work as long as possible. She managed to hold out five minutes before she decided to go back. After all, she was mostly responsible and over half the people waiting on her were her friends.

And they were coming. Erin’s head turned north. She stared at the place where the mountain ranges parted to let travellers come through the pass. It was slightly obscured by a tall hill, but she saw no signs of movement. Yet. She shook her head and walked back to her inn.

“Erin!”

The first person to hurry up to Erin was Olesm. She smiled at him, and her face fell as she looked at Zevara. Erin threw a mock salute as she walked over to their table. The Drake Watch Captain eyed her.

“Human.”

“Hey, Zevara. Olesm. What’s up?”

“Where are the Goblins now? What do you know about their status? Will they attack the city? I’ve heard the report from the Gold-rank teams. Ignoring the fact that they were carrying one of your magical doorways north for now, explain to me how twenty thousand Cave Goblins and this new tribe aren’t a threat?”

Erin blinked at Zevara. Not even a hello. The Watch Captain looked anxious, if her swishing tail was anything to go by. Erin sat down and waved at Drassi.

“Hey Drassi, can I have some of our scrambled eggs?”

She waited until she got a wave and a smile from Drassi. Then she looked at Zevara.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know, and I think they’re not a threat. Jelaqua said the old Chieftain ran away.”

“Garen Redfang. A traitorous former Gold-rank adventurer who slaughtered four of his former teammates. And nearly did for the other three. How is his absence supposed to reassure me?”

“Well, he’s not leading his tribe. Ooh, thanks Drassi.”

Erin picked up a fork. Zevara eyed her as if she’d gladly grab the fork and poke it into Erin’s eye.

“His tribe is still there. Or we assume so. They’re dangerous.”

“Yeah, but Headscratcher and the others are with them. They’re nice.”

The two Drakes exchanged a look as Erin began eating breakfast. Olesm coughed.

“So you’re saying we should hope that they move on, Erin?”

“Hm. Yeah?”

Erin looked up. The Drakes stared at her, one with wrath, the other appalled. The [Innkeeper] shrugged.

“Look, what other choice is there? What do you expect me to do about it? Open the door to the Goblin cave and solve everything myself?”

Zevara and Olesm didn’t meet Erin’s eyes, which told her that was exactly what they’d hoped she’d do. The young woman scowled.

“Tempting as that is, I don’t know those particular Goblins. And I don’t want to get my brains punched out again. Did you hear that I lost some teeth? Do they look weird to you?”

She showed them her teeth. Zevara sighed.

“They’re fine. Hearing about that was the only amusing news I’ve gotten all day. It was about time someone kicked your teeth in, with how many fights you seem to escape unscathed.”

“I let other people hit things for me. And I’m good at ducking.”

Erin scowled. But Zevara was right. She hadn’t processed her one-sided punching bag experience, but the memory of trying to fight that muscular Goblin guy stuck with her. She rubbed at her mouth. It had been terrifying, trying to get past all the Goblins with only the five Redfangs shielding her.

But it had to be done. Jelaqua and the Halfseekers had been in danger. But she’d nearly died herself. If it happened again—could she risk her life like that? Was it smart? Was she an idiot? Erin sighed. She barely noticed Zevara getting up.

“If the Goblins come back to the city, Miss Solstice—”

“I’ll try and talk to them. But I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not opening that door to their cave until I know. Sorry.”

Zevara nodded. She strode off as Olesm sighed.

“I should get going too. I’d stay and talk, but—we’re at full alert. It’s nice seeing you, uh, Erin.”

He stood up awkwardly. Erin blinked up at him.

“Hey Olesm. How’re the defenses going?”

The Drake [Strategist] hesitated. He averted his gaze.

“I can’t say. Military secrets, Erin. We’re…doing good. We got reinforcements from Pallass and we’ve found homes for them. And uh, we’re meeting with Klbkch, checking the walls—it will be fine.”

The tone in his voice and his posture—not to mention his curled up tail—told Erin that was a dead lie. She stared at him and nodded.

“Okay, I won’t keep you.”

Olesm turned to go. Erin raised her voice.

“Olesm!”

He looked back at her. Erin smiled with more upbeat emotion than she actually felt.

“We’re uh, cool with the me punching you and you throwing me in jail, right?”

For a second Olesm stared, and then he grinned.

“We are. If you’re okay with it?”

“I liked prison food. And it’s a nice place when you get to know your cellmates.”

He grinned. Erin kept her smile until Olesm had hurried to the magic door and left. Then she sighed. She turned her head.

“Next!”

Someone else was already coming up to her. Dawil. The Dwarf slid into the vacant seat. He had a half-finished plate of pasta with him and was slurping down some noodles. The sauce got into his beard—well, part of his beard.

A good bit of hair was burnt off of Dawil’s face. His eyebrows, part of the hair on his head—and a lot of his beard. The sight of his chin and face was terribly disconcerting. Erin stared at Dawil, and then averted her gaze. The Dwarf sighed.

“Go on, look. And have a laugh, why don’t you. That bastard Pisces was laughing all day about it and the damned half-Elf—mine, not Ceria—wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Dawil shrugged. He scratched at his missing spots, where thick stubble was already growing. His voice held a note of complaint. Well, more like a symphony of complaints.

“It’s cold. But the healing potion did the burns right. I drank a hair-growing tonic, but it’ll be a week before my beard’s halfway decent. It’s not a problem compared to the shite we’re in, but it’s embarrassing more than anything else. But I didn’t come here to talk about hair to you, girl. We’re all in trouble, so I need to speak on behalf of the adventurers in Liscor. This is good pasta, by the way. Needs more meat, though.”

“I can have Lyonette cut up a steak if you want. Or some pork? A sausage?”

“Next time, maybe.”

Dawil slurped down more noodles as Erin finished her eggs. He wiped his mouth with a napkin—Erin used the back of her hand. The Dwarf was actually quite fastidious as he cleaned his beard. He even had his own utensils he packed into a small case—silver and gold filigree forks were a new concept to Erin. The Dwarf leaned back in his chair and looked up at Erin.

“Now, let me be blunt since no one’s said it. And you were in jail. We’re leaving Liscor. The Silver Swords, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt—and your Horns too, I imagine. Us and a good number of other Gold-rank teams, though I can’t speak for all in Pallass.”

Erin frowned.

“Okay. I heard about that from Lyonette. The Halfseekers were taking a door north, right?”

“Correct. They were trying to get to Celum so we had a route out, since those Drakes confiscated the mana stone. It would have worked too, but for those Goblins. Now we’re caught between a hammer and an anvil, because there’s a tribe of Goblins north of us that can kick the crap out of six Gold-rank teams without breaking a sweat.”

Dawil scowled. He drummed his fingers on the table, reached for his pasta, and then swatted a white paw aside.

“Not today, you thieving little mole rat!”

Mrsha scampered as Dawil roared under the table. His roar sent her flying and the Dwarf looked quite pleased with himself as he turned back to Erin.

“Fun little brat. Where was I? Oh yeah, we can’t go north anymore. Which is a problem because going south takes us longer to get to civilization. And it takes us past the Blood Fields and it is active in the spring. But there’s no choice, so we’re headed south. With another magic door anchor thing.”

“Oh. Do you need to get a mana stone?”

Erin looked at the door. Dawil waved a hand and coughed, looking embarrassed.

“Thing is…we’ve already got one. It’s the orange stone, see? Already in the bowl. I’ve been getting your [Barmaid] to check it every half-hour. The Flamewardens are lugging the door south and they’ll trade off soon. We would have told you, but we decided they needed to go right this morning.”

“I see. So what’s the problem?”

It all sounded good to Erin. Well, not the Gold-rank teams fleeing Liscor, but if it was that or fight and maybe die, what choice was there? She hadn’t decided what to do either. She could take refuge in the city easily enough, but…the scope of both threats just hadn’t really sunk in for Erin. Having a second escape route would be good, though. Dawil shrugged uncomfortably.

“Nothing. In theory. But we wanted to let you know seeing as you had the door. However, if that fire breathing Watch Captain asks…don’t tell her we’re planning to leave. She’d try and stop us and we’re not willing to die here.”

He waited, perhaps expecting Erin to object. She just doodled on her plate with a finger. Then Erin looked up.

“Do you think Liscor will fall?”

Dawil sighed.

“Honestly, lass? Can I call you lass? Sorry. I’m thirty eight, and Humans feel so young to me. You’ve barely lived through any of the big wars, have you?”

“None of Izril’s. A few started where I came from. Not sure if they really ended.”

Dawil raised an eyebrow and Erin kept her poker face up. She wasn’t sure what he knew, but Dawil was someone she trusted. More than Pisces or Olesm, about something like this, even. He struck her as honorable, more so than Falene or Ylawes in his own way. The Dwarf shrugged.

“Right. Well, it’s a bad scene. I’ve never been sitting in a besieged city, but I’ve seen the aftermath and heard the stories. Flying limbs, people getting slaughtered, and so forth. War is messy. And adventurers get killed in wars. We’re big targets because we can do a lot of damage, but we hunt monsters, not armies. Get it?”

“…Maybe? Could you explain that?”

The Dwarf nodded. He looked around and waved a hand.

“Ale?”

“Got it!”

Drassi passed by their table. Dawil blinked as an ale appeared in front of him. The Drake winked at Erin and passed her a cup of milk. Erin stared.

“Wait, how did you know—”

“[Server’s Prescience]! I got a Skill the other day! Isn’t it cool?”

Erin stared down at her drink.

“Very cool.”

“Hah! Now there’s a Skill worth having! Almost as good as the battlefield edition.”

Dawil drained a quarter of his mug, wiped his mouth, and then sighed.

“Okay. Wars. It’s an easy concept. I think you’ll get it better than the lad—I mean, my team captain. He’s a bit thick between the ears when it comes to things like this. Not exactly a tactical mind, if you know what I’m saying. Neither is the half-Elf, for all she’s Wistram. ‘Swhy I have to come up with the plans.”

He tapped the side of his head. Erin grinned, tickled.

You, Dawil?”

“How else do you think we survived this long? Someone’s got to be the voice of reason and it’s not those two. Anyways…”

He heaved a sigh.

“Wars. One last time. Adventurers have armor, or we hit fast enough so we’re not in danger. Say we’re hunting a Chimera. Or some other monster. We can take them on—hell, we can take on a nest. A small Goblin tribe? Doable. But in large numbers, armor fails. Take my armor for instance. It’s steel, Dwarf-forged and strong. I can fight in it and guard my face. But in yesterday’s scrap? There are too many arrows flying and damn Goblins with fire paste in jars. And in a war—”

“You can’t defend yourself from all sides.”

“Exactly. We’re too fragile. Knew you’d get it. I know there’s a bunch of Gold-ranks with Tyrion Veltras’ army. But I’ll bet my beard—what’s left of it—that they’re under contract to only fight if he needs something taken and stay well clear of the main battle. Besides, it’s bad to get wrapped up in politics. Ylawes’ father is marching with the Humans…look, the point is that we don’t want to die. We think Liscor will fall. So when the army arrives, we’ll be going. And if you want, we’ll escort you to Pallass. You and anyone you care to bring.”

Dawil eyed Erin over the top of his mug. She hesitated. Rather than address his statement directly, she twiddled her thumbs.

“When will you be going?”

“On the day we see the army roll in. Or sooner. But we’ll carry the door as far as we can before then. We’ll still be at least a day or two out from the nearest city, but—ah, lass. When we go, it will be quick. Make up your mind before then.”

Dawil and Erin sat together in silence. Erin stared at the table. For some reason, Dawil’s words put the urgency of Liscor’s siege closer to home than anything else. She looked at him.

“If you thought there was a chance—there are the Antinium. And the Drakes are sending an army. Is there any way…?”

The Dwarf’s eyes were brown, deep and soft as earthy loam, and sad. He shook his head.

“There may be an army of Antinium. And the Drakes may get here in time to break the siege. The Humans may be stumped or they may win. But the cost will be blood, Erin. We won’t pay the price.”

“Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

Erin sat at the table, feeling tired and helpless. Dawil nodded. He got up, walked over, and patted Erin on the shoulder.

“I’ll be here all day. The other teams will. We’re watching your door—and the inn—so don’t worry about someone making off with the door like last time. If you have any questions, ask.”

He wandered off to his table. Erin looked around and saw Bevussa sitting at a table, along with Nailren and a few Gnolls, and Falene. They were talking to each other, relaxing. And watching her. They turned as Dawil wandered over to them. Erin heard his voice clearly as she turned back to her drink.

“You lot are about as inconspicuous as a bunch of farting Dragons! She’s not stopping us, so settle down. And you can stop listening in, you pointy-eared git! I know you’re casting a listening spell when you get that constipated look on your face.”

The young woman leaned on her arms. She stared at the empty chair ahead of her as a third body slid into the seat. This time it was Mrsha. The little Gnoll stared up at Erin, wagging her tail.

“Hey Mrsha. How are you doing?”

The Gnoll raised a paw with the thumb up. Erin smiled at her.

“That’s good. Hey, do you want to play catch?”

The Gnoll cub smiled. Erin slid out of her seat as Mrsha ran to get her ball. She raced over and tossed it at Erin. The young woman caught it, tossed it back, and the two moved down the long common room. Erin’s [Grand Theatre] Skill was in effect, but there weren’t nearly enough people to fill the vast space. Mrsha and Erin cleared some tables and chairs and began to play catch. Just for a while.

“Erin.”

Ceria came over after a few minutes. She watched as Mrsha scampered after a ball and Erin turned to her. The half-Elf had her hands in her pockets. She watched as Mrsha threw the ball back, clumsily. She raised a finger and the ball swung towards Erin. The [Innkeeper] caught it and threw it back.

“Hey Ceria. What’s up?”

The half-Elf looked unhappy.

“It’s uh, about the door. I’ve been talking with the others.”

“You’re going?”

“Are you? We don’t want to leave without you, but—what are you going to do, Erin?”

Erin turned. The two stared at each other, Ceria unhappy, and Erin uncertain. They looked at each other until Mrsha’s ball bounced off the side of Erin’s head.

So it went. Ceria wasn’t the last person to talk to Erin either. After the young woman had talked to her, there came Pisces, to offer unsolicited advice which Erin listened to. Krshia, to play with Mrsha, talk about Erin’s door, and about commitments and not to ask Erin so loudly that it hurt. Selys stopped in to check with Erin how she was doing and stare at the door for a second. A few Drakes and Gnolls came by to inquire about her door.

Her door, and the Goblins. And what Erin thought. The trouble was, Erin wasn’t thinking. She was deliberately not thinking of what was coming. Because if she did, she’d have to make a choice. Stay or go. Risk dying or leave. Which was better. Which was right? Erin didn’t know. But she kept looking north. She was talking with Jelaqua at midday when it happened.

“How’s the body?”

The Selphid was sitting at a table. By this point the inn was getting more business, and Ishkr and two more Gnolls had come by to help work the tables. They stared at Jelaqua and kept clear of her. Because the Selphid was wearing the Raskghar’s body.

It was disturbing to Erin. The Raskghar looked bestial, compared to the Gnolls. It had a more hunched posture, a bigger body, and thicker fur. But the main change was the eyes. The Raskghar had been savage with a spark of intelligence. Now, there was a sharp intelligence looking out of the dead pupils. Somehow, that was even more uncanny. Jelaqua raised a paw and scratched at her neck.

“Fine. It’s a good body, actually.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Lots of muscle fiber, great condition—a few pests, but they were mostly dead and I got rid of the rest. My main complaint is that this body’s a bit too bulky for my tastes, but hell, the nose works wonders. The only thing is that I can’t go in Liscor without causing a panic. I nearly got stabbed by a Gnoll [Guardsman]—and that was just at the gate.”

“You are wearing a Raskghar’s body.”

“Yup. But there’s a shortage of other bodies, so what can you do?”

Jelaqua spread her paws in a Human shrug. Erin stared at her and the Selphid grinned weakly, another very disturbing sight.

“Sorry. I’m a bit mixed up after yesterday. I…took a few hits to my body.”

“I saw.”

“No, I mean my real body.”

“Oh. Is it bad? Did you heal up?”

Jelaqua hesitated.

“It’s not quite that simple. But yeah, I’m doing okay. I think. Look, about last night. You really can’t tell anyone—anything. Not that it happened, okay?”

“What happened?”

The Selphid eyed Erin and nodded.

“It’s just really important, okay, Erin? Really important.”

“I got it. Lips sealed. About nothing.”

The Gold-rank adventurer nodded, but she was clearly still uneasy. She scratched at her neck again. Erin wondered if one of the pests had been fleas. She saw Mrsha staring at Jelaqua as she slunk around Lyonette, who was giving Jelaqua much the same look.

“Jelaqua. I wonder if it would be a good idea for you to say hi to Ishkr and Mrsha. Maybe that would make them feel better. Or would it make them feel worse?”

The Selphid grimaced.

“It can’t hurt. Showing them it’s me rather than my body usually helps. I had the same problem with bodies I got from executed criminals. I’ll have a word later.”

“Thanks. Uh—how’s Moore and Seborn?”

The Raskghar’s expression softened in a way that was true to Jelaqua. She looked towards the stairs.

“Resting. Moore’s too weak to get out of bed—or eat anything other than liquids. Thanks for all the soup.”

“No problem. What about Seborn?”

“He’s better. He just lost blood. But he’s not talking to me. I think he’s angry about what happened.”

“At you?”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“At himself. For letting Garen get away. He was right in front of us. But we choked up. And he spared us.”

Erin stared at Jelaqua.

“And how do you feel?”

The Selphid smiled with the Raskghar’s mouth.

“Me? It’s over and done with. Garen lost his tribe. They told him to his face he was a traitor and he ran off. I’m alive, and so is Moore and Seborn. And we know a bit more of—of what happened that day. It’s all we can ask for, Erin.”

She kept smiling as Erin studied her. She was lying. But she did it with a smile, and Erin felt like pushing Jelaqua would be the worst of ideas. So she let it drop.

“You just let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Sure thing. I’ll just have a few drinks, reassure the Gnolls, and check on the others.”

Jelaqua smiled. Erin smiled too, and tried to ignore the sense of roiling emotions she was getting from the Selphid. If anyone was close to exploding…she made a note to keep Jelaqua away from Relc if he stopped by. Or Pisces. Or Revi. Erin stood up to accompany Jelaqua in case any of the Gnolls freaked out—or she did—

And then it happened. Erin’s head turned to the right. She stared straight towards the north wall and she felt a tingle go down her spine. They were coming. And they were coming here. It wasn’t a bad sense, not like it had been whenever her [Dangersense] went off. No, it was more like a certainty at the back of her mind. They were coming, and they were tired and hungry and desperate.

Erin hadn’t known who they were in the morning, but now she was certain. And as they came across the Floodplains and Liscor sounded the alarm, Erin stood on the ruined roof of her inn where Bird’s watchtower had been and saw them pour across the muddy hills and valleys like a green wave.

Goblins.

 

—-

 

At first it was the Cave Goblins and Redfangs. The mounted warriors rode ahead of the Cave Goblins, a small army of elite warriors followed by the hordes of grey-green Goblins. That was enough to get Olesm’s heart pounding. But when he saw the second Goblin force emerging from the pass leading north, his heart began trying to dig its way out of his chest.

“It’s the Goblin Lord’s army!”

“It can’t be! They’re too early! They’re too early!

Olesm screamed at Embria, who had raised the alarm the instant she’d spotted the second Goblin force. It was vast; it dwarfed the Cave Goblin force by a good margin. Olesm tried to count how many Goblins were present. Forty thousand? Fifty? Sixty? It was too small to be the Goblin Lord’s army—not unless they’d taken massive casualties since they’d last been spotted. And yet, it was far too large to be just any random tribe. He watched as they spread across the Floodplains.

“What am I seeing, Olesm?”

Zevara stood on the walls minutes later, breathing hard and looking at the approaching Goblins. Olesm’s heart was trying to escape via his mouth at this point, but he kept his voice as level as possible as he replied. He wished it didn’t wobble so, though. Everyone was listening.

“In a word, Watch Captain? Dissidents. Or rebels. That’s probably a better word for it?”

“Rebels?”

Both Embria and Zevara looked at him. Ilvriss, who’d just made it to the walls—since a Wall Lord didn’t run unless the city was under attack—stared sharply at Olesm.

“That’s right. Dissidents. Reports from Esthelm claimed the Goblin Lord’s army was moving past them. They were erroneous, but it does match another piece of information we received from an informant in the Human army. They reported a battle between the Goblins—apparently some kind of inter-tribal dispute. The Goblin Lord absorbed a good deal of the defeated tribe, but the rest of them fled and managed to get ahead of the Humans. They’re coming through Liscor because they have nowhere else to go.”

“Caught between an axe and the headman’s block, huh?”

Embria narrowed her eyes. Olesm nodded.

“But still dangerous. They’re not allied with the Cave Goblins or the tribe that fought the adventurers yesterday. See how they’re running ahead of this tribe? They may be at odds.”

“So will we see a battle between them? Or will they move past our walls?”

Zevara glanced sharply at Olesm. He peered at the Goblins, twisting the Ring of Sight on his claws, picking out Goblins and staring at them.

“I don’t know, Watch Captain. The Goblins look exhausted. Half are falling down the hills. They may just stay here until the Human army arrives.”

“In which case they’re another variable that might go against us. Can we get rid of them?”

Zevara frowned, folding her arms and eying the Goblins.

“With what? A few well-placed spells from the wall? If that lot wants, it could shower us with arrows. I’d say avoid conflict.”

“How do we get rid of them, then?”

“We wait. They may just camp here for a day or two and then keep moving.”

Embria shifted from foot to foot. She eyed the Goblins. They were still approaching Liscor.

“If that’s the case, why aren’t they keeping clear of Liscor? They know this is a Drake city. Aren’t they wary of us?”

“They outnumber the Watch many times over.”

“Still. They keep coming. Should we be ready for an attack?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss stared at the Goblins, and then shook his head.

“No. I think they’re coming for a different reason.”

He stared down from the walls, at a much closer landmark. Zevara closed her eyes as she followed his gaze.

“Her. It’s always her, isn’t it?”

Olesm shook his head. He murmured as he watched the Goblins draw closer. Yes, they were moving to one spot.

“Not always. But when it comes to Goblins, I think she’s…special.”

The other three looked at him. Embria folded her arms, exasperated.

“Then what do we do? What can we do?”

She was impatient. But Olesm just stared onwards. He shrugged, feeling tired. Drakes were a people of law and action. Discipline. But it occurred to him that they weren’t good at being helpless. He looked at Embria and said the one word that she didn’t want to hear.

“Watch.”

 

—-

 

The Flooded Waters tribe walked across the muddy hills. They fell down valleys, crawled up the hills, and some lay where they had fallen, too tired to move. They were…fading. Faded, rather.

At the end of their tether. And afraid. They had seen the Redfangs and the foreign, strange Goblin tribe moving ahead of them and they didn’t know what to expect. They were worried too, because the Redfangs were headed in the same direction they were. The Flooded Waters tribe didn’t quite know why, but they sensed their destinations were the same.

It wasn’t that Redscar was leading them that way on purpose, or that he’d said anything like it. But like the other Goblins, Redscar was moving towards the city. Or—to something just ahead of it. Despite the danger of the city, despite their exhaustion, the tribe kept moving. It was just a bit further ahead. They could feel it.

It was a strange sensation. Something none of them had quite felt before. A feeling—like they had felt from Chieftains and Reiss, but different at the same time. Alien. But entirely pleasant. It was a feeling that ahead of them lay safety. It was a beacon in their heads. Ahead of them was a friend.

But what a thought! Friend? Safety? Those were completely foreign concepts to Goblins. And yet, the feeling was a certainty. So the Goblins kept moving. It wasn’t just that instinct in their head that propelled them forwards either. Something else kept them going.

It was a rumor. Something their Chieftain had said. A memory, or perhaps a promise: a vision of an inn on a hill. A name.

Erin Solstice. And as they kept going, the distant building on the hill became a symbol to them. A symbol that Goblins had never associated with a building before. But it was a familiar concept to other races.

After all, it was an inn. A gathering place for the weary, for travellers, for the hungry or tired. Only, to Goblins an inn was death—or a place to target unwary victims. Not a place for their kind. And yet, this inn was different.

Still, they hesitated when they saw the Redfangs had gathered around the hill. They were a stone’s throw away from the city and the walls were ablaze with torches. Redscar drew up, patting his weary Carn Wolf. He eyed the Redfangs, and the strange grey Goblins. They stared at him. He couldn’t see Garen among them and he sensed something had changed, though he didn’t know what. Then he saw the Redfangs move.

To the left, and to the right. Goblins shifted out of the way, opening a path for him. Redscar narrowed his eyes. He looked at Poisonbite and Noears, both trudging wearily after him. The Goblins looked up at him and both looked as tired as he felt. Redscar hesitated and looked behind him.

A sea of Goblins stretched behind him, slowly moving forwards. They were all flowing to this spot. Redscar hesitated. But they had come so far. What was the point of turning back now? He dismounted from Thunderfur and patted the Carn Wolf.

“Stay.”

He looked at Poisonbite and Noears. The two looked at him and Redscar pointed.

“I go. If don’t come back…”

He trailed off. If he didn’t come back, what then? The two waited, but Redscar had nothing else to say. He turned and began trudging up the hill. The Redfangs stared at him. So did the strange grey Goblins. Redscar kept his vision ahead as he walked up the hill. He knew the rest of his tribe—of Rags’ tribe—was gathering behind him, watching him progress.

Redscar’s legs burned. He was so tired. He’d let other Goblins ride Thunderfur until now. He tried not to fall as he climbed the muddy slope, avoiding the water pooling in the valley next to him. He could see shapes moving in the water. Fish? He was hungry. Hungry, but so tired he could sleep right then and there.

Something moved behind him. Redscar turned, and saw Thunderfur padding up the hill. The Carn Wolf growled softly. Redscar looked at him. He’d told Thunderfur to stay. But the Carn Wolf was good at ignoring commands Redscar didn’t mean. The Goblin smiled and together, the two kept walking.

Up the hill, onto wet grass that hadn’t been killed by the flooding waters. Redscar saw the inn rise above him. Tall. Wide. The windows were open and the shutters—shutters on the outside?—were thrown open. Yellow light spilled from within. The Goblin hesitated, then.

It was an inn. It was just like the ones he’d seen in other cities. A Human building, or a Drake’s. Not meant for Goblins. And yet, the door called to him. Redscar trudged over to it, heart pounding.

He was afraid. Afraid in a way that had nothing to do with fear of battle. He had come so far. He had lost his Chieftain, failed her. The tribe had been broken. And this—this was just an inn. Redscar bowed his head. What could an inn do for his tribe? He almost turned away, and Thunderfur nudged him. The Carn Wolf could smell something inside it wanted. It whined pleadingly and Redscar looked back.

He still might have turned back. He still would have walked away, rather than be disappointed. It was just an inn. But as the setting sun shone down on the inn, Redscar saw something. He stared, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of what he saw. It took him a while, because he was a poor reader. But then he blinked. And laughed.

The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe saw Redscar laugh. They saw him step back, and wave, urging them forwards.

Poisonbite and Noears were first up the hill. They staggered up the slope, wondering what Redscar had seen. They too hesitated as they saw the inn, a symbol of civilization, a place they could never enter. Perhaps at this point they might have wavered. But then they saw it too.

It was the sign that hung proudly on the door. Right in front, hanging on a nail freshly hammered into the wood. The lettering had been enlarged and underlined by a steady hand, and the sign hung at head height for the shorter Goblins. It was a simple message, but it changed everything. Noears read the name of the inn and the sign out loud for the others.

The Wandering Inn.

That was the name of the inn. And on the door, the sign.

No killing Goblins.

And so they entered the inn.

 

—-

 

Redscar, Poisonbite, and Noears stepped into the inn. They felt warm air rush over their faces and hesitated. The scent of cooked food hung in the air and the inn was bright. Their eyes were first drawn to the warm bright fireplace, then the candles lighting up the tables, freshly placed, only beginning to drip with wax. They stared at the rug placed just in front of the door. Noears shuffled his feet. Redscar tried to block Thunderfur from poking his head through the door.

The three Goblins plus one Carn Wolf kept still, looking about the inn. Their eyes picked out only tables and chairs at first. And then—movement. They froze as they saw one table was occupied.

A group of six Goblins, five Hobs and one smaller Goblin, sat at a table. They had mugs and plates with food on them. Poisonbite gaped, but Redscar’s eyes narrowed.

Redfangs.

There was no mistaking the war paint on their bodies. The Redfangs turned to look at him, and Redscar tensed. He recognized one of them. The other five were hauntingly familiar in some way, but the regular-sized Goblin who tensed was one of Redscar’s old comrades.

Spiderslicer began to stand up at his table, but one of the Hobs grabbed him and forced him down. The smaller Goblin glared up at the Hob, but he kept sitting. The Hob offered him something. A bit of meat on a stick? Redscar’s stomach rumbled and Thunderfur sniffed. The sound seemed to draw attention to them, because at that moment, someone exited a door across from them.

A young woman walked out of the inn’s kitchen. She was holding a pot with a wooden spoon’s handle sticking out of it, and something was steaming and giving off a very inviting smell. All three Goblin’s stomachs rumbled. But it was the Human they looked at. She stopped and blinked as she saw them standing there.

“Well hello there. I wondered when someone else would stop by. One second, please!”

The Flooded Waters tribe Goblins stared as the young woman flashed them a smile and then went over to the table. She put the pot down in front of the Hobs and Spiderslicer, all of whom sat up. Spiderslicer kept trying to glare at Redscar, but his attention was drawn to the pot. The young woman’s voice was audible quite clearly in the very large—and very empty—common room.

Soup du jour. That’s French, by the way. It means ‘soup of the day’, which in this case is borscht. That’s egg, sausage, bacon, butter…it’s sour and I’ve got some bread warming by the stove, so don’t eat it right off. And it’s hot, so be careful, got it? Badarrow, I’m trusting you to serve.”

She handed the bowls to Badarrow, who grumbled and took the stack and began serving soup in the bowls. Noears’ stomach rumbled plaintively. The young woman turned towards them. She walked over as Poisonbite backed up, hands on the hilts of her daggers. Redscar put a hand out, warning her to keep her blades sheathed. Thunderfur sniffed and made a low rumbling sound. The young woman stopped. She eyed the huge Carn Wolf, who was as tall as she was.

“Is that wolf trained? If it’s going to pee in my inn, it has to stay outside.”

She looked at Thunderfur and then at Redscar. The Goblin stared at her. The young woman put her hands on her hips after she got no response. Her mouth twitched, then she frowned.

“Well?”

Thunderfur didn’t care for her tone. He growled and the young woman’s eyes flicked towards him.

Sit.

For a second the three Goblins felt the air grow heavy around them. But the [Innkeeper]’s attention hadn’t been focused on them. Thunderfur whined, then sat down. It stared at the young woman and its head lowered submissively. The young woman smiled and then looked at Redscar, who was open-mouthed.

“I guess that’s a good start. Hey, why are you all standing around? Here, take a seat. Do you have a preference?”

She indicated the tables. The Goblins stared at her, and then edged forwards. They sat at a table, staring at the other Goblins, and at the young woman. She nodded, pleased.

“Alright. Now, can I get you anything? We’ve got soup de jour. Or du jour, whatever the right one is—hot bread, pasta, steaks, and I’ve got specialty treats like pizza, hamburger, and even a cake. Tons of food—but no menu. Just tell me if you want a meat dish or what sounds good. I’ve also got a lot of drinks. We have wines, water, milk, honey milk, a dark lager, this orange beer I haven’t tried yet, Flamebreath Whiskey—very hot stuff, so watch out—apple juice, soft and hard cider…”

She rattled off a list of drinks as the Goblins stared up at her. The [Innkeeper] paused.

“…but if you’re not certain, we can start you with some soup and milk. And bread. With butter, obviously. How about that?”

It was a dream. The three felt certain they were in a shared dream, or in some other reality where up was sideways and nothing was real. They nodded silently. Thunderfur whuffed, and the young woman eyed him.

“And I’ll get you some raw meat for your doggy.”

Doggy. Redscar opened his mouth, but the young woman was already moving into the kitchen. The three Goblins stared as they heard her clatter about in there, and then looked at the Redfangs. The Hobs were eating already, and chattering to Spiderslicer, gesturing around the room. Redscar leaned over to Noears and Poisonbite. The three looked at each other, lost for words. Then Redscar poked Noears. The Goblin yelped as Redscar’s claw poked his side. Redscar pinched himself and found that it hurt.

“Hey, is your dog okay with raw meat? They can eat that, right? Or is cooked meat worse? Tell you what—we’ll give him this steak for starters, okay?”

The Goblins started. The Human was back! And she had a steak. Thunderfur got up and Redscar grabbed his fur to keep him still. The Carn Wolf wagged his tail as the young woman approached. She eyed its open jaws and large, large teeth.

“Oh my what large teeth you have, doggy. Sit.

Thunderfur sat. The young woman offered him a steak and Thunderfur drooled onto Redscar’s hand.

“Here. You can give it to him. I don’t have a plate that’s not pottery, so he’ll have to eat it off the floor. Don’t worry, it’s so clean you could eat your dinner off it. The tables too.”

Redscar blinked at the cooked steak and took hold of it with one hand. It was warm. And it smelled so good he wanted to bite it himself. But since the young woman was already coming back with another pot and bowls, he offered it to Thunderfur. The Carn Wolf practically tore the meat from his master’s hands and began to scarf it down.

“How do you feed those things without running out of food? Never mind. Here’s the borscht! And bread.”

A bowl appeared in front of each of the Goblins. And the young woman began ladling hot soup into each bowl. She put a loaf of bread on the table, and some soft butter and a blunt knife. The Goblins stared at the bread, round-eyed. The young woman smiled as she filled Noears’ bowl and stood back. There was silence. The Goblins didn’t move.

They knew how this worked. Now was the time when they would reach for bowls and find they were lying in a ditch, half-starved and delirious. It had happened before. This wasn’t happening. This was a happy dream and so they didn’t move, trying to prolong the moment. They waited for ten seconds, and then twenty as Thunderfur savaged the steak and Redscar felt his stomach begin to try and stage a takeover from his belly. It was a dream. Right up until the young woman coughed.

“It’s getting cold.”

They looked at her. She smiled at them.

“Are you worried about the cost? No charge. It’s on the house tonight.”

She gave them a broad grin, and her eyes twinkled. The Goblins looked at each other. Then, slowly, Noears reached for the bread. It was pre-sliced into generous portions and puffy. It smelled fresh, not like the bread they found in adventurer’s rations, or the stale stuff they sometimes looted. It was soft. And Noears’ claws trembled as he brought it to his mouth and bit.

He chewed, slowly. Poisonbite and Redscar watched him. Noears’ eyes rolled up in his head and they thought he was having a seizure. But no—he was just chewing. And chewing. And then he bit and chewed again. Every line in his body told them he was enjoying himself.

That settled it. Redscar picked up another piece of bread and discovered something else. It was warm. The bread squished in his claw and, trembling, he brought it to his mouth. He opened his mouth, bit, and the world changed. He began to chew the bread, slowly, and then with increasing speed as his salivary glands, already prepped, began working overtime.

He had never tasted fresh bread before. Poisonbite looked at Redscar’s face, and then at Noears, and then took things a step further. Awkwardly, she spread some of the butter on the bread and began to eat it. And the wonders continued.

The young woman watched the Goblins eating the bread. They finished one piece, and reached for another. She smiled.

“I make good bread, huh? Try it with the soup, though.”

They jumped and looked at her. She indicated the bowls and then they realized that yes, they had soup! They tried that.

Sour. Warm! Complex flavors! None of them bad! Redscar had never tasted the like, even when he’d eaten horse stew or Eater Goats. This wasn’t just meat and water with a few extras thrown in. Even Rags’ filling soup wasn’t half as good. This was—this was cuisine. He began to eat, and only remembered to dip his bread and try that when he saw Noears doing it. Another taste. Another experience!

Thunderfur watched his master eating, trying to scarf the food and make it last forever at the same time. He whined, licking his chops, and the young woman found another steak for him to gobble. The Goblins ate, chewing their way through one bowl, before halting for a moment. Their stomachs felt full given how much they normally ate, but they wanted more. And there was a pot. The young woman waited.

“Help yourselves.”

They looked at her. She indicated the pot. The Goblins peered into it, and then at her. The [Innkeeper] nodded.

“We don’t do table serving here. Sorry. You’ll have to fill your bowls yourself. We do refill mugs. Want more milk?”

She indicated the mugs of yet-untouched white stuff, which none of the Goblins had quite been certain of. Redscar sipped from the strange substance and his jaw dropped. He saw the young woman’s eyes twinkle again, and her lips twitch. This time, Redscar recognized it. She was suppressing a smile.

“Well? Any good? I’ve got more, you know. If your friends can behave, there’s enough for a crowd. Not all of them by far, but my inn’s open for business.”

She glanced towards the door. The Flooded Waters Goblins stared at her, and then realized she was talking about the others. The others. They stared at the full pot, realizing they’d been stuffing themselves while the rest of their tribe was waiting outside. Redscar got up slowly. He looked at Spiderslicer, and understood in a flash that the other Redfang leader had been invited for the same reason. He looked at the young woman. She folded her arms, regarding him.

“Are you the Chieftain? My name is Erin. Erin Solstice. I run this inn and I’m happy to feed you all. If you’re not here to cause trouble. I’m assured by my regulars—”

She nodded to the five Hobs, one of whom waved a hand. Poisonbite looked stunned.

“—that you’re actually good folk. But I had to be sure. How about it? No trouble? Food? Do we have a deal?”

She looked down at Redscar. Not by much; Redscar was tall for an ordinary Goblin and she wasn’t the tallest Human in the world. He hesitated. Erin Solstice. She was nothing like he imagined or what Rags had said. But—her casual tone, as if she was speaking to another Human. The hint of a smile on her face, the twinkle in her eye that said she was laughing inside. And the sign. He looked at Noears and Poisonbite. And he dared to believe this was reality.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Erin jumped. She actually jumped. She stared at Redscar as he took a step back. Her eyes widened.

“You can talk? Wait, you can speak English?”

English? The Goblins didn’t know about that. But Redscar nodded.

“Can talk.”

“Me too.”

Noears raised a hand. Poisonbite nodded. Erin blinked.

“Wait—but I thought only Numbtongue—wow. Okay. Uh—hi. Pleased to meet you. I’m Erin. You knew that.”

She held out a hand. Redscar stared at it. He slowly took it and Erin squeezed his hand. He squeezed back gingerly.

“Redscar.”

“Redscar? Hey, that’s like Redfang, isn’t it? Are you one of them? Wait—Numbtongue explained it to me. I’m going to get your name mixed up, aren’t I? Sorry in advance! And you are?”

Erin turned to Noears. The [Mage] blinked up at her, unusually shy.

“I am Noears.”

The young woman stared at the ragged flesh around both earholes.

Noears? Well that’s—uh—well, that’s very accurate. Literal names, Goblins. Yep. And who’s your female friend?”

“I Poisonbite.”

The female Goblin bared her teeth challengingly at Erin. The young woman smiled.

“Poisonbite? Are your bites poisonous? Hah! I kid.”

Her smile made Poisonbite narrow her eyes. The Goblin reached for her sheathes and Redscar and Noears tensed.

“No. This.”

She drew her blades. Erin took a step back as Redscar grabbed Poisonbite’s arms. The [Innkeeper] eyed the coated daggers and Poisonbite.

“I see. Well, keep your daggers sheathed, Poisonbite. And no fighting in my inn. No fighting, no attacking anyone else, no bad names, and no wolves peeing or doing the other thing in my inn. None of you do that either, got it? I have outhouses. If we can agree on that—you can stay at my inn.”

The three Goblins looked at each other. They looked at Erin. They had a thousand questions, a thousand things to say. And perhaps she saw it, because she just smiled. They had come a long way. A long way, and despaired. The journey had ground them down. But at last, at long last, it felt like they had arrived somewhere.

A little inn on a hill. Redscar took Erin’s hand again and Poisonbite stowed her daggers. The young woman smiled as Noears went to the door and began to shout.

“One last thing. The Redfangs want to come through, so you’ll be sharing the inn with them. Like I said: no fighting. And you may have a few more guests.”

Redscar blinked, but nodded. Erin watched him, and then nodded too. She walked over to the far wall and Redscar saw another door, set against the wall. He frowned. Wait, but there hadn’t been another door on the outside of the inn. So what—

Erin opened the door. Redscar saw another place appear in the doorway. A city, with the sun setting behind it. He stared. The sun was at the wrong angle! He stared out of the window in the inn. And then he saw them.

A half-Elf. Humans. Drakes. A huge furry monster—and Gnolls. A small white one that hid behind a bird-woman with blue feathers. They stared at the Goblins, at Thunderfur. And at Erin Solstice. She smiled and raised her voice, beckoning them in.

“Hey, everyone! You can come back through! But only if you’re cool with Goblins.”

The people standing in the city—in Liscor—hesitated. Some of them turned away. Others backed up. But then a young woman came through. She tied her hair back, and turned to the white Gnoll.

“You stay here, Mrsha. You can stay at Krshia’s place. Drassi, Ishkr? Let’s get to work.”

She walked through the doorway. A Gnoll, several Gnolls, and a few Drakes joined her. Some of them stared at the Goblins and one of the Gnolls sniffed, but the Drake just walked into the kitchen. And then a half-Elf followed them. And a young man in robes who sniffed the air much like Thunderfur.

“I trust you have suitable victuals for tonight, Erin? May I inquire as to tonight’s course?”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Soup, Pisces. Don’t worry, I’ve got enough even with the Goblins. Although you’re paying. Krshia! I’m going to need as much food as I can get on short notice.”

“You’ll never feed them all.”

A haughty, dark-skinned [Mage] walked past the Human called Pisces. She had stitching running around her neck and arms. Erin nodded.

“Of course not. But I think they can feed themselves. At least, I hope so. There’s fish in the Floodplains—Relc told me you can just fish them out. But I’ll feed who I can. Who else is coming through?”

And they came. One after another. Adventurers, civilians, Drakes and Gnolls and Humans. They came into the inn, staring at the Goblins who began trickling through the doors. Some were uncomfortable. Others calm but wary. A few were openly at ease and they were the oddest of all.

But they came, and the Goblins from both the Redfang and Flooded Waters tribe who entered fell under the same aegis as the people from Liscor. They were enemies, possibly mortal ones. But in the inn, on this night, and with her there, there was peace. And so the night continued as Redscar sat and more food appeared. The strangest night he had ever lived through.

The best.

 

—-

 

“Well, that’s that.”

Olesm stared at the door as the Horns of Hammerad walked through, and then the Silver Swords, following Lyonette and Drassi and the others. Mrsha circled Krshia, looking unhappy as the Gnoll shook her head, looking appalled and delighted by the amount of food Erin wanted. Olesm turned to the others gathered in front of the magic doorway. Bevussa looked appalled.

“So Erin’s just going to feed the Goblins? There are tens of thousands outside!”

The [Strategist] grinned weakly. He looked at the door and spotted Embria and Zevara staring at it. He tried to move towards the door and failed.

“That’s Erin for you. And we can go through, if we’re willing to dine in company, it sounds like fun. Anyone going?”

“Are you serious? They’re Goblins.

Keldrass spat a few wisps of flame. He stared at the door, fists clenched. He looked around.

“We’re about to be under siege from the Goblin Lord and the Humans and she’s letting them in! We just fought with Goblins! Killed them!”

“Did you expect anything else from her, Keldrass? And yeah, we killed them. They tore us up. If they’re not holding a grudge, I won’t. Not against them, at any rate.”

Jelaqua rolled her eyes. She looked at the half-Giant clutching his side.

“Moore, you want to go through? We can stay somewhere else or go to our rooms if—”

“I’m going through.”

The half-Giant shook his head and walked through the door. Keldrass made a sound of fury.

“This is an outrage. If we weren’t—”

He broke off, eying Olesm. The [Strategist] looked suspiciously at Keldrass and the Drake cleared his throat.

“—That is, I refuse to enter that inn. And Erin Solstice is courting arrest or worse by letting the Goblins into her establishment, even if it is outside of Liscor’s jurisdiction! The doorway is connected to the city!”

“True. We need to close it off once everyone’s through. But it’s not that big of a risk.”

Olesm nodded to Zevara, Embria, and the small army of soldiers and guardsmen gathered around the doorway. The odds of the Goblins forcing their way into the city was remote at this moment. Keldrass growled and Embria frowned.

“Still, isn’t this a good chance to…?”

She subtly indicated the door with a nod of her head. Olesm’s stomach twisted up. Zevara frowned.

“You think all of the Goblin’s leaders are in one spot?”

“Maybe. Watch Captain, this is an opportunity. If you want to risk it…”

The two Drakes looked at each other. Zevara gritted her teeth.

“Maybe we should check first. Send reconnaissance. Olesm, you’re on good terms with Erin. Go through, check the Goblins.”

“I can’t, Watch Captain.”

Olesm shuffled his feet miserably. Zevara looked at him and her brows snapped together.

“That was an order, Olesm. I know you have personal feelings, but—”

“It’s not that, Zevara. I can’t go through that door. Can you?”

The Watch Captain stared at Olesm. Then she stared at the doorway. Olesm heard Embria snort.

“What are you talking about? Of course we…”

She trailed off. The crowd gathered around the door looked at each other. They began to realize what Olesm had picked up on. Zevara stared at her feet.

“I can’t walk towards the door.”

“Me neither.”

“Or me.”

Olesm confirmed it. None of the [Soldiers] or [Guards] or adventurers like Keldrass could enter the inn. There were a few exceptions. Bevussa walked forwards, frowning.

“I’m fine. Look, see?”

She walked through the door, walked back, and then opened and closed the door a few times. Pisces appeared in the doorframe after the third time.

“You’re letting the cool air in. Please refrain from doing that.”

He shut the door. The others stared at the shut door. Aside from Bevussa, Mrsha, and Krshia, none of the others could open it. The real question they began debating was why.

“It has to be her aura skill. Erin told me she had one. And she’s using it now, I think. The door’s her property and you heard what she said. Only Goblins and people who can be civil to Goblins are allowed inside.”

Miserably, Olesm stared at the door. He bet they could overcome the effects, but it would be detrimental to anyone going through. They’d have to fight just to stay in the inn. Embria scowled.

“Only Goblins? That’s racist.”

“Speciesist, you mean.”

“It’s ridiculous! She’s using an aura skill against us? And it’s not—I’m a Wing Commander—I can’t be held back by this!”

She took a step forwards and stopped. Olesm tried to do the same and barely got his foot to move towards the door.

It wasn’t so much of a physical barrier as Olesm strongly not wanting to put his hand on the door handle and swing it open. It wasn’t that he couldn’t—he just didn’t want to. And because that was the case, there was no fighting the emotion unless Olesm concentrated on why he didn’t want to go in. And even then, it was like fighting to keep his eyes open when he was exhausted; if he wavered once, he stepped backwards.

“That is a powerful amount of concentration. Impressive for an [Innkeeper]. No, it would be impressive for a [Lord] below Level 30.”

A quiet voice made Olesm turn. Ilvriss was studying the inn. The [Strategist] looked at him.

“Can you enter the inn, Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

“Of course.”

Ilvriss looked affronted.

“I can enter the inn. If I choose to. And I could repel the effects of her aura around me. The question is whether or not it is tactically viable.”

He strode forwards and opened the door, unimpeded by whatever was happening. He took one look inside the inn and shut the door.

“I see.”

The others waited as Ilvriss stood there, pondering for a second. Then the Wall Lord shook his head.

“Leave them. There’s no point to interference. If the Goblins leave tomorrow morning all will be satisfactory.”

“And if they don’t, Wall Lord?”

Embria looked angry as she walked forwards, clearly determined to prove a point. She opened the door with effort and stared inside, narrow-eyed. Ilvriss’ voice grew cold.

“My understanding is that Goblins elect new Chieftains if the old ones fall, Wing Commander. Moreover, fighting with Miss Solstice’s aura impeding most of us would be dangerous. If the Goblins are here tomorrow—then we take steps. But as Strategist Olesm has said—what real choice do we have? Let us trust to Erin Solstice’s unique brand of…”

He trailed off. There was no word for it. Ilvriss turned. Zevara stared at the doorway, and then turned.

“Get someone with a scroll of [Fireball] and put up some temporary barricades. Just in case. If a Goblin comes through, blast the door and seal it. Otherwise…leave them.”

She strode off. So did Embria, swearing a blue streak much like her father. Olesm watched them go. He stared back at the inn and tried to walk towards the door. But he couldn’t. Shamefaced, he turned away. The inn blazed as he climbed the walls and sat there, staring down at them. Below, the army of Goblins was mingling, campfires going up.

Tomorrow they would be an issue. But tonight was for them. They sat around her inn, eating, mingling, flowing in and out of the building. The one place in the world they knew they would be safe. For one night.

 

—-

 

At first she asked no questions. She just marshaled her staff. Gnolls, Drakes, a young Human girl like herself. She sent them in and out of the kitchen as bodies filled chairs, serving drinks, bringing out food. Then she addressed the larger problem.

“There’s a lotta Goblins out there. Redfang—I mean, Redscar. Do your people have enough food for them? What about you, Spiderbite?”

“Spiderslicer.

Numbtongue corrected Erin. The two Redfangs exchanged a look, which turned into a staring contest. Redscar put his hand on the hilt of his sword and answered slowly.

“Have food. Supplies. But hungry. Use more.”

He didn’t know how much food Erin’s inn held, but even if it was packed from floor to rafters, it wouldn’t be enough. Erin nodded.

“Spiderslicer?”

The Goblin kept glaring at Redscar. By now Redscar had heard the news. Garen was gone. He’d been overthrown by the strange five Hobs. He couldn’t help but think he knew them. But that didn’t matter to Spiderslicer. His grudge against Redscar was personal. The Goblin grunted.

“Have food.”

“Okay then.”

Erin stepped between the two. She looked at both, and then at one of the Hobs.

“If there’s not enough food, then we’ll just have to make more. Rabbiteater!”

Redscar jumped. Rabbiteater? He stared as one of the Hobs stood up. But Rabbiteater was a small Goblin! And this Hob who stood up looked—impressive. He had a cloak made of liquid and his armor looked pristine. He looked like…well, an adventurer. He had been filling a goblet from his cloak, and the liquid looked like blood. Or wine. He walked over as Erin waved at him.

“Rabbiteater, get Pebblesnatch and your people to grab all the fish they can out of the water. Watch out for Rock Crabs—tell them to make a fillet. Something simple. As for here, I’ve got a lot of food. The Goblins can come in and out.”

She directed Rabbiteater and the Hob nodded and walked out of the inn. Redscar stared at his back and then looked at the other. No. It couldn’t be. But then—he stared at their war paint, remembering the group of warriors that Garen had sent out of the tribe. His eyes widened.

Headscratcher?

One of the Hobs looked up. He stared at Redscar, and then got up slowly.

“Redscar?”

The two met. Erin came back from a quick conference with Pebblesnatch and her fancy chef’s hat to see Redscar surrounded by the other Redfangs, sans Spiderslicer, laughing in delight. She watched as the former Redfang second-in-command reunited with his old subordinates.

It was a lot of backslapping and quick Goblin chatter that Erin couldn’t follow, but the body language was good. The five clearly knew Redscar and held him in some esteem. For his part, the smaller Goblin looked surprised and then happy to see them. What she couldn’t understand was his relationship with the scowling Goblin called Spiderslicer. They were both Redfangs, but there was some serious beef between them. Numbtongue had to explain it in the end.

“Redfangs. We are all Redfangs. Redscar’s warriors and Spiderslicer’s. But our tribe split. They left with Rags. And they went with Garen, our old Chieftain.”

“Wow. They went with Rags over that Garen guy? And wait—that means those two are enemies?”

Numbtongue shook his head. Spiderslicer was walking towards Redscar, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“No. Yes. Not enemies. Redfangs are always Redfangs. Now we are all on the same side. We all…left Garen.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Spiderslicer was the third-best fighter in all of the Redfang tribe.”

“Okay.”

“And Redscar is second-best in all of Redfang tribe. Or was until he left.”

Oh. Now I get it.”

Erin wanted to roll her eyes as Spiderslicer snapped something and the other Redfangs fell silent. The Goblins who’d entered Erin’s inn grew quiet as the two Goblins stared each other down. Redscar put a hand on his sword’s hilt and Erin felt motivated to interject.

Hey! I said no fighting!

The two Goblins looked at her. Redscar looked at Spiderslicer, who growled something. The two looked at each other in tense silence, and then Redscar jerked his head. They began walking for the door.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Redscar paused to look at Erin.

“No fighting. In inn. So going out.”

Erin’s mouth opened, but Numbtongue grabbed her and whispered urgently to her.

“Will fight anyways. Has to fight. Redfangs have to know who is best.”

“Yeah, but they’ll kill each other!”

“No. They won’t use their own swords. Spiderslicer broke his falchion and Redscar has an enchanted blade. It won’t be fair, so they’ll use other weapons.”

“Well that’s a relief—”

“They’ll use ordinary swords instead.”

What?

The fight went down on a hill close to Erin’s inn. She stood outside the inn with a crowd of adventurers. And Goblins. They stood there, eating and watching as the two Goblins stood in a circle of Redfang warriors. The two were using steel blades, shortswords of identical length. Unenchanted, as Numbtongue had said. But they were sharp and metal.

“They’re going to kill each other.”

Erin put her hands on her head. Earlia, who was snacking on some french fries, shook her head.

“Nah, not if they have healing potions. Sparring can be lethal, but it’s not bad if there’s potions nearby. The real injuries happen when you sever a limb or poke out an eye. Or crush bones. But experts can usually avoid that. Hey, anyone care for a bet?”

Heads turned. Pisces drifted over.

“I could back a few wagers. What’re the odds?”

“Redscar will win. Second-best.”

Headscratcher folded his arms. Shorthilt shook his head dismissively.

“Not certain. Redscar is best on Thunderfur. Riding. But Spiderslicer fights best on ground.”

“Spiderslicer doesn’t have falchion.”

Rabbiteater pointed that fact out. The other Redfangs nodded. Revi, staring down at the commotion, looked around.

“The one with the spider name looks good to me. Put two gold pieces on him, Pisces.”

“Oh come now, Revi. Surely you can stand a larger bet. Fifty gold on the spider fellow, young Pisces. How much will that earn me?”

Typhenous chuckled. Pisces looked up as the other adventurers whistled.

“I’ll give you even odds on both sides for the moment. Any takers?”

A clamor of voices arose and Pisces began to take money or vocal bets from other sides. Erin looked disgusted as some of the Goblins began to offer Pisces bits of food as well, or coins of their own. Then she saw a dour looking face appear at Pisces’ back. Erin drifted closer just in time to hear Halrac speak to Pisces.

“Two hundred gold on the one with the scar.”

Pisces paused. He glanced at Halrac, and immediately adjusted the odds to favor Redscar. Erin slapped her forehead. The [Scout] met her eyes and shrugged.

The fight went down independent of the betting around The Wandering Inn. Spiderslicer and Redscar advanced slowly. They didn’t touch weapons or nod to each other. They just waited a beat, and then tried to stab each other to death. Or at least, that was what Erin made of it. She couldn’t watch the entire thing; every time they leaned back and avoided a close cut or worse, cut each other, she had to cover her eyes. They were indeed careful—but only to avoid killing each other. Blood soon ran in the mud and Erin heard the shouts from outside.

It was over in minutes, which was a surprise to everyone who’d expected a quick match. Both Goblins trooped into the inn, having healed their wounds. Spiderslicer followed Redscar into the inn and sat at the same table as the scarred Goblin. He seemed…calmer now. Erin eyed both Goblins but couldn’t tell who’d won at a glance.

“Well?”

She walked over to a table of adventurers. And Headscratcher and Shorthilt. Halrac was drinking and counting the coins that Pisces had sullenly paid out—the [Necromancer] had taken a loss thanks to the big bet—and the others were animatedly discussing the fight. Bevussa looked up.

“Those Goblins are good!”

“Beyond good, I’d say. They actually look like they know swordsmanship. They’re better than almost all the Silver-rank adventurers I see practicing. Some of the Gold-rank ones, too.”

Earlia grumbled into her mug. She looked disgruntled, almost uneasy. Pisces nodded, sniffing knowledgably.

“Their form is impeccable. The one called Redscar is clearly better than Spiderslicer, but both had superior posture, timing, and a modicum of grace. It was certainly a battle worth watching.”

“From Goblins.

“Don’t underestimate them.”

Halrac admonished the other adventurers. Typhenous, who was sadly drinking from his mug, looked up at Halrac.

“You’re keen-eyed, Halrac. Share your insights with us. How would you rate them on a purely technical level against someone of say, Ylawes’ caliber?”

He glanced slyly at the [Knight], who was sitting stiffly at a table and looking at the Goblins around him. Yvlon was sitting across from her brother, clearly displeased. But the two were talking. Halrac eyed Ylawes. He grunted.

“No comment.”

“Oh come on, Halrac.”

“I don’t gossip about my peers. Especially if what I say will get back to them and ruffle feathers.”

“Hold on, you don’t mean—”

The adventurers and Goblins sat forwards at the table. Halrac folded his arms. Erin rolled her eyes. She passed by their table and circulated the room.

A dozen conversations were happening in different spots at once. Erin saw Noears sitting at another table near the magic door, clearly studying it, Hobgoblins bickering over food with smaller Goblins—and adventurers, cautiously eating and watching them. But she wasn’t interested in them. She found one Goblin sitting with a group of female Goblins—at least, they all looked female to Erin.

Poisonbite looked up suspiciously as Erin grabbed a chair and scooted over. The young woman stared up at a large Hob with a helmet still on her head. The Hob stared down at Erin. She smiled.

“Hi.”

Then Erin looked at Poisonbite. The small Goblin stared up at her.

“What?”

“I’m told you know Rags.”

All the female Goblins stared hard at Erin. She raised her hands.

“Hey, I’m not trying to start anything. But I knew her. Before she became your Chieftain. I think. She used to stay at this inn. She was…a friend.”

The Goblins kept staring. Poisonbite looked at the others.

‘You knew Chieftain?”

“A little bit. But she never spoke. I don’t think she knew how. And she definitely didn’t have a big tribe. Heck, at first I don’t think she had a tribe. She was just…Rags. How did she end up leading such a huge army?”

Erin’s question provoked a minor furor among the Goblins. Poisonbite hit the table with the butt of her knife and glared.

“Not army. Tribe. Flooded Waters tribe.”

“Sorry. But can you tell me about her? What was she like? How is she doing? Is she…okay? I heard she was missing.”

“Chieftain is alive.”

Poisonbite said it instantly. She glared at Erin as if hinting otherwise was tantamount to treason. She raised her voice.

“Chieftain is smart! Cunning! She rebelled from Tremborag of the Mountain. Fought [Emperor]! Defeated pink-death [Knights]! Spoke to him. Greybeard!”

“Greybeard.”

The other Goblins nodded conspiratorially and stared at Erin. She looked around blankly.

“Rags did all that? Rags?

“Yes. She is our Chieftain. Worthy. You should know.”

Poisonbite sneered down at Erin. The young woman nodded.

“I should. So tell me.”

The smaller Goblin hesitated. She looked uncertain. Then the Hob with the helmet spoke. She rumbled and Erin jumped.

“First Chieftain was in Flooded Waters tribe. First fight other tribes. Had crossbows. Very smart. Very deadly. Shoot in head very dead.”

The other Goblins nodded. The Hob fell silent, drank from her mug, and folded her arms. She was clearly done. Another Goblin took up the story. She had a very clear tone. Some of the Goblins were clearly very good at English, or rather, the common tongue, and others were not.

“Chieftain fought many tribes. Garen Redfang himself came to fight Chieftain. Fought. Won. Chased Chieftain and fought and fought. But then Chieftain lured into Shield Spider trap. Garen Redfang submit. Then Chieftain fight other tribes! Redfangs and Flooded Waters tribe, too strong! But Goblin Lord coming. So go north. Fight Goldstone Chieftain tribe. Get Pyrite—Goldstone Chieftain.”

“Pyrite.”

The others murmured his name. Erin looked around.

“Who was he?”

The female Goblins stared at Erin. They tried to explain. Erin tried to listen. It was a confusing story, made harder by poor grammar and an unreliable narrative structure. But Erin kept listening. The Goblins argued over the details, threw food at each other, but kept telling the story. And they kept looking at Erin, although the [Innkeeper] didn’t know why. But it was the expression on her face as they told her more of Rags, of her triumphs and failures.

She was smiling.

 

—-

 

Noears sat amid some of the [Mages] and adventurers. Or rather, he sat at a table and they sat at their tables near him and stared at him. They couldn’t help it. Ceria wished she’d joined Pisces at his table, even if it meant listening to him sniff. He had a cold. Anything would be better than this.

“So I uh, won my axe during that competition. Dead drunk, you know. Woke up with a splitting headache and the [Axe Champion] class. Never been able to get rid of it, for all I use a hammer. Damn class. I mean, the Skill’s nice, but it’s the wrong specialization. Maybe I should pick up an axe, but it’s just not my thing. So I’m screwed two ways.”

Dawil finished his story as he spoke to Falene, Ylawes, Yvlon, Ceria, and Ksmvr. The other adventurers nodded without much enthusiasm. Only Ksmvr seemed animated.

“That is a very poignant story illuminating the dangers of inebriation, friend Dawil. May I ask what Skills your class gives you? I am attempting to ascertain which class will be of most use to my team.”

“Ah, well, if it’s Skills you want to talk, you’d do worse than following Ylawes’ example. He’s always blocking things with his shield. Or his face. [Knights] are a good class. Better than most [Warrior] classes. Right, lad?”

Dawil raised his voice and slapped Ylawes on the back. The [Knight] lurched and slopped some of his drink on the table. He looked around.

“What? I’m sorry, Dawil. I was distracted.”

Ksmvr nodded knowingly.

“Yes. You were staring hard at the Goblin without ears for quite some time. So was everyone else. May I ask what the issue is? Is he horribly disfigured or is this a mark of some kind of sexual attractiveness I am not aware of?”

The entire table went silent. Noears looked around and the other Goblins at his table—including Badarrow—looked up. They stared at the adventurers and Noears raised his voice.

“Black thing asks about this?”

He tapped his ears. Ksmvr nodded politely as Ceria tried to kick him under the table.

“Ow. Yes, I am Ksmvr. I am an Antinium and a member of the Horns of Hammerad. Ow. Captain Ceria, you are kicking me. May I ask about your missing ears? My companions clearly wish to, but have not broached the subject. I wish to ask so we may continue our discussion unimpeded.”

He stared at Noears. The [Mage] grinned and shot a spark from one finger to the other. Electricity danced along one claw as he stood up. The adventurers looked as he moved over, ushering a Goblin out of his seat. Noears tilted his head to show them the missing ears.

“Ksmvr Antinium wants to know why ears are missing? Other adventurers know. You don’t?”

“I have no idea. Ow.”

Noears grinned. He looked from face to face. Ceria couldn’t meet his eyes. Noears tapped the side of his head again.

“Answer is bounty. Adventurers get paid for Goblin ears. Two copper coins for Goblin ears. Good money, right?”

He grinned at the others. Ylawes stared ahead. Dawil looked into his mug and then drank. He uttered an oath. Ceria closed her eyes, remembering. Yes. It was good money, especially if you were starting out. If you got a request to hunt Goblins—or if you met some on the road, you could earn a few silver pieces easy. A request to subjugate a tribe? You added the ears onto whatever money you made. And you never thought twice about it after the first few times. You never—

None of the other adventurers would say anything. But it was Falene who looked around and felt the need to justify things. She pursed her lips and spoke, avoiding looking at Noears.

“It may be distasteful, but the practice of placing bounties has historically been a key motivator in culling problematic populations. Rural Adventurer’s Guilds lack access to truth spells, so the practice of collecting trophies is necessary, however—”

“Dead gods, Falene!”

Dawil slammed his mug down on the table. Ceria jumped. The Dwarf looked up as Falene fell silent. Her face was slightly paler than usual. Dawil glared at her, and then at Noears.

“Yes. We know. It’s a thing adventurers do, lad. We kill Goblins and Shield Spiders and other monsters and don’t think twice about it. I didn’t until I came here. Then I started imagining every Goblin I ever killed. I’m sorry for it. But sometimes the Goblins were bastards. Other times…”

He looked away, and at a group of Redfang warriors. They were sitting, eating, looking around, in good spirits. Only, now and then, Ceria had caught one of them looking towards the Silver Swords, or Bevussa, or one of the other teams that had fought them. Just for a moment. But Erin’s peace held. Dawil shook his head.

“We fought Goblins on the road not a day ago and they’re sitting here without so much as blaming us. I don’t know what to make of that, but I’d defend myself and my team again. But the ears—I can’t excuse the ears.”

The others fell silent. Ksmvr looked from face to face and then at Noears. The Goblin [Mage] shrugged.

“Adventurers kill. Goblins kill. But next time make sure Goblin is dead. Or Goblins grows up and does this.”

He pointed a finger. A miniature bolt of lightning crackled up past Ksmvr’s antennae. Falene pursed her lips but said nothing. Ylawes looked down at Noears.

“I am sorry for your loss, sir. But enemies are enemies. I am aware that there are good examples of your species—once my team encountered a group of—of noble Goblins in a city besieged by their kind and the undead. But can you speak to the depredations others of your kind cause? What other options is there but to make war against Goblins who kill or steal?”

“Silver and steel, Ylawes!”

Yvlon glared at her brother. He returned her look, sitting stiffly in his chair. Noears cackled.

“No, good point! Good point! Fair is fair. Goblins do wrong, get killed. So. Here.”

He slapped something on the table in front of Ylawes. The [Knight] blinked.

“What is this?”

Two filthy gold coins lay on the table. Noears grinned at him.

“Anyone who wants coins cuts off your ears. Don’t have to die either. Free coin! Fair is fair.”

He cackled and lightning flickered from the tips of his claws. Falene eyed Noears as Ylawes flushed. Yvlon bit her lip and Ceria saw she was trying not to laugh. Ksmvr eyed Ylawes.

“Monetarily, would it make sense to—”

“Shut up, Ksmvr.”

Dawil chortled. The mood at the table relaxed a tiny bit, odd as that seemed. Falene indicated Noears’ claws circumspectly.

“Mister…Noears. Are you a [Aeromancer]?”

“What?”

Noears stared at the half-Elf. Falene hesitated.

“A [Lightning Mage]?”

“Oh! Yes!”

The Goblin grinned. He shot more sparks of electricity, blackening the table. A few struck Ylawes’ armor and Yvlon’s gauntlets. Both winced. Dawil, who’d sensibly gone without his armor, swore and threw a piece of bread at Noears anyways.

“Cut that out, you no-eared bastard!”

Ceria sucked in her breath, but the Goblins at Noears’ table including him laughed. It was a genuine laugh, and Noears relented. He nodded at Falene, who’d deflected a few of the sparks meant for her.

“Lightning mage! Yes! Practiced with spells. Can shoot lightning.”

Falene shook her head, looking unhappily surprised.

“Fascinating. It was speculated that a Goblin could learn magic, but one of your level is…unprecedented. However, your control of mana is wildly inefficient. And the spells are twisted.”

“Yep. Look better that way.”

Noears agreed happily. Falene sighed.

“I don’t suppose there are any Goblins with a more complete grasp of magic? General magic? Not just a single school?”

Noears looked blankly at the [Battle Mage]. He scratched at his head.

“What, like stupid magic? Lifting rocks and things?”

Ceria snorted some ale out of her nose. Falene gave her a long look as the younger half-Elf wiped her nose. Ceria ignored her. She hesitated and looked at Noears, then raised her mug.

“Hey. You do lightning magic? I’m an [Ice Mage].”

Noears brightened. He looked inquiringly at Ceria and she raised her hand. The Goblins oohed as Ceria coated her hand and arm in a layer of ice, her new spell. Noears responded by making a little ball of electricity which he shot at Ceria. She deflected it with her ice-covered hand. Falene sighed loudly.

Elementalists.

 

—-

 

At another table, no laughter of any kind was going on, and the tension was of a different kind. Moore sat gingerly at the table—on the ground since there were no chairs built for his weight. He was surrounded by pillows that supported his back and allowed him to lean back a bit. He was eating gingerly. The other two sitting at his table, Jelaqua and Seborn, ate very little, but they’d been drinking into their cups.

“I can’t believe those Redfangs don’t hold a grudge. We killed a lot of them.”

Jelaqua spoke quietly after a few minutes of silence. Moore looked up.

“I asked Erin about it. She said they’re not happy, but apparently it was because they were fighting under Garen. His problems aren’t the tribe’s problems. So they let it go. They’re quite stoic about some things. It is surprising.”

“I don’t know how they do it.”

Jelaqua stared into her mug. The sight of a huge Raskghar hunched over was eerie, but the other two had learned to look beyond form. Seborn grunted.

I don’t think they are. I think they just know that there’s nothing to be gained from starting a fight right now.

He looked at a group of Redfangs. They all turned back in their chairs. Seborn nodded to himself.

They’ll eat. But they’re memorizing our faces.

“Let them.”

Jelaqua stared at her mostly untouched plate. She pushed it back and looked at the other two. Only now, a few hours into the night, did she finally bring up the topic they’d danced around.

“So. What he said.”

“I don’t believe it. How could Halassia do that? She always believed in the best of us.”

“She was a Drake, Moore.”

“They cast her out of their city. They called her cursed!”

The half-Giant looked distressed as he shifted, trying to sit upright. Jelaqua put a paw on his leg.

“Keep still. Healer’s orders.”

Reluctantly, he did. Seborn stared ahead.

It doesn’t matter if they hated her. She was a patriot. So was Ukrina in her own way. They loved their cities. And they lived through the Second Antinium War, Moore. They grew up with that devastation. What do you think they would have done if they met Ksmvr? Remember how we never stopped at Liscor when we went from north to south?

“Yeah. We’d take a ship and do guard duty instead, never mind how boring it was.”

“Even so.”

Moore looked down at his bowl. Jelaqua sighed.

“He might have been lying.”

Do you think he was?

“What, Garen? No. He’s a terrible liar. He might have exaggerated, or twisted what happened, but I can imagine it.”

The Selphid fell silent. She traced on the table.

“It was Ukrina and Halassia, definitely. They’re Drakes. The Goblin King matters to them. To the others too, but you know Keilam wouldn’t say anything outright. And Thornst was new. He’d be keeping quiet. So it was them.”

“Why did they provoke him? Why not wait? He was offering the information. Why did they push him that far? Surely they did. Or was it him?”

Moore whispered. Seborn shook his head.

I don’t know. They were right, though.

The other two looked at him. Moore’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

“How can you say that, Seborn?”

The Drowned Man looked up.

What? It’s a Goblin King. If I was with them, I would agree. One cannot reappear again.

“Of course, but that’s not—”

Seborn gritted his teeth.

Garen was in the wrong. He attacked them.

“But if they were threatening to hurt him—”

He. Attacked. Them. I remember what I saw. It was murder.

“Seborn. Enough.”

Jelaqua interrupted him. The Drowned Man sat back, simmering. He sipped from the hard spirits in his mug, then drank down the water in another tankard. Drowned People had to watch out for dehydration on land, and that went double when drinking. Jelaqua waited until both he and Moore had relaxed a bit to go on.

“They should have waited for the rest of us. Regardless of anything else, they should have waited.”

No one had anything to say to that. Moore looked down and put his bowl on the table, no longer hungry. Seborn kept drinking. Jelaqua thought. At last, her lips twitched. The two looked at her, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was bitter. Jelaqua looked up at the two of them.

“It doesn’t matter what we would have done. But think of it this way, Seborn. Even if we all agreed that the Goblin King’s treasure was too dangerous to give to the Goblins—what is it? Is it just a magic weapon or is it something else? We’d have to find out, and bring Garen with us, probably. Especially if the treasure is something only a Goblin could find.”

“True. So what?”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“We’d have gone to get it and decided afterwards what to do. It would have probably taken multiple Gold-rank teams and maybe even Named Adventurers. The High Passes. Dead gods. But we would have gone looking for it. That’s what Ukrina and Halassia didn’t understand. Either way…”

Moore went pale. Seborn stared at Jelaqua for a long moment. Then he cursed and looked around.

I need another drink. Drassi!

He waved a hand. The Drake saw it and nodded. Seborn waited, but instead of his drink, someone else wandered over. All three Halfseekers froze as a Goblin with a scar on his face walked over. He sat at their table without asking and looked at them.

“Redscar. Second to Garen. Second strongest in Redfang tribe.”

It was an introduction, however curt. Redscar eyed the Halfseekers, and Jelaqua knew that he knew how many Goblins from his tribe they’d killed. She eyed the enchanted sword at his side and remembered the flails in her room. Seborn shifted and she knew he was checking the positions of his daggers. Moore reached out.

“Seborn.”

“Not here to fight.”

Redscar looked at Seborn as he said that. The [Rogue] stopped.

What do you want?

The Goblin waited as Drassi came by with another mug and took Seborn’s old one. He looked at the two of them.

“Garen. He talked about old team to me.”

The Halfseekers looked up sharply. Moore tried to sit up again.

“He did?”

“Sometimes. When drank. Very few times.”

“What did he say?”

Jelaqua looked at Redscar. The Goblin shrugged.

“Sometimes said about how strong. Or one of them. Cunning [Rogue]. Strong [Green Mage]. Brave Captain. Drake made of ash who was beautiful. Sometimes curse and throw things. Sometimes old stories.”

He gestured, indicating the others. The Halfseekers were silent. Redscar looked at them.

“Heard from Spiderslicer what did. Traitor. Betray tribe.”

We were a team. Not a tribe.

Redscar shrugged as if to say ‘same thing’. He looked at Jelaqua, then Seborn, and then Moore. He hesitated, then came out with it.

“Was he good? Good teammate? Good…adventurer? Before?”

The three looked at him. Jelaqua saw a bit of anxiety in Redscar’s eyes. And it wasn’t about the Goblins they’d killed. It was about something simpler. His question. He was asking—was Garen a good teammate? Had he told the truth? Was anything true?

It would be so easy to crush those fragile hopes. To tell the truth, but in such a way that Garen became a monster completely in the eyes of his tribe. And part of Jelaqua wanted to. She saw Moore hesitate and close his mouth. Seborn was stirring. She met his eyes and said not a word. The Drowned Man opened his mouth. He hesitated, looked at Redscar, and shook his head.

Was he a good adventurer? He was a terrible one. He betrayed his team. He could barely read. He got us into more trouble than any of our other teammates just by walking around the city.

Redscar sagged a bit in his chair. Seborn went on, bitterly.

Adventurers started fights with him, he got arrested, started panics—if he’d started any of it himself we’d have kicked him out from the start. But he never did. And he was strong. Aside from Jelaqua, he was the best in the group. When he found that enchanted blade, he became our front line.

Jelaqua looked up. She saw Moore’s head raise. Seborn made a disgusted sound.

Bastard. I nearly lost an arm twice thanks to him and I had a rope around my neck one time. We were nearly lynched.

He looked at his teammates. Jelaqua slowly smiled. The Selphid looked at Moore, and then at Redscar, who’d glanced back up. She tried to remember, and surprisingly, the memory came into her head without hurting as hard. It still hurt like a needle to the chest, but Jelaqua spoke anyways.

“That’s true. Garen had a knack for trouble. But he was hardly as bad as Ukrina, was he? The number of times she got in trouble for her tail tickling the wrong young woman—remember the time we nearly got killed by that angry [Lord]? Lord Tourants or whatever he was called? Garen wasn’t with us—mainly because we were afraid he would get executed if he wandered around in plain sight.”

Moore nodded.

“There was a bounty on Goblins, and we couldn’t convince anyone even though Garen was Silver-rank at the time. So he was hiding in the forest with Halassia waiting for us to come back. When he learned we were being held prisoner he attacked the prison with her. People were screaming about a Goblin army when it was him and a few illusion spells.”

The other two snorted. They’d nearly forgotten that detail. Redscar scooted closer, listening as Jelaqua fished for another memory.

“Remember the time he got tricked and paid that [Wagon Driver] in gold instead of silver? He got so mad when he found out he tore up half the city.”

Or the time when he tried to beat a Minotaur in a fist fight?

The Halfseekers laughed. They began telling stories. It hurt each time they brought up Garen’s name, much less Halassia, Ukrina, Thornst, or Keilam’s. And it hurt worst of all to remember a happy moment when everything was going well. It hurt because it was a good memory, poisoned by what had happened. It felt to Jelaqua like all their memories had been infected with it.

A slow, bitter poison. It hurt, coming out. But as Jelaqua spoke, the poison did drip away, leaving the wounds clearer at last. Not entirely, but some. Jelaqua paused in the middle of a tale about Garen, a flying boot, and a battle with a Creler nest, and stopped.

“He was our friend. Our comrade in arms. I wish I could have stopped him. He was our friend, but there’s no forgiveness. Some things you forgive. But other things you can’t.”

The other two nodded. Redscar nodded as well. He looked at his arm, where a bit of red paint was beginning to flake away. He picked at it.

“Bad friend. Bad teammate. Bad Chieftain. But good one, sometimes.”

And that was it. The Halfseekers nodded and began telling stories without a second beat. So did Redscar, and some of the other Redfang warriors. Garen had betrayed their trust. He couldn’t be forgiven and that couldn’t be forgotten, no matter how much time passed. Neither the Halfseekers nor his tribe could bury the past.

But they had liked him.

 

—-

 

Goblins cycled in and out of the inn. A few, the lucky few, stayed. The Redfang five, Headscratcher and company, Redscar, Spiderslicer, Noears, and Poisonbite. But the others came and went, eating a meal, pausing to listen, to look around, or to point out Erin to each other, to listen to her shout obscenities as she lost a game of chess on her magic chessboard or try to teach someone how to play. They came and went, offering other Goblins a chance to see.

The myth was true. The legend was real. And the inn was safe. For a little bit. The Goblins were relaxed, more at ease than they had been in a long time. But they were still watchful. It was ingrained in the psyche. So they noticed the dark shapes marching out of the darkness and over the hills.

Of course, they’d come under the hills first. Goblins shouted in alarm and backed up. Many didn’t recognize the strangers, but they didn’t need to know the Antinium to be wary. They raced towards the inn as Pawn and a group of Painted Soldiers walked out of the darkness. The [Acolyte] swung a censer and the Painted Soldiers walked ahead of him. But something was strange.

“They are Antinium. Not a threat. They are guests of the inn.”

Numbtongue insisted as Redscar stared down at the Antinium. The Goblin looked extremely doubtful, but he whistled and the Redscar warriors backed up and quieted their growling Carn Wolves. The Goblins drew back, and Erin, who’d come to see, peered down at the Antinium.

“They didn’t come through Liscor. I wonder why?”

“They probably don’t want to walk through the barricades. But there’s still water down there. Aren’t they nervous? They could slip and fall.”

Ceria appeared at Erin’s side. The young woman peered down.

“No, they’ve got a light and Pawn’s taking a good path. But—is that a lantern he’s swinging?”

The half-Elf’s eyes narrowed.

“No. That’s not a lantern. That’s a…what is that? It’s that burning thing you had him make.”

“His censer. It’s glowing.

Erin breathed softly. The censer was indeed glowing. It was a soft yellow light, and it had seemed exactly like a lantern at first. But the light was too pure and it never wavered. The Antinium shook it and it lit up the area in front of him as he and the Painted Solders—eleven or so—walked towards the inn, past the staring Goblins.

“An enchantment? It has to be an artifact. Did they get it spelled somehow? But who would—no. Wait.”

Ceria’s voice faltered. She stared down at Pawn. Erin heard her gulp.

“Ceria? What is it?”

“There’s no magic. I can’t see it coming from the lantern.”

“What?”

Erin looked down. The censer was glowing, just like a light spell. Only, it wasn’t like a light spell, was it? The censer was glowing, not an orb of light. And Antinium couldn’t cast magic. At least, Pawn couldn’t. Ceria looked pale.

“How is he doing that? How—”

“I think it’s faith.”

What?

The Goblins looked at Erin. She nodded and stared at Pawn. She could hear it now. A faint click. The Painted Soldiers were marching rhythmically. And every ninth step, their mandibles would click together.

Click.

It was a hypnotic, gentle procession up the hill. And the light reminded her of…well, it reminded her of something. Erin stood with her noisy inn behind her and watched Pawn approaching. She whispered.

“Faith made manifest.”

“Then it is not faith, is it?”

Ceria looked suspiciously at Erin. The young woman turned.

“No. I suppose it’s not. In that case, I guess you’d call it…religion.

The half-Elf opened her mouth to tell Erin the gods were dead. But then she looked down and realized there were no gods there. Just the Antinium. And the censer, humble though it was, small though it was, glowed. Any Tier 0 spell could do the same, and make light just as bright or brighter. But it wasn’t magic. And that made Ceria wonder.

 

—-

 

“Attention everyone! These are Antinium! They’re guests! No one scream or stab them! Thank you!”

Erin clapped her hands together. The Goblins looked up, stared at the Antinium, and kept stuffing their faces.

“Thank you, Erin.”

Pawn leaned his censer on a stick against a table as the Soldiers sat in the provided chairs. Erin saw Lyonette coming over with some hot, gluten-free food and smiled.

“It’s great to see you, Pawn.”

“And you, Erin. And you too, Lyonette. I wished to come tonight when I heard what was occurring. Will you please help me feed my Soldiers? I wish to speak with the Goblins.”

The Worker nodded to the Soldiers who were staring at the borscht and then looked around. He spotted the Goblin he was looking for quickly and walked over.

“Numbtongue. I have returned with Purple Smile. Yellow Splatters was forced to remain in the Hive, as it is tactically unsound to bring both [Sergeants] in case we were attacked and killed. Shall we resume our chat?”

Numbtongue grinned. He looked at the curious Soldier who was waving with three of his four hands while one of them grasped a special mug designed for him. Purple Smile raised his mandibles and Numbtongue waved over some of the curious Goblins. The Antinium and Goblins mixed, cautiously at first, and then with ease as they found that they could actually understand each other through sign language as much as words. Erin blinked, mystified.

“I thought they only met once. Since when did they become friends?”

Bevussa shrugged as she passed by Erin.

“A lot goes by that we don’t know about. Do you have any more beer, Erin? We’re all out.”

“Aw!”

The Goblins and Antinium sat together. Numbtongue pointed at Pawn’s censer. The Antinium admired the Redfang’s war paint. They were quite similar, for all they were different. And then Erin turned from a conversation and shouted the words that made the entire inn look up.

“Hey you lot! Lyonette tells me you can dance! Is that true?”

 

—-

 

“Fascinating.”

Pisces stood by the door with a drink in hand. Wine, unfortified and delicate. Taken from Rabbiteater’s cloak of all places. He supposed the location didn’t matter since the quality of the wine was a fine vintage, but he couldn’t help but feel that it cheapened the entire experience a bit. Well, free wine was free wine. He drank and looked at Ceria, Falene and Typhenous, who’d both gathered around Noears. The Goblin was flicking balls of lightning up which exploded harmlessly. But that wasn’t what had prompted Pisces’ rare outburst of admiration.

It was the floating orbs of multicolored lights that Noears had conjured with a single [Light] spell. Pisces admired the colors—the Goblin had an eye for pleasing aesthetics—and then looked at the other [Mages].

“You can see the spell was clearly boosted by the ambient mana. In fact, all of our magics tonight are. If you see—”

He flicked his fingers and his wine glass turned upside down. But the wine within remained perfectly still, controlled by the telekinesis. Pisces lifted it to his lips and drank, letting gravity take over.

“You see? That would be far more difficult normally, especially as I am not well-versed in telekinetic magic. But the ambient mana in Erin’s inn is charged.”

“It hasn’t been until now. Why is that?”

Ceria frowned at the glowing light spell. Typhenous cleared his throat.

“I do recall Miss Lyonette mentioning a similar phenomenon. But why would it only occur now after so long? Unless…”

All the [Mages] looked to the magic door. Pisces stroked his chin.

“When was the last time the door wasn’t teleporting someone to Celum every night? Or Pallass? How much mana does it take to send someone a hundred miles in a second?”

“We have been using the door today—”

“Only to go back and forth between Liscor. And the teams taking the door south. But Nailren’s team is only, what, twenty miles south of here? Thirty at most.”

“So the door isn’t consuming as much mana! Of course! Imagine the drain—how much magic is Erin’s inn producing normally, do you think?”

“Enough to make that spell possible.”

Ceria eyed Falene and Moore. The two were sitting together and the half-Elf had conjured a floating procession of plates to move past Moore’s head while he sat back. Thus he could eat without having to sit up and she could keep talking without having to look up at him.

Pisces waved that away.

“That is a spell fueled by Miss Skystrall’s magic. A product of ability. But that [Light] spell was overcharged. I wonder, how much power could you draw without the door present?”

“Wanna try? Blow up rocks?”

Noears grinned and shot a few tiny lightning bolts from his fingers. Pisces sniffed.

“Tempting, but I think that would be considered an act of aggression from Liscor at the moment. But I do wonder if we could—”

He was discussing spells with the others when he heard a sound break through the general hubbub. Goblins turned their heads as a Hobgoblin with a guitar struck a chord. Numbtongue played a riff, and then modulated the tone. Instead of the crackling electric chords, he played something much softer.

Another sound joined him. A Cave Goblin on a pair of improvised drums. A pair of Goblins blew into flutes they’d carved out of wood. A third had a kind of violin. Pisces’ jaw dropped.

Cave Goblins took their places as a young woman waved a stick, mimicking a conductor without in fact lending anything to the performance. Numbtongue ignored her as he plucked at his guitar. The Cave Goblins played. Their instruments were crude. But the sounds they made were pure. After all, they’d listened to Numbtongue and he knew what the other musical instruments should look and sound like, at least in theory.

The sound they made as a whole was discordant at first. The Cave Goblins hadn’t played in symphony and this song was new. But they were Goblins. Cooperation was in their blood, and in time, they had a song going that was…close.

It sounded vaguely like something Pisces would hear in a ballroom in Terandria, albeit with a faster tune, more bass and drums, and a good deal more mistakes. But the resemblance was uncanny. He stared at the Goblins. And then he got the shock of his life.

The Painted Soldiers had turned at the sound of the music. They had stood up as one. Now they stepped into the middle of the common room, which had been cleared of tables and chairs. Pisces watched them a tad bit apprehensively. He wasn’t sure what they’d do. What he was not prepared for was to see two of the Soldiers lock hands and begin to dance.

Not just dance. They began to step in pairs, in a classic ballroom waltz. Across the room, Halrac nearly choked on his drink as the Antinium slowly walked down the long [Grand Theatre], towards the dais at the back of the room. They turned stepped, turned—their steps were perfectly in synch. Memorized, coordinated. As only the Antinium could do.

The Antinium—and a [Princess]. Lyonette spun past the Soldiers, Pawn holding her hand gingerly. Pisces rubbed at his eyes and stared down into his mug as Typhenous went to sit down and landed on the floor. Everyone watched as the song played on and the Antinium danced. For a minute, two, the Antinium moved to the sound of the playing Goblins. And then the music changed.

“Okay, Numbtongue! Hit it! Better When I’m Dancing! This is my song!”

Erin jumped into the middle of the dance floor. The music changed, picking up in tempo. It took a distinctly un-ballroom-like melody. Pisces saw Erin stop, and then began shuffling her feet. She winked.

“I learned this one from Charlie Brown.”

She began to dance, in a way that had nothing to do with memorized steps or patterns. It was individual, cheerful, and completely embarrassing. Pisces saw Revi snort, and the Goblins exchanged glances, unsure if this was comedy or something serious. Erin just laughed. She beckoned.

“Come on!”

There was a moment of hesitation, then a Goblin pushed her way through the crowd. Pebblesnatch looked around importantly, then handed her prized chef’s hat off to another Goblin. She began to copy Erin. The young woman laughed. The two began to dance, and then another Goblin came forwards. He struck a pose and that was it.

The dance floor began to fill. The Antinium Soldiers watched, then began to copy Erin. Pisces watched, dribbling wine onto the floor. Ceria laughed and laughed and then grabbed Pisces’ hand.

“Come on! You’ve seen Erin dance, Pisces! And they’re playing all of the songs on Ryoka’s music thing! How did Erin teach Numbtongue that?

“No, absolutely not—”

Pisces raised his hands. But then Ksmvr was there.

“Comrade Pisces, will you dance with me?”

Ksmvr didn’t seem to understand the traditional gender pairing that went along with such things. Pisces was trying to explain it to him as Typhenous tried to muffle his laughter with his beard. That was when Erin grabbed his hand and towed the old man into the dance.

Bright music. The Goblins standing outside the inn waiting for their turn stared through the windows. They looked at each other, and then shouted for the others to see. And the dancing spread. After all, Goblins were thieves. And stealing music and footwork was considerably more easy than food. All they had to do was watch.

 

—-

 

A pair of blonde figures sat at a table as Erin led the Goblins through the evolution of dancing throughout the ages. She had to describe some of it, not being capable of advanced moves like breakdancing, moonwalking, or anything past the electric slide, really. But it was a sight to see Antinium Soldiers doing that.

Yvlon had to wrench her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight. She looked at her brother and blew a bit of hair out of her face. Somehow, Ylawes was capable of ignoring even the most wondrous of sights. He frowned at her as he drank from a small cup, his face slightly flushed from the alcohol.

“It’s dangerous, Yvlon. All the adventuring teams are going south. They intend to go through Drake lands, but we’re Human. If it does come to war, we’d be in danger. I had another idea, though. If we go north, we’d run right into the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“That’s your idea?”

Her sarcastic tone made her brother grimace.

“Just wait, Yv. Yes, the Goblin Lord would be marching towards us, but Lord Veltras is pursuing his army. I doubt he’d let us come to harm. And our father is marching with him.”

Yvlon folded her arms.

“So you want to run to Tyrion Veltras. Just in time to participate in the attack on Liscor?”

“He wouldn’t demand that—”

“No? You’re a Gold-rank team, Ylawes. He’ll conscript you.”

The [Knight] paused.

“Perhaps we could talk him into negotiating instead. Or at the very least, ensure that the battle is merciful to the defeated if—”

“Dead gods, Ylawes! He’s going to sack Liscor with the Goblins! You think he’ll be merciful when—”

Ylawes signaled frantically as the aforementioned Goblins looked around. Yvlon lowered her voice.

“You think this is right? No! He’s going to start a war and we’re on the wrong side. Father was an idiot for supporting him.”

“Don’t talk about our father that way.”

Yvlon’s older brother frowned angrily. Yvlon clenched one fist.

“Shouldn’t I? He’ll be part of the bloodshed, Ylawes.”

That made him hesitate. Ylawes took another drink from his cup.

“He is part of the army. He must cooperate or be seen as dishonorable. You can see the integrity in his decision—”

Yvlon tossed the contents of her mug at Ylawes. He dodged it and an unhappy Goblin shook a fist at both of them. Yvlon snapped.

“You’re unbelievable. Integrity? Father threw out centuries of our family’s friendship with the Reinharts. You want to talk about honor, Ylawes?”

He held still, face red, but looking serious.

“No one is perfect, Yvlon. We try. I have seen a lot which has changed my mind, but the facts cannot themselves change. Liscor will be under siege and I think you and I both know it will fall. Please think on what I’ve said. If not for yourself, then for your team.”

“Ksmvr’s Antinium.”

“But he is your team. And if you convinced Erin to go with you—”

“What about Selys? Mrsha? The others? Will you take them all as prisoners, Ylawes?”

The [Knight] shook his head.

“I could order you to go. I am your brother and I outrank you.”

Yvlon raised her middle finger. Ylawes sat up straight with shock.

“Shove this up your ass, Ylawes. I’m not a [Knight] and adventurers don’t follow military command. That’s Drakes you’re thinking of. And I’m not your little sister. I’m a member of the Horns and I refuse to—”

Alright Gangnam style! Follow me, everyone!

Yvlon and Ylawes both looked left. They stared as Erin pranced across the room, doing a dance the armored woman could only describe as a horse prancing crossed with a wagon driver flapping his reins. Yvlon stared as Erin crossed the inn, singing a nonsensical song and dancing that ridiculous dance. Ylawes watched with open mouth as Erin showed the other Goblins how to do it.

The entire inn came to a standstill as they watched Erin lead the Goblins, Drassi (and a few of the Antinium) across the floor doing the iconic dance. Dawil laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair and couldn’t stand up for a good three minutes.

“What in the name of silver was…”

Ylawes shook his head, coming out of his trance. He looked at his sister and saw her getting up.

“Yvlon! Where are you going? We haven’t finished this discussion.”

“I’m going to try that dance.”

“That?”

Ylawes looked aghast. Yvlon smiled.

“Why not? And the answer is no, Ylawes.”

“This isn’t over.”

The [Knight] vowed as he got up. Yvlon stared at him. Then she turned her head.

“You can’t force me to change my mind, Ylawes. I’m with my team.”

She walked off. Ylawes saw her tap Ceria on the shoulder and try to drag the half-Elf onto the dance floor. Embarrassment hated company, but it couldn’t do without. He sat back down.

“I can’t force you to change your mind, but I promised I’d keep you safe.”

The [Knight] muttered to himself. He watched Yvlon and then shook his head. They called this dancing? It was…well, he might have given it a shot. If there weren’t so many witnesses. Or if Dawil wasn’t watching. The Dwarf still hadn’t stopped laughing.

 

—-

 

As all things happened, it ended. Goblins fell asleep. In piles. Outside. Adventurers went to their beds. Erin stumbled about, trying not to step on bodies. And the adventurers looked at each other, deep into their cups. Not a little bit drunk, but still high on the remnants of the party.

A party. When all that had happened and was going to happen was in the air, they’d had a party. Ceria rubbed at her head. It was an Erin thing. But somehow, it was fitting. There had been a truce. She went from table to table, trying to find where her teammates had passed out. She found Ksmvr lying under a chair, moaning about water as some dripped from a cup onto his head. She decided he was fine. Then she looked for Yvlon. She found Pisces instead.

The [Necromancer] was sitting at a table, wine cup in hand. He was murmuring to himself. Ceria went to take the cup away. Pisces let her. She lifted him up.

“Come on, Pisces. To your bed. I can’t carry Ksmvr without Yvlon, but you’re light enough.”

“I resent that…Springwalker. I was deep—immersed in my thoughts. Creating art, if you must know. A reflection of this moment. In celebration.”

Pisces’ breath was full of wine. Ceria, none too steady herself, dragged him to the steps, avoiding a sleeping Hob.

“Oh yeah? Tell me another one.”

“If you insist. It is an opus of sorts, however unpolished. Ahem.”

Pisces cleared his throat. Ceria turned to tell him she didn’t want to hear, but it was too late. He began speaking softly. And perhaps it was her inebriation, but the poem was quiet and pleasing to the ear in the silence punctuated by soft footsteps and snores.

 

What madness, what fright!

A terrible, glorious sight!

When traitor fled and Goblins rode

And came to rest, here on nowhere’s road

A strange thing happened; an inn they stayed

Where Antinium danced and Goblins played

Oh, how I wish I’d stayed

But too quick the night stole by

And I,

Had to bid the day goodbye

On this, a springtime

Miraculous night.

 

He broke off, swaying, and Ceria stopped. She looked at him.

“That wasn’t half bad.”

“You think so? Ah, but I knew so.”

Pisces grinned blearily at her. Ceria rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes. Don’t let it go to your head. Who did you steal that from?”

“As a matter of fact…”

The two went up the stairs, arguing quietly. The last of the Goblins fell asleep now that the noisy Humans were gone. They slept where they’d fallen, full to bursting, filled with alcohol, and, strangest of all, feeling safe.

Safe. What a word. They were camped beneath a Drake city with the Goblin Lord and Humans hot on their heels. But…tonight had been a reprieve. A special moment. For a little bit, for one night in their lives, Goblins had been people and people weren’t any better than Goblins.

It was indeed a miracle. Or perhaps a changing of opinions.

A much quieter Human listened to Ceria and Pisces go upstairs. Erin Solstice looked around at the slumbering Goblins. It would be a problem tomorrow. It might be a problem in two hours, when the sun rose. She didn’t know what to do. Still. It wasn’t as if dancing or drinking could solve the real crisis ahead of her. And yet, she couldn’t regret tonight. It was needed.

One good night. Erin walked into her kitchen. She lay down and sighed. She dreaded tomorrow and hoped it would never come. But she knew it would. But at least tonight, she savored forever and let the night stretch on into one eternal, immortal moment.

 

[Magical Innkeeper Level 37!]

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – Pebblesnatch and Garry

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“You double promise?”

“I…will promise twice if that matters. Which it does not.”

“Erin told me double promises are better than single promises. Like crossing one’s heart or making a promise with a pinkie.”

“I see. We do not have…pinkies. Our hands are not pink. Nor do our hearts cross, generally. But I promise.”

“Oh. Good.”

Bird relaxed. Garry stared down at him and cleared his throat, which sounded like a bunch of rapid clicks. He looked down at the immobile Worker. Bird was missing limbs. Missing part of his body, really. He lay propped up by a few pillows. His partially demolished left side was covered in a green substance that the Antinium used to heal wounds. Garry stared at the pillows.

“Where did you get those? And what are they?”

“These? This is my fortress of fluff. Erin gave it to me when I got my room in her inn. When she heard I would be staying here, she sent them to me.”

There were a hundred things Garry could ask. He opened his mandibles, and hesitated. He glanced sideways up at the Queen of the Free Antinium. She was staring at him, too. Garry hesitated, but he had to know.

“…What do the pillows do?”

“They are for lying on. And they are very soft. See?”

Bird fluffed a pillow. Garry stared at it. Words could not express his desire to touch the partially gel-covered, fluffy pillow. But then the Free Queen spoke.

“Garry.”

He stiffened, nervous and afraid. The Free Queen had been far kinder to him of late. She had even learned his name. But she still terrified him. He wondered why Bird was not afraid of her, then realized the question was an answer. Bird was Bird. Garry looked up.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Do not delay. I have granted you this ‘time off’ for you to go to the inn with the other Antinium. The Worker…Pawn, I believe. But you are to bring me back the choicest morsels. Speak with Bird later.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Chastened, Garry lowered his head. He scuttled from the Queen’s chambers as Bird called out to him.

“Ask Erin if she will send me a bird!”

 

—-

 

Oh joyous day. Or night, rather. Garry scuttled through the Hive, following the streams of Workers and Soldiers, barely able to contain his excitement. Time off! He hadn’t had time off in…ever. Since he had been assigned to the Queen’s chambers to cook for her, he had worked and slept. Worked and slept.

It was necessary of course; he was the only [Chef] in the Hive. What other Antinium did to produce the nutritious paste the Antinium ate couldn’t be called cooking, even charitably. But it meant Garry had worked while the other Workers had visited Erin. He hadn’t. And that was distressing.

But after much daring, and more importantly, after Bird had taken up residence in the Queen’s chambers, Garry had plucked up the nerve to ask. And perhaps it was Bird talking about the food Erin made, or the way he distracted the Queen with his stories and songs, but she had granted his request.

Garry had never been happier in his life. No—wait. He had been just as happy the first time he’d eaten Erin’s cooking, and played chess with her. Now, he hoped to do the same. Garry hurried towards the barracks where Pawn had his growing unit of Painted Soldiers and now, Individual Workers. None of them were quite like Anand, Belgrade, or Pawn—certainly not like Bird—but some of the Workers resembled the ones Garry had known.

Knight, Calabrian, Milner-Barry, and all the others…they had lived with their names for less than an hour. They had died fighting Skinner and the undead. But Garry never forgot.

Garry reached the barracks and hurried inside. He was overjoyed. He could learn from Erin at last! He was a Level 17 [Cook], and had leveled exponentially fast. But of late, he’d felt like he was slowing down. After all, he had learned which recipes suited his Queen and he just mass-produced what she wanted most. He had no inspiration. And he had no one to learn from. But Erin was the best at everything. He could eat her cooking and learn. Maybe she would even teach him?

Such dreams kept Garry awake when he should be sleeping. And now they would be realized. Garry walked into the barracks and saw Yellow Splatters supervising some Soldiers reading books. He saw Klbkch, speaking with Belgrade and Anand around some kind of table with a map on it. But no Pawn. Garry hesitated, then hurried over to the Revalantor and two [Tacticians]. There he waited.

It was a fact that Garry was the most timid of the five Individual Workers. Even Belgrade was more decisive. All of the other Workers were leaders in some capacity. Well, Bird didn’t lead, but he was an outlier to any data set you made. But Garry worked alone and he preferred isolation. As such, he waited around Klbkch until the Revalantor looked up. And when he did, Garry flinched.

“What is it?”

“Revalantor Klbkch, I have come to accompany Pawn to Miss Erin’s inn.”

“You have?”

The two-armed Antinium stared blankly at Garry. The Worker nodded, looking around.

“My Queen gave me permission.”

“She did? Well, I was not informed and neither was Pawn. He has already departed.”

“What?”

Garry’s heart sank. Klbkch half-turned back to the map. It was of Liscor and both Anand and Belgrade were staring hard at it. The Revalantor spoke distractedly.

“They have left, and the Floodplains are crawling with Goblins. It is inadvisable to leave the Hive. I only permitted Pawn to leave to scout the inn and Erin’s condition. Your presence is unneeded.”

“But—but—”

Garry felt something sinking in his stomach. He stared at Klbkch. The Antinium stared at the map. At last, he sighed.

“If you wish to go, you may attempt to find Pawn before he exits the Hive. He was leaving through the hidden auxiliary tunnel located near the inn.”

“I—I will.”

Garry turned and practically ran out of the barracks. No one watched him go. Only Anand, Belgrade, and Klbkch even knew his name. Garry was alone. More alone than the others. But they didn’t matter because she knew his name. And she would be there. He had to go. Even if Pawn had already left. He had to go.

 

—-

 

An inn full of marvels. Food, the likes of which they had never seen. Peace between the Flooded Waters tribe and the Redfangs. Cave Goblins! And, most miraculous of all, adventurers that weren’t trying to kill them. Honestly, the Goblins camped around The Wandering Inn could have done without that last bit, but they’d take anything they could get.

And right now, they were living a dream they didn’t know they had. Goblins waited in a huge queue outside the inn, looking up at the bright windows, and seeing Goblins entering and leaving every minute. The Goblins who left did so reluctantly, but did so with bellies full of good food. In fact, the reason they left was purely altruistic; they did it so other Goblins could enter and sit and watch. And also so they could tell those waiting outside what they had seen and heard.

An [Innkeeper] playing chess with a Dwarf, a half-Elf, and Noears! Redscar, Spiderslicer, and some adventurers debating who would win a battle. Alcohol, being rolled out by the keg. A talkative Drake who would give you anything you asked for to eat! And what food! What taste!

It was enough to make any Goblin who heard of it salivate, although the actual taste of the food in Erin’s inn was unimaginable, no matter how the Goblins outside tried to convey it. It was literally something they had no reference for.

After all, while a Goblin might have in their possession flour and water and salt and spices and so on, rarely did they go to the effort of cooking such ingredients together. They had no kitchens, and even if they stole Human food, it was almost always on the road and thus rations or stale. And if you raided a home, or attacked a caravan? You scarfed down food that was sometimes bloody over the dead. This was different. This was…clean.

But not all the Goblins could eat the wonderful food. In fact, most would just have to imagine, or share scraps taken from the inn. The majority of the Goblins, tens of thousands of them, had to eat food. And feeding a host this large was proving to be a challenge. Not insurmountable, but a challenge nonetheless.

Both tribes and the Cave Goblins had their supplies of food. The Redfangs had rations, though they were few since they moved fast. They also had to feed their Carn Wolves, which was an issue. Horses happily ate grass, which even the Goblins didn’t like to eat usually. On the other hand, the Flooded Waters tribe had left their wagons and most of their foodstuffs in their panicked flight from Reiss’ army. As such, they had scraps. And the Cave Goblins?

They were rich. In monster parts. The Cave Goblins had an innumerable supply of the weaker sorts of monsters they’d killed in the dungeon. After all, even without their Raskghar overlords, they could still wipe out some of the monsters. Like the giant, vile caterpillars which hatched into horrible killing machines in time. There were dozens of the bloated bodies, only slightly rotten, wet and muddy from being hauled out of the dungeon. And dead Face-Eater moths, a few mangled Raskghar bodies badly decomposed, dead Goblins…

In situations like these, a dead pig would be the height of fine cuisine. The Goblins could eat, but they wouldn’t be happy. They were resigned to it, though. Right up until the doors of the inn on the hill opened and she strode forth.

Pebblesnatch. The Goblins looked up as she descended the hill. Not because she was a Hob, or particularly impressive by herself. Pebblesnatch was a scrawny, young Cave Goblin. But it was what sat on her head that drew the eye.

The hat. It was a big, white, chef’s hat. Of such things were legends born. And it was Pebblesnatch herself who shouted, who called the Cave Goblins who were part of Rabbiteater’s faction to order. She pointed at the lakes in the valleys and screamed.

Cook!

And then there were fish. Fish, and salt from the supplies the Cave Goblins owned. Fat in the form of oil, sizzling as the [Cooks] grilled the meat, and of course, salt, turning the roast fish into something that much better. No acid though; the acid flies weren’t in season yet. But there were other ingredients too.

Bits of bread, cheese, sauces—all of it was the product of the Cave Goblin’s experience with cooking and Erin’s donations to their tribe. The Flooded Waters tribe and the Redfangs stared and began to smell something actually pleasant fill the air. Their stomachs growled and they smiled.

“Cook! Fry! Stir! Whip! Bake!

At first, Pebblesnatch marshaled the [Cooks] of all three tribes with unquestioned authority. After all, she had been appointed by the [Innkeeper] herself and she wore the hat. She directed the Goblins to make cooking fires on the tops of hills and the raw ingredients were sent up to them, to be prepared as each Goblin knew best. Pebblesnatch’s authority was unquestioned. That was when the problems started.

“Bad! Bad food!”

Pebblesnatch shouted at a Hobgoblin stirring a stew of caterpillar parts and onions, seasoned with some fish heads. Obviously the eyeballs had been plucked out and served separately. The Goblins stared as she harangued the poor [Stirrer] in question. True, he was a low-level cook, not even at the [Cook] class—which happened when a Goblin got to Level 10—but he was doing his best. The caterpillar soup looked halfway edible, but halfway wasn’t good enough for Pebblesnatch. She grabbed a big wooden spoon and smacked the cauldron with it.

“Bad!”

The Hob looked askance. He offered the little Goblin a spoon to taste and Pebblesnatch did so. The soup came right back at the Hob as she spat it out. Her body language told the hungry Goblins waiting for their food everything.

Ridiculous! Pebblesnatch brought down her spoon like the wrath of cuisine itself on the Hob. Since she couldn’t reach his head, she smacked him on the arm instead. She half-gestured, half shouted in Goblin a series of insults too foul for actual transcription as she pointed at the pot. Translated, it meant something like ‘you should eat it, poop it out, and then serve it because it would taste better that way!’

The Hob turned beet red. He glared at Pebblesnatch, but his height, familiarity with the broadsword, and age meant nothing. She kicked his cauldron, and hopped away, cursing. The next [Cook] she came across fared no better.

He was a Cave Goblin and unlike the Hob [Stirrer], he had obtained the [Cook] class the instant he’d gotten it, thanks to lessons from Erin Solstice himself. But his fried fish was a bit burnt owing to him having to hold the frying pan over the fire. Pebblesnatch slapped the fish away when it was offered to her.

“Not raw! Not raw!

What kind of a Goblin wanted burnt fish? Raw was better! The [Cook] should have lightly grilled the fish, rather than wasting its potential by burning it! The dismayed Goblin tried to object that some Goblins liked uncooked food, and got a smack across his head with the spoon.

“You bad! And you bad! All you bad!”

Pebblesnatch turned in place, shouting at the other cooks. They weren’t up to her high standards and thus she was merciless in her critiques, overturning cooking stations, smacking hands, and spitting. The hungry Goblins watched. And then began to get annoyed.

The little Goblin with the hat was overstaying her welcome. Everything getting in order was fair play, but they wanted to eat! Never mind her standards for cooking, which, since they were based on the food she ate at Erin’s inn, were very unrealistic. If things had continued, perhaps Pebblesnatch might have ended her night crammed in an unused cauldron or sent fleeing by an angry mob armed with ladles. But it was not to be. Because he appeared.

“Oh no. Oh no. I am lost. And I think I am dead.”

Garry hurried through the Goblin camp, flinching as Goblins turned and exclaimed at the sight of him. He was making for the inn, but he was alone. Pawn had already left the Hive and Garry, in his desperation, had followed him. No one had told him about the Goblins. Or rather, how many there were.

The Antinium’s progress was halted as a group of wary Redfangs rode towards him. After all, there were still monsters about and Redfangs never let their guards down. They eyed him, remembering the other Antinium. Garry raised all four hands and trembled like egg-larvae jelly.

“Please don’t kill me! I am a [Cook]. I am not food! Or an enemy. I am trying to go to Miss Erin. I mean no harm. Please?”

The Goblins looked at each other. They lowered their weapons, much to Garry’s relief, but then a thought seemed to strike them. They turned and one shouted something. Garry froze. Then he saw her at the same time she saw him.

Pebblesnatch froze when she saw the Antinium Worker and heard what he was. A [Cook]! And Garry saw her hat and knew. She had to be a [Chef]! The two locked gazes. And the other Goblins all had a thought.

When two cooks enter, only one can leave. When a critic critiqued, they had better be able to back up their words. They looked at each other and then began to shout.

“Cook! Cook! Cook!

“Oh no. What is happening?”

Garry looked around, terrified. He raised his hands as the Goblins surrounded him, but they did not tear him limb from limb. Instead, they grabbed both him and the Goblin [Chef] and towed them over. A few other Goblins appeared, a Hobgoblin, a Redfang Warrior, and two Cave Goblins. They took their places as Goblins dragged over firewood and began to start fires. And then Garry realized what was happening.

It was a cooking competition. The first Antinium-Goblin competition in the history of the world. Pebblesnatch shouted insults at the jeering Goblins as they egged her on. Garry stared at the inn. Of course. To him, it all made sense. They were competing for the right to enter Erin’s inn. How could he, a worthless low-level [Cook] ever be worth her time? He bowed his head, then stared as the Goblins tossed frying pans, knives, and other cooking utensils onto the grass. No. He had to win. He had to prove himself.

The cooking competition had a few rules which were obvious to everyone but Garry. The contestants had thirty minutes to cook, access to any utensils they needed, and help from other Goblins if they needed hands to kill or carry things. But they had to make something out of the food provided. Fish, monster parts—it couldn’t be a dish made solely of ingredients from Erin’s inn. It had to be Goblin cooking. And with that knowledge, the contestants ran into the night.

Garry looked around as all the Goblins ran off. He stared about as he sensed the eyes of the Goblin audience fall on him. He stared at them.

“Um. What am I supposed to be doing? Are we starting? Oh dear.”

Pebblesnatch ran down the hill, keeping one hand on her hat. A competition? She was determined to win. She shouted insults at Goblins in her way, looking for the best thing to cook. She passed by the dead caterpillars at once. They were rotten, stinky, and tasted awful. She knew; she’d eaten enough over her lifetime.

No, what Pebblesnatch wanted was fish. Fresh fish! The other contestants were already grabbing fish out of the lakes. One of the Cave Goblins had some Quillfish—an excellent pick for taste, but it took time to get rid of the quills and they were small. The Goblin judges, a panel of Hobs and regular Goblins from all three tribes, looked askance, clearly wondering if the prospective [Cook] had enough time to prepare a meal for all eighteen of them. Naturally, there were eighteen judges. If you couldn’t cook in large portions, what was the point?

The second Cave Goblin had paused and came up with a lucky find. Razorbeak eggs! He raised them triumphantly to a roar from the audience. One of the Flooded Water tribe Hobs nodded authoritatively. His body language conveyed that fried eggs—or an egg drop soup—would be far more pleasing to the palate than just fried fish alone. Pebblesnatch growled as the Cave Goblin scurried past her, eggs in hand. She debated tripping him, but then saw something that made her heart sink.

The Redfang Warrior and the Hob had joined forces to kill a Lurkersnatch fish with several other audience members. The huge, black, octopus-like creature died hard, but the Hob was already hacking bits of it off. That had to be good food! How would Pebblesnatch ever outdo that? She looked around. The competition was stiff. Everyone except for the stupid Antinium. He was staring at the caterpillars and poking one to make sure it was dead.

Originality! Creativity! Fresh ingredients! Pebblesnatch clutched at her head, trying to figure out what to make. Time was running out! She was just about to get her audience to grab some fish for her when she saw it. A moving shape. A huge rock, crawling across the Floodplains, sneaking up towards her from the side. A Rock Crab.

Pebblesnatch’s face lit up. She pointed and screamed. The Goblins turned. The Rock Crab hesitated. There was a lot of food on the Floodplains. Of course, it had been buffet season ever since the rains had started. All of the other Rock Crabs were mating, having gorged themselves, but this Rock Crab was a bit hungry. It scuttled closer to the many morsels of food before it had a thought. It was a lot of food out there. A lot of food that began to surround it. The Rock Crab clicked uncertainly and backed up. The food grinned as one, and their eyes gleamed red.

 

—-

 

“Oh my.”

Garry was cutting pieces of half-rotten caterpillar away when he saw the Goblins swarm the Rock Crab. To be fair, it never really had a chance. It was outnumbered, and, for once, outgunned. Unlike how the Flooded Waters tribe usually hunted Rock Crabs—getting under the shell and killing it at great cost—the Redfangs were big-game hunters and experts on tackling dangerous prey.

They roped the Rock Crab, forced it out of its shell, and sliced it to bits. And the little Goblin with the hat stood proudly over the dead Rock Crab as its blue blood dyed the ground and began to shout orders. Garry backed up as the Goblin audience dragged something up the hill.

“What are they doing? And where is the seasoning? Oh no. There aren’t any good utensils here. Um. Do I have to use this fire? I normally have an oven…”

He looked around. The Hob who was spit-roasting chunks of Lurkersnatch fish shrugged at him. Garry scrambled for pots and pans while the Rock Crab’s shell was planted in the ground. Upside down. The giant, hollow shell was huge. And as Goblins piled wood around it, the awestruck judges understood.

Pebblesnatch was going to make soup in the shell! Had such madness, such audacity ever been contemplated? The Goblins were agog as Pebblesnatch began tossing in parts of the Rock Crab. She filled the bloody mess with water and started a fire. And then the real cooking began.

“Frying pan, frying pan…”

Garry was worriedly coating the slabs of caterpillar with a marinade. He tossed it in a pot as he grabbed a loaf of stale bread for some reason. One of the watching judges opined that stale bread was good, but not at this level of cooking. The audience agreed in general; they weren’t really paying attention. All eyes were on Pebblesnatch.

The Rock Crab’s shell was huge and unlike metal, it didn’t convey heat as well. Given the rapidly winding down clock, this was an issue, and the Redfang cook smirked as he began his own soup. But Pebblesnatch just kept adding fuel, and then shouted a word. The Goblins watching gasped as bubbles began rising from the blue soup with crab parts in it.

[Quick Boiling]! Pebblesnatch had a Skill! The other [Cooks] looked up and began using their own Skills. The Cave Goblin with Quillfish was ripping out spines bare-handed, ignoring the points. He had [Glove Grip]. The Hob meanwhile was perfecting his roasted Lurkersnatch kebabs with a handy [Extra Spice] Skill, which gave him an additional spice to work with when cooking.

As one judge explained to the audience, it wasn’t so much that the Hob magically conjured up more spices from nothing, but that he always seemed to find an extra something to add to his repertoire. Where other Goblins found salt, he would find a bit of pepper in a pouch lumped at the bottom of the cooking sack. If they had all kinds of ingredients, he’d trip over a bit of nutmeg on the way to the bathroom.

And right now, the spice was adding heat. Literally. The Hob’s dish was spicy hot while the Cave Goblin with the eggs was indeed making an egg-and-fish soup. Garry was panicking.

“Um. Okay. I can do this.”

The Worker coated a sizzling piece of pan-seared caterpillar with dried bread crumbs and a bit of egg the Cave Goblin cook had given him in a moment of pity. Then, to the audience’s horror, he turned one of the hot pans upside down and pressed the bottom to the mixture! What was he doing? Garry pressed the pan flat as the judges groaned and shook their heads. And Pebblesnatch crowed atop her boiling shell of Rock Crab soup. Because she’d won, right?

The Rock Crab’s blue blood turned the mixture a dark color. The water bubbled hot, and the Rock Crab’s meat was boiling nicely. Pebblesnatch threw in a bag of salt, pepper, a lot of butter, some fish meat, the Gnollish sauce, and, as a special extra, some carrots. She proudly scooped up bowls of her soup and rushed them over to the judges’ table with the others. Hot and ready!

Garry was the last to arrive. The [Cook] timidly put his dishes in the last position. The panel of eighteen judges sniffed the air, smiling and rubbing their rumbling bellies. Then the judging began.

The first to be presented was the Goblin with the Quillfish. He’d done a classic chop-and-fry, trusting to the little fish’s taste to carry the day with salt and butter. It went down very well among the judges, although…the portions were a bit too small. The Cave Goblin’s face fell and he shuffled his feet. The Quillfish’s de-quilling process had indeed taken its toll. However, it was a strong start.

The next Goblin to present his food was the Redfang Warrior. He offered the judges bowls of his Lurkersnatch Fish soup, but before he could serve it, one of the tentacles in his bowl latched onto the face of a judge! It took a minute for the other judges to pry the severed tentacle off the face of the judge. And after that, despite the soup tasting quite good, the result was unanimous. Food that fought back wasn’t worthy of the coveted title of ‘Good Cook’. The Redfang Warrior walked back to his tribe, heartbroken.

Next, the second Cave Goblin. His fish-and-egg soup was tasty—but it was far, far too fishy and not enough eggy! One of the Hobs reduced the Cave Goblin to tears with a single claw, pointing out the miniscule bit of egg in his bowl. What good was a special ingredient if you couldn’t taste it?

Pebblesnatch rubbed her claws together, delighted. So far the field hadn’t been full of strong contestants. But her face fell as the Hob walked forwards with his kebab Lurkersnatch and other fish bits. The judges poked the bits of tentacle, but it was well and truly cooked this time. They bit into the dish and shouted.

Literally. The dish was spicy hot! The Hob beamed as the Goblins shouted and scarfed down the food, shouting for water. His entry was the best, no question about it. Although…it might have been a bit too spicy. Not every judge was a fan of burning tongues. Still, it was enough to make both he and Pebblesnatch eye each other as she pushed her heaping bowls full of Rock Crab soup forwards.

The judges looked at each other, murmuring and appreciating the unique blue color of the soup, and the floating bits of Rock Crab meat in its shell. They sipped at the soup, pried the meat out of the shells and chewed it down, and swallowed. The audience held its breath and Pebblesnatch straightened expectantly. The judges looked at their soup, looked at her—

And shook their heads. Pebblesnatch gasped along with the crowd. But the judges made their verdict clear. Pebblesnatch’s soup was…barely edible. Which, to be fair, was decent Goblin cooking. But by the standards of this competition, it was the worst entry so far! Even worse than the tentacle attack soup!

Her faults were many and varied. Firstly, the Rock Crab’s blood did not taste good in the water. Secondly, the fact that Pebblesnatch hadn’t removed the meat from the Rock Crab’s shell made the cooking uneven, as did the use of the shell itself. It hadn’t even been cleaned of dirt! Which, to be fair, was a nitpick. And lastly, her extra ingredients hadn’t exactly added any unique flair to the soup.

Pebblesnatch’s knees buckled and she sat down as the Hob raised his arms to wild cheers from the crowd. He stepped forwards, looming over the small Goblin, when everyone realized there was one last dish to be served. Garry’s. The Antinium Worker looked around, petrified as the judges dubiously regarded his dish and sampled it. And then—

He won. Obviously. It wasn’t even close. The eighteen Goblins found on their plates a pan-fried, marinated piece of caterpillar flesh, breaded in an egg-and-stale-bread mixture. The outer breaded part had been crisped in a style Erin could have called ‘panini’. Garry had intentionally used the pan to sear the dry bread crumbs, creating a crisp exterior.

Meanwhile, the caterpillar had been pan-fried and covered in a garlic-and-fish sauce that was strong, but not overpowering. The heat of the food made each bite the judges took hot and fresh, and best of all the caterpillar didn’t taste like caterpillar.

It was a triumph. And of course Garry was equal to the task. He explained to the dumbfounded judges that it was a dish he’d made before.

“I uh, make many dishes for my Queen. Out of monsters that are killed. So I knew how to make the caterpillar dish. I would have added Face-Eater Moth eggs too, but I ran out of time. Um. Can I go now?”

The Goblins licked their plates, looked at each other, and nodded as one. Garry jumped as the Goblins around him burst into cheers and began duplicating his dish while the other contestants went up to him to slap him on the back. Goblins weren’t big on handshakes. The Worker was completely confused—and then Pebblesnatch walked forwards. The other Goblins fell silent and watched as, with trembling claws, she held the big chef’s hat out to Garry. He looked at it slowly, and took the hat.

“You good.”

Pebblesnatch pointed at Garry with tears in her eyes. The Worker watched as she turned and walked away. He stared at the Goblins who were cheering him and looked at the inn.

“…What just happened?”

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice was watching Dawil competing in what was perhaps the most entertaining drinking competition she’d ever watched and scowling about her lost game of chess when she saw the Antinium duck into the inn. He was wearing a huge floofy hat, only slightly stained by blue Rock Crab blood. The sound of wild cheering precipitated his entrance. Erin got to her feet.

Garry?

The Worker jumped. He looked at Erin and his newfound confidence vanished in an instant. He stepped back as Erin strode over to him, beaming.

“Hello Miss Erin. I am terribly sorry if I’m bothering you, but I won the competition, so I was allowed to come here. I did not go with Pawn, but my Queen said it was alright. I can go if—”

He froze as Erin gave him a huge hug. The [Innkeeper] beamed at Garry.

“Don’t be silly, Garry! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come on in! How’s my favorite Worker doing? Pawn didn’t say you were coming! Where’d you get that hat? Pebblesnatch has one just like it, you know.”

“Well…”

Garry found himself swept into the inn. He sat at a table as Erin sat with him, calling for food. In short order he had a bowl of borscht in front of him, a mug of cider, and Erin was giving him her undivided attention. She laughed as he told her how he’d gotten here.

“Oh, Garry! You don’t have to win a competition! That was just Pebblesnatch and the other Goblins being…well, I’d have wanted to watch that! Not judge it, though. I don’t eat caterpillars. But you did a great job by the sounds of it!”

The Worker shook his head.

“I am not nearly as good as you, Miss Erin—”

“Erin. Say it with me, Garry.”

“…Erin. I actually came to see if you would teach me your recipes. If you are willing. I have so much to learn.”

Erin looked shocked.

“Of course! I always have time for you! Any time! In fact, how about now? I can show you how to make some of my dishes—I’m running out of pre-prepared food anyways. You and me, Garry! Master [Chef] and apprentice!”

She rose and beckoned Garry to the kitchen. He rose in a daze and followed her. All of his dreams were coming true! He was so happy, he didn’t even notice Pawn sitting at a table across from them. The Worker looked around as Ceria rattled some dice in a cup and Pisces bet three silver coins. Pawn looked at Purple Smile.

“Her favorite Worker?”

 

—-

 

“So, you say you’re a bad cook.”

“Yes. I am quite inferior to you. I know I may never catch up, but I hope you will share with me your recipes and much experience.”

“Right. I uh, well, the thing is, Garry—I’m an [Innkeeper]. And you’re a [Cook]. My abilities are sorta in cooking, but I do a lot of other things.”

“Yes, you play chess too. You have many Skills.”

“Uh huh. But that means I’m not as—as focused as you, Garry. I don’t have as many Skills in the same area. And maybe I’m actually not that good.”

“Surely not!”

“No—I think I just realized that now. I was never much of a cook back home. I microwaved a lot and boiled water, mostly. And uh—you just reminded me why I’m not actually that good.”

“I did?”

Garry looked incredulously at Erin. She nodded. Their entire conversation had been punctuated by a single, repetitive sound. That of pure, unadulterated skill.

Chopchopchopchopchopchopchop—Erin stared as Garry’s knife flashed across the board, dicing the onions in moments. His other two hands weren’t idle either; they were busy peeling another onion, then sprinkling the chopped onions on the sauce-covered pizza. He sprinkled the toppings around in a perfect pattern, added cheese, and inserted the pizza into the little oven in a flash. Garry looked at Erin and she blinked.

“I taught you how to make a pizza a minute ago. Verbally. And you just made one.”

“I am sure it is not as good as yours, Erin.”

“No—I am. Garry, I think you’re better than I am. Really, I do.”

The [Cook] was shocked.

“I cannot be! Otherwise, who else would I look up to?”

Erin scratched her head.

“Someone else? Garry, you’re better than you think you are! No wonder you won the competition single—I mean, four-handedly. I want to hire you! I would if your Queen wouldn’t tear my head off.”

Garry held very still.

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

Erin smiled at Garry and the Worker’s heart and mind lit up. She leaned against the counter and shook her head.

“You know, you’re so good, I should ask you for help. Tell you what. Instead of me teaching you, why don’t we cook together? We haven’t talked in…forever. And I can tell you about all the things I can’t make while we make the things I can. Okay?”

“I would like nothing more in the world.”

Garry spoke truthfully. Erin smiled. She stood up, took a spot next to Garry, and began making another pizza. He helped her, cutting, offering ingredients, and listening as Erin began to ramble. To chat.

“So, there’s this pasta soup called ramen, but it doesn’t actually taste like regular pastas. I used to have instant ramen, which is really unhealthy, but I tried the real stuff once, and let me tell you, it’s good. Still probably unhealthy, though. I was trying to make it, but I have no idea what the ingredients could be, aside from pork cutlet which is one of the toppings. Say, have you had a hamburger? It’s great, but there is this bread component that makes it hard to serve to Antinium.”

“What if we replaced the bread with another substitute? There is a sweet potato that I can make a type of bread out of.”

“Garry, I could kiss you! Hold on—don’t run away! You have to show me right now. Drassi! I need potatoes! Sweet ones! Now, where was I?”

“You were talking about other foods.”

“Right! Hey, if you can fix hamburgers, then I need to get you on Asian cooking! There’s ramen, sushi…a lot of these dishes involve rice, which isn’t sold around here. Heck, it might not even exist! But anyways, I was also trying to make pumpkin pie, but while I know pumpkins and I know pie, putting the two together isn’t something I ever saw someone do. And I’ve also been working on recreating the turducken for Relc…”

Erin chattered as Garry listened, his four hands moving constantly. He cooked and she cooked, and it was the same as usual. The same, but different. Because he wasn’t alone. The Drake called Drassi came by to shout at Erin that she had no idea where she could get sweet potatoes at this hour. A few Carn Wolves came by to beg for food, which Erin and Garry fed them. Pawn appeared to seek assurance that Erin did not, in fact, have favorites. Dawil came by and passed out in the kitchen, drunk as a skunk.  Erin assured Garry skunks could get quite inebriated.

And the night passed too fast. The Goblins ate happily in the inn and outside. The adventurers laughed and talked and the Goblins spoke as equals briefly. Embria and Relc stood and talked on the battlements of Liscor. But such stories do not revolve around cooking. And in the end, it was cooking that mattered in this moment.

Pebblesnatch stood outside the inn, by her huge shell-pot of Rock Crab soup. She was humbled. Goblins were eating Garry’s dish and the other ones presented. Hers too, but only because they were hungry and it was there. She had let her arrogance get ahead of her, become a critic before learning how to cook well herself.

She glumly sipped from her bowl of Rock Crab blood stew and then brightened. You know, it really wasn’t that bad. All it needed was a pinch more salt. And maybe some pig lard. And pig. And an egg?

 

—-

 

And then Garry went home. He arrived in the Queen’s chamber of the Hive, delirious with happiness, tired, and pulling a small cart behind him. Bird tried to sit up as he and his Queen turned.

“Garry, you promised to bring me back food. And the Queen. Was it a lie?”

He looked at Garry, betrayed since he couldn’t see the cart from where he was propped up. Garry shook his head.

“I did not lie, Bird. My Queen, as promised, here is your food. I have pizza, sweet potato hamburgers, and cake!”

“Well done, Garry.”

The Queen rumbled approvingly, her mandibles opening as she regarded the prizes Garry had brought back with her. Bird looked at the frosted cake and clicked his mandibles together happily.

“Ah. The cake is not a lie. And it is cake. And very tasty. Even though it makes my stomach hurt.”

“You must not have the cake, Bird. It is filled with gluten, which you cannot eat. So Erin has told me.”

Garry spoke sharply to Bird. The Worker looked hurt.

“But I wish to! And I want to. I will cry if I cannot have any. And if I cannot, the Queen cannot.”

“I can.”

The Free Queen bent to peer at the sugary treat. She regarded it, wondering if they came in bigger portions as she addressed Bird and Garry.

“Chemical imbalances were allowed to exist in the recreation and modification of Galuc’s form as a necessity. Such imperfections do not extend to Queens. Give me the cake.”

Garry gave her the cake. The Queen lifted it up, until she heard Bird make a small wailing sound. She hesitated, and then broke off a tiny bit of the cake.

“He may have one small piece. You will share it. Here.”

She lowered the piece. Garry caught it, and fished a fork out from the cart. The Queen needed no forks, but it was enough for Bird. He opened his mandibles and Garry fed him a piece.

“Aah. Mm. Sweet. Give me another.”

“Very well.”

Garry looked up as the Queen discovered sugar in its concentrated form for the first time. He looked around the chamber and realized he was back. He had left the inn. Erin was far away again. All too soon. But somehow, he felt better, as if he’d carried the warm food and happy moment out of the inn and into the Hive. So he sat, feeding Bird and himself morsels of cake while the Queen gobbled down her food.

And everyone was happy. Until tomorrow, that was. But for one night—

They were happy.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.60

They ran. Through the night, following their leader. Past rocks and around forests. Splashing across a shallow ford in a lake. Pausing only to drink and rub the sides of their horses. Drink stamina potions, offer the rest to their mounts. Run alongside them. Fly.

It was as if they were one creature at times, Drake and beast. Until they separated. Their horses galloped through the night, riderless as they flew overhead. Then the two were together again.

Miles flashed past, counted in millions of blades of grass, the slowly looming mountains in the distance, far-off Drake cities. And then, at last, a huge city whose walls rose towards the sky.

Pallass. They knew they were close, then. But their horses were weary. So were they. Their journey passed along roads mostly, but they had gone through the wilderness. Fought Wyverns off. And they had been travelling nonstop for days, ever since they had set out. But still, they kept on. Stopping would be unforgivable now.

So it was that they came across the Drakes marching north from Pallass and several smaller cities. A column of infantry following the armored Drake cavalry looked up as they heard the racing hoof beats. The sentries called a warning and then shouted relief signals on top of each other. The [Sergeant] in charge of Pallass’ 7th Armored Division looked up and saw them. His eyes widened.

There were about four hundred of them. A small number compared to the legions Pallass had sent and the other Drake forces heading north. But they were the fastest. And such was their fame that the [Sergeant] instantly recognized their battle standard—that of Oteslia, a city with a huge tree in the background—and their armor. Bright green and white, armor meant to catch the sun and reflect it.

He shouted as the [Soldiers] looked up. The riders were headed straight for them. If they didn’t stop, they’d crash right into the center of the marching Drake column.

“Oteslia’s Winged Riders! Make way! Make w—”

Too late. The [Sergeant] flinched as the first rider rode straight at him. He saw the Drake riding in front shout a command. And then the horse leapt. The Drake ducked, but the horse cleared his head by a good meter. There were shouts—the other Winged Riders had leapt as well, straight over the Drakes marching past them. They avoided those holding pikes or spears and landed on the other side. Still galloping.

“Ancestors!”

The Pallassian [Sergeant] stared as the Winged Riders kept racing north, turning to follow the road ahead. He stared as his [Captain], riding a much slower horse, raced up to him.

Sergeant! Were those—”

“Winged Riders, sir! From Oteslia!”

The [Sergeant] couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of his voice. He’d heard Oteslia had deployed its armies and the Winged Riders, but this was the first time he’d ever seen them. Honestly, Oteslia was known as the weakest of the Walled Cities when it came to pure military strength. But the Winged Riders were an iconic group. He stared at the already distant Drakes and saw their wings.

Oldblood. They were all Oldblood Drakes capable of flying. Oteslia placed almost all of its Oldblood Drakes into elite units, much like Pallass did. But they focused on their Winged Rider companies primarily, ensuring their numbers were always strong. But that was only part of what made them so elite.

“They made it here? Already? They had to have been running day and night!”

The [Captain] exclaimed. The [Sergeant] half-nodded, but he was scanning the sky rather than paying attention. The Winged Riders were a group of old, famous for their incredible mobility. But in the past, they had been known for something else. And while the breeding stock was incredibly limited, it was still tradition for at least one rider in each company to be riding…

There. His eyes picked it out. Flying overhead, a flash. The [Sergeant] pointed and Drakes looked up. They saw a brown shape. Wings beating hard. No—two pairs of wings. A Drake’s, and the creature the rider rode. A horse with wings.

A Pegasus.

“Ancestors. I thought they had all died out.”

“Not so. They live in Oteslia. The last of their breed.”

The [Captain] and [Sergeant] stood together in awe, watching the Pegasus fly northwards, following the Winged Riders. Perhaps only an Oldblood Drake could fly on such a creature’s back; certainly the [Sergeant] wouldn’t risk trying it, not without a Featherfall Potion at least.

“We’d better keep moving. Liscor’s days away.”

The [Captain] reminded the [Sergeant]. The Drake nodded and shouted at the soldiers to keep moving. One Drake reported an attack—falling crap from above. It was the subject of much humor from the weary Drakes. They too had been marching late into the night each day. They kept one eye on the sky, watching the distant horses and Pegasus. And the Winged Riders rode on.

They might arrive in time. But as the weary Drakes of Pallass picked up their pace, they knew, soldiers and officers both, that their force wouldn’t make it. The Human and Goblin Lord’s armies would get to Liscor first. If they hurried, they could be there after the siege had started. The real question was how long Liscor could hold. How long. They kept moving until at last they were allowed to camp. And sleep. But come dawn they marched again, with stamina potions in addition to their rations.

And so dawned the twelfth day.

 

Day 12

 

I wake up. My bed is simple, but warm. I shift in the sheets, feeling the high-quality cotton move around me. The bed is raised to keep off the floor of the tent I am sleeping in. And it’s made of wood—the mattress is stuffed. Exorbitant? Surely. Impractical? Only if you don’t have a bag of holding. I can feel light on my face, but not see it. I sigh, but quietly. I am not alone.

My name is Laken Godart. [Emperor] for my sins. And I think…yes, I think they are rather great sins. I sit in my tent on the dawn of the twelfth day since leaving my domain. Since Riverfarm. Since meeting the Goblin Chieftain named Rags. Since being betrayed by someone and being rescued by Tyrion Veltras.

Funny. It feels longer. By now I’m accustomed to riding on horseback, although I’m not comfortable at all with it. I’ve grown used to the company of the [Lords] and [Ladies] and [Knights] and so on that ride with Tyrion Veltras, and hearing the thunderous sound of thousands of animals moving at once. And I’ve gotten used to being blind again.

It was terrifying at first. I had to leave Riverfarm, ostensibly to oversee the engineering team that would man and build the trebuchets. Moreover, I think it was a political move from Tyrion, perhaps to hobble me. Or to put pressure on someone else. Magnolia Reinhart? His allies?

It seems to have worked in any case. I witnessed—in my limited way—the way he drove the Goblins south. How he slew Tremborag. And his plans to take Liscor. All of it without seeing a thing.

My [Emperor]’s senses are gone. I own none of the land I ride over, nor can I claim it. Thus, I can only hear and feel the horse beneath me. Smell blood, feces, the changing air.

Blood. I heard the Great Chieftain of the Mountain die. I heard something shrieking—Eater Goats. That was barely yesterday. I shudder as I sit up. It’s just past dawn. I turn my head towards the other figure in my tent.

“Gamel.”

My bodyguard, manservant, [Knight], and perhaps, friend, springs to his feet. I sense him turn towards me. I can sense the stubble on his chin, the way he grasps at a tray, even sense the sword in its sheathe at his side. The calluses on his palms—he’s been practicing with the other [Knights] when not accompanying me.

As I said, my [Emperor] senses are cut off while I ride. But in this tent that Tyrion Veltras gave me, with a few of the hand-carved totems from Jelov, I can ‘see’ in this small space. It’s one of my few comforts.

Jelov. Durene. Wiskeria. Prost. They all seem so far away right now. I clench my hands as Gamel approaches me. I rub at my face and sense him stop.

“Your majesty? Will you have breakfast?”

“Yes. Thank you, Gamel.”

I swing myself out of bed. I’m dressed; I didn’t bother to undress last night. I sit as Gamel offers the tray to me on a little table. By now I’m so used to him being here that I don’t even mind eating while he watches. Much.

“You’ve had breakfast?”

“Yes, sire. I woke up and trained, then had breakfast and came here. I apologize for my smell.”

I shake my head as I pick at my food. What’s today’s meal? Some kind of lamb, potatoes…Yellats? Spicy, crunchy—oh, and a gelatin of some sort. A treat, and again, not what you’d expect from people on the moves. Bags of holding and [Chefs] employed by the nobility see to the higher-quality meals, which I’m lucky enough to receive. Still, I’ve heard some of the nobility complaining about the rough fare. I chew, swallow, and speak quietly.

“Don’t worry about the smell, Gamel. It’s hardly worse than the horses. But don’t push yourself. Did you get that cut on your leg in sparring?”

He jumps. It still surprises the other villages of Riverfarm that I can tell what’s happened to them. Again, only in this tent. He pauses.

“It’s just a scratch, sire. One of the [Knights] struck and I missed the timing to block.”

I frown.

“Was it intentional? The other [Knight], I mean.”

Gamel’s hesitation this time makes me worry. He is a [Knight]. I made him one myself. But—he isn’t of noble birth. In fact, he was a [Farmer] until a few weeks ago. He was no [Warrior] and up until now he barely had any training with a sword. By contrast, the [Knights] who rode to Lord Tyrion’s call are the best of the best. Some of them resent Gamel’s class.

“I am well treated by most, your majesty. Some of the Clairei Fields Order have been teaching me personally.”

It’s not an answer, but I don’t push. I sigh and cut up the lamb.

“I see. Well then, inform me if there are any problems.”

“Yes, sire.”

I eat in silence, leaving the jello or whatever it is on the side. I’m in no mood for it and my stomach hurts if it’s too full when I ride. Besides…I push my tray back.

“Have the jello if you want, Gamel. Or share it with Tessia. How is she? And the others?”

“Good, sire.”

Gamel takes the tray and steps back. He places it to the side and comes back with a fresh set of clothes before I can ask. He’s really become adept at managing my needs. I listen as he speaks with his back to me. Neither he nor I are at the level where he’ll be dressing me, thanks.

“Tessia and the others are—well, Lord Veltras has them hard at work each night. Working with them—I mean, the [Mages], sire. Constructing additional trebuchets, calibrating the old ones—teaching the [Soldiers] how to man them.”

“Do you think they’re trying to figure out how they’re made?”

Gamel shrugs uneasily. That was a worry of mine.

“I think not, your majesty. Some of the nobles have looked, and a number of other folk, but they don’t quite understand the way the trebuchets work. They see the arms, but when Tessia speaks of physics and balance and ratios, even the [Mages] go cross-eyed.”

He says that a bit smugly. I just nod. Lazy. Even the best of the people Tyrion brings over lack more than a rudimentary understanding of math. Some of them might be able to build a trebuchet, but why apply yourself if it’s not your class? It’s that kind of thinking that…

I trail off. It doesn’t matter.

“So the trebuchets will be ready? We’re closing in on Liscor by all accounts.”

“Yes, Emperor. We’re very close. I don’t have a map, but one of the local [Soldiers] told me that we’re close to Esthelm. And it’s only a stone’s throw away from Liscor. We may reach the city tomorrow.”

“As soon as that?”

“We’ve been moving faster to catch the Goblins that left the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“Ah yes. Them.”

I sit quietly. Yesterday—or was it the day before? The Goblin Lord turned on his own. From my position I could only hear the [Scouts] giving Tyrion reports. And hear the fighting at a distance, of course. Tyrion let the Goblins tear each other apart until one side began to flee. I think…the Goblin Lord killed the Chieftain opposing him. And I think, based on what was said, that it was the little Goblin he killed.

Rags. Her tribe fled. Tyrion would have forced them back or slaughtered them, but our army was attacked by Eater Goats by the tens of thousands. They came down from the mountains. Naturally I witnessed none of this as well. It’s terrifying, hearing the shrieks those goats made, being ordered to move and hearing the sounds of fighting and not knowing what is going on.

Being helpless, in short. I’m out of my depth here. And the Goblins…

“The Goblin Lord will be attacking Liscor, then. And brave Tyrion Veltras will swoop in to save the day. Oh, hurray.”

Gamel catches the sarcasm in my tone. He hesitates.

“Isn’t that good, sire? I mean, it will be war with the Drakes, but the Goblin Lord will be dead at least.”

How casually he says that! War with another species. Intercontinental strife! I’ve talked to enough people to know how big this is. If Liscor, this gateway between north and south falls, it will be war, regardless of the Goblin excuse. Not to mention…I shake my head.

“War isn’t a good idea, Gamel. It seldom is, if ever. As for the Goblins, I very much fear that we are doing a terrible thing.”

The worst. I feel my shoulders ache. I have had time now. Time and perspective to think on what happened. And now that I have, I can sense the weight of my sin. Gamel doesn’t understand.

“They are monsters, Emperor.”

“Yes. And we treated them as such. We—I—ordered Wiskeria to attack them. To use poison gas. Tyrion marched them hundreds of miles. And soon, they will be killed to the last to start a war. There are historical precedents for this, Gamel. And it makes me think that we’re on the wrong side of history.”

I have done a terrible thing, I think. And I am about to be part of something just as bad. Or worse. But how can I get out of it? No way has presented itself. Tyrion is in charge here and I lack authority and power. Oh, I feel foolish.

Durene.

Gamel clears his throat. He hates it when I talk like this. The one argument we’ve ever had was when I said this was a mistake for the first time. Now, he dances around the subject.

“On the wrong side of history…isn’t that something for people with quills to decide, later, your majesty? [Scribes] and [Historians] and such? Why would their opinion matter?”

I shake my head. There’s so much I have to teach Gamel. Gamel and all the others. Things I have to remember. Morality and more.

“Gamel, it’s said that history is written by the victors. You understand? Whoever wins writes history. The Goblins’ side of things never gets brought up. And tragedy, the crimes committed by others…they tend to be overlooked when glorifying the past. But a record will remain, especially if I have anything to say about it.”

“Yes, sire.”

That’s code for ‘I don’t understand’, or perhaps ‘I don’t agree, but I’m not going to say so’. Or maybe ‘you’re an idiot’. I don’t care. I stretch. There’s already sounds coming from outside the tent. People getting ready. I still have an hour before I need to get up, though. The [Mages] will be getting the Goblins moving, but since I’m not in the advance group—being a poorer rider—I’ll be moving with the main body more slowly.

“Well, let’s get ready for the road. I want to ride with Lady Ieka today, Gamel. Please send a message to her and ask if she’s willing—”

I break off talking sharply. Gamel notices and turns towards the tent flaps. My senses extend just around the tent, but it’s enough to give me a warning. I hear a knock on the canvas flaps, and catch a whiff of a distinct smell. What’s this? I frown.

“Enter, Gralton.”

Outside I sense the man hesitate. Then Lord Gralton enters the tent. The infamous, hot-tempered dog lord steps into the tent and I smell the odor of dog on him. I sense him as well; a huge, imposing man. Gamel steps forwards, bowing, and I sense him only slightly shifting to get his sword’s hilt closer to his hand. He’s wary. And he should be.

Gralton. Of the [Lords] and [Ladies] in the camp, he’s one of the most powerful. The most unpredictable as well. He was one of the first people I was introduced to when I first arrived. And now he’s come here. That’s…unexpected. I haven’t said two words to him since the first night I arrived. To the other nobility, yes. But not to Gralton. While they tested and prodded at me, asking where I was from and trying to curry favor and weigh my influence, he just watched. And now…

“Can I help you, Gralton? Or are you going to keep sniffing me?”

I turn my head towards Gralton. The man narrows his eyes. But then he grunts.

“I’ve been looking for you. Emperor.”

The title is sardonic when he says it. I raise one eyebrow, refusing to be riled. Gralton will have to try harder than that. Besides, I had my first measure of the man and I know how to deal with him.

“Really? You’ll have to elaborate. And please stop looming over my manservant. Gamel, let Lord Gralton pass. I believe we have an understanding.”

“We do?”

Gralton steps forwards. I don’t bother to look at him. I can sense him, and it bothers people when I don’t pretend like I have eyes. I stare somewhere to the left of his navel and shrug.

“Let’s see if you recall. Heel.

I hear Gamel suck in his breath. Gralton freezes. For a second I sense his arms tense, and then he laughs. He takes a seat on the ground of the tent since there are no chairs.

“You’re brave, I’ll grant you. And if you weren’t an [Emperor] or half as brave, you’d pay for that. But since you and I understand each other—I didn’t come here to socialize. I came here to ask what you’re doing.”

“I see. Are you referring to the attack on Liscor, my presence in the camp, or something else?”

“All three. I want to know if you’re for this thing. War with the Drakes.”

Now that’s interesting. I cover a frown.

“Getting cold feet, Gralton? We’re all committed to this attack. Lord Tyrion has made it clear he’s expecting no dissidence.”

I hear a snort and pray Gralton won’t spit.

“He says that. But I’m my own man. I followed him because I thought we’d be killing Goblins. Now we’re starting a war and you appear. I want to know if this is all one big plan you and Veltras came up with. And if it’s not—I want to know what comes next.”

“You think I know? I am far from home myself, Gralton. And I’m not partial to war. It tends to leave all sides poorer. And as I’m sure you know, war never goes the way anyone expects. Just look at history.”

The man pauses.

“We’ve fought a lot of wars. Which one are you talking about, exactly? The Antinium Wars? Ones from wherever the hell you come from?”

I raise my eyebrows. By this point little verbal snares barely trip me up.

“Does it matter? Any war. Any great war, rather. It will be catastrophic. Tyrion may win or he may not, but wars always spell death and destruction.”

“So why are you supporting him?”

“Because I enjoy the scenery? Why are you?

He laughs at my response. But—I can sense his eyes on me. And the way he sits, alert, and from his posture, I get a sense. Gralton’s not as simple as he lets on. He’s bestial in some ways, but if it’s dog-like, it’s savage instinct that he has, not mindless aggression. He came here for a reason, and not to state the obvious.

“War’s war. We’ve never been fully at peace with the Drakes. They attack us, we attack them. I don’t care. If it’s a fight, I’ll take part in it. But it’s the politics I hate. If you sleep with the wrong people, you end up with knives in your back. Better to be in battle than face that.”

“Hmm.”

What is he saying? I frown, buying time. And then I sense someone else approaching the tent. I pause.

“We have another visitor. Gamel?”

He’s already at the tent flaps. I hear him halt whoever’s outside. I frown. I know that figure. And I know that voice.

“Your majesty? Lord Yitton Byres wishes to speak privately with you.”

Yitton? I sense Gralton shift to look past Gamel. Then he looks at me. I can sense him grin. He knew Yitton was coming.

Instinct. I nod at Gamel and he moves back.

“Very well, let him through. He can join our impromptu meeting.”

A man steps into my tent. He pauses when he sees Gralton sitting on the floor. For my part, I study Yitton in my mind.

An older man. Fit for his age, but not rich. He has a sword at his waist and chainmail. Mustache, beard…but it’s his reputation and my understanding of him that stands out in my head. The other nobles regard Yitton as inferior to them in many ways, a small [Lord], albeit with ancient holdings. But he’s someone that’s allowed into Tyrion Veltras’ most personal meetings. An honorable man, by all accounts.

And currently, haunted by something. Yitton takes a step into the tent and I incline my head.

“Emperor Laken.”

“Lord Yitton. What brings you here?”

The man hesitates. He glances sideways at Gralton, who just nods a greeting.

“I had hoped to speak with you privately, your…your majesty. Would you grant me an audience?”

“I would. Gamel, please guard the tent. As for you, Gralton—I rather suspect you’d like to stay. Which you may, unless Lord Byres objects?”

The [Lord] of the Byres House hesitates and looks at Gralton again. Something unspoken passes between them and he nods hesitantly.

“It’s…not that secret of a matter. By all means. Excuse me, Lord Gralton. My issue is urgent. I wouldn’t bring this up, but I have nowhere else to turn. Tyrion is not open to reason, and—”

And no one’s sticking their necks out for you. I nod.

“Go on.”

Yitton takes a deep breath.

“It’s my son. And my daughter. I think they may be in Liscor.”

I sit straighter. Gralton doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by this. He must already have known. But I didn’t. And that’s not good.

“Are you sure?”

He shakes his head.

“I do not know. Liscor’s Mage’s Guild is refusing all [Message] spells not from a Drake city. But my daughter was last sighted at the city. She and her team ran into an—an incident. I was informed she survived and joined a new team, and that my son went to check on her. But neither has sent me a [Message] spell and I fear they may be trapped in the city. Or worse, as prisoners.”

“And we are about to assault said city, which is inhabited by Drakes.”

“Yes.”

Yitton said the word heavily. I nod. That said it all, really. I heard that Yitton was against attacking Liscor from the start. It’s not a position anyone else in the camp has taken. But his sense of honor plus the fact that he might be putting his children in danger, well, it paints a picture.

A terrible one, because I can’t help him. But Lord Gralton and Yitton are both looking at me, and I sense I’m being tested. By Gralton. I think Yitton is genuinely at the end of his rope. But why Gralton? Does he want to see what I’ll do?

No, no, Gralton is too straightforward for that. Then, is he hoping I’ll help Yitton? Or perhaps—

I turn my head towards the two, more to buy time than anything else. Let’s see. We have an [Emperor], me. An unknown quantity. Lord Gralton, who hates trickery and is about as sociable and charming as a rotting pig’s carcass. But is powerful. And Yitton Byres, one of those rare honorable men people keep talking about. I’m not sure how honorable he really is if push comes to shove, but I think he’s a man who tries to be good.

Ah. I think Gralton sees what I see. An opportunity. I lace my hands together and lean forwards.

“I see. I understand your predicament, Lord Byres. Unfortunately, I doubt if anyone could persuade Lord Tyrion to halt the attack, for any reason. Nor do I have the…power to rescue your offspring if it turns out they are indeed in Liscor.”

Yitton’s shoulders fall. Not that I think he was expecting any other answer. He’s desperate.

“I see. My apologies, Emperor Godart, Gralton.”

He turns to go. I raise my voice.

“Lord Yitton, that doesn’t mean I’m unwilling to help. And, I think, neither is Gralton. If there is a way to rescue your children, whether by ransom or some other means, let’s discuss it.”

The man turns, hope on his face. I turn my head towards Gralton and sense him bare his teeth in a savage grin.

“Is there something that might be done?”

“Perhaps.”

I temper expectations. I don’t know, honestly. But the point isn’t to make outlandish statements. I look towards the tent opening and raise my voice.

“Gamel! Find two chairs for Lord Gralton and Lord Yitton, please. I think we’ll be here until we’re ready to ride. And perhaps while we’re riding we’ll speak further. Until then—Lord Yitton, please have a seat on the floor. I’d offer you my bed, but then I’d have to do the same to Gralton and I prefer life without fleas.”

The man barks a laugh. Yitton looks askance as he takes a seat on the floor. I sit and look at the two. It’s not just about Yitton’s son and daughter. It’s about forging connections. Choose your allies wisely. And unless I’m wrong, I’d guess that Lord Gralton’s made his choice faster than the other nobles. Faster than Lady Ieka who makes me nervous, Lord Erill who’s a bit too cunning, or the others.

“I don’t know what the future will hold, much less the attack on Liscor. But I do know that when the pieces are in the air, we can only make plans and hope they go well. You don’t know where your children are, Lord Yitton.”

“I know where two are. But the other two…”

Yitton trails off. I shake my head.

“If and when, gentlemen. If and then. If they are in Liscor and if we attack, what will occur?”

“They’ll be taken prisoner. Or killed.”

Gralton speaks bluntly. Lord Yitton puts his head in his hands. I turn my head reprovingly towards Gralton.

“Very well. But perhaps we can forestall that? With an offer of a ransom, perhaps. Or a guarantee? Do Drakes honor the rules of war? And what will your children do, Lord Yitton? I heard that they’re…adventurers?”

“Yes. Yvlon’s Silver-rank. And Ylawes is Gold-rank. His team is strong, but he couldn’t take on a city.”

“But he could protect his sister? Don’t give up hope, Lord Yitton. What would he do? And how might we aid him, if it comes to that. Lord Gralton, I’m sure you’d be willing to help. As allies.”

“Perhaps.”

The man growls. Yitton looks up. He glances towards me and Gralton as if he’s only now figuring out what’s going on. Perhaps honorable men are just rather slow on the uptake when it comes to intrigue. He hesitates, and then he nods and sits a bit straighter. He doesn’t seem that much more hopeful, but he’s trying.

“If Ylawes is in the city, he knows what’s coming. And the only reason he would stay is—he’s a [Knight], and he champions causes. But he wouldn’t risk a war unless Yvlon were there. He won’t abandon her. So he’d be trying to find them a way out. North, towards us, unless he’s wary of the Goblin Lord.”

“Would he go south?”

“He’s Human. And he’d run into all the Drakes heading towards Liscor. No. No, he’d go north. And if he were trying to escape…”

Yitton grips his hands together worriedly as he talks. I listen with Gralton as Gamel reappears with some chairs. We talk, forging the beginnings of what might be friendship, an alliance of convenience, or something else. And I invest my time and energy into helping Yitton do something for his son and daughter. What else can I do? I can’t stop the war. I can’t change Tyrion Veltras’ mind. I have very little power. But perhaps—I sense Gralton looking at me.

Perhaps I have an ally. A smart one who conceals his true intentions behind a façade that’s half-real. And who’s decisive enough to take sides rather than choose the strongest person to hide behind. Maybe Gralton’s a betting man. Maybe I look like a likely dark horse to him. There are worse allies to have than him and Lord Yitton Byres. I nod at Gralton.

A smart man. He still smells like wet dog, though. Then I turn my attention back to Lord Yitton. If his son really is in Liscor, I pray he won’t do anything stupid. For his father, if nothing else.

 

—-

 

“We’re going.”

Yvlon looked up at her brother. He was dressed in full armor and had his shield on one hand. His hand was hovering around his sword’s hilt as he stared down at her and looked around the inn. The other Gold-rank teams stared at him and Dawil and Falene, standing behind Ylawes. The Dwarf hefted his hammer and the half-Elf shifted her staff. Yvlon glanced at Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr. Then she looked up at her brother.

“What?”

“We’re going, Yvlon. Now. Grab your gear and get ready. We’re leaving Liscor and going north. Any team who wishes to join us—or anyone in the inn—is welcome to come, but we are going now. Before Liscor is attacked.”

The [Knight]’s jaw was set. Yvlon leaned back in her chair as Ceria rubbed one eye and stared down at her eggs. She looked towards Erin and Lyonette.

The inn was barely open this morning. And signs of last night’s festivities were still scattered around the inn. Empty mugs, plates that had yet to be washed, a passed-out Goblin lying under a table…Yvlon shook her head.

“It’s too early for this. Lyonette! Can I get some water?”

She waved her mug. Ylawes frowned at her.

“This isn’t a joke, Yv.”

“I’m not saying it is. And I’m not going, Ylawes. I’m staying with my team.”

Yvlon looked back up at Ylawes, scowling. Her brother grimaced.

“So you’ve said. But your captain doesn’t seem capable of making up her mind.”

“Hey, I’m just—”

Ceria protested weakly. Yvlon stood up.

“We’re going with Erin. We’re not leaving her behind.”

“I’m making up my mind too!”

Erin shouted from the kitchen. Ylawes looked at her and shook his head.

“I understand that, and it is a noble cause, Yvlon. But be realistic: Liscor is about to be attacked, and when it is, both you and I will be in grave danger. Our only chance is to go north now. Persuade your captain, bring Miss Solstice and the others.”

“I have a name you know, it’s Ceria—”

“Why don’t you go and let us decide what we’re doing, Ylawes? If we go north, we’ll go north. But we’ll do it with our team. You can leave.”

Yvlon folded her arms. She wasn’t wearing her armor, but her metal armguards and gauntlets were more or less permanent fixtures now. They covered the…modifications Pisces had done to her arms. And the damage.

“I won’t leave without you.”

The [Knight] snapped, his brows crossing with vexation. Yvlon sighed.

“I’m not a child, Ylawes!”

“But you are my sister. If father learned that I abandoned you—”

“This isn’t about what our father would say! And what I do isn’t your problem, Ylawes.”

“It is. I can’t let you risk your life any further. We’re going and you are coming with us. This isn’t a discussion.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Yvlon stared at Ylawes’ face, exasperated and annoyed. It was always like this. He was always in charge and she was sick of it. She stared past Ylawes at his teammates.

“I’m not budging. I’m a grown woman and an adventurer in my own right. You don’t give me orders, even if you are Gold-rank. Just go, Ylawes. What does your team think of this? Falene? Dawil?”

The half-Elf shrugged her slim shoulders.

“I follow my team captain, Miss Byres. And I happen to agree that you and your team are being quite foolish. It falls to us to keep the less-experienced out of harm’s way.”

Ceria rolled her eyes. Yvlon looked at Dawil. The Dwarf hesitated.

“I can’t say I’m pleased, lass. But your brother has a point. There’s a fine line between stubbornness and suicide and you’re pushing both. Why not leave?”

Because it would mean being saved by Ylawes. Yvlon scowled. She didn’t want to say it, but that was why. And because Erin wasn’t going. That too. But mainly the first part.

“It’s my choice. I’m a Horn of Hammerad and we aren’t budging.”

She looked at Ylawes. The [Knight] blew out his cheeks, and looked around. Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, Gemhammer—the other teams of adventurers who were waiting in Erin’s inn, taking turns moving the door further south—stared at him. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“This discussion is over. Yvlon, if you won’t see reason, we’ll have to take you by force. Come on—”

He reached for her arm. Yvlon backed up.

“Don’t, Ylawes.”

“Be reasonable. Don’t make me force you.”

“You? I’m not six, anymore, Ylawes. You can’t pick me up and carry me.”

“If I have to, I will.”

Again, Ylawes grabbed at Yvlon’s arm. This time he seized the metal vambrace. Yvlon gritted her teeth. She pulled, but Ylawes was strong.

“Let go.”

“Don’t resist. Your arms are fragile.”

“Then let go.

Yvlon yanked, and Ylawes nearly stumbled. He let go, afraid of damaging her arms. Yvlon felt fine. She backed up as Ylawes looked at Ceria.

“Please talk some sense to her.”

The half-Elf got up slowly. So did Pisces and Ksmvr. Ceria looked uneasy, but her expression firmed as she looked at Yvlon.

“We’re not going yet, Ylawes. And Yvlon’s one of us. If she doesn’t want to go, you have to respect that.”

“He is doing this for her own good, Ceria. I’ve pointed out the obvious to you as well. Why won’t you heed reason? We are both half-Elves—”

Falene scowled at Ceria. The [Ice Mage] rolled her eyes.

“And that makes us kin, right? Forget it. You can go, but if you try to take Yvlon, we’ll—”

“What, stop us?”

The tone of Falene’s voice was frankly disbelieving. Yvlon felt a surge of adrenaline and anger as the [Battlemage] looked from her to Ceria. Pisces folded his arms.

“You would do well to reconsider any threat, Miss Skystrall.”

“Yes. We are completely and legally able to defend ourselves with lethal force. I think.”

Ksmvr nodded. Dawil raised a hand.

“Hold on, you two. Falene and Ylawes aren’t suggesting—”

“Yes we are, Dawil. Ylawes, take your sister. I have had enough of arguing.”

“And I’ve had enough of you two trying to order us around.”

Yvlon reached for her sword. Ylawes stared at her and his hand went to his hilt.

“Don’t be a fool, Yvlon!”

“Then back off.”

“I can’t. Why are you being so stubborn when I’m just trying to help you?”

“I. Don’t. Want. Your Help! I never have!”

Yvlon snapped at Ylawes. She drew her sword, or tried to. The blade was half-way out of the sheathe when Falene pointed a finger at her.

“[Binding Cords – Iron]. Ylawes, take her!”

A series of thin metal cords erupted from her fingertip and wrapped around Yvlon. The [Wounded Warrior] shouted in outrage and fell back, struggling. Ylawes stepped forwards and a wall of ice sprang up.

“Don’t do this—”

Ceria warned Ylawes, but Falene pointed her staff again. The ice shattered as something struck it and Ceria stumbled back. Pisces made a noise of outrage. He lifted his hands and flames burst from them, aimed at Falene. Ylawes surged to block them and the flames burned harmlessly around his shield.

“Is it combat, then? Should I aim to incapacitate or kill, Captain Ceria?”

Ksmvr drew his shortsword raised his dagger. Falene bound him with the cords spell as well.

“Stop! Stop, you featherbrained nitwit!”

Dawil roared at Falene. He shoulder-charged the [Mage] as Ceria raised another ice wall. Yvlon was struggling as Ylawes bent to grab her. She tried to kick him, and he tried to pull her up, but he had miscalculated how heavy she was—and how hard it was to drag an uncooperative person single-handedly. Pisces drew his rapier and Ylawes turned towards him. The [Knight] drew his sword and Yvlon shouted.

“Ylawes, don’t!

Pisces and Ylawes faced off as Ceria aimed her wand at the struggling Dawil and Falene, who were shouting at each other. Ylawes narrowed his eyes and Pisces lowered his posture. The two hesitated—and an arrow embedded itself on the table next to them. Both dodged back and turned.

Halrac lowered his bow. The other adventurers were on their feet. Ylawes turned to them, and then twisted. He blocked a whirling frying pan and the cast iron pan clattered to the ground. Erin lowered her hands.

“Darn. That never works anymore.”

“Don’t interfere.”

Ylawes snapped at Halrac. The [Scout] aimed his bow at the [Knight]’s chest.

“That’s not your decision to make. Let your sister go, Ylawes. She’s an adventurer and so are you. You don’t get to order her, family or not.”

“That’s precisely why—”

Ylawes’ face flushed. Bevussa folded her wing-arms, looking annoyed.

“I’ve seen enough too. This may be a family matter, but it’s turned into a Gold-rank team fighting a Silver-rank one. Enough. Falene, put down your staff. Cast a spell and we’ll all attack you. This is stupid and pointless.”

The other adventurers nodded. Typhenous pointed his staff at Falene. The half-Elf hesitated and lowered her staff reluctantly. She glared, and then doubled over. Dawil had kicked her hard in the shins. The Dwarf looked at his two teammates and shook his head.

“You idiots. I told you they’d never go. Listen to the other Gold-ranks.”

“I can’t just—”

Ylawes swore as Dawil kicked him in the shins, hard enough to go through the metal armor. The Dwarf glared up at him.

“You want to carry your sister off like a damsel in distress? It didn’t work the first time you tried it, and it won’t work now. If you want to give it a shot, I’ll scrape you off the floor when the other Gold-ranks paste you to it. Otherwise we’re done here. Idiots.”

He stomped away. Ylawes stared at Dawil, his teeth set, and then looked around. He stared at Yvlon.

“Sister, please think about this.”

“I have. I’m not going, Ylawes.”

Yvlon folded her arms. Ceria hesitated, looking at Ylawes. The [Knight] breathed in and out, slowly, trying to keep calm.

“Then what will you do? If Liscor falls—”

“I’ll go with my team. If Liscor falls, we’ll take Erin south.”

“But the Drakes—”

“Are not your concern. We’ll survive, Ylawes. But I’m not going to follow you.”

“I see.”

The [Knight] looked pained. And hurt. Yvlon’s own chest stung a bit as he straightened. He had come all this way for her. But she’d never asked him to. He turned and looked around again, then at Yvlon. Then, at last, he shook his head.

“I thought—”

He never finished the sentence. Ylawes just turned and walked out of the inn. Falene looked at Ceria. Pisces made a few rude gestures.

“Remember we offered you a chance. We are leaving Liscor.”

She swept after Ylawes. Dawil was last. The Dwarf tugged on his beard, looking close to swearing. He stared at his teammates as they walked out the door, then looked around. His voice was somber as he spoke.

“I’m sorry about that, friends. But it seems like we’re going.”

“North?”

Halrac queried Dawil. The Dwarf nodded.

“North. We’ll try to avoid the Goblin Lord. But we’re leaving the city today, unless my teammates have other plans. It’s been a pleasure.”

“It has.”

Bevussa nodded at him. Revi waved a hand hesitantly. Yvlon, the iron cords disappearing as Falene’s spell ended, sat up. She looked at Dawil. The Dwarf looked tiredly at her.

“Wait, you’re going? Just like that?”

Erin stared at the Dwarf. Dawil shrugged and smiled ruefully.

“I’d like to say goodbye. But those idiots are storming off. Hey, wait for me!

He turned and roared out of the door. Then he looked over his shoulder. There seemed like so much more he wanted to say. But the Dwarf just turned.

“Farewell. Let’s all meet again someday.”

And then he was gone. Yvlon stared at the door. She stood up slowly.

“He’s going? Just like that?”

“Did you want him to stay?”

Pisces sat at a table and watched as Ksmvr sat up. The Antinium looked around and sheathed his weapons, looking ashamed.

“I have been of no use. I am worthless.”

He sat down too. Ceria closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

“Damn. Are you sure it’s for the best, Yvlon?”

“Yes. I wasn’t going to go with Ylawes anyways. He was always like that, giving me orders. It was just—”

“Just?”

The others looked at her. Yvlon shook her head. Her eyes went to the closed door.

“It was just that he came all this way and did so much for me. Because he was worried. And I never said thank you for that.”

The others looked at her. Yvlon wanted to run to the door. But she held still. One of the adventurers who’d watched everything unfold uttered a curse.

“Humans.”

Yvlon glared at him. The Drake met her gaze and looked away. Erin stared about.

“Well, that sucked.”

No one argued with that. The adventurers sat in silence as Lyonette brought Yvlon some water. Then the door opened. Yvlon looked up. Was it Ylawes, back again?

No. It was Olesm, Zevara, and a host of the City Watch. The adventurers froze as Zevara stepped into the inn through the magic doorway. The Watch Captain looked around.

“Hey, Zevara. Olesm. Can I get you an—”

The Watch Captain forestalled Erin with a claw. She looked about the inn, and Yvlon saw her focus on the sleeping Goblin on the floor. She nodded to one of the [Guardsmen].

“Secure the door.”

A few of the Drakes and Gnolls moved to the door. The adventurers watched, growing more and more nervous. Then Yvlon saw a pair of [Guardsmen] she recognized walk through. Klbkch and Relc took up positions by the door. And another pair of Senior Guards walked through as well.

“What’s this about, Watch Captain?”

Keldrass stood up. He eyed Zevara. The female Drake looked at him and spoke.

“We know you’re trying to leave Liscor.”

The adventurers paused. Olesm cleared his throat.

“By Drake military law, all adventurers in or around Liscor must come to the city’s defense in times of crisis. Dereliction of duty is a treasonous offense.”

“You can’t conscript us. This is a war. We’re not part of it!”

Revi folded her arms. Zevara glanced at her and shook her head. She addressed the Drake teams from Pallass.

“This is not an option. You must stay in Liscor. The city needs your strength to hold the line. As Watch Captain, I order you to remain in the city. And to ensure that is so, I am confiscating the door. As we should have done from the start.”

She gestured. A pair of Gnolls grabbed the magic doorway. Erin stared.

“You can’t do that.”

Zevara looked at Erin.

“I can and must. This is a matter of security—”

“Hold on. You’re not taking that door.”

Halrac pointed at the doorway. Zevara turned and the Watch braced themselves.

“Stand down.”

“You stand down.”

Revi glared as she cracked her knuckles, not quite pointing her wand at Olesm’s feet. The Drake gulped. Zevara didn’t blink.

“We are taking the door. If you try and stop us, we will—”

“Do what? Arrest us? There are thousands of Goblins between the inn and Liscor. And us. You’ll never make it.”

Zevara looked at Revi, and then past her at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked blank, and then backed up a step.

“Hold on…”

The adventurers looked at each other as the City Watch edged towards the door. Halrac cursed as he slowly drew an arrow. Zevara waited, daring them to make the first move. Olesm gulped. Relc and Klbkch, who’d set themselves up near Zevara, were braced. Relc was chanting under his breath.

“Bar fight! Bar fight! Bar fight!

No one else said a word. The stalemate drew out and out, until the adventurers and the City Watch heard pounding footsteps. Then Ilvriss hurtled out of the door.

 

—-

 

Some days he forgot what Periss’ face looked like. It was unbelievable, but so. Some days he forgot the sound of her voice. Already, memory was failing him. But he had sworn an oath. And he remembered the drink Erin had given him. Part of him wanted to taste it again, to sink into the past. But he recognized magic and he understood the addiction of drugs.

Later, perhaps, he could inquire. But not now. Now, he was needed and more than ever. A Wall Lord did not run from his duty. He ran to his duty and embraced it. Ilvriss had not touched a drop of alcohol since that day. Nor had he succumbed to despair, even in these dark hours. And neither had Liscor. If it fell, it fell with dignity. And he would remind them of that.

Ilvriss had begun running when he’d heard of Zevara’s plan to take the door back. Of course, Swifttail had understood the issue. It was obvious, really. The adventurers were fleeing the city by hook or crook and if they could not go north, they would go south. But why hadn’t Zevara stopped to think about what she was doing? If they fought—

Dignity. Ilvriss charged through the magic door, tripped as the uneven cobblestones turned to wooden floorboards, and nearly crashed into a table. Only wind milling arms saved him. He steadied himself, brushed his clothes off, and turned. The Watch and adventurers stared. At him. At his chest. Because Ilvriss wore the Heartflame Breastplate. It glowed, not yet burning, but shining with golden-red light. Ilvriss looked around, drawing strength from the warmth of the artifact.

“Watch Captain, hold. Adventurers. Hold. This will not come to bloodshed. The first person to strike, I will personally cut down.”

“Hold on, isn’t that—”

Erin’s forehead wrinkled. Ilvriss ignored her. He straightened and took a deep breath. The adventurers were staring at the door. One of them, the Human with a surly expression, gestured at it with his bow.

“That door isn’t leaving the inn.”

“On the contrary, it must. It is a security risk if this inn should fall. And it will, if the Goblin Lord’s army attacks Liscor. We will take it into the city and place it in the city hall.”

“Not before we leave.”

The Gold-rank [Scout] looked ready for a fight. The other adventurers less so. The Drake-led groups were especially nervous. Attacking a Watch Captain was already trouble. A Wall Lord? Ilvriss capitalized on the uncertainty.

“I said hold. Listen to my proposal before you take action. Watch Captain, Strategist Olesm, you two as well. I agree that this door must go to Liscor. Left in the inn, it would be in danger of falling into the Human’s hands. But by the same token, it cannot be overlooked as a means of escape from Liscor. I propose to let the adventurers use it to leave Liscor.”

What?

Zevara’s shout of outrage was forestalled by Ilvriss’ raised claw. He kept his eyes on Halrac, Bevussa, Keldrass, and the others. The Gold-rank captains were staring uncertainly at Ilvriss. He nodded.

“I am aware of the dangers. And I do not ask your teams to die for the city.”

The adventurers relaxed a bit. Ilvriss narrowed his eyes.

However, I demand that you fight. I demand that you stay until the cause is lost. Your teams will not leave Liscor until the walls fall and the battle is unwinnable. You will stay and join Liscor’s defenders. The door will remain in the heart of the city, as an escape route.”

“But that’s—”

The adventures looked at each other uneasily. Ilvriss saw them weighing the odds. Fighting would be deadly and dangerous. If they had to hold until the siege was unavoidably lost—Ilvriss looked sideways as he heard a polite cough.

“And if we declined this honor, Wall Lord? Some of our teams are allied with the Human cities, or at least determined not to bear arms against our kind. What prevents us from leaving now?”

Typhenous, the elderly Human [Mage] inquired politely, his eyes flicking towards the door. Ilvriss grinned mirthlessly.

“Does honor and duty not compel you, Human?”

“Not sufficiently, no.”

The Drake nodded.

“Well then, here is another reason. You will be going south, into Drake lands. You could try your luck heading north—if you don’t run into the Goblin Lord’s army and perish. But if you go south, you will run straight into reinforcements from every Drake city on the continent. And I will have told all of them of your treachery.”

Typhenous’ polite smile melted off his face. Ilvriss looked around. Now he had every eye on him.

“Until the day of the siege, until I take my last breath and the last [Mage] falls—if I see any of your teams flee, I will send a [Message] spell to every city. You will be wanted in any place that Drakes draw breath as traitors. Consider that. I offer you the chance to fight and retreat honorably. Run with your tails between your legs and the world will know of it.”

The inn stood frozen as Ilvriss turned from face to face. Halrac met the Wall Lord’s eyes.

“I don’t fight my own people, Wall Lord.”

“Should I then consider you an enemy?”

Ilvriss laid a claw on his sword hilt. The Watch tensed. Halrac’s eyes flicked to Ilvriss, to the door, and then to his team. Typhenous looked pale, and Revi wide-eyed and nervous. At last, the [Scout] lowered his bow.

“If it comes to a battle, I won’t fight. I don’t kill Humans.”

He paused and looked at Zevara.

“But. I am an adventurer. If it’s Goblins, I’ll hold the walls.”

Zevara glanced at Ilvriss and the Wall Lord nodded.

“That is acceptable. Now, Miss Solstice, please talk to the Goblins outside of the inn so we may carry the door into the city. Unless you object? I would suggest that you bring your people inside the walls soon.”

“I—but—okay, but—is it necessary? Can’t they go? Is it—”

The young woman looked at Ilvriss uncertainly. And she was young, for all she was so much different from any other Human he’d met. She looked at Ilvriss and he saw the real question in her eyes.

Was this happening? Was it really happening? He nodded. Yes. He wanted to say it. Yes, girl. Yes, child. It was. The adventurers braced themselves. They understood. Some had lived through it, and the others could imagine it. But Erin Solstice could not. She had never seen a battle of this magnitude and she couldn’t grasp at the implications, even now. But Ilvriss could. He braced himself, feeling the tingle running down his spine.

It was war.

 

—-

 

“Remember, only kill Goblins and Humans. Do not kill the Drakes unless ordered. Other targets will be specified as friendly or enemies. When the battle begins, the Free Queen, Klbkch, and I will lead. Your Queen’s commands are superseded by our own. Is that clear?”

Xrn, the Small Queen stood on a small platform of earth and looked down. Fourteen Prognugators and one Revalantor looked up at her. They were the representatives of three Hives. The Flying Antinium, the Silent Antinium, and the Armored Antinium.

Tersk stood shoulder-to-shoulder with three of his fellow Prognugators, who wore the thick steel armor that marked their Soldiers. Pivr flexed his wings with his four Prognugators. A pair of shadowy, camouflaged shapes marked the two Silent Antinium leaders. The rest were regular Prognugators, who looked like regular Workers but bore silvery blades. Copies of the Slayer himself. They had come from the Grand Hive to lead Workers and Soldiers into battle.

As had she. The Small Queen’s eyes shone with multiple colors, red for battle excitement, blue in anticipation, bright yellow and white for hope. She looked down on the Prognugators and then past them. At the army of Antinium standing in the tunnel.

They had come. From the interconnecting tunnels in the Hive, the Queens had sent their Soldiers, their prized warriors. An army of steel-bound Soldiers from the Armored Hive, ready to do battle with weapons forged for them. A flying horde of warrior types who moved about restlessly, fanning their green wings. A few giant Antinium stood out among them, hunched, beetle-like forms with rending mandibles. War machines.

And lastly, the fewest in number but just as deadly, the Silent Antinium. Camouflaged assassins who blended with their surroundings. Their arms were scything blades capable of cutting metal. Three Hive’s worth of warriors, and more arriving by the day.

Not just Soldiers either, but Workers. All three Hives had sent their own to dig the vast tunnel north to Liscor. The effort was monumental; not only did they have to dig the tunnel large enough to transport an army swiftly, but they had to make sure the roof wouldn’t collapse thousands of tons of dirt on their heads. And they had to do it quickly and in secret.

Tens of thousands of Workers moved behind Xrn, excavating stone and dirt. More Soldiers stood at the ready, prepared to fight anything that attacked the digging Workers. Already they’d had to do battle with a number of subterranean monsters. This project was not easy.

But it was proceeding on time. When Liscor fell and the city’s people retreated into the Hive of the Free Antinium, an army would be there, ready to take back the city from the Humans. They could do it. And if the Drakes or Humans tried to seize the city again—

That would be a task for the Twisted Antinium and the Grand Hive’s forces. Tersk shivered. He had seen a few of the Twisted Antinium gathering as well, preparing to intercept the Drake armies. They were—different. While each Hive of the Antinium was varied, the creations of the Twisted Queen were disturbing. They had been kept away from the other Hives, because to look upon some of them was to become Aberration for a number of Soldiers and Workers. They bothered Tersk and he could not fathom why. They were all Antinium. Weren’t they?

Whatever the case, the army was here. Tersk watched as Xrn’s head turned left and right, regarding the Prognugators.

“Remember. You come not as invaders, but liberators. Heroes. This battle is the first of many. But with it, the Antinium shall truly have a city of their own.”

The Prognugators looked up at her, and Tersk felt their confusion. Why did it matter? What use was a city to the Antinium? He knew. And he saw Xrn’s eyes turn to him and felt the shock run through him. Yes, he knew. He thought of the strange city, and of the things he had learned there. It was worth sacrificing tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of Antinium to have it. To become…something more.

Tersk looked back at the silent rows of Soldiers in gleaming armor. The pride of his Hive. They waited, and Tersk waited as well. He would soon be there. He thought of Pawn and wondered if the Worker was as excited as he was. At last, they would pit their might against the Humans. The Antinium had been preparing for this day since before Tersk had been born. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t…

 

—-

 

“No. No, wait. It is too soon. What do you mean?”

Pawn grabbed desperately at Anand’s arm. The other Worker turned to him. The [Tactician] clicked his mandibles together.

“Pawn, I have said too much. Just bear in mind what I said. Prepare your unit for combat.”

“You have not said enough! Why was I not informed? What do you mean, our role will not be to hold Liscor? What will we be doing? Will Erin—”

Pawn broke off. Anand was shaking his head.

“Revalantor Klbkch has forbidden me from speaking of it. I know my role, but he believes you might—complicate the issue. When the time comes, you will lead the Painted Soldiers into battle. That is all. Pawn, I cannot say more.”

Anand looked guilty. Pawn stared at him. He had orders. But he had to say more, orders or not. He opened his mandibles.

“All of the Painted soldiers?”

“All of them.”

Anand nodded. He looked past Pawn, at the Soldiers who filled the barracks. There were a lot more than the odd three hundred or so that Pawn had started with. They had tripled their numbers, and now Painted Soldiers and Workers filled the expanded barracks. But many were new. The old ones, the veterans who had enough levels to truly show for it, stood teaching the other Soldiers how to be…[Soldiers]. They read books, they sat, they ate snacks. They were.

The thought of taking them into combat—a war—was horrifying. Pawn had already been struggling with the thought of Liscor falling under attack, but from what Anand said, the Antinium wouldn’t just be holding the walls. They would be doing something else. And Pawn was afraid they were going to betray their allies.

“Are we going to leave them to die? Selys? Mrsha? Lyonette? Erin?”

Anand hesitated.

“I have been issued with orders to keep them safe. If possible.”

“If possible.”

Pawn echoed the words. Anand nodded. He looked back at Pawn.

“Pawn—I cannot say all of what will happen. But the plan is good. And Erin will most likely survive.”

“You cannot guarantee it, though.”

“No.”

The two Workers looked at each other. Pawn shook his head.

“So I am to wait? To lead my Painted Soldiers into battle when the order comes and not know what happens?”

“That is correct. That is what we’ve always done, Pawn.”

“It’s not enough.”

The Worker whispered. It wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Anand hesitated, and then turned away.

“It is all we can do.”

He walked away. Pawn watched him go. He turned to look at the Soldiers and Workers, at Yellow Splatters, Purple Smile—and he shook his head.

“No. There must be more.”

But he didn’t know what that was. So Pawn bent his head, clasped his hands together, and began to pray. For a miracle, for knowledge. For anything. He listened, his heart beating, but he heard nothing.

 

—-

 

“Lord Veltras. Another [Message] for you. From our informant.”

“I’ll hear it.”

Tyrion Veltras rode at the head of his army. He watched as the Goblins ran ahead of him. A vast host. Enough to take a city. And that wasn’t even counting the army of Humans that marched behind him. He turned his head as his aide, Jericha spoke crisply, reciting the [Message] spell verbatim.

“The portal door is now in Liscor’s possession. It is connected to a passageway south of the city. The Gold-rank teams will fight in Liscor and flee through it if the city is lost with civilians.”

“Or to reinforce the city through the door. Dragons take it all!”

Tyrion Veltras’ brows snapped together. He felt a surge of frustration.

“That [Mage] assured us the door would be inoperable!”

“He probably expected to flee through it and didn’t consider the fact that the recovery effort would fail—or that the city would seize the door after the connection to Pallass had been lost.”

Jericha frowned. Tyrion just clenched a gauntleted fist. Lord Erill and Lady Ieka had provided the criminal element. He had been against it—a force of [Knights] could have seized the door—but against his better judgment he had allowed the covert operation. And see what had happened.

“Can the informant do anything?”

“He reports not, Lord Veltras.”

“Very well. Liscor may be reinforced, but the numbers will be low. And the presence of an escape route may work in our favor. The adventurers and other elements of the city will flee through it.”

Tyrion grimly adjusted his plans, thinking through how the door could be used against them. They had to seize it. Jericha cleared her throat.

“There are two other missives that may require your attention personally, Lord Veltras.”

“Speak.”

“The first is from Lady Reinhart—”

“Ignore it. I told you, I am not in the mood to bandy words with her.”

The [Mage] nodded quickly. She licked her lips nervously, an usual gesture.

“I understand that Lord Veltras. But this latest [Message] is—is not like the others.”

“How so?”

Tyrion looked back at Jericha. Magnolia had been sending him messages nonstop, urging him to halt his campaign, to turn back or take a different tact. Ever since she had learned what he was doing. She was resourceful, he would give her that. But he could not be swayed. All of her power lay in influence, gold, and political power. He had direct military might and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Or so he’d thought. But the look on Jericha’s face told him that his unflappable aide had been disturbed. She spoke slowly.

“This latest [Message] was—addressed to me, Lord Veltras. Magnolia Reinhart mentioned me by name and issued a…warning if it was not delivered. The contents are quite extraordinary.”

The scion of the Veltras House tensed. If Magnolia threatened Jericha or his servants—he forced himself not to give into emotion.

“Repeat it, then.”

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. The message from Magnolia Reinhart, omitting the introduction to me, reads as follows: ‘To Tyrion. I see you are set on your course, despite my warnings and urgings to the contrary. It seems you have placed your faith in war. I, however, think you are a fool of the highest caliber. Your plan will not succeed. Do not force my hand, or I will take steps both you and I will come to regret to stop you. Sincerely, Magnolia Reinhart.’”

A silence followed Jericha’s words. The [Mage] looked at Tyrion. He frowned.

“Take steps…there is no way she could halt this army. Is she intending to provide more aide to the Drakes?”

“She already leaked the information of the trebuchets to them. It is hard to imagine what she could do.”

“Assassins, perhaps. Double the night sentries and keep a close eye on the food. Aside from that—ignore her messages. But report any ones of similar quality to me.”

Tyrion saw Jericha nod. He put Magnolia out of his mind. He could not be stopped. Not by her or anyone. Liscor burned in his mind. It had to be taken. He would see victory in his lifetime or put the wheels in motion to end this millennia-long war for dominance with the Drakes. He would have vengeance.

A final time Jericha interrupted Tyrion.

“Lord Veltras. You have a message from your estates. Ullim reports that your sons are growing restless. They are inquiring about your absence and growing unruly.”

For a second, all thoughts of war and plans vanished from Tyrion’s mind. He twisted in his saddle. Ullim was his [Majordomo]. Tyrion had entrusted the welfare of his sons, Hethon and Sammial to him. They were boys, too young to even become squires. Well, Hethon was not, but he wasn’t of the right temperament for that life. And Sammial was too wild, yet.

“What is Ullim doing? I told him to keep the boys in care.”

Jericha ducked her head.

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. But the issue isn’t—if you’ll permit me to speak freely, I believe it is that the two are simply lonely. The boys miss their father. That’s all.”

Tyrion stared at Jericha until she flushed and looked down. He blinked. When he had grown up, his father had been dead. Dead and buried, a casualty of the plots of the Reinharts. And the two were…? He felt a moment of regret and wished their mother was there. She would have known what to do. She would have been there. But she too was dead.

And that had led him here, in part. Tyrion turned forwards, forcing himself to put the past out of his head.

“Tell them I am on campaign. They should know what that means. If all goes well at Liscor, I may have time to return. I will attempt to make time. That is…all.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

There was a pause as Jericha relayed the message. Tyrion stared ahead at the Goblins as he rode. He tried to keep thinking of Liscor, keep replaying the battle and its innumerable permutations in his head. But he was distracted, now. By Magnolia, damn her, and his sons. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing. She was a thorn in his back. Some day he would have to pluck the thorny branch from which she grew. Burn the Reinhart estates to the ground. But they were a dangerous, difficult weed and she was the worst. Why didn’t she see the danger of the Drakes? Why was she opposed to him?

Lonely. Tyrion bowed his head for a second. Then he forced himself up. He couldn’t waver now. And Magnolia couldn’t stop him. No matter what she did.

 

—-

 

“Well, he hasn’t responded. So I suppose it’s come to this. Ressa, prepare my riding dress, will you? It’s time to put our plan into action. Oh dear. No one will be happy about this. Tyrion least of all.”

Magnolia Reinhart sighed as she sat in her parlor with a group of [Ladies], all of whom could be considered her closest friends. They sat with her, sipping from tea or sampling biscuits. Noblewomen all, each a fair flower of the realm. As dangerous as any [Lord] in their own right.

They were Lady Bethal Walchaís, fiery and beautiful. Lady Zanthia, old, tough as steel and demanding. Lady Pryde, for whom the name was as fitting as it was insufficient. Lady Wuvren, of whom the [Bards] had once sang songs about. And still did. It was said that an Archmage had drowned himself after being rejected. It had actually only been a [Star Sorcerer] of course, but you know how people exaggerated such things.

Those [Ladies] and a few others. Magnolia Reinhart’s inner circle. The people she trusted explicitly. Her army, in truth. Tyrion Veltras had his forces and they could raze a city in a day. Magnolia Reinhart could move mountains with hers.

Hypothetical mountains. Mountains of stubbornness, fear, and self-interest. The [Ladies] could alter the fate of the continent through politics and words. And it was for that reason Magnolia had gathered them. Although the Lady Reinhart feared that words wouldn’t be enough this time. It was time for action, and terrible action at that.

“My friends. It seems Lord Tyrion has declined to speak with me yet again. Or even snap back. He is set in his course, and so we must be set in ours. The time is upon us. Before we leave, have you any objections to my plan?”

The [Ladies] looked up. Lady Zanthia pursed her lips and Bethal tilted her head back. It was Wuvren who spoke up first.

“You do know that he will never forgive you, Magnolia? Even if your attempt fails? You’ll risk the enmity of the entire north, for what? To stop him from seizing Liscor?”

“In order to stop a war, I’d gladly make enemies of my peers, Lady Wuvren. I only ask whether you are ready for such a task. It must be done. If we enter another war of centuries, we will fall to ruin.”

Magnolia looked at Wuvren. The [Lady] nodded.

“I suppose it is, at that. Well, I will do my part, though it may be a mistake.”

That was enough for Magnolia. She turned.

“Lady Zanthia, you had a thought?”

“Only that we may all be dead ere a few months pass. But I acceded to your leadership and I won’t speak against it. But when you strike, do it at the right moment.”

The old woman fixed Magnolia with a gaze that even the [Lady] had a hard time meeting. Magnolia resisted the push of Zanthia’s will and smiled. It was always a test with her.

“Of course. I will wait for the opportune moment. As one must. But we must neither be too slow nor too quick.”

“A [Lady] is never early, or so the saying goes.”

Bethal laughed lightly. Magnolia smiled as some of the other [Ladies] sighed and rolled their eyes. They would have taken Bethal’s presence more easily if Thomast had been there, but husbands, bodyguards, and everyone except for Ressa had been barred from this most august of meetings.

“Yes, Lady Bethal, I have heard the saying too. But I’m afraid that while a [Lady] is never early, she is quite often late. Let it not be so this time. Do let me know if you run into complications. As for the rest—we have a day to move into position. Reynold will take you to your destinations.”

The [Ladies] nodded. They stood up, smoothing dresses, chattering lightly. And their eyes flashed brightly. They were no strangers to hard decisions, or war if it came to that. They had lived through multiple wars. Lady Zanthia had lived through more than a dozen. And they were ready to do what it took to stop another one.

But the cost. Oh, the cost. Magnolia closed her eyes as they left. This would be a problem. Damn Tyrion. He had forced her hand. But it could not be war with the Drakes. Better to throw all of the north into chaos, first. Better that. She sighed—and realized she wasn’t alone.

Ressa was there of course. She was always there. But Lady Bethal had remained on the couch. She looked up at Lady Magnolia.

“Magnolia, explain something to me.”

“If you insist, Bethal. What is it?”

The Lady Walchaís studied a sugary biscuit and made a face. She stood up slowly and looked at the map that Magnolia had provided the others—marked in several spots, purely as a conversational topic.

“Lord Tyrion Veltras is certainly going after the Drakes with a passion. Is it just that he hates them? As a people, I mean. Or is it something else? I feel as though I should know, but I don’t pay attention to the affairs of the realm as much as the others.”

“You don’t pay attention to anything but your husband, Bethal.”

The woman flashed a grin at Magnolia.

“True! So what was it? I feel like it was related to his wife.”

“It was.”

“Ah. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Luckily.”

Ressa muttered as she cleared the table. Magnolia stomped on her foot, or tried to. Ressa dodged. Bethal paid no attention to the two of them.

“Yes. I met her once. I can see why you wouldn’t want her around. But you didn’t have anything to do with her death, did you? It was—a fall. But there was something suspicious about it. Was it—”

“Yes, Bethal. It was the Drakes. Or a Drake [Assassin]. Lord Tyrion found the dead body of a Drake and his wife. A tragic scene. I believe Sammial, his youngest, was not six years old when it happened.”

“Oh! So it was recent?”

Magnolia sighed. Sometimes she wanted to smack Bethal across the back of the head. But that would start a fight and Bethal was quite adept with knives.

“I have no doubt you received an invitation, Bethal. Yes, it was recent. I think Tyrion Veltras always had designs on taking the fight to the Drakes. But since his wife’s death—yes.”

“And how does he know it was the Drakes who killed her?”

“Because the [Assassin] was hired by them.”

“And how does he—”

“Because I told him, Bethal.”

The woman turned. Magnolia met her eyes, and her voice was cold. Ressa looked up.

“I told him. When he rode into my estates and begged the one favor he has ever asked of me, I told him who sent the [Assassin]. I told him the truth and made sure of it myself. That Drake was sent by the Walled Cities. Hired in Zeres, funded by their money, agreed upon by the other Walled Cities. It was them.”

“Oh.”

That was all Bethal said. She looked away, and Magnolia shook her head and sipped from her sugary tea. Regrets. It was a bitter taste on her tongue, for all the sugar. See what the truth did. See how mistakes added up? Oh, how she wished she could turn back time. But it was done.

“So that’s the reason? All of it? Or have I missed something else?”

Bethal stared at the map. Magnolia shook her head bitterly.

“No, you have it right. For his wife, he would wage war on an entire species. For one death, he would burn all of them in fire.”

The Lady Walchaís shook her head.

“It seems natural to me. If Thomast died I would find his killer and make them suffer for all eternity. If a Drake sent by the Walled Cities killed him—I would do exactly the same.”

She looked back, smiling, at Magnolia, but the look in her eyes reflected that promise. Magnolia sighed and Ressa shook her head.

“You two are alike in that, Bethal. But mark my words: I will not allow war. I will not allow Tyrion to drag down this continent for his own selfish reasons. He alone does not control the fate of Izril. And I have at least one trick up my sleeves to stop him.”

“Well, since I am part of that trick, I’d better tell Thomast.”

Bethal sighed lightly. She turned and nodded to Ressa.

“It’s been fun, Ressa. Until we next meet.”

She walked from the room. Magnolia stood there, sipping from her tea cup. Then she raised it.

“Throw that and I will be upset.”

Ressa spoke behind her. Magnolia lowered the tea cup and looked at her [Maid].

“This is an unfortunate situation, Ressa. It will be messy. Even with this, he might go forwards. And if it happens that way—”

“War?”

“Oh, terrible war.”

Magnolia sighed. She looked down into the dregs of her cup, at the sugar and tea gathered there. Then she shook her head.

“I hope Erin Solstice is alright. She lives right next to the city, doesn’t she? Funny, I’d heard of her attempts to protect Goblins. And now an army is marching on her. If only she had more time, perhaps she could have made a difference. But I fear that this isn’t a matter of Goblins any longer.”

“You think she could have made a difference?”

“Perhaps she has. Perhaps. Time will tell. The Antinium, Goblins, Liscor, she may make a difference there. But in a war, what can one person do?”

Magnolia turned to Ressa. The [Maid] raised one eyebrow. She tapped Magnolia lightly on the chest and looked pointedly at her.

“Everything?”

And the Lady Reinhart smiled, a touch sadly.

“Not alone.”

 

—-

 

Rags walked alone. Not alone in the sense of physical presences; she was surrounded by several hundred Goblins. Hobs, regular warriors, Pyrite, and Ulvama. But alone in the sense of her tribe. She could feel them south of her. But they were far distant and she was too far behind.

They were marching towards the High Passes. Towards Liscor. The mountains loomed ahead of them and the Goblins were footsore and weary. They’d barely paused since they’d begun walking this morning. Only today had Pyrite recovered enough to move. Until now they’d had to drag him on a makeshift sled and that had been excruciatingly slow.

The big Hob was moving now of his own volition, but his face was pale. At first, he hadn’t been able to even sit up. And his heart had kept starting and stopping until Ulvama had cast a charm on him. The [Deathbolt] spell had sapped Pyrite’s energy even with the magic stones he’d eaten. Now he could walk, but he was weak.

“Chieftain, we going there?”

One of Tremborag’s former lieutenants pointed. Rags squinted at the pass opening up ahead of them and nodded. That way led to Liscor. Ahead of them, she could see a vast host marching towards it. The Goblins eyed the Human army apprehensively. They were behind the Humans, trying to catch up. None of them were quite clear on why, except for Rags and Pyrite.

“Can’t catch tribe. Why go that way?”

Ulvama grumbled as she stared at the Human army. She was tired and unaccustomed to walking and not afraid to say it. For Rags’ part, her gratitude on seeing Ulvama had long worn thin. The small Goblin glared at the [Shaman].

“Must go to tribe. Must get to Liscor!”

“But why?”

“Find Erin. Stab Reiss. Get to tribe.”

It was all Rags could think of. Ulvama sighed, but didn’t argue. Rags was Chieftain, and strangely, none of Tremborag’s Goblins questioned it. Pyrite muttered something and both female Goblins looked at him.

“What you say?”

“Chieftain, what happens when get there? Fight Reiss? Run?”

“Don’t know. Just keep walking.”

Pyrite grunted. Ulvama looked scornfully at the huge Hob.

“Pyrite is slow. Could go faster without him.”

She seemed to be holding a grudge. Rags poked her in the side and Ulvama yelped. The little Goblin glared.

“Going fast enough. Pyrite weak.”

“Can he fight?”

The [Shaman] looked challengingly at Pyrite. The other warriors marching behind them looked at each other. The Hob who’d been entrusted with Pyrite’s axe shook his head. They didn’t question whether Pyrite could fight. He’d cut down so many of Reiss’ warriors that they’d been too afraid to even loot his body.

For his part, Pyrite just looked at Ulvama and shrugged, though it cost him to do so.

“Am tired. When fighting starts, I will have energy.”

That was all. Ulvama nodded reluctantly. She cast her eye to the sky and the bright, spring day. It didn’t feel like a day for war. She raised her fingers and pointed.

“[Sky’s Blessing].”

Rags looked up as Ulvama’s fingers and skin paint glowed. Suddenly, the air felt fresh and invigorating, and it felt like she was marching with the wind at her back. She stared at Ulvama, and then at Pyrite. The [Shaman] looked away from both of them.

“March faster, stupid Hob.”

Pyrite smiled. So did Rags. The Goblins walked on. Rags tried not to think about what would happen when they got to Liscor. She told herself she’d deal with it when it came, but the truth was she was too late. Reiss had won. Whatever would happen would happen without her there. And she feared the worst.

To take her mind off of that, she looked at Pyrite. At Ulvama. They were both Tremborag’s Goblins, at least, they had been at one time or another. She looked at Pyrite.

“When did you leave Tremborag mountain?”

He blinked. For a second she thought he’d avoid the question, like he sometimes did, but the big Goblin just sighed. The time for secrets had long since passed. Now he just looked embarrassed and tired.

“Long time ago. Very young Goblin. I was…five? Had a fight with Greybeard. Greydath. Decided to leave. Start my own tribe. Become strong. Become Goblin Lord.”

The other Goblins gaped at him. Pyrite shrugged, flushing a bit.

“Stupid. Young and stupid. Thought it would be easy. So I made tribe. Made big tribe.”

“Goldstone Tribe?”

Rags was confused. Pyrite shook his head.

“No. Other tribe. Called it—uh—Mountain Fierce Warriors Tribe.”

He looked ashamed. Rags stared at him and Ulvama sniggered. Pyrite scratched at the back of his head.

“Didn’t work well.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again.

“Had Hobs. Trained warriors. Had thousands of regular Goblins. But—stood out. Picked too many fights. Humans came. Destroyed tribe. Nearly died. Learned…learned Chieftain is not as good as Goblin Lord. Not nearly. So gave up. Became wanderer. Formed other tribe eventually.”

“But didn’t try to become Lord?”

“No. Not again.”

Pyrite shook his head heavily. He looked at Rags.

“Too much. Greydath—Reiss—Lords are too much.”

Overwhelming. Rags remembered what Greydath had said. Reiss had beaten Pyrite, even though he was a [Mage]. And Greydath—she nodded soberly.

“Much. But good to try.”

She heard a snort from Ulvama. The [Shaman] glared at her.

“Don’t need Goblin Lords! Why do stupid Goblin Lords and males fight all the time? Garen, Reiss, Greydath—stupid! Should just live in tribe.”

“Like Tremborag?”

Rags sneered. But Ulvama did not. She looked longingly back north. Tremborag’s mountain wasn’t even in view, but the other Goblins did too.

“Stupid.”

The little Chieftain informed Ulvama. She got a glare in return.

“How do you know? That was our tribe. You didn’t know it.”

“Saw enough. You did bad things.”

“So what? They did bad things to us.

Ulvama snapped at Rags. She took a deep breath.

“You don’t know. You don’t know me. We were happy there. Sex, food—we had what we wanted. Tremborag was great Chieftain. Humans deserve pain. We do bad things to them? I am Human and Goblin.”

“You mean, parents were…”

Rags stared at Ulvama. The Goblin glared at her.

“Mother was Goblin.”

“Oh.”

The other Goblins stared at her. Pyrite just sighed. Rags searched for a comeback. There wasn’t one, really. But it still didn’t change the things Tremborag’s tribe had done. It changed nothing—but it explained everything. She shook her head.

“Still. Still.”

“You don’t know.”

Ulvama looked down at the ground. Rags glared.

“I do. My parents die too. Big Drake—Relc—kill them. Cut off heads. For present.”

The other Goblins looked at her. Rags told the story of how she had thrown rocks at Erin, trying to get some food. And then how the Drake had hunted her parents down, leaving only her alive. And then—

“—And then, he give to Erin. To her. But she didn’t like.”

“Didn’t like the present?”

Pyrite and Ulvama stared at her. Rags nodded. The two looked at each other, and then they and the other Goblins all burst out laughing. They roared with laughter, and Rags did too. They had to laugh at that story. It was laugh or cry. Or curl up and stop moving.

They went onwards. Following the Humans, telling stories. Tragic stories, happy ones. The happy ones were so rare, but Rags had more than her fair share. At one point she caught Ulvama looking at her. It was strange, but she and the [Shaman] did get along. True, Ulvama flirted outrageously with Pyrite in ways even Rags could pick up on, but they were…alike. In ways that Rags hadn’t known until now. It was actually pleasant to walk with her. She wasn’t an enemy.

“What?”

“When you said Goblins live in circles, what did you mean?”

The little Goblin scratched her head uncomfortably.

“What I said. Goblins live in circles. We kill Humans. Humans kill us. Repeat. Bad thing. Can’t keep doing.”

Tremborag’s Goblins exchanged glances and nodded, losing their cheer. They had seen the end of their circle in Tremborag. And yet—Ulvama shook her head.

“But what do we do? If Humans kill Goblins, what can we do? What other way is there? We run and die? We fight and run? We are hunted always.”

“I know. But there must be other way. There must. Or circle always comes around.”

Rags insisted. She didn’t have the answer, but she knew it was true. After a second, Ulvama nodded.

“So Chieftain is looking for something else? Something that is not circle?”

“Yes. Like square.”

“Or triangle?”

A Hob suggested. Another smacked him on the shoulder.

“Squiggly thing better.”

“How about line?”

Rags grinned, and she caught Pyrite smiling. They looked at each other, walking along, and for a second they forgot they were marching after the Humans, after Reiss, that they had lost their tribe. Then they heard a howl and looked ahead.

Someone was coming. The Goblins froze. Was it Humans? No, that was a Redfang howl! Rags’ heart beat faster. She looked up and waved her arms as she saw a group riding hard towards them. They were headed past them, towards the High Passes! Had some Redfangs survived? She shouted and the other Goblins shouted as well. The distant riders spotted them and adjusted their course. Rags was grinning and so was Pyrite—

Until they saw who was leading the Redfangs. The Goblins froze and Ulvama screamed a warning. The Hobs and Goblins moved in front of Rags, grabbing at weapons. Pyrite tried to lift his battleaxe. But on the forward rider came. He was leading barely more than a dozen battered Redfangs. They had cut their way north past the Humans somehow. But though he was accompanied by only a fraction of his tribe, though he looked haggard and lost, there was still no mistaking him.

Garen Redfang drew up in front of Rags, his Carn Wolf panting. He stared down at the tense group of Goblins. And his eyes found Rags. The Redfang’s Chieftain stared blankly at Rags. Then he nodded.

“Hey.”

 

—-

 

He had lost his tribe. He had been rejected by his warriors, old and new. He had confronted his team. And now he had nothing left. Garen Redfang stood with Rags as his warriors, exhausted and wounded, just lay down on the ground. They had ridden through magefire and hails of arrows. But somehow, incredibly, Garen had survived. Rags looked at the burns and fresh wounds on his body and wondered if he’d been trying to kill himself. If he had, he’d failed.

The two stood together. Pyrite and Ulvama watched Rags anxiously and stared suspiciously at Garen, but the Redfang Chieftain didn’t offer Rags any harm. He stood, looking blank and tired. Diminished. Rags stood with him, listening as Garen spoke of what had happened.

“So you go to High Passes?”

“Maybe.”

Garen stared past Rags. His Carn Wolf was lapping at some water being poured out of a flask. It was injured, but it had carried Garen all this way. Rags stared at the wolf as well and shook her head. She looked at Garen.

“You lost tribe.”

“Yes.”

He hunched his shoulders. Rags pointed towards Liscor.

“You betrayed team.”

“Yes.”

The Hob bowed his head.

“You betrayed me. And Reiss.”

“Yes. Yes.”

Garen closed his eyes. Rags stared up at him and then sighed.

“You are stupid.

She saw one crimson eye open a crack and glare indignantly down at Rags. The little Goblin was unperturbed.

“You are. Stupid. And bad traitor. Bad Chieftain. Bad brother. Bad everything.

“Can’t do anything about it.”

Garen gritted his teeth. Rags kicked him. This time Garen roared and made a fist. The Goblins tensed.

“Do you want fight?”

“No!”

Rags glared up at Garen. He relaxed slightly, but he was still furious.

“Then what?”

“Why are you running away? Why always running?”

Rags stared at Garen. He looked confused.

“Tribe rejected me. Nowhere to go. Halfseekers will kill me.”

“Yes. So why running? Why run?”

“Because nothing to stay for.”

“Except tribe. Except old team.”

Garen opened his mouth. Rags shook her head. She had it now. She looked at Garen.

“You betray. Always betray, you say. But it was you. You betray and betray. And then run away. But that is the problem.”

She pointed back, towards Liscor. Garen followed her finger. Rags spoke quietly.

“When you betray, you should stay.”

“And do what?”

“Fix things. Try. Be loyal. Be good.”

Garen looked back the way Rags was pointing. He looked at her. For a moment he hesitated and she hoped—but then he shook his head.

“Too late. Far too late to make things better.”

He walked towards his Carn Wolf. It whined as it got up. Rags shouted at Garen’s back.

“Not too late to try! Never too late! Otherwise you run forever!”

She saw Garen look back once. And hesitate. But then he got on his Carn Wolf and rode away. North, and west. Towards the High Passes. Rags scuffed at the ground as he rode with the last of his Redfangs.

“Darn.”

She was really hoping he’d give her a ride.

 

—-

 

Goblins ran. Humans retreated. Adventurers fled the city, or prepared to. But Drakes didn’t run. That was what they said, anyways. But Relc had been part of more than one withdrawal and it looked like running to him. General Sserys’ iconic line was just that, a line. Drakes ran all the time. Relc Grasstongue just wished that were an option here.

He marched up the stairs to the battlements of Liscor’s western wall. Normally Relc didn’t make the climb unless he had to, but today he was looking for someone. She wasn’t hard to spot. Embria’s red scales stood out, even among the other Drakes. She was beautifully striking. Much like her mother, although her mother had pink scales. Just went to show that Embria got the best of both her parents. Her looks from her mother, and her talent with the spear from her father.

It was all he had to give, really.

Relc walked towards Embria. Normally he avoided his daughter. He had the feeling she was disappointed in him. It was a hunch, made stronger by all the times she said he was a disappointment to his face. Besides, whenever they spoke it always went back to the army. She wanted him to reenlist and Relc wouldn’t. Not again, not ever. He was sick of war. And he wished it hadn’t come to Liscor.

He heard Embria speaking as he approached. She was using a rare artifact, a gem with the ability to communicate her words to a speaker across the world. It was limited in magical power and it broke when it was out—plus the distance mattered, so he guessed this was an important call. No guesses to who it was with. Relc edged over and Embria looked up, glaring at him to be silent. He nodded and she spoke into the stone.

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. We will do our part. I swear it by the walls…yes, sir. Wing Commander Embria, out.”

She lowered the mana stone. Relc noticed it was beginning to disintegrate. It was nearly out of mana. He coughed as Embria lowered the stone.

“You talked to High Command?”

“I just had a conversation with them, yes.”

Embria turned to face her father, her posture straight, her face severe. She stood tall, as if to make up for the lack in height. Relc slouched to accommodate her, which only made things worse.

“So what’s the plan? Are they sending a huge army to rescue us? Come charging up north with the others?”

“Don’t be stupid. They’re on contract. They can’t move if they wanted to. And they were too far away to get here no matter if they’d started right when we learned what was going on.”

Embria shook her head. Her tail angrily lashed the ground and Relc avoided it. He followed her as she marched down the walls.

“Right, right. Well, it was worth a shot. So what did they tell you?”

“To do my duty.”

“Which is?”

“Classified. If you were part of the army, I could tell you.”

Embria shot a glance at Relc and he sighed.

“I’ll pass. It’s probably just ‘hold the walls’. ‘Drakes don’t run’. ‘Liscor stands in the face of adversity.’ How’s that?”

She hesitated, which made Relc think he’d gotten it close. There wasn’t really much that High Command could tell her, anyways. Embria turned away.

“I’m going to do my duty, father. I wish you’d do yours.”

That stung. Relc glared at his daughter’s back.

“I’m a [Guardsman]. When the time comes, I’ll be up on the walls, same as you.”

Zevara would see to that. Relc imagined fighting with the damn trebuchets throwing rocks. Humans with siege weapons! It was bad enough that they knew how to throw magic. Now they could toss rocks? It was the end of the world.

“You should be a [Soldier].”

“Kid, let’s not do this—”

“No. You should be!”

Embria spun and poked a claw into Relc’s chest. He paused, and saw a [Guardswoman] patrolling towards him swing around smartly and walk the other way. Embria stared up at Relc, and he remembered a little Drake begging for war stories and asking about her mother. When had that look of admiration turned to contempt? Right before she’d enlisted in the army, that was when. All those years ago. Embria glared up at Relc and he tried to meet her eyes.

“You were a hero, dad. You were one of the greatest [Sergeants] we had. Everyone told me that you were the one they called on to hunt down enemy commanders. You were so good they awarded you a weapon worthy of a commander and gave you a name!”

“Yeah, well, it’s an okay spear. And the name’s not that great—it’s actually sort of an insult—”

Embria ignored Relc’s mumbling.

“Why don’t you want to join the army? Is it because you’re afraid?”

“Of dying? Sure.”

“What about your fellow soldiers?”

Relc shook his head.

“Those guys? They’re great. But what’s the point of fighting, kid? To win a war? To earn Liscor money and make the High Command proud? For what? I fought in the Second Antinium War because the Goblin King was about to destroy everything. I fought the Antinium for the same reason. But fighting other Drakes? What’s the point?”

“What about Humans?”

“What about them?”

Embria ground her teeth together. She hissed at Relc.

“Don’t play dumb! They’re coming to destroy Liscor.”

He folded his arms.

“Right. And where’s our army? Down south around Oteslia, that’s where. Who’s defending the city? A hundred of our soldiers and thousands of the Watch. Including—guess who?”

He jabbed a thumb at his chest. Embria flushed.

“If they’d known—”

“You said it. They didn’t. The army’s not a glorious defender of the Drakes, kid. It never was, even when old Sserys was in charge. It was a mercenary army. One of the best, sure, but just mercenaries. I don’t regret leaving it. And I’m not going back, so can we drop it? Just tell me why you wanted to see me, and I’ll get out of your spines.”

Embria stared at Relc. Then she turned away.

“Fine. It’s just a matter of courtesy. Here.”

She fished in her belt pouch and pulled something out. Relc blinked as a folded envelope appeared in front of him. He accepted it gingerly.

“What’s this?”

“You have to know what it is. You haven’t been away from the army long enough to—you can’t have forgotten. We’re about to go to war. Get it?”

Embria glared at him. Relc just looked blank. His daughter ground her teeth together.

“It’s a will.”

“A—”

Relc’s stomach dropped. He stared down at the letter and saw it as addressed to him. Embria nodded curtly.

“It details my possessions go to you in the event of my death. I—had to update it. The other soldiers have filed their wills as well. It’s standard practice to send them back on the eve of a big battle.”

“I know.”

Relc spoke mechanically. He stared down at the letter, recognizing the neat handwriting. He began to open the letter and Embria snatched it back.

“Don’t open it! It’s in the event of my death!

“Oh, right. Sorry, kid. I won’t open it unless you uh, die.”

She handed him the letter back. Relc stared at Embria. She looked at him and then threw a salute.

“I have to get back to my duty, Sergeant Relc. Until we meet again.”

“Sure. I mean, yes, Wing Commander.”

Relc threw a salute of his own. He watched Embria turn and march away. Her back straight, her posture proud and unwavering as she snapped at a slouching [Guardswoman] to stand up. For a second Relc wished she’d turn around, if only to insult him some more. Then he looked down at the letter and opened it. He read what was inside and looked up.

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice was polishing the counter of her bar. She did it mechanically, noting how quiet the inn was. The adventurers had followed Ilvriss, Zevara, and the others out of the inn in the morning. They’d been assigned to defend the walls or parts of the city and had decided to check out the spots while continuing to move the door further south. Just in case.

In case of what wasn’t said, but the implication was Liscor falling and everyone dying. Erin tried to imagine it. She looked around her inn and then down at the clean counter. What was she doing? What was the point? If this inn would be rubble—and it would be if the Humans starting lobbing rocks at the city or the Goblin Lord’s army came this way—what was the point?

She should run. Run, and get Lyonette and Mrsha. And Krshia, only, the Gnoll had said she was going to stay and fight. So was Selys. The [Receptionist] had told Erin she wasn’t leaving.

“Grandma’s not budging, and if she’s staying, I’d better stay with her to make sure she doesn’t fall asleep. Besides, reinforcements are on the way, right?”

Reinforcements are on the way. Liscor will hold. Everyone Erin had talked to said something like that. The city wouldn’t fall and the Goblins and Humans wouldn’t take it. Because…well, because it couldn’t happen. They didn’t talk about numbers or the odds. In fact, they quite deliberately avoided mentioning those crucial details. But Erin had heard Olesm talking and she knew what the score was.

It was quiet. So quiet, that Erin could hear the voices outside. It was just a few voices, but they were loud. Shouting, even. She recognized a few of them and went over to the window.

Numbtongue was standing on a hill next to Headscratcher and Shorthilt. He was speaking loudly to one of the new Goblins. Redscar? Yeah. They were debating something. The Goblins were talking, all of the leaders. The five Redfangs were part of that group, as were Noears, Poisonbite, Spiderslicer, and Redscar. And they were deciding something. Every Goblin in the Floodplains was gathered around them. Erin was sure, fairly sure, that they were deciding what to do now.

Run or stay. Or hide in the dungeon, maybe. It wasn’t an easy choice. There was a limited amount of space for an army this large, but they were outnumbered by the Goblin Lord’s force and the Humans. The Drakes were heading north, and the dungeon was…the dungeon. No good answers. Erin saw Numbtongue finish speaking and then Redscar reply. The Goblins outside hung on every word.

“What’re you going do, huh?”

She looked out the window and then heard a sound. Erin turned and saw Mrsha staring at her. The little Gnoll had come through the door from Liscor before it had been carried off. She’d leapt through, not wanting to be apart from Lyonette despite the Goblins. And now she was stuck in the inn, until Erin went into Liscor. She stared up at Erin. And so did a little Goblin with a big hat.

Pebblesnatch was in Erin’s inn, peeking out from the kitchen. She’d recovered her prized hat, which had somehow ended up on Garry’s head last night. Unlike the others, she hadn’t gone outside. She was…afraid. She’d stayed in Erin’s warm kitchen and the young woman had let her. She could understand Pebblesnatch’s fear. The Goblin and Gnoll looked at each other warily, and Erin saw Apista buzzing around the flowers.

No Lyonette. She was in Liscor getting some food since the Goblins had cleaned Erin out of everything. It was expensive; food was at a premium due to the impending siege. Still, Erin had money to burn. There were no Horns or Halfseekers. They were in the city. It was just Erin, and an army of Goblins outside.

“What’s going to happen?”

Erin asked the question out loud, but no one responded. She heard a sound from outside and turned. The door opened. To Erin’s surprise, Relc ducked into the inn. He grinned at her and waved.

“Hey! Lots of Goblins out there, am I right? Scary bastards. Whoops, there’s one here too. Hey, I’m not here to pick a fight.”

He raised his claws as Pebblesnatch backed up. Erin stared at Relc. Why was he here?

“Why are you here, Relc? I thought you hated Goblins.”

“Yeah, I’m still not keen on them. But I uh, was in the neighborhood. On a walk, y’know, and I thought I’d come by.”

The [Guardsman] grinned at Erin unconvincingly. She raised an eyebrow.

“A walk, huh? Well, can I get you a drink?”

“Ooh, yeah! I forgot you have drinks! I’ll have—”

“Here.”

Erin poured him an ale. Relc blinked at it but drank it down willingly. He sighed.

“That hits the spot. Remember when you didn’t have any alcohol? Instead you had that blue, sweet stuff. Those were the days.”

“They were.”

Erin leaned over the counter. Relc grinned at her and waved at Mrsha. The little Gnoll didn’t know him well enough to come over. He relaxed, the picture of sloth, but Erin detected something else from Relc today. She looked casually at him.

“So why did you come here?”

“Me? Well, like I said, I was in the area…”

Relc avoided Erin’s gaze. He was playing with something. A letter, opened and folded up again. Erin eyed it.

“Okay. Well, can I help you with anything else? Food?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Now that was surprising. Erin blinked at Relc. He just smiled at her. He stared out the window.

“Lots of Goblins. That reminds me of old times too, right? Except there’s more of them.”

“Yeah.”

Erin said the word with finality. Relc’s grin slipped.

“Right. I’ve uh—look, it’s not that I think this is your fault.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The young woman picked up the dust rag and swabbed the counter. Relc coughed.

“It’s just that you tend to do weird things—and I was thinking—well, it’s sort of like the Face-Eater Moth attack. Or Skinner. Or that time you rescued Ceria from the dungeon and then we all got our tails kicked by that jerk, Gazi. And you poked her in the eye. A Named Adventurer. I mean, it’s sort of like that, right?”

“I guess?”

Erin looked blankly at Relc. Why was he bringing up the past? The painful past, come to that. Relc hesitated.

“So the Goblin Lord’s coming here. And the Humans. Damn Humans. Hate them. Ugly fleshbags, am I right?”

He grinned at Erin. She frowned.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t like the fact that they’re coming to Liscor either. Or the Goblin Lord. He sounds like a jerk.”

“Exactly! So…can you do anything?”

“About what?”

“This.”

Relc waved a hand in the air. He looked at Erin.

“You know. Something. Do your Erin thing. Make things work out right. Can you…can you help?”

He looked at Erin and lost the air of false cheer he’d come in with. Erin stared at Relc and slowly shook her head.

“I can’t—I mean, there’s nothing I can think of. That’s an army. I don’t—I don’t know what anyone can do.”

Relc’s face fell.

“Right. Of course not. It’s just that I thought—well, hey, it’ll work out, right? Drakes don’t run. The walls stand and all that. You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. You should come into the city, though. No telling what’ll happen when…when…”

He lapsed into silence. Erin nodded. The two stood there for a while. Relc finished one mug, and then another. Erin listened to the Goblins arguing outside.

“You sure there’s nothing?”

Relc looked up at Erin at the last. Hopefully, questioningly, searching for something. Anything. But Erin didn’t have anything. She shook her head. And soon after that, he left. Erin was left staring out the window. At the Goblins.

 

—-

 

When you breach the walls, I will teleport my Chosen into the battle. They must not be seen by witnesses. I will time it so they arrive within minutes of you taking the walls. Use them against the Antinium, Bea especially. Venitra will be suited to ambush attacks when Tyrion tries to capture the walls. As for Ijvani—she has yet to respond. Never mind. I will send some other undead instead. Wraiths, perhaps.

Reiss stared blankly ahead as he rode his undead shield spider. He was approaching the pass leading to Liscor. His army, his tribe, marched around him. In silence. They watched their leader as he spoke to his master, a figure unseen. But that didn’t matter. They read his body language, listened to his voice.

“Yes, master.”

Another thing. I have a…student who is currently residing in Liscor. He and I have exchanged brief communications. I would see him survive the battle.

“A student?”

An image flashed into Reiss’ mind. The Goblin Lord’s heart beat faster at the sight. His master’s will wrote itself into his mind.

Keep him alive if possible. He is promising.

“Yes, master.”

Reiss stared at the image, burning it into his memory. Another rival. Another doomed soul. He felt a pang of fear. His master used and discarded potential candidates constantly, whenever he found someone who attracted his attention. Perhaps Az’kerash sensed it, because his mental tone grew reassuring.

He is skilled. Adaptive and sharp, for all he is a beginner in the craft. A touch too arrogant and his ideas are foolish. However, that is one failing in a gifted mind. But make no mistake. Seize Liscor and you will be first of my students, my faithful apprentice.

“Yes, master. I will take the city.”

Good. Then I will contact you when the moment is upon us. Prepare yourself, my apprentice.

And then he was gone. Reiss sat back and looked around. His tribe looked at him. He was the Goblin Lord, and they were his people. Only, they were not the same in his mind as they had been a few days ago.

Some of them weren’t his. They were…Rags’. Tremborag’s Goblins. He had taken them. He had betrayed Rags. He had killed Pyrite.

It had to be done. But it was so not-Goblin that the echoes of the betrayal lingered on. The Goblins moved as Reiss directed them, but more like undead than Goblins. They were…silent.

“Snapjaw.”

Reiss sent the order for his lieutenant. He had to tell her about his master’s new plans, or the adjustments, rather. In truth, Reiss just wanted someone to talk to. He saw Snapjaw ride slowly towards him. Not as quickly as she usually did. And when she appeared, the metal-toothed Goblin was hesitant.

“Snapjaw, why are you hesitating?”

Reiss looked at her. The female Hob gulped.

“Is it you?”

The question rocked Reiss back in his seat. He stared at Snapjaw and she colored. But the question lingered on. Is it you? It is really you, Reiss? Or is it the Necromancer, using you as a puppet?

Up till now, Reiss had been sure it was him. Despite everything. His master’s voice was just a mental connection. The being that was Reiss was undiluted. But he remembered the moment when he had struck Rags with a spell and wondered. Was it him? Was this desire to take Liscor him? Or was it his mind being influenced.

“It’s me.”

He said it out loud, to reassure Snapjaw as much as himself. It had to be him. He had sacrificed so much, this desire meant more than anything. It was…he shook his head.

Osthia had spoken to him. Tied up, gagged so she couldn’t spit. But she had tried. She had begged him in the moment when they’d spoken.

“Don’t do this. Please.”

He couldn’t answer her. Reiss bowed his head. He felt haunted. By betrayal, by doubt. The shining city in his dreams seemed dark and the road ahead long. But nearly. They were nearly there. He looked at Snapjaw.

“Are you with me?”

“Yes, Lord.”

She said it automatically. But she did not say his name. And Reiss wondered. He wondered as he stared down at his reattached hand. At the headless Shield Spider, rotting. At the silent Goblins, marching. And he knew he would have his answer tomorrow. Come what may. There was bitter relief in that, at least.

 

—-

 

And then it was done. Erin stood outside her inn and saw the decision as it was made. She saw Headscratcher look down, Redscar sigh, and Spiderslicer turn away. Noears looked mildly relieved, and Poisonbite looked like she didn’t know what to think. She waited for one of the Redfangs to tell her. In the end, Headscratcher did it.

“We go.”

He pointed south. Erin nodded. That was it. The Goblins had debated, and they had chosen. By the slimmest of margins, they had decided not to stay or hide or fight. It was a practical choice.

“Should fight. Goblin Lord coming. Goblin Lord betrayed. Should fight.”

Redscar growled as he stomped past them. Erin looked at him, and then at Headscratcher.

“You’re all leaving?”

“Now. Tonight.”

Headscratcher nodded. He looked at Erin and gestured to the inn.

“Will bring door. When get back, can come visit? Or teleport? If run from city in door, we find and protect.”

The awkward gallantry made Erin smile. She put a hand on Headscratcher’s arm and squeezed.

“Thank you. But you guys just find somewhere safe, okay? There are Drakes heading north. Don’t get attacked.”

“We won’t.”

Headscratcher nodded. He and Erin looked at each other. It was time for goodbyes. She hugged him without a word and he hesitated, then hugged her back. The other Goblins came over and Erin said goodbye to each one.

“Take care. Get a new guitar.”

“Don’t drink too much from that wine cloak, Rabbiteater. It’s bad for your teeth. I think.”

“Don’t sharpen your sword too much. There’s more to life than swords, you know. Like…maces? I dunno.”

“Good shooting. I’ll say hi to Bird for you.”

The five Redfangs shook Erin’s hands, or hugged her, or spoke a few words. Erin wanted to say a lot more. And she would. They weren’t going right now. But it felt too rushed. Too inadequate. She walked back into her inn as the Goblins began organizing, packing up.

They were going. And at least she was at peace with that.

“Good. It’s good. This isn’t their fight. This isn’t their problem.”

Erin spoke to herself in her empty inn. She stared out the window, and then looked north. The empty Floodplains waited. Soon they would be filled with Goblins and Humans and death. Still, she couldn’t picture the war entirely. It couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen.

And she wouldn’t let it happen. Erin’s hands slowly tightened into fists. She stared out the window and felt something rising in her.

“It can’t go down like this. I won’t let it. Goblin Lord? Humans? Why can’t we talk about it? Why can’t we stop? It could happen. It might happen. Someone has to try.”

Even if it was a risk. Even if it meant dying. Erin turned. She looked around blankly, and then ran upstairs. She came down with a bed sheet.

“Darn. I’m going to need thread, a pole—can I get Selys to stitch for me? Heck, I’ll do it myself if I have to. What do I say? What do I do? What if they shoot me?”

For a second she paused and stared down at her hands. Erin closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

“Someone has to try.”

She began to work. And perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps one person could change nothing. But when everything teetered on the brink, one person’s actions did matter. One [Innkeeper], perhaps. Or the little Gnoll and Goblin who watched from the shadows. And who had heard…

Everything. And that night things happened. People marched and plotted and things got into line just so. More or less how it was expected to happen, but with some key differences no one expected. And the next day…

The Goblin Lord’s army arrived in Liscor.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.61

(Due to the next chapter being delayed, 5.62 will come out on Saturday, March 2nd.)

 

He rode on through the night. The wind cooled the blood spattering his body. It soothed the burning wounds he’d taken, and the sweat. The land passed by him, grass turning to dirt, to inhospitable stone. Garen rode towards the High Passes.

They were always there, in the distance. If you looked, you could see them. A speck at first, if you were very far away. But they would grow until they were closer and closer, keep growing until it seemed like they were too large.

For the High Passes, the mountains of Izril had never been climbed. No one had ever returned from them, had ever climbed to the summit. Then again, perhaps some brave souls had made the journey. But it was not one they had come back from.

He had climbed the mountains. Garen was sure of it. The Goblin King had gone there, to plant his great treasure. His secret left for his people. Why? And what was it? Garen didn’t know. But the idea had fixed in his head since he had heard it spoken from the mouth of the Ghostly Hand Chieftain. Beyond the clouds, in a place uncharted, lay the greatest treasure of Goblins.

And yet tonight, he saw only clouds. Only dark mountains. Garen rode with the last of his tribe. The last warriors who had stayed with him. Under a hundred had left with him and broken north. Eight now remained. Eight. Enough to start a tribe with.

Only—Garen slowed, and his loyal Carn Wolf panted. He stared ahead at the dark mountains, beyond which lurked the passes, the home of the Redfangs, a place where even he tread lightly.  He stared ahead and saw nothing.

Nothing. No vision for the future. No idea of what would come next. No tribe. How would he restart the Redfang tribe? Even Goblins feared the High Passes. Would he stay there? What would he do beyond surviving? Garen had no idea. He looked back, over his shoulder, and saw a small group of Goblins in the distance. They were headed south. To Liscor. And, in Garen’s heart, he knew, to war.

He could feel it in the air, like a physical thing. Or maybe it was his tribe he felt. They were gathered there, at Liscor. And they would fight, be it the army of Reiss, the Humans, or the Drakes. They would fight and die and so would Headscratcher, the other four Redfangs, the Cave Goblins…

And her, Rags. Garen stared at the small figure. She would fight. She could have run. In fact, she should. She was cut off from her tribe, defeated by Reiss, and an entire army of Humans lay between her and her people. She should run. But she still went.

And Reiss would be there. His brother, slave to the dark thing that called itself his master. And he would destroy Liscor or die there.

They would be there too. The Halfseekers. His team. Garen stared back, and then shook his head. Rags’ words still lingered in his mind.

“Not too late to try! Never too late! Otherwise you run forever!”

But what could he do? Garen shook his head and looked back towards the High Passes. But no matter how long he stared, he saw no future there. And if he turned his head back he saw…everything. Everything he had ever hated and loved and cared for.

Everything.

Garen realized he’d come to a stop. He heard panting and looked down. His Carn Wolf was tired. Garen had pushed both his wolf and himself hard these last few hours. He scratched his wolf between the ears and heard it growl softly. It, or rather, he, was a good Carn Wolf. He would have been an alpha of his pack had he not been tamed.

He had no name, despite being Garen’s companion over two years. That was because Carn Wolves often fell in battle, the same as their riders. Garen had buried four wolves before this one. So he had stopped naming them. If you didn’t grow too attached, people couldn’t betray you by dying. Or leaving.

Garen rubbed his Carn Wolf, and then noticed something. Movement. The Redfang Warriors who’d kept pace with him, his loyal eight, were talking amongst themselves, looking back. And then they turned. Garen sat up.

“What are you doing? Keep moving.”

He began to urge his Carn Wolf forwards. But one of the Redfangs, a veteran who’d been with Garen for six years, shook his head. He had watched dozens of his friends fall in battle an hour ago, and the stripes of red war paint were still drying on his body. He looked at Garen.

“No, Chieftain. We go back.”

“Back?”

Garen stared at the warrior. He saw the others nod. A lance of pain shot through his heart, to join the other wounds.

“You betray me too? After all…”

He gestured back at the road they’d followed. The warrior—his name was Starstarer, wasn’t it? Not a proper warriors’ nickname, but he had chosen it nonetheless. Starstarer shook his head again.

“Chieftain, Redfangs ride to war. All of them. We go too.”

“But you left them. They betrayed you.”

Garen’s voice sounded plaintive in his ears. His Carn Wolf whined and the other wolves sniffed the air and growled uneasily. Starstarer nodded.

“Yes, Chieftain. They did.”

“So why—”

The Redfangs looked at each other. As one, they shrugged. It was a Goblin expression. Starstarer looked at his Chieftain, and there was regret and grief and something else in his eyes.

“Because they are Redfangs. They are we, Chieftain. And we do not ride alone. If brothers and sisters go to battle, we must go back. Sorry.”

Sorry. It was the first time Garen had heard anyone apologize to him while betraying his trust. The Chieftain, the Gold-rank adventurer, the Hobgoblin, stared as the Redfangs began to ride backwards, south, chasing Rags and her group. Now he was alone. He shouted at them in despair.

“So you leave too! You and all the others! Who taught you to betray? Who told you other Goblins were more important than Chieftain? Than me?

Starstarer paused. He looked back at Garen and pointed.

“You, Chieftain.”

Garen stopped. Starstarer and the other seven began to ride faster and faster. Their Carn Wolves howled and Garen’s own wolf whined. It wanted to go back, but Garen wouldn’t let it. He turned to look back at the High Passes.

“All gone. All gone. I am betrayed.”

The words were carried away by the wind. I am betrayed. They came back to him.

I betray them.

It wasn’t what he wanted to admit. Garen struggled, but the events of yesterday, of all his conversations, crystalized in his head. The words whispered around him as the wind blew.

I betray them. I betray their expectations. I betray, not them. And then I run away.

“Stop it.”

He whispered. But the wind couldn’t be fought. Garen looked back. His entire world lay south of him. And nothing but darkness and regret ahead. Why was he going this way? Why didn’t he go back?

Because…he was afraid. How could he make up for what he’d done, even if he tried? The moment he’d struck at Halassia, in his rage and despair, the instant he had attacked Reiss and struck Headscratcher—they were moments he couldn’t take back. Time could not be undone. What could he do?

There was only one thing Garen could think of. One thing he was good at, really. Garen looked down at his most prized possession. His sword. It hung at his side, red as rust, still sticky with blood. He drew it, held it out. His Carn Wolf tilted its head up and licked it. It whined as its tongue touched the edge and was cut.

“Stupid.”

Garen scolded his Carn Wolf. He rubbed its head again, and looked south. Then he sighed. He clicked his tongue and urged his Carn Wolf around. He stared south.

“I can do one thing.”

And one thing only. Garen shook his head. Then he shrugged, as Starstarer had done, and laughed. It was a short laugh, bitter, tired, but also relieved. Garen couldn’t remember when he’d last laughed. But once it had started, he couldn’t stop. His Carn Wolf pricked up its ears. Surprised by the odd sound coming from its master, it began to lope forwards, and then run as Garen urged it to go faster. Its tongue lolled out and it panted. Now it was happy, running in the cool night, following its pack.

The Redfang Warriors were following Starstarer, debating how to get back to their tribe. They agreed they would follow Rags, ask for her forgiveness. She was their old Chieftain. And if she didn’t take them…they’d try the mountains. If they climbed high enough, they could go around the Humans. It would take a long time, but it could be done. They were talking about how they should greet Rags, when they heard the laughter. They turned their heads.

They saw Garen bearing down on them, sword in hand. They heard his laughter and feared. The Redfangs turned, grabbing at their weapons. They braced, expecting the worst, but Garen just rode through them. The former Chieftain of the Redfangs stared down at the smaller Goblins. They looked up at him, uncertain and wary. He pointed.

“Why are you waiting? Faster! Go faster! Redfangs don’t ride slow.

They looked up at him. Garen stared down at them and for a moment they saw straight through him. Into his beating heart, his bare soul full of guilt. And the difference, the way he sat. The calmness in him. Garen bowed his head to Starstarer.

“I was wrong.”

That was all. Garen said no more, but began to ride on. He was bad at apologies, too, as it turned out. But it was enough. Starstarer looked around. The Redfangs exchanged glances and grinned. They shouted as they urged their Carn Wolves after Garen, whooping and cheering. It had taken a while, and cost them much. But it had happened at last.

Their old Chieftain was back.

Garen rode across the grasslands at breakneck speed. He moved south, and soon he was upon the small group of Goblins. They cried out in shock and turned. Garen stopped in front of the small Goblin as the large, fat Hob and the attractive [Shaman] barred his way. He looked down at the small Goblin, the small Chieftain, and the wary way she stared up at him.

“What you want?”

Garen hesitated. He looked down at Rags and a thousand things crept up on his tongue. A thousand things unsaid. And for once, he said them.

“Sorry.”

Sorry. It felt good to say. Garen looked at Rags, and her eyes widened a bit. She blinked at Garen, and then smiled. It was good to see. Garen gave her a grin, and jerked his head.

“Want a ride?”

She blinked up at him. Garen saw the other Goblins staring at him with suspicion, but then the Hob, Pyrite, raised one hand.

“Sure.”

Garen’s Carn Wolf blinked in alarm. So did Garen. Rags laughed, and that night Garen found himself running for once, alongside his Carn Wolf. The other Redfangs ran too, as six of them dragged Pyrite on a sled, and another carried Rags and Ulvama together. Garen laughed and laughed as he raced south with the Goblins. South, hoping, praying, that he wasn’t too late.

He had something he had to do.

 

—-

 

On the thirteenth day, Erin woke up and felt the drum beats echoing in her mind. Her [Dangersense] thundered at her, and she knew why. She got up, dressed, and stared out the window. The Floodplains were quiet. Empty, save for all the mud, and stagnant water. And the Goblins. But they were packing up, moving south.

“Good.”

Erin stared north, across the hills and valleys towards the road leading to Esthelm. It was deserted. She nodded. So she had time. A bit.

“Breakfast.”

There wasn’t much left in the pantry. Lyonette had bought just enough for a few meals. Erin made do. She greeted Lyonette and Mrsha as they came down the stairs with a heaping plate full of waffles and the last of the Ashfire Bee honey. Lyonette blinked and Mrsha sniffed the air.

“Wow. That’s a lot.”

“And it’s for everyone, so share, Mrsha. I thought today would be a waffle day. Let’s eat up.”

Erin smiled at the two of them. She heard adventurers bumping around upstairs and what sounded like Pisces swearing as he ran into something. She gestured at the table as she looked towards the window. Lyonette did too.

“Do you think…?”

She glanced down at Mrsha, who was oblivious and eager to eat. Erin stared out the window and nodded.

“Let’s have breakfast. And then…I’ll lock up.”

She sat down as Lyonette, Mrsha, Apista, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad came downstairs. They greeted each other warily. Ceria stared out the window. Those without [Dangersense] picked up on the mood. But they held their tongues. They smiled and talked about inconsequential things instead. They had one last meal together in the peace of the inn.

And then the drum beats began echoing across the Floodplains. The drum beats. And the first of the Goblin Lord’s army began pouring into the valley.

 

—-

 

Pebblesnatch saw them first. She was in the old cave, the one that lead to the dungeon. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She was not, and she knew it. But she couldn’t help it. She’d come back for the door.

The door. The red mana stone glinted in the wooden door that had provided the Goblins with a way to The Wandering Inn. They hadn’t taken it with them, and so it still sat in the cave. Pebblesnatch stared up at it.

She knew it was useless. The Drakes had taken the door and they wouldn’t ever open it to this cave. But it was a reminder of all that was good. It was a treasure, the only kind that Pebblesnatch knew. As valuable as food and a safe place to sleep. So she had to come back for it. Pebblesnatch went over to the door and wrestled it away from the wall.

It was hard. The door was a slab of wood and Pebblesnatch was tiny. She eventually managed to throw it on its side, and then she had to prize the mana stone from the wood. She chipped at the door with a little stone dagger, avoiding the mana stone. She nearly had it out when she heard the drums.

Pebblesnatch froze. She heard the first boom of the war drums echo through the cave, and then another. The beat rolled across the passes. It made her shiver. Pebblesnatch forgot the mana stone. She crept towards the entrance to the cave and froze.

There were Goblins. Only, they weren’t her tribe. These Goblins marched in ranks. They wore armor tarred black with resin, and they marched in silence. They were as unnatural to Pebblesnatch as monsters. She shivered as she looked at them. No Goblins marched in ranks! And what was that which walked and shambled past them? Pebblesnatch went white with fear.

The undead. Thousands of them, fallen Goblins, reanimated Eater Goats, moved in a separate column. The dead and the living kept away from each other, but they moved with one purpose. Pebblesnatch froze in the entrance to the cave. So many. They filled the pass, moving shoulder-to-shoulder so some passed within feet of the cave’s entrance. And they kept coming. More and more of them. Thousands. Tens of thousands. More.

The little Cave Goblin quaked in fear. She hid, praying they wouldn’t go into the cave. And the Goblin army didn’t. Any other tribe would have checked the cave, but this one was under command. They marched on, and then Pebblesnatch heard the thunder of hooves. She peeked out again and this time didn’t even bother to stare. One look at the countless Humans riding on horses and the ones marching on foot, bearing arms, was enough to send her hiding again.

The second army was even larger than the first. And both began moving across the Floodplains. Pebblesnatch stayed where she was, terrified. The little red mana stone was clutched in her claws as she peeked outside. Now she was stuck. Pebblesnatch went back to the cave and wondered if she could get through the dungeon, but when she heard the clicking and agitated sounds coming past the walled-off section she froze.

The Shield Spiders, who were quite invisible to her, were angry. They’d heard the drums and movement and were agitated. Pebblesnatch backed up and hid in the cave. She hid and quaked. She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t! She was separated from the others. And she was stuck here.

Pebblesnatch was afraid. So she hid and tried to make herself as small as possible. The chef’s hat made a pillow as Pebblesnatch curled up. Waiting. She heard the sounds of the drums, and marching, and then silence. And then she heard thunder and war.

 

—-

 

“The Goblins have moved away from the inn. They’re heading south. Small mercy for that.”

Ilvriss studied the map and sighed. One less problem. He spoke into the small scrying orb he held in one claw. The figure on the other side spoke tersely.

“It will help, but the real problem is how long you can hold out for. They’re early.”

“Yes.”

That was all Ilvriss said. He didn’t need to go to the battlements to see, or even listen to the reports coming into the war room he’d set up. He’d seen the Goblin Lord’s army, and behind it, the Human one. They were here.

In thirteen days. Even faster than anticipated.

“Tyrion Veltras is nothing if not punctual. How soon may we have reinforcements?”

The hesitation on the other end was all the answer Ilvriss needed, really. The head [Strategist] of Salazsar checked his reports.

“The…the nearest group is the Winged Riders of Oteslia. They might arrive by nightfall, but they’ve been moving nonstop. They’ll be half-dead—if they had a day to rest—”

“And the next? Are there any armies? At all?”

“A—a local force of cities plus Pallass’ main force is set to arrive. If they march through the night, they could be here in two days. Secondary forces are moving behind them and should trickle in the next three days, which is when Manus predicts their force will arrive. If all goes well, Salazsar, Zeres, and Fissival could all converge a day after that, but it depends on luck as much as anything.”

“So two days.”

“At least. Pallass’ army can’t…they’d be able to provide relief, but until Manus and the other armies get here—can Liscor hold for two days? Five?”

“We shall see, won’t we?”

It would either be a matter of hours, or days. Ilvriss didn’t know which. No one did.

“They have trebuchets. But if we can hold the gaps, we might make it. Then it will be attrition. First the Goblin Lord, then the Humans. They’ll be fresh so we’ll face two waves.”

“If Liscor falls—it will be war. The Walled Cities will declare it at once. Liscor falling will not stand.”

The choice of words was darkly amusing to Ilvriss. He stared at the scrying orb.

“Hasn’t it always been war with the Humans?”

The Drake on the other end hesitated.

“Yes. I suppose so. But this will be all-out war. And we haven’t had that in…Ancestors. Decades, at least. At least half a century. A full-scale war? It’s not something we want, to be honest. Not right now. The Antinium complicate matters. Those damn bugs. We can’t even have a proper war without looking over our tails to make sure we don’t fight on two fronts. They changed everything.”

“Yes. They did.”

Ilvriss moved over to the window of the war room. From the third floor of Liscor’s city hall, he could see the eastern wall. It was filled with bodies. Drakes, Gnolls, a few adventurers…and Antinium. Over two thousand Soldiers stood on the walls, and four thousand more held the streets, along with a few hundred Workers armed with bows. The Hive had committed a majority of its forces, or so Klbkch had claimed. Those not present were preparing to assault the trebuchets.

“I will inform you of any changes at once. But keep the lines clear. We have visuals—one of the Gold-rank adventurer [Mages], Falene, has agreed to transmit everything she sees from the walls. I trust you have another orb to view the battle from?”

“We’re broadcasting it as we speak, Wall Lord. The entire world is watching.”

“Good. Maybe they’ll see the Human’s treachery for what it is.”

“Perhaps. But Lord Tyrion’s army has no such visuals. He must have banned any [Mages] in his army from casting the spell.”

More pretense. It would be easier to deny what was going on. Ilvriss grunted.

“The truth will out.”

There was silence from the other end. Then the Drake spoke.

“You could leave the city, Wall Lord. There is the door set up. You could flee.”

Ilvriss looked at the scrying orb. His grip tightened.

“No, I could not. I am a Wall Lord. I could not run.”

“…I suppose you couldn’t. Well then. Ancestors protect you, Ilvriss.”

“Thank you.”

Ilvriss lowered the orb. He stood at the table and felt warm and cold. Cold, because he knew what was coming. Warm because—his eyes went down to the shining breastplate on his chest. The Heartflame Breastplate glowed. It did not burn—but he would activate the enchantment soon. To give those who saw it hope. He wore the legendary armor, the pride of his people on his chest. He hoped he would be worthy of it.

“This must not fall into their hands. Not again.”

Ilvriss murmured to himself. He straightened, and looked up as the door flew open. A panting Street Runner, a Gnoll, spoke, ignoring decorum.

“Wall Lord! Watch Captain Zevara wants you on the walls! The army’s getting closer and—”

“I’m on my way.”

Ilvriss strode for the door. He left the scrying orb behind, and the war table. There would be time for strategy when battle was joined. Right now, he was waiting. They were coming closer.

 

—-

 

“Predictions? Thoughts?”

Niers stood at his table, or rather, on a platform over it. He stared down at the three-dimensional, magical map of Liscor and looked around. His students stood with him, pieces in hand. They were ready to recreate the battle as it happened and they had the scrying orb placed right next to the map. Niers could look through the eyes of the [Mage] casting the spell and hear what was going on the other side, plain as day. Right now he was hearing a lot of swearing and conversation between the adventurers.

“Holy hells. Is that—how many are there, do you think?”

“A lot of them. That’s what. You seeing all this, sharp ears? Want to get a better look for all the people watching?”

The [Mage] casting the spell shifted.

“Be silent, Dawil. They can hear everything you say.”

“Can you turn down the sound on that thing until we need to hear what’s going on?”

One of the students obeyed. They had to cast a spell to reduce the sounds coming from the scrying orb. Niers grunted. You needed a spell to activate even the best orbs, and you needed more spells to tune them. Anyone with magic could cast the spells if you learned them, but it was inconvenient. Why couldn’t there be a…a knob or something to change the volume? Well, that was magic for you.

“The Goblin Lord’s army is approaching the city. It’s larger than we’d anticipated. Closer to…a hundred and sixty thousand Goblins. But Tyrion Veltras’ army dwarfs them, with respect to Dwarves. Can Liscor survive the onslaught? Venaz?”

“It depends on how well their trebuchets work. If they’re any good, they’ll take down the walls, even enchanted ones, within the hour. But I don’t trust Human [Engineers]. Minotaur ones would do the job, but these? They might not even take down the walls in a day.”

The Minotaur frowned at the image of the Human army, barely visible and still streaming into the valley. There was no sign of the trebuchets, but Niers didn’t expect them to appear until they were closer.

“True. That’s one concern. But in terms of numbers alone, they outnumber Liscor’s defenders by a score. If it comes to breached walls—and it will—how well will they hold? Marian?”

The Centaur trotted back and forth restlessly. She hated battles like this.

“If—if they can plug the breaches, they could push the Humans and Goblins back. Again, it depends on how fast the walls go down, but they have Antinium in the city. They’re excellent builders. If I were the [Strategist], I’d have teams ready to fill any gaps. The main thing is to create choke points. Again, it’s all down to how quickly the walls fall.”

She eyed Niers nervously, perhaps worried that she’d given the same answer as Venaz. But it was the only answer you could give wasn’t it? Niers cursed himself. Why was he nervous?

“Correct. I suppose we’ll have to wait.”

He paced back and forth, staring at the orb and at the map. It was just another battle. And yet—he wondered if his opponent had fled. If he or she or it was in Liscor. Were they Olesm Swifttail? No, absolutely not. But were they there? The chess set had moved last night. But that meant…nothing. He forced himself to stand still. Wait. He had done this dance a thousand times and he wasn’t even fighting this battle. Wait…his heart grew calmer.

“Professor. There’s something from the orb.”

Niers looked up. He saw the viewpoint shift. The student fumbled with the spell and Niers heard the last of what was being said. It came from the Dwarf standing in front of the half-Elf. The one called Dawil.

“What in the name of beard oil is she doing? They have to leave!”

“I don’t know. Haven’t they seen the army?”

The view had shifted as the half-Elf controlling the spell looked away from the advancing army. Down towards an inn. The inn. Niers’ heart jumped. The two adventurers were joined by a third voice, out of sight, male.

“They must have seen the army. They’ll be here soon, Falene, Dawil. Don’t worry.”

“If you say so, lad. But they’re taking their sweet time about it. If I were them, I’d be running.”

“They’ll be here. If they aren’t, we’ll get them.”

“Sooner, rather than later?”

“Give them at least five minutes.”

Niers frowned at the inn. He saw the viewpoint shift a bit as someone on the walls shouted at the adventurers. The perspective shifted, panning past rows of silent Soldier Antinium and [Guards]. One of Niers’ students, Wil, shuddered as he saw the Antinium.

“Hey Falene! Are you broadcasting your image? Look over here!”

A Human with a warhammer raised it over her head. She waved her other hand.

“My name is Earlia, and I’m the captain of Gemhammer, a Silver-rank team. If anyone wants a powerhouse melee team who can—”

The viewpoint shifted back to the inn as the shouting continued. Niers’ lips quirked into a smile. He distinctly heard the half-Elf mutter.

“Idiots. We’re at war and they’re showing off.”

Dawil sighed.

“They’ve never seen a war before. Let them have their fun. And hey, while I have the ears of the world, if there are any eligible Dwarf women—or ladies of any persuasion—”

The sound abruptly cut off, and Niers guessed that the half-Elf had muted her own spell somehow. He stroked his beard and smiled.

“That was a smart move, announcing their names.”

The tiny Fraerling commented. The other students looked at him. Umina hesitated.

“They uh, sounded like fools to me, sir. And that’s hardly a good endorsement for their team.”

“True. But the name of ‘Gemhammer’ was just spread across the world in a single moment. To everyone listening. There are monarchs, [Generals], and even adventuring teams of renown that can’t boast of the same.”

His students looked at each other. Niers just smiled.

“The world stage. Remember it. And remember this. All of this—”

He waved at the map and scrying orb.

“—will change the world you’ll live in. Soon. As quick as lightning. If Liscor falls, even Balerosian companies might be hired on.”

Will they fall, Professor? How do you think the battle will go?”

All the students looked at Niers. He knew at least one of them was probably transmitting or recording his words to send to those interested. Such was the nature of fame. But the little [Strategist] just shrugged. The Titan stared down at the scrying orb and spoke quietly as the Goblin Lord’s army poured across the Floodplains, slowly, towards Liscor. He could hear drum beats echoing across the plains.

“I wouldn’t care to wager. Not yet. Let’s just wait.”

He shifted from foot to foot. Waiting was hard. It felt like he’d been waiting a long time. But it was nearly, nearly—

 

—-

 

“Time.”

The Free Queen spoke the words and knew it was true. Xrn and her army of three Hives was in place. Her Hive was secured. The army of expendable Soldiers was above and another force prepared to assault the Humans—and fail. She could hear Klbkch speaking in her mind. He was on the walls, addressing the Drake who called herself Watch Captain. And the Drake Wall Lord.

“Our Antinium are committed, Wall Lord Ilvriss. However, we have run into complications.”

The Queen whispered the words aloud, repeating Klbkch verbatim for the sake of the Workers gathered in the room. Belgrade, Anand, Pawn, and Bird were all present. Bird lay next to the Free Queen, immobile, while Belgrade and Anand poured over their maps, ready to direct the Antinium. Pawn hovered about the table, nervous. Even Garry was listening, peeking his head out of the kitchen.

“Explain.”

Ilvriss’ voice was terse. Angry. The Free Queen could sense Klbkch facing him, cool and collected above. His words were steady as he replied.

“The water has yet to drain from the ground. As such, the Antinium are fighting to move through the muddy terrain. It will be far more difficult to assault the trebuchets. Regrettably, we have already taken hundreds of casualties simply tunneling towards the Human army.”

The Queen heard a curse from the Drakes. In the Hive, Bird looked up.

“We did? Will we not destroy the trebuchets?”

The Free Queen bent her head affectionately.

“No, Bird. That was never our design. The Antinium will fail to destroy more than one or two trebuchets on purpose. But we must lie to the Drakes in order to show good faith.”

“Oh. So we did not lose hundreds of Workers already?”

The Queen shook her head, amused.

“Of course we did.”

All the Workers looked up at her.

“But—”

“It was necessary. The Wall Lord uses truth detection spells. All the Drakes do when conversing with Klbkchhezeim. So he speaks only in truths. We are more than capable of moving through wet earth if we must, and we can vent water. But for this illusion—we sacrificed what we had to in order to make true his words.”

She waved her feeler at the dirt ceiling. Bird stared up at the Queen. She looked down at him, and then remembered what he was. She hastened to reassure him.

“Of course, you would never be one of the Workers chosen for such a purpose, Bird. That would be a waste. Nor would the Individual Workers be used either. The others were simply Workers. Expendable.”

The Workers didn’t respond. Bird just looked up at the Queen. His voice was very small.

“I see.”

The Free Queen could hear Klbkch discussing more matters with the Drakes, but nothing of consequence. She sat back, tense, too impatient to even eat.

“We will not see battle joined for a while. The Soldiers above are expendable, though Anand and Belgrade will ensure their losses are minimal.”

Another female voice spoke up. The Free Queen turned and saw the other five Queens, five in one, and their vessel, holding the mirror up. The other Workers watched the mirrored Queens carefully. The Grand Queen’s voice was impatient.

“Klbkchhezeim insisted on sending more of a force than was necessary to defend Liscor. More than I projected for.”

“A necessary ruse. If Klbkchhezeim believes it so, we must trust him.”

“So it appears. However, will the Hive lack for defense?”

“No.”

The Free Queen answered shortly, before the Flying Queen and Twisted Queen could voice their opinions as well. They were merely watchers, and noisy ones at that. She bent down to Bird, ignoring the voices coming from the Queens.

“We have time. When the Hive must be defended and Liscor’s citizens moved into it, the other Worker…Pawn…will take charge of the Painted Soldiers and other Antinium and lead them into the Hive. Until then, we wait. So then Bird, will you sing for me? For us?”

The little Worker looked up. He stared at the Queen and shook his head.

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“I am worried. And I am sad. And I am worried and sad for Erin.”

“Erin.”

The Worker called Pawn made a strangled sound. He had only been informed of the Hive’s plans in the last hour. He stared at the map.

“What if she’s in danger?”

“She will retreat to the city. It is only logical. And our Soldiers have orders to guard her person. So long as she is away from the walls, neither the trebuchet fire nor Goblins or Humans will threaten her until the evacuation is called.”

Belgrade reassured Pawn. Anand nodded.

“We will have Soldiers protecting her, Pawn. And Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile are ready to deploy if needed. She will be fine—we can even carry her into the Hive early if need be. She is quite safe in Liscor, right, my Queen?”

He looked up at the Free Queen. She hesitated.

“Yes. Perhaps.”

The Workers looked up as one. Bird tried to sit up.

“Where is Erin? She has left her inn? Right? Right?”

“She…will soon. Klbkch is asking about that. She will be in Liscor momentarily. Probably.”

The Workers stared up at the Free Queen. She stared through Klbkch’s eyes. He was looking at the inn. And he wasn’t worried…but he wasn’t entirely calm either. The Goblin Lord’s army was drawing nearer.

 

—-

 

Let’s go! Everybody out! Don’t wait—get what you need and move!

Jelaqua roared at the adventurers. Her team and the Horns were packed and ready to go. They had been already; the bags of holding with their treasure from the dungeon was in Seborn’s possession, they had their gear on them and their possessions—the instant the Goblin Lord’s army had appeared they were ready to move. But as luck would have it, the Flooded Waters tribe had still been milling about the inn and slowly moving south, past the city.

Since they were dragging their heels, the people in the inn hadn’t wanted to try and make their way through the crowd. Now they were feeling a tiny bit panicked. The Goblins were still far distant, half-an-hour away from the inn at their marching speed, but the sight of the muddy valley slowly filling with bodies was not a fun sight.

Added to the problem was a recent delay. Lyonette had insisted that they bring the faerie flowers in their soil beds, and so the adventurers were trying to unhook them from the walls. Mrsha was sitting, holding a buzzing Apista in her paws by the door. Jelaqua swore as Moore tried to unhook a flower bed.

“Just leave the damn thing, Moore! We can always grow more flowers, but not more heads!

“Says the Selphid. We have time, Jelaqua.”

The half-Giant was calmer than Jelaqua was. She was remembering battles in Baleros and not happy. At this range they could still be hit by a long-range spell, if there was a high-level [Mage] among the Goblins. There probably wasn’t, but every instinct from her time in her home continent said to leave now.

“Everyone done? You have the damn flowers? Okay, go, go, go!

She thrust open the doors. Moore followed her out, protectively shielding Lyonette and Mrsha. Pisces and Yvlon were hot on their heels, and Seborn and Ksmvr were next. Ceria stood in the inn, heart pounding, and waved at Erin.

“Erin? Are you ready? We have to go!

“Just a minute!”

The [Innkeeper] called from the kitchen. She hadn’t been nearly as panicked as the others, which Ceria could respect, but she was taking too long. Ceria paced back over to the kitchen.

“Erin? I know we have time, but we should be in Liscor now! come on!”

“I’m nearly there! I just need to get something!”

“Can I help?”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen.

“No, just go ahead! I’ll be right on your heels!”

“I can’t go without you!”

Ceria protested, even though she wanted to go right now. But Erin was calm. She stepped out of the kitchen and faced her friend.

“Look, Ceria, Liscor’s right there. It’s just a jog and I can climb up a ladder in no time. Give me a minute and go ahead without me. I just need to grab—uh, something.”

The half-Elf hesitated. Erin was being cagey, but she was making sense.

“You’ll be right along? You’re sure you don’t need help?”

“Absolutely. I just need to uh, lock the doors. And make sure the windows are bolted. I’ll be fine, Ceria. Look, if I’m not out in five minutes, come get me, okay?”

“Sure. But you will be out!”

“Absolutely!”

The young woman smiled. Ceria tried to as well, but her heart was racing too fast. She nodded.

“Okay then. But hurry up!”

She left the inn. The Horns were waiting for her by the city as Ceria ran over.

“Where’s Erin?”

Pisces stared at Ceria. The half-Elf pointed back at the inn.

“She said she was getting something?”

What, pray?”

“I don’t—look, she’ll be along! Let’s get up the ladder, though! One of us can get her if we really need to, but the less people scrambling up near the end, the better!”

That made sense. The Horns began climbing the ladders that had been thrown down for them. Moore, who’d had to create his own vine ladder to support his weight, was the last to arrive on the walls. Ceria felt a hand pull her up and stared at a familiar face.

Dawil? What are you doing here?”

She exclaimed as the Dwarf hauled her up with surprising strength in his smaller body. He grinned and slapped her on the lower back.

“Ah, that’s for our glorious leader to explain.”

Ylawes?

Yvlon stared at her brother as he pulled her up with a grunt. She came over the wall and the [Knight] nodded to her.

“Yvlon.”

“You said you were going!”

“I did say that.”

Ylawes looked half-ashamed as he shook his head. he hesitated, and then sighed.

“I—had a change of heart. Yvlon, I can’t force you to do anything. But as your brother, as family, I won’t abandon you. If you’re staying until Liscor is lost or holds—I will too. And you can’t stop me from making that choice.”

He looked firmly at Yvlon. Dawil smiled. Ceria did too. Yvlon looked at her brother, and slowly nodded.

“I—thank you, Ylawes. For everything.”

“Oi! If you’re done with the touching reunion, move out of the way! Falene’s broadcasting!”

A voice snapped at the adventurers. Ceria turned and saw Revi sitting next to Typhenous on some chairs. Halrac was standing at the battlements, bow in hand. The adventurers glanced at Falene, who was deftly ignoring all of them, and hurried over.

“Everyone up?”

“Moore’s having trouble climbing. Hey Lyonette! Get Mrsha off the walls!”

“We’re going to Krshia’s house! Tell Erin to meet us there!”

The young woman called out. Ceria nodded. Revi scanned the press of bodies as one of the Drake [Guardswomen] shouted for hands to haul Moore up.

“Where’s Erin?”

“She’s—coming. She’s just grabbing something.”

Halrac turned. He glared at Ceria.

“You left her behind?”

“She’s coming! The Goblins are at least twenty minutes away, even if they were running!”

“True. Okay, let’s go over places. Ceria, you need to speak to Olesm. He doesn’t want your team on the walls because you’re not ranged. You get to sit in the city with the Flamewardens and the others, lucky you. Go talk to him, he’s over there.”

Revi pointed. Ceria nodded.

“Just as soon as Erin gets up. Is she out of the inn yet?”

She went back to the walls. Halrac stared down at the muddy ground. Ceria could hear reports coming in.

“Goblins—uh—neutral Goblins are still moving around the city! Slow pacing!”

“Just keep an eye on them!”

“Where’s Erin?”

“In the inn. I haven’t seen her leave it yet.”

Halrac stared down at the inn, a frown on his face. So did Ceria.

“I could go back down and see—”

“I’ll go if anyone has to. I am the swiftest.”

Pisces volunteered, sniffing. Halrac just frowned.

“What did you say she was doing?”

“Uh—”

Ceria’s heart was pounding and she couldn’t make it stop. She saw Olesm and Zevara, Ilvriss, and Klbkch coming towards them. The [Strategist] raised his voice and called out to them.

“Everyone on the walls? Ceria, where’s Erin?”

“In the inn!”

“She’s not out?”

“No, but she told me—

Ceria tried to explain. She stopped as she remembered how calm Erin had been, even with the Goblin Lord’s army bearing down on them. Slowly, Ceria turned and stared across the Floodplains.

There they were. Over a hundred thousand Goblins, marching towards the city. An army of green and black. The Goblins marched in ranks, the undead shambling ahead of them. Straight towards Liscor. As if they knew what was expected of them. And behind, the Human army spread out.

“Watch Captain! Wall Lord! We have a hail from the Humans! A [Message] spell!”

“Report it.”

Ilvriss snapped at the Drake [Mage]. The Drake spoke up loudly enough for all to hear.

“They’re—they’re sending an apology, Wall Lord!”

“An apology?”

Zevara looked incredulous. The [Mage] nodded.

“They’re saying that they, uh, regret that their pursuit of the Goblin Lord has carried them this far. They’re attempting to engage the Goblins now, but will respect Liscor’s authority if we wish to initiate combat first.”

A roar of indignation went up across the wall. Zevara’s tail slapped the ground.

“Who sent that, Tyrion Veltras? That insolent bastard.

“Send a counter-message. Inform them that we will allow them first opportunity at the Goblins. And ask what their plan of attack is.”

Ilvriss calmly replied. The [Mage] did so and came back instantly.

“They say they’ll engage the Goblins at distance, Wall Lord. With a number of new weapons.”

“Trebuchets?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ilvriss looked directly at Falene and spoke slowly.

“Tell the Humans that under no circumstances will we allow the use of such weapons around Liscor. For fear of…incidental fire.”

“I’ve said so, sir. But the Humans—they’re politely stating that they don’t wish to take ‘unnecessary casualties’. They’re assuring me that no mistakes will occur.”

A silence fell over the walls. Ilvriss nodded.

“Well then. We’ll see how good their word is, won’t we?”

Zevara spat over the battlements. Ceria looked from Ilvriss’ grim face, to Klbkch’s unreadable one. Ksmvr edged away from Klbkch and Olesm stared around.

“Well—well then, I suppose it’s time.”

Time, yes. The song and dance was over. Ceria stared at the Goblins. So did the others.

“What’s taking Erin?”

“I’m going to get her—”

Pisces spoke at the same time as Jelaqua, Halrac, and Bevussa. The adventurers looked at each other, and then Ceria pointed.

There she is!

Relief filled the half-Elf as she saw the door to the inn open at last. Erin came out, holding something bundled in her arm. And what looked like a quarterstaff. Ceria blinked as Erin fumbled with her burden and tried to lock the door. She heard a few curious voices behind her.

“What’s she holding?”

“Someone get a ladder!”

“Took her sweet time, didn’t she? Well, that’s just like her. Humans in general, really—”

“It would be like her to fall, begin drowning in one of the valleys and have us go rescue her, wouldn’t it?”

“Can she swim?”

“Did she bring a bed sheet? What, is she expecting to sleep through the siege?”

“Someone’s got to. Or did you think we’d man the walls all day?”

“Looks like she’s got a quarterstaff as well. What’s she doing with the—wait. Where is she going?”

The people on the wall stared. Erin was fumbling with the bed sheet and pole. And she was walking. Around her inn. Not towards Liscor. Ceria’s heart began to beat faster.

“Uh—maybe she’s going to the outhouse?”

“With the Goblins approaching?”

“Hell, I could pee off the walls.”

“Just pee?”

“She’s—not going to the outhouse.”

They stared. Erin was walking past the outhouses. Around the inn, down the hill. Away from Liscor. And she was still fumbling with the bed sheet. She was trying to insert the pole into it. Ceria’s mouth went dry.

“What’s Erin doing? Where is she going?”

The others looked at each other. Moore craned his head uncertainly.

“She’s heading towards the Goblins.”

“Is she insane?”

The question was entirely rhetorical. But even for Erin this was—her audience was frozen in place. Spellbound by something that wasn’t a spell, but pure madness. Erin was going towards the Goblins. And now she had the pole on the ground and was running the sheet down it. And—Ceria squinted. It looked peculiar. Familiar. The bed sheet was white, and the pole was quite, quite long. And as Erin hoisted it over her head, it looked just like—

“Oh no. Oh no.

Ceria took a step back. The others took a moment to see what she was seeing, then Halrac swore.

“Someone get down there and stop her!”

“She can’t be doing that! No!”

Olesm clutched at his neck spines. Ilvriss’ jaw fell open. Falene just stared and the world stared too. Pisces looked down at Erin, and his eyes were wide.

“Is that—”

Ksmvr appeared and stared past Pisces. He nodded.

“It appears Miss Erin has a flag. A white flag. I believe she is going towards the Goblins in order to negotiate.”

“What, our surrender?

The others stared at Ksmvr. Then Klbkch turned and snapped.

“Someone stop her. Now.”

Ceria lurched into motion at the command in his tone. She saw Bevussa spread her wings as Pisces put one leg over the battlements. Revi conjured one of her summoned warriors and the wall sprang to life. Then someone blew a horn.

It came from behind them. Ceria’s heart nearly came out of her mouth. Zevara snapped around.

“What the hell was that? Report! Are we under attack?”

“Is it reinforcements?”

Olesm whirled around. A [Guardsman] was sprinting towards them. He skidded to a stop.

“Watch Captain! It’s the southern wall! They said the Goblins—the other Goblins—they’ve changed course!”

Zevara stared at the Gnoll in horror.

“They’re doing what?

 

—-

 

“Spread out. Send word to Lord Pellmia and Lord Gralton. I want the left and right wings to advance two hundred feet. We will encircle the Goblins from behind. If they deviate from the city, bombard them with spells. The instant we open a gap, Miss Arcsinger will employ her Skill and pull them towards the city. Inform [Emperor] Laken that I want the first volley to land on the eastern gates.”

Lord Tyrion snapped orders as his army deployed around him. The ranks of infantry took positions behind the riders, whose horses were pawing at the muddy ground nervously. Still—the [Riders] weren’t even mounted yet. They soothed their beasts and the officers in charge allowed the soldiers to stand casually. They knew their turn wouldn’t come yet.

Everyone knew the plan. But only Tyrion could execute it. He saw the left and right wings moving forwards smoothly, filling the valley until the mud and grass turned into steep inclines. The Goblin Lord had no way to retreat.

“The Drakes are hailing us, sir. They want assurances that your trebuchets will not hit the city. We’ve received threats from Zeres, Oteslia—now Manus as well—”

“Lady Reinhart is issuing you a direct message, Lord Veltras. She offers you one last chance to—”

“—congratulations from King Theil of Terandria. He wishes us the best of luck—”

“—at least one [Mage] transmitting the battle from the walls of Liscor. Wistram is picking up the spell despite our requests to have the broadcast stopped. Do you wish to—”

Voices surrounded Tyrion, all begging his attention. But he was looking towards Liscor. There it sat. A large city, a Drake city. There were larger and more fortified cities, but Liscor was key. Strategic. Within its walls were nearly a hundred thousand souls and it had withstood the Necromancer, the Antinium, and any number of Human armies over the years. But none of them had what Tyrion did. Trebuchets, weapons of war that did not rely on magic, and Goblins. They were marching ahead of Tyrion.

“Strange. They’re not trying to move around the city.”

“Perhaps they’re resigned to their fates. Or perhaps they knew what’s coming.”

The [Strategists] debated quietly to Tyrion’s left. He saw something buzzing past them, a green, flying insect.

“Watch yourselves. There are acid flies in the air. This is their season for breeding.”

The two men recoiled. One swatted at the acid fly, swore, and Tyrion sighed.

“Healing potion. Jericha, the progress on the trebuchets?”

“Nearly complete, sir. [Emperor] Laken is oversee—I mean, commanding the [Engineers]. We have the ammunition ready too.”

Tyrion turned his head. He saw massive chunks of stone, shaped into projectiles, being dragged into place. They had been quarried and hauled from the High Passes, and there was enough of them to besiege Liscor day and night. But he didn’t intend to sit around.

“Have the enchantments held?”

Jericha nodded.

“Yes, sir. Lady Ieka assures me that the first enchantments are all at full strength. We have unenchanted stones for the first two volleys. We can begin ranging shots on your order.”

“Hold, then. Wait for my signal. And keep an eye on the ground. Have our Gold-rank teams ready.”

“Yes, sire.”

Tyrion could feel the vibration in the air. He rode forwards a bit, staring at Liscor. The Goblins were approaching cautiously. They might now be in range of a shot from a particularly experienced [Archer], or from Liscor’s enchanted walls, but not from regular bows. The Goblin Lord had to be getting as close as possible so he’d spend as little time being hit from Liscor’s walls before he was at the city. Tyrion stared at the mass of Goblins. Yes, they’d gone straight for the city. He’d expected to have to pin them between his mages and archers, funnel them towards Liscor. But there they were, marching along neatly.

“You are aware of what is happening, aren’t you?”

Perhaps the Goblin Lord was counting on holding the city. It didn’t matter. It all suited Tyrion’s plans. He saw them advancing, and nodded.

“Move up two hundred feet. And then inform [Emperor] Laken to wait for my command.”

The army advanced another two hundred feet. They gave the Goblins a good gap, but they were well within range of Tyrion’s [Mages] and the trebuchets and only minutes away if his cavalry charged. But none of Tyrion’s forces were near enough to be targeted by Liscor. Tyrion nodded.

Now would be the time. He turned to Jericha, and heard a raw voice. A man galloped towards him, sword in hand. Tyrion saw Jericha raise a wand and point at Yitton Byres’ chest.

“Jericha, hold!

She stopped. Yitton halted in front of Tyrion. His face was a mask of both terror and pain. He raised his sword and Tyrion subdued the urge to reach for his own sword.

“Lord Byres. What is the meaning of this?”

My children.

Yitton Byres gestured to the city behind Tyrion. A few of Tyrion’s escorts moved to surround him, but Tyrion motioned them back.

“They are in Liscor?”

Yitton nodded.

“Both Ylawes and Yvlon. I know it! Tyrion, you cannot allow them to—you must hold off the attack, give them time. Let me ransom my children, or petition Liscor to let any noncombatants go! I beg of you!”

“Ridiculous.”

Jericha stiffened in outrage. Tyrion shook his head.

“Lord Yitton, I cannot oblige your request for two reasons. Firstly, time is of the essence and I do not intend Liscor time to stall. Secondly—I remind you that this is not an assault. Yet. The Goblin Lord’s army is our target, not Liscor. To claim or insinuate otherwise openly would be problematic.”

“Do not lie, Tyrion!”

Yitton shouted. The man pointed his blade at Tyrion’s chest and Jericha’s wand glowed with energy. Yitton took no notice. His face was pale.

“I thought you were a better man than this. Don’t stoop to subterfuge. You know what you are doing.”

The words stung Tyrion a bit. He shifted on his horse’s saddle.

“Very well. It is an assault, Byres. But what would you have me do? Call it off? For two people?”

Yitton shook his head. He looked at Tyrion and there were tears in his eyes.

“My children are there, Tyrion. What would you do for them? Please.”

Lord Tyrion Veltras paused.

“I know. And I am sorry, Lord Yitton. But some things require sacrifice. If it were my own children—”

He paused for a long time and stared at Yitton’s face.

“—It must be done.”

“Then I am sorry too. Because I cannot let you do this.”

Lord Yitton’s grip tightened on his sword. He urged his horse forwards with a shout. Jericha lifted her wand.

“Alive.”

Tyrion turned his head. He saw the flash out of the corner of his eye, heard Yitton cry out. Several [Knights] rushed forwards and restrained the [Lord] as he half-tumbled from his saddle, his armor glowing where Jericha’s spell had struck him.

“Escort Lord Byres behind the lines. Keep him there. And assure him that if I can save his children, I will. Jericha, my thanks.”

“At your service, Lord Veltras.”

The two sat on their mounts as Lord Yitton was taken away. Tyrion heard him shouting, but he tuned the man’s voice out. He stared at Liscor. Now would be the time. Tyrion raised a hand—

“Lord Veltras!”

A [Scout] galloped towards him. This time Tyrion’s brows creased in annoyance.

“What now?”

“Lord Veltras, there’s—a complication. Someone’s raised a white flag!”

“In Liscor?”

Tyrion’s jaw nearly dropped. The [Scout] shook his head. He pointed back across the Floodplains.

“No, sire. It’s—it’s a Human! A young woman—she’s approaching the Goblin Lord’s army with a white flag! And she’s shouting for a temporary truce!”

Tyrion stared at the man. His eyes bored into the [Scout]’s head. Then, slowly, as the entire army hung on his word, Tyrion raised one hand, and felt at his right ear. He cupped his hand.

“What?”

 

—-

 

All is in readiness. Take the walls and my force will teleport in. Hold the city for thirty minutes. Once the dead begin rising, you will be able to entrap Tyrion Veltras’ cavalry within the walls.

Az’kerash’s voice whispered to Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded jerkily. His eyes were fixed on Liscor. The Goblins in his army held still, nervous, staring at the city that would be their home.

There it was. A city on a hill. Only—something was wrong. The hill was muddy. There was water on the ground, and the city looked smaller and less grand than in his dreams. And Reiss could see figures on the walls. Drakes, Gnolls, even a half-Giant. It wasn’t like his dream at all. It was too real.

But his master was in his head. And Reiss was a captive. Or—no. Not just a captive. A slave. Was Greydath right? Was Garen? Reiss was afraid. He stared at Liscor and heard the whisper again.

As soon as a gap opens, push your Goblins towards it. Send the undead first. They will explode in the gaps. Whittle down Liscor’s defenders. This battle is yours to lose.

It wasn’t his, though. Tendons stood down on Reiss’ neck. He was him. He was Reiss. Wasn’t he? Was it Reiss who thought this, or a Goblin who thought he was Reiss?

Zel Shivertail had given him that name. His master did not know it. That part was real. Reiss clung to that fact. His army slowed. Now they were just out of range of Liscor’s walls. Someone panicked on the walls and shot an arrow. It landed just short of the Goblins.

“Wait.”

Reiss croaked an order. His Goblins looked up at him uncertainly. They waited. Were they his slaves? No. They were loyal. Or was it just because he was a Goblin Lord? Did they have a choice?

Tyrion Veltras will begin the assault soon. Soon.

His master’s tone was gleeful. Reiss could sense his excitement, his elation. To Az’kerash, it was a victory, excitement. He did not measure lives like Reiss did. He was—happy.

“Wait.”

Reiss held up a hand. The Goblins looked up at him. The Goblin Lord had spotted something. He pointed ahead. A distant figure was approaching them. It had stopped on a hill. It was holding something. Reiss and his master stared. He stared at a distant figure he had never seen before. A Human, young and female. Holding something in her hands. She waved it. The Necromancer’s voice was incredulous.

Is that—

“A flag.”

Reiss spoke the words softly. He stared at the white flag. And his stomach lurched. Then he heard the voice. And the distant figure waved the flag. And seemed to be speaking to him.

 

—-

 

As Tyrion Veltras rode forwards, cupping one ear. As Reiss and Az’kerash stared through the same eyes. Under the gazes of the horrified defenders of Liscor. Watched by the world through a half-Elf’s eyes. And to the listening Goblins, Drakes, Humans, Antinium, and all the rest. She shouted.

Peace! I want a truce! Parley! Parley! Cease-fire!

Erin Solstice waved the flag over her head, trying to make the bed sheet that was the flag wave in the non-existent breeze. She wished she’d chosen a smaller pole. The flag was heavy and her arms were already hurting. But she kept waving the flag. The Goblin Lord’s army had stopped and behind it, she could see the Human one. Distant ranks of warriors dressed in armor glinted at her.

Humans. Her people. More of them than she’d ever seen in one place in this world. Gathered for war. But it couldn’t be war. It shouldn’t be. The Goblins weren’t evil! And Liscor wasn’t a bad place! Erin didn’t know the history that had brought the Humans—led by this Tyrion Veltras—here. She didn’t care. She only knew what her heart told her. And it had led her here.

“Hey! Don’t attack! Let’s talk it out! Talk! Give peace a chance! War, is it really any good? Let’s talk about this!

Erin shouted with her [Loud Voice] Skill. Her words bounced off Liscor’s walls, echoed across the Floodplains. It sounded awful to Erin. She didn’t have a speech. But she kept shouting, waving her flag. Her knees were shaking.

There were so many Goblins. And these ones were dressed in black armor. They carried terrible weapons and—if there ever was an evil army, it would be them. Their crimson eyes fixed on Erin. Like green demons. But that wasn’t them. This wasn’t them. Erin had to believe it.

Peace! Say it with me! Peace! That’s all we want! Peace! Peace! Please? Peace!

 

—-

 

Peace!

“I don’t believe it. She’s going to die.”

Zevara covered her eyes. Ilvriss stared down at Erin. He agreed.

“She isn’t serious. Does she think that Tyrion Veltras will listen to her after coming all this way? That the Goblin Lord will?”

He shook his head. It was a foolish dream. But he kept his eyes on her. And he heard a voice.

Wall Lord! Wall Lord!

He glanced over. The [Mage] was staring at him.

“What?”

“The Walled Cities. Wall Lord, they’re asking who that is. Everyone can hear her, sir.”

“They can?”

Ilvriss looked at Falene. The half-Elf was staring at Erin. So was everyone else. Erin’s voice echoed distantly towards them.

Hey, can you even hear me? Someone wave if you can! I want a truce! Uh, an armistice? Parley! Is that only pirates?

 

—-

 

“Ridiculous. Who is that?”

Half of the students in the room were dying of laughter. The other half were just staring and shaking their heads. Venaz was slapping the table hard enough to make it shake. But Niers Astoragon was just staring.

“Her.”

He knew her. He had seen her in the battle for Liscor. And he—yes, he remembered her then too. Her voice echoed back to him. Peace. She was shouting for it, waving her flag at the Goblins. And they were just staring at her.

Niers’ heart hurt. He looked at the scrying orb, and then away.

“Professor?”

Umina wasn’t laughing. She looked at the Titan. He glanced at her.

“Umina?”

“Would that work? Ever?”

The Titan stared back at the young woman. She was shouting as loudly as she could. He could hear her voice crack.

Come on! We can work together! Goblins aren’t evil. They aren’t bad! It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“No.”

The Fraerling shook his head. He looked around at the laughing students and at Venaz, who was still guffawing. Niers picked up the nearest object—a tiny mug—and threw it at Venaz. It hit the Minotaur in the eye and he roared in pain.

“No.”

Niers looked back at Umina. His gaze was sad and suddenly, old. He gestured at the scrying orb.

“It would never work, Umina. But it isn’t something to mock, either.”

“It should work.”

The Lizardgirl spoke quietly. Niers nodded. He bowed his head.

“Perhaps—”

He waited. But in his heart he knew. The young woman waved her flag.

 

—-

 

“Peace?”

The words were repeated with derision among the nobility. They stared at the distant figure. To them, her voice was so tiny that they had to have it repeated back to them. But the content had gotten through. Some crazed girl was shouting for peace. Tyrion exchanged a look with Jericha.

“She’s right in front of the Goblin Lord’s army, sire. And she is a resident of Liscor—from the Face-Eater moth attack. Should we send a rider to grab her?”

“No.”

Tyrion shook his head. He stared past Jericha, past the Goblin Lord’s army. He couldn’t even see the young woman. Nor could he imagine it. Peace? With the Goblins? With the Drakes? He shook his head again.

“Ignore her. She’s…”

He trailed off. What was she? Deluded? Insane?

“Wrong.”

That was the only word for it. Tyrion looked back at Jericha. He looked away. If this was some kind of stalling tactic, or strange ploy, it was completely useless. It had bought seconds, and for what? No one was listening. The girl’s words were…pointless.

 

—-

 

“Goblins are not evil.”

Reiss whispered the words. He heard them again, from the young woman. She shouted them at the army of Goblins. At him.

I know you can hear me! Hey! Let’s talk! Don’t fight! We’re not enemies! I know you can be good. Just listen! Okay?

He stared at her. She was just one Human. One, like the others. But she called to him. In his mind, he could sense those Goblins who were Chieftains. He could tell Rags was behind him. And Garen. He could even sense distant powers, far-off presences that might be Goblin Lords as well. But he had never felt something like this.

He could sense her. Not as a similar presence to a chieftain but as an…instinct. Something in him that told him that ahead of him was…safety. A friend. And Reiss wasn’t the only one. The Goblins in his army stared at Erin. And they felt the same certainty.

There she stood. She waved the flag and told them to stop. Reiss listened, but the voice in his head was dismissive.

A foolish attempt. Why would anyone conceive—ignore fools like that, my apprentice. That girl is not too far from a zombie in terms of intellect. And why she would assume…do I know her?

“Who is she?”

Reiss stared at the girl. He heard a name in his mind. A memory. Rags speaking of someone, a friend.

Erin Solstice. And for a second, Reiss wanted to go forwards. He wanted to raise a flag of his own and go over to Erin. To talk. He hesitated. His master’s voice was impatient. But the young woman—Reiss began to urge his Shield Spider forwards. If—

 

—-

 

Peace! Rah, rah, peace!

Erin was running out of things to say. But the Goblin Lord’s army hadn’t moved. She hoped. She smiled and tried to shout the optimism in her chest out to the world.

“We can work things out! We can do this! Yes we can! Truce! Let’s negotiate I have an inn! Parley! Par—

 

—-

 

“Fire.”

Tyrion spoke the words calmly. He heard the word repeat itself and then the sound of the trebuchets swinging up. The groan of ropes. And then the sounds stopped. In utter silence he and a hundred thousand Humans looked up.

A massive projectile, a chunk of stone rounded for flight, soared through the air. It flew high, high into the sky. It was joined by over two dozen other stones. From his seat, Laken Godart turned his head up and listened. He heard only the sounds of the trebuchet counterweights swinging. He did not hear the stones flying. Only, distantly, the thump of one landing. And then a crack as one struck Liscor’s walls.

The first stone struck Liscor’s walls near the base, creating a sound like gravel and thunder. The rest thudded into the ground in front of the city, raising huge plumes of mud and water. Erin ducked as the defenders of the city took cover. The Goblins, Reiss included, turned to stare at Tyrion Veltras’ army. The silence overtook the Floodplains. And it was deafening.

“No.”

Erin stared at the distant Human army. She thought she saw the trebuchets. They were slowly being cranked back. And indeed, they were.

Tyrion Veltras watched as the teams of [Laborers] and [Soldiers] struggled to fit another block under a trebuchet’s arm. Tessia, the [Engineer], shouted orders as they did, and each team of Riverfarm [Builders] and [Engineers] shouted, trying to ascertain where their shots had landed, adjusting for the next one.

“Prepare the next ranging volley on my mark. Repeat my instructions to aim for the gates. Select three trebuchets for misdirection. And send a [Message] spell.”

Tyrion spoke calmly. He waited, watching the people swarm around the trebuchets and then, suddenly, back away. He saw the [Engineers] confirming readiness and wondered if there was a way to make it faster. With Skills, with experience—how fast could they work?

This time the volley of stones was placed around Liscor. One soared over the walls. The rest struck the wall, most landing near the base rather than the top. Tyrion smiled. And then they began loading the enchanted ammunition onto the third volley.

 

—-

 

Take cover!

Zevara screamed at those below as she saw the stone flying too high. She ducked reflexively and saw a boulder half again as tall as she was pass over her head and to the left. It fell into the city and the crash as it landed was tremendous. But by that point the rest of the boulders were smashing against Liscor’s walls. She felt the vibrations, heard the shouting.

Report!

“The walls are holding!”

Olesm peeked over the battlements. The stones had smashed against Liscor’s enchanted walls and left no marks. No—that wasn’t true. The debris from the rock were plastered against the wall, leaving chalky imprints. Were there micro fractures? Zevara wanted to believe there weren’t.

“Was anyone hurt by the one that landed in the city?”

“I don’t think so. We evacuated the houses and our ground forces are too close to the walls. Here—watch out, they’re reloading!”

Olesm shouted at the others. They took cover. One of the adventurers, Halrac, drew an arrow. His bow was practically invisible—it was translucent unless you stared carefully and made the outline out in the air. It looked like he was just holding an arrow, but he aimed it at the sky.

“Can we shoot those things down?”

“I’ll try.”

The [Scout] snapped at Zevara. Ilvriss, who’d held his ground during the second volley, charged towards them.

“Zevara! I’m heading back to the city to coordinate the defenses!”

“I know. Go!”

Zevara whirled. Ilvriss took off. If the walls fell, one leader had to be behind the front lines. She turned back to the Human army.

“Olesm! Can we blast the trebuchets from here? Or use the enchantment spells to block the missiles?”

“We’re out of range of the trebuchets, but I can try hitting the stones. But the spells don’t aim well and if I miss—”

They’d exhaust the limited spells they could use. Zevara cursed.

“Don’t bother.”

“Watch Captain! We’re getting a [Message] from the Humans!”

What? Why?

“They’re—they’re sending another apology.”

This time the Drake [Mage] didn’t bother to ask for permission. He raised his claw to his temple.

“They’re saying—misfire. It was a misfire. The Humans regret the accident. They’re warning us to watch out for ‘stray missiles’. Should I respond?”

Zevara uttered a series of curses and the [Mage] raised a claw to his temple.

“They’re saying another volley is incoming, adjusting their aim—”

Duck!

This time the stones flew differently. And when they struck the walls, the sound they made was far, far different. One huge stone struck the walls and exploded into a ball of fire, sending searing jets of flame everywhere. Another just blasted to pieces, sending shrapnel up. A third made a thumping sound and fell to earth, completely undamaged. That strike made the walls vibrate.

“Enchanted munitions!”

Olesm cried out. Zevara grabbed the wall for support.

“Is everyone—”

She flinched as a spark of light erupted in the Floodplains. A missile had landed near the Goblins and exploded in radiance. Two more enchanted stones landed around the Goblins, who recoiled. One landed among a group of the Goblin Lord’s army and crushed two dozen Goblins before rolling to a stop.

“What in the name of—”

“The Humans report a connection with the Goblin Lord’s army. They said they’re correcting their aim again!”

“They’re taunting us.”

Zevara stared at the distant army. She looked at the three stones that had barely grazed the Goblin Lord’s army, and then at the still-burning fragments of stone scattered at the base of the walls. And then she heard a terrible sound. A cry of alarm from the eastern gates.

Damage on the gates!

The Watch Captain froze. Olesm stared down and shouted for clarification. Word came back in moments—the gates were dented. Not broken, but the metal had bowed in from one of the shots.

“They’re trying to bring down our gates.”

Zevara stood on the walls, staring at the gates. They were the weak point of the walls. Like the stone, they were spelled, but the hinges could be broken. And the Humans were aiming for them. She saw the soldiers scrambling to reload the trebuchets and turned.

Klbkch!

The Antinium hadn’t ducked when the trebuchets had fired. He made his way over to her. Zevara shouted, thought it was quiet.

“Where are the Antinium? Take down the trebuchets!”

“They are moving, Watch Captain. Wait.”

She had to. Zevara stood helplessly as Klbkch waited by her side. Her eyes were fixed on the distant trebuchets. She saw their arms reset, saw another boulder being dragged into place—

And then, suddenly, movement. The ground erupted and black bodies spilled out. Zevara heard the cry go up.

“Antinium!”

They were attacking! The black bodies poured out of a hole close to one of the trebuchets. The Soldiers charged one, and the people manning the device fled. The surprised Humans fell back as the Antinium swarmed the trebuchet. They began tearing at it, hammering on the wood, trying to bring it down.

Burn it! Do they have fire?”

“They are armed with a few alchemical weapons—”

Klbkch broke off. One of the Soldiers had struck the first trebuchet with something. Zevara saw a blossom of fire. Soldiers fell back, some burnt, as the trebuchet began to go up in flames. She heard a cry of celebration as the Soldiers streamed towards the other trebuchets. Another fell, the counterweight striking the ground as a Soldier climbed up and ripped a bolt out. A third splintered as its frame was broken. The Watch was cheering—

And then Zevara saw a hail of arrows cut down the Antinium. A [Fireball] blew a knot of Soldiers apart. At a distance she could see adventurers and Human [Soldiers] advancing under the cover of mage fire. The Soldiers turned to this new threat, but they were surrounded. Cut off. They made for a fourth trebuchet and another spell blew them to bits.

No—

Zevara watched in horror as more Antinium poured out of the hole, and then other tunnels appeared. But the element of surprise was gone, and the Humans had been waiting. The Antinium burst out of the ground and were cut down in moments. Zevara saw them making for the trebuchets—and failing to scratch the huge devices.

“The Antinium are falling back.”

Klbkch announced calmly as the last of the black bodies fell. Zevara turned to him.

“You can’t! The trebuchets—”

“—are too well guarded. We have lost too many Soldiers attempting to do more damage. More would simply waste lives the Hive does not have. I am sorry.”

The Drake looked back. The Humans were destroying the Antinium bodies, sealing the tunnels and blasting the fleeing Antinium. The trebuchets were still there, most untouched by the fighting. Out of two dozen odd trebuchets, the Antinium had gotten a seventh of them.

“No.”

But there was nothing to be done. Klbkch and Zevara turned as the Drake [Mage] spoke.

“The Humans report—accidental contact with an Antinium patrol. They regret to inform—no survivors.”

“Then it’s over. We can’t destroy them.”

Zevara sank down. Klbkch nodded. He was so cold. So calm, even for him. Zevara stared at the Antinium.

“We must hold the walls.”

That was all he said. The impossible. Zevara looked back. She saw the trebuchets loading, and knew they would keep firing. Minute after minute, hour by hour. Day after day. She closed her eyes. Then she turned to the [Guardsmen] and adventurers.

“Prepare yourselves!”

They looked up. Zevara drew her sword. She pointed down at the Goblins, who had watched as the boulder struck the city. Only a few missiles landed around them, and even then they rarely struck even an outside formation. Zevara stared down at the Goblins and shook her head.

“They’re coming.”

Across the wall, the Drakes and Gnolls drew their weapons. The adventurers armed themselves. The Goblin Lord’s army was beginning to march. They surged forwards across the Floodplains.

“She is still there.”

Klbkch stared down at Erin. She was still shouting, still waving her flag. He turned to Zevara.

“We must rescue her.”

“How?”

Zevara stared at Klbkch. He had shown no emotion when the Antinium had died by the hundreds. But now he looked—worried. Klbkch had no answer. And the Goblin Lord’s army was coming.

Like an army of green and black. A horde came at Liscor’s walls as more and more cracks appeared. The walls were coming down. Piece by piece, but it was happening. Each time an enchanted boulder struck the wall, it chipped or fractured the stone.

And the gates were already being forced open. The metal had bent inwards rather than completely failing, but the tears in the metal were already wide enough to let someone squeeze through. And more and more boulders fell every few minutes.

Fill those gaps! I don’t care if you have to knock down every house in the city, just do it!”

Zevara screamed at the Workers and [Builders] below. She could see Embria mustering her [Soldiers] and the Pallassian reinforcements around the gates. Bracing. But there were so many Goblins. And as they came they began a chant.

Goblin.

It was one word. But it came from countless throats. The Goblins said it once, and then again, a rolling chant.

Goblin.

And then it was a roar. They shouted it and it was thunder.

Goblin!

A sound to drown all others. A scream. They were coming. Zevara looked across the walls and saw Relc spinning his spear, Tkrn and a knot of Gnolls setting themselves, Falene pulling herself upright. And onwards the Goblins came, towards that small figure on a hill.

Erin.

“They’re moving.”

Klbkch stared across the Floodplains. Zevara was about to tell him that was obvious, until her eyes saw what he did. She looked back and saw them.

 

—-

 

Stop, stop shooting!

Erin screamed at the distant army of Humans. And then at the Goblin Lord’s army. She heard the booming of their drums, and the chant.

Goblin.

It deafened her. How could one word contain so much anger? But it was what they were. Hated, despised, hunted. That was Goblin. And the army in front of her embodied that. They came towards Liscor, rolling across the hills and valleys. Erin lifted her flag, but it was so heavy.

Would you just—stop? Please?”

Her voice faltered. Erin sank down, leaning on the pole. It was no use. She bent her head. She could stop nothing. Do nothing. She had been useless from the start. Who would stop for a flag? Who would put down their arms for peace?

No one. That was the truth. Not Humans, not Drakes, nor Goblins. None of them would stop. And in that sense it truly was useless. Except, perhaps for another kind of Goblin. The Goblins who watched and saw a person they recognized. Some had known her for a night. Others for a while. Perhaps, as Erin had thought, a single night made no difference. But a night could make all the difference.

Someone climbed the hill next to Erin. A foot trod through mud, and a stranger grasped the flag. Erin opened her eyes. Her gaze swam with tears, and she saw a figure standing over her. He was green, taller than her, and red war paint crossed his arms, his cheeks. His ears were pointed, and his eyes crimson, dark as blood. When he smiled, his teeth were pointed. And yet, he was beautiful in his own way. And he was no stranger. He was her friend.

Headscratcher lifted the flag from Erin’s loose grip. He lifted it over his head, high into the sky. A white flag. A symbol. He grinned down at Erin and she blinked the tears away.

“Nice flag.”

For a moment Erin couldn’t speak. She looked up at Headscratcher. He waved the flag, the sunlight flashing off the golden axe at his side, the armor he wore, and the flag. She blinked at him, and then pointed accusingly at his chest.

“I thought you were leaving!”

Headscratcher paused. He looked down at Erin and shrugged.

“Was going to. But then saw this.”

He pointed at the flag. Erin looked at it. She sniffled.

“Well, it didn’t do anything. You should run. We should both run.”

“Why?”

The Hob looked confused. He scratched his head, which suited his name. Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army.

“Because of them!”

The army had halted in its tracks. Headscratcher stared at the army and shrugged.

“Could. But could stay. Could fight. That what we talked about. Goblin Lord. Bad Goblin. Could fight him. All of us.”

“But you didn’t. You chose to run.”

Erin looked at Headscratcher. He smiled again.

“We did. But then saw you. Heard you stay. So we changed minds.”

“Who did?”

“We did.”

“Who—”

And then Erin saw someone else climbing the hill out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw a familiar Goblin carrying a guitar walk past her. Numbtongue grabbed the flag with Headscratcher. He looked down at Erin.

“Hi.”

Numbtongue?

Not just him. A pair of Goblins walked past Erin. Shorthilt and Badarrow. The two stepped into place. Badarrow checked his bow and then grabbed part of the pole. So did Shorthilt.

“But I thought—you were a—”

“Sneaky Goblins.”

Shorthilt winked at Erin. And a fifth Goblin trudged up the hill. He wore chainmail that shone in the light. His cloak of wine billowed in an imaginary wind. And he smiled when he saw Erin’s face.

“Rabbiteater.”

“Saw flag.”

The Hob bent down and offered Erin a hand. Dazed, she took it, and the Hob hauled her up. He walked forwards towards the flag and put a hand on it. The five Hobs lifted the flag into the air. Erin stared at them.

“You guys came back? Why?”

Headscratcher shrugged.

“Heard you were going to fight. Heard you were going to stay.”

“I—yeah, but, no, but—who told you that?”

The Hobs looked at each other. Numbtongue answered at the same time as Rabbiteater.

“Somebody.”

“Pebblesnatch.”

Numbtongue scowled. He kicked Rabbiteater in the shins. Rabbiteater swore. Erin looked at them.

“She told you I was going to fight? I wasn’t. I—I was trying to stop the fighting. Not start more!”

Headscratcher looked confused. He pointed up at the white banner.

“But you have flag.”

“Yes! A white flag!”

“Right. Nice color. But turn red very quick.”

“That’s not—”

Erin stared at the flag. Then she looked at Headscratcher and the others. She took a deep breath.

“Headscratcher, white flags aren’t the same as other flags. They don’t mean it’s time for war. They’re a sign of peace. You don’t fight under them.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. Headscratcher’s jaw dropped. He looked at the flag, and then Erin, and then back again.

“Oh.”

“Oops.”

Badarrow agreed. He seemed amused, because he slapped Shorthilt on the shoulder and chortled. The other Hob grinned. Erin looked at them. The five laughed. They’d made a mistake! They laughed and grinned as if they knew some giant joke.

“What’s so funny? We should run! It’s all over. The Goblin Lord’s going to attack and we’re going to die.”

“Really?”

Headscratcher looked down at Erin. She nodded.

“There’s no hope. There’s too many of them.”

Shorthilt cast a dismissive glance at the Goblin army.

“Not that many.”

“Yes, that many! How are you going to try and fight them? There are six of us and a million of them!”

“More than six.”

“No, Numbtongue, not more than—”

Erin stopped. She looked suspiciously at Numbtongue. Then at the other Redfangs. They were all laughing, grinning at something. Behind Erin. She slowly looked at them and then felt a tingling on the back of her neck.

“Wait. Was it just you who came back?”

“No.”

“How many, then? How many decided to turn around?”

The question stumped the Goblins. Rabbiteater started counting. Badarrow shrugged. Numbtongue and Shorthilt exchanged amused glances. And Headscratcher smiled. He let go of the flag and walked over to Erin. Slowly, he turned her around.

“All of us.”

And there they were. They walked up the hills, across valleys. Small Goblins. Hobs. Warriors riding Carn Wolves and horses. Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe. Cave Goblins. Young and old. Tall and short. Not one single tribe, but three. And they moved together.

The Goblins streamed past Liscor. Past the startled defenders who braced themselves. They returned, laughing and pointing. Up at her. At the flag. At the five Hobs who stood around it. And they waved at her. They knew her name. The Goblins marched in front of Liscor, ignoring the falling stones. They formed a wall in front of the Goblin Lord’s forces. An army.

“What…”

Erin was lost for words. She saw familiar faces among the Goblins. Redscar, riding proudly ahead of an army of Redfangs, old and new. Poisonbite, marshaling both male and female Goblins. Noears, surrounded by the Goblin magic-users. Spiderslicer, raising a sword over his head. Countless faces, all looking up at her.

“We came back. Don’t tell them for wrong flag.”

Headscratcher beamed at Erin. She turned to him, full of elation and despair.

“But you’ll die!”

“Might.”

He shook his head. Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army. They were all staring, confronted by this strange sight. Reiss held still, uncertain. He recognized the Redfang tribe. And Rags’ Goblins. But who were the strange grey Goblins? Where was their Chieftain? The five Hobs?

“This isn’t your fight! You don’t have to be here!”

“No. It is.”

Numbtongue stepped forwards, leaving the other three with the flag. He pointed at the Goblin Lord, and then at Liscor. Zevara stared down at the army with Klbkch. The walls of her city were beginning to crumble. No army of Drakes could save Liscor. All were too far away. But an army had appeared. It was not one she would have ever looked for. But it was there. And she prayed, without knowing how and with no one in mind. She hoped for salvation.

And there it was. Numbtongue smiled as he looked at Liscor.

“Not our city. Nor our people. And Humans—we don’t care what they do. But you stayed. So we stay. The Goblin Lord is ours. And he is wrong.”

“Not Goblin.”

Badarrow let go of the flag. That was all he said, but it was condemnation and judgment itself. The others nodded. Erin looked from face to face.

“But what are you doing? Are you going to fight?”

“We followed you. Thought you were going to fight.”

Shorthilt gave the flag to Rabbiteater. The Hob stared at his friend as Shorthilt went over to Erin. The reserved Goblin drew his sword. It shone as he pointed at the silent army. Past it, at Tyrion. The [Lord] of the Veltras family stared. Jericha dropped her wand.

“Where did that army come from?”

If you hadn’t been there, you’d never know. If you hadn’t seen it, how could you tell? Across the world, eyes locked on a Goblin army, conjured from the ground. Was it there to join with the Goblin Lord? Was it another ploy of Tyrion Veltras? Something the Drakes had cooked up? Niers Astoragon’s eyes locked on the young woman. She was gesturing, shouting at Shorthilt.

“But you’ll die!”

“We are Goblins. We die.”

Shorthilt shrugged fatalistically. Erin slapped his shoulder and he winced. Headscratcher punched Shorthilt in the back and the Hob turned. He pointed.

“Goblin Lord is bad. Liscor is—okay. And you.”

He looked at Erin. She stared at him and then looked around. The Goblins looked up at her.

“Me? What about me?”

Shorthilt tilted his head.

“Do you want to fight? If yes—we fight.”

He gestured with his sword. The young woman looked at him.

“Just like that?”

“Mhm.”

Erin stood on the hill. She looked down at the army in front of her, and then turned. The Goblin Lord’s army lay before her. Uncertain. Even the trebuchets had stopped firing.

“But it’s too much to ask. How could anyone ask that? Why would you do it?”

The Hobs looked at each other. Rabbiteater, who’d been struggling with the flag, gave up and threw it down the hill. He stomped over. Erin looked at him as the [Champion] shook out his shoulders and gave the others a dirty look. Then he gazed at Erin. He beamed.

“We like you.”

She waited. But that was it. Rabbiteater had said his piece. He stood with the others, grinning happily at Erin. They were all smiling. They looked so at peace. But her knees shook. Erin looked at them. She looked at the Goblin Lord.

“If you fight—”

You die. She’d said it enough times. And they knew. The knowledge was reflected in their eyes. It was the same truth all the Goblins waiting had in their eyes. You didn’t need to tell Goblins about death. But still, they waited. Erin wiped at her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. How could she ask? How could anyone ask that? She looked back.

At Liscor. At the city. It looked smaller, now. Cracked. Fire burned in one spot. The people on the walls stared down at her. Erin saw faces she recognized. She thought of her friends. Selys, Krshia, Mrsha. She looked at her inn. And then she looked ahead.

The Goblin Lord’s army was advancing slowly. Their drum beat rolled and they chanted. But it was uncertainly. Erin stared at them. She looked past them at the army bearing down on Liscor. They’d raze the city. Bring it low. And that was something she’d tried to stop. With words. And now someone had come. Under the banner of peace, they’d gathered. But it was for her. And to her they looked. Erin looked at the five Redfangs. Her voice trembled.

“Hey. Can I ask you a favor? A big one?”

They nodded. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater waited. Erin took a deep breath.

“I, this—it’s not your fight. Not really. And it’s so much. How could anyone ask? But—but this is my—my home. Those are my friends.”

Erin pointed back at Liscor. She was crying again.

“They won’t run. This is their home too. If they die—they’re my friends. You know? And you are too. All of you. I love you all so much.”

She looked from face to face. The Hobs smiled, waiting. Erin gestured at the army in front of her.

“I don’t know this Goblin Lord. I don’t know Tyrion Veltras. But they sound like jerks. If I—if I try and stop them, will you help me? Please?”

She looked at them, despairingly. Her eyes were red. And her cheeks were still wet. Tears dripped down her chin, along with some snot. She wiped her nose. The Hobs looked at her. Erin Solstice was the most beautiful person they had known. Human or Goblin. And she had asked them for a favor.

The five Redfangs looked at each other. Seriously. They glanced from face to face, nudging each other, checking their gear, their armor. Then they put their hands on Headscratcher’s shoulders. They nodded to him and he moved.

Headscratcher walked past Erin. He stood on the edge of the hilltop, so that all the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe, the Cave Goblins of Liscor’s dungeon, and the Redfangs could see him. They waited. Headscratcher drew the axe from his side. He raised it over his head and the weapon caught the light. The Goblins sighed. And then as one, they shouted.

It was a roar to drown out the chanting of Reiss’ army. It echoed and shook the walls of Liscor. A single word, magnified. An answer to a question.

Yes.

And then they ran. They charged up the hill. First Redscar, passing Erin in a breeze of fur and laughter. Spiderslicer, cursing, hot on his heels. Noears, whooping with excitement. Poisonbite, scowling and smiling. Hobs Erin recognized. Cave Goblins. They joined her. And Reiss looked up at the Human and saw the army. The Goblins shouted as they raised their weapons. They stood around Erin, looking up at her, forming a wall in front of her.

The Flooded Waters tribe with their pikes in front. Archers behind. Redfangs to the left. Cave Goblins to the right. How many? They were probably only a third of Reiss’ army. But they held their ground. Then they advanced.

“What’s going on?”

Laken looked around as the confused shouting grew louder. He stood up and Gamel tried to explain.

“I don’t believe it.”

Zevara stood on the walls. Klbkch gaped, his mandibles parted, as below, the Workers and Queens began to panic. Pawn stood up and ran. He ran to Yellow Splatters and the waiting Painted soldiers.

“It’s her. Please, you have to help her.”

Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn in confusion. But the other Soldiers looked up. There could be only one her.

“Am I dreaming? Who is she? It has to be her! Who is she?

Niers was laughing and crying. He stood up as his students stood, dumbfounded. Venaz stared at his teacher.

“What are they doing? They’re all Goblins.”

“No. They’re not.”

Umina shook her head. She turned.

“Professor, what happens now?”

“We have to go after her! Let go of me!”

Ceria struggled in Moore’s grip. The adventurers were lined up on the walls. Halrac lifted his bow uncertainly.

“It’s suicide! We can’t!”

Revi was pale. She pointed with a shaking finger down at Erin.

“She’s insane. She can’t be doing this!”

But she is.

Seborn stared down at the distant figure. She was surrounded by Goblins. But they were moving. All of them. They were moving away from Liscor. Towards the Goblin Lord’s army.

“Impossible.”

Lord Tyrion stated the word flatly. As if it could change reality. He watched the second Goblin army led by the young woman begin to accelerate. They were running across the Floodplains, and the Goblins were dug in.

“My lord? What do we do?”

Jericha looked up at Tyrion. But he had no answer. He just kept staring.

“Master?”

Reiss stared at his kin. They were coming. All of them. And there was no betrayal this time. No double cross. They were just coming. Against him. He heard a strangled sound in his head.

Crush them. My apprentice, crush these—these interlopers! Kill that girl! Take Liscor!

The same words. But without the same authority. The voice in his head was panicking. Reiss, the Goblin Lord stared ahead. He closed his eyes, and then opened them. But that didn’t change things. He saw the Goblins running, shouting, and…laughing. It was an alien sight to him. But he had orders.

A part of Reiss that was real screamed at his real self to stop. But the slave in him, the part that obeyed was in control. So he pointed, a puppet dancing on the strings.

“Charge! Kill them all!”

His Goblins looked at Reiss. Charge? They hesitated. Some began to advance. Eater of Spears shouted a challenge and Snapjaw raised her sword. But there was no momentum. Reiss’ army froze as the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe, the Redfang Goblins, the Cave Goblins—

No. The Goblins of Liscor. The Goblins who followed the Human girl running with them. The Goblins who shared one thing in common. An inn. What would they call themselves, this new tribe? This temporary alliance?

Solstice Goblins, perhaps. Yes. They charged down the last hill, shouting. The first rank of pikes charged forwards, and the front rank of Reiss’ warriors began to back up. The mindless undead lurched ahead. But it didn’t matter.

The first wave of the Solstice Goblins broke through Reiss’ army. They charged ahead, aiming at the Goblin Lord. A screaming horde. They’d never win. They couldn’t win. But no one had told them that. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue, and Shorthilt ran ahead of the rest. They aimed at the Goblin Lord, five brothers. And they were laughing. Laughing with the others, fit to burst. And then fighting. Falling.

Laughing.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

5.62

The world was watching. Below Liscor, an army of Humans was gathered. A force ready to sweep south, to break the walls of the Drake city. And in front of them were Goblins. A people described as monsters. They had come here, not of their own volition. They had been herded. Driven like cattle.

Manipulated.

This was not their grand struggle. They were tools in other people’s games, a means to the end. In that sense they were worthless. But see. It was an army of Goblins that gave Tyrion Veltras the pretext to besiege Liscor. It was they who threatened the city.

And it was the second army of Goblins who rose to defend it. They were an army of fragments. Three tribes, each hailing from a different place. Each with different leaders. But they ran together as they surged across the Floodplains. Down into the valleys, up hills, towards the Goblin Lord’s army.

Reiss shouted and his army moved to intercept the charging Goblins. His force spread out, over a hundred thousand Goblins, moving to ensnare the far smaller force. They would win. How could they not? There were three Goblins in Reiss’ army for every one of his enemies.

And yet—the army of Goblins didn’t slow down. They didn’t waver. Because they were running, chasing a young woman across the Floodplains. Following her.

Erin Solstice’s heart was in her mouth. She was breathless. Her body was filled with nervous energy. She wanted to throw up, run away, and hide. A wall of night was marching at her. Black armor. Green skin. Red eyes. The Goblin Lord’s army was marching, roaring. But Erin ran on. Because of them.

Five Hobgoblins ran behind Erin. And behind them, Cave Goblins. Redfang Warriors howling, ready for battle. The Flooded Waters tribe. They had come back for her. And they had charged for her. Just for her. For a hot meal, a place to be safe.

A smile. And they would fight and die too. How could Erin ever ask them to charge alone? So she ran. And as the Goblins ran around her, past her, Erin could see them. Green faces. Pointed ears. Sharp teeth. Crimson eyes. A monster’s face.

But they were so beautiful. A people she had come to love. And they looked back at her, smiling. Then they looked ahead and raised their weapons. Erin felt her breath burning in her lungs as she climbed a hill. She had a frying pan in one hand, a knife in the other. She nearly slipped in the mud. Then she was on the top of the hill, looking down.

A sea of black-armored Goblins stared up at her. Undead lurched forwards. Erin stared down. And then she saw the Goblins raise bows.

Watch out!

The Goblins were already raising their shields. Erin raised her frying pan, as if it was a shield, then she realized the Goblins were still running. Even those without protection. The Goblin Lord’s archers loosed the first hail of arrows. And Erin ran beneath the dark rain and heard Goblins begin to die.

Screams of pain and terror. Shouts as Goblins were hit and slid in the muck. Cries of anger. And then the sound of more bows nocking. Loosing. A second wave of arrows flew as Erin ran down the hill. More Goblins fell. Erin didn’t see them, but she heard them. She would have turned. She would have gone back. She had potions on her belt, alchemical weapons from Octavia to defend herself. She had not left her inn unprepared. But it wasn’t behind her where the battle lay.

It was right in front of her.

The first rank of Goblins stood shoulder-to-shoulder, braced. They were in formation. They leveled their weapons at the first rank of Goblins charging at them. Erin was a dozen paces behind them. She saw five Hobgoblins running ahead of the rest.

Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, Shorthilt, Numbtongue. Even Badarrow, for all that he carried a bow. They had outdistanced her and the other Goblins. Now they charged forwards, screaming. The Goblin Lord’s army waited for them, loosing arrows, shouting. They were confident. Bitterly resolved. They had Reiss on their side. A Goblin Lord. And what did these Goblins have?

A wall of black steel. Erin saw Headscratcher roar. He sprinted faster than the rest, his mouth opening wide. A [Berserker] howled and he raised his golden axe. The jade edge gleamed. Reiss’ Goblins looked up at him. They saw the axe’s edge shine, and then grow. The magical edge grew three times in length. The Goblins shouted in horror. An enchantment? But only Chieftains had weapons that powerful.

Chieftains. Or adventurers. Then Headscratcher swung the axe. The black-armored Goblins raised their shields. The magical axe sheared through the metal. It cut bone and flesh. The first rank of Goblins disappeared. The Goblins standing behind their friends recoiled as Headscratcher’s first blow made a dozen Goblins vanish. And then he was among them. They looked up into blazing eyes and saw the axe swinging towards them.

Forwards. Headscratcher opened a gap by himself. The other four Redfangs followed, moving to his left and right, keeping clear of his wide swings. Five versus an army.

Goblins were all around them. Thrusting with spears, screaming in terror as Headscratcher charged forwards. But so many. They tried to overwhelm the other four, get at Headscratcher’s back. He was only one Chieftain, after all. A Hob thrust smaller Goblins aside. He swung a club as tall as he was at Shorthilt. The [Weapon Expert] turned and his sword flashed.

The edge sliced through the haft of the club. The Hob blinked. Shorthilt pirouetted and his second swing took the Hob’s head off. The Goblins backed away as Shorthilt advanced. His sword was not enchanted, but it cut like magic. He aimed at the weak points in a Goblin’s armor, the gap between shield and chest. His teeth were bared and he fought with a precision lesser Goblin [Warriors] had never seen. And by his side was a Hobgoblin who wielded nothing but a guitar.

Numbtongue cracked a Goblin’s head with the base of his guitar. Then he spun and intercepted a sword cut from another Hob. The bigger Goblin gaped as the guitar didn’t break. Electricity ran from the strings of the guitar. The [Bard] roared and heaved. The enemy Hobgoblin stumbled back and Numbtongue clubbed him alongside the head. Lightning flashed and the Hob roared.

Redfang!

His voice was booming. Reiss’ Goblins stared up at him. It was a word to inspire fear. The name of that most famous tribe. And the other four took it up.

Redfang.

Badarrow had stopped behind the others. He raised his bow and shot a Goblin trying to stab Headscratcher in the back. He aimed left and shot another Goblin through the head. Then a Hob. The bigger Goblin was wearing a helmet, but the tip of the arrow shot through his eyehole. The [Sniper] spun and another Goblin fell. His hands moved constantly, grabbing more arrows from the quiver. Then he reached for something at his side.

A bell, bronze and blue metal. The clapper was muffled. The bell was attached to a special arrow. Badarrow lifted it to his bow and aimed past the Goblins. He pulled the bit of wax stifling the bell from ringing and aimed past Headscratcher, at the Goblins ahead of them. He drew back, loosed.

The bell flew up. The arrow curved in a long arc and fell among the [Archers] shooting at Erin and the other Goblins. It landed among the Goblins, a single arrow that didn’t even hit one of them. But as the bell struck the ground, it rang once.

Pain. The bell tolled not with sound, but with pain and agony. Goblins fell to the ground, screaming, their ears bleeding. The bell rolled and chimed again. The Goblins around it howled, convulsing. All those who heard the noise shuddered. Those closest to it were paralyzed by pain. And it was into that gap the Redfangs charged.

Four. Headscratcher cut down Goblins ahead of him, ignoring the wounds he took. Shorthilt and Numbtongue took the left side and Badarrow covered their backs. But it was the fifth Hobgoblin who caught the eye. He had the right to himself. Reiss’ Goblins surged towards him, but they hesitated as one.

Because of how he looked. This Goblin stood tall. His armor seemed to glow. It was pristine, the chainmail perfectly kept. His blade was sharp as could be. But what really stood out was his cloak. Rabbiteater’s cloak was an ever flowing, deep red, almost violet color. And it was not cloth, but liquid. The Hobgoblin swept the cape around him as he advanced. Goblins were loosing arrows at him, but they sank into the cloak, losing all momentum. Rabbiteater took three strides, and then the first of Reiss’ Goblins were ahead of him. They looked up as Rabbiteater grinned. They swung their weapons and the Hobgoblin swung his sword.

The line of Goblins exploded. Goblins fell from the sky, cut in half. Armor rent. Blown back by a single strike. [Grand Slash]. Rabbiteater straightened. He stabbed into the next rank of Goblins as they backed up, screaming. What was he? Who was he? This Hobgoblin wasn’t a Chieftain. But he was no ordinary Hob either. He was dressed like an adventurer. And he fought like a hero.

A [Champion].

Reiss’ warriors faltered. But the Hobs shouted and they advanced. It was only five! Only five Hobs! They could be overwhelmed, killed! That was when the first rank of Cave Goblins cleared the hill.

The Goblin Lord’s warriors saw the strange, pale, grey-skinned Goblins coming at them. They hesitated. What were these strange Goblins? They poured forwards, a horde without Hobs. They followed the Redfangs into the breach. And they howled as they came on. The black-armored Goblins set themselves. They were warriors! They wouldn’t lose to—

The first wave of Cave Goblins crashed against the shielded warriors. They fought savagely. The next wave overwhelmed Reiss’ warriors. And the third and fourth and fifth—the Goblin Lord’s soldiers fell back in disarray. They locked blades with screaming Goblins. And lost. Hobs cut down Cave Goblins and were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And not just numbers. The ferocity of the Cave Goblins terrified.

They fought like the five did. With all of Headscratcher’s fury. As precisely as Shorthilt, like Rabbiteater. Miniature champions. And they knew no fear. Hobs backed up as Cave Goblins leapt at them. They were Hobs! But the Cave Goblins had fought Raskghar.

The first contact with Reiss’ army sent a shockwave back through the entire force. The Cave Goblins, led by the five Redfangs poured forwards. At their front was Headscratcher. He couldn’t be stopped. His enchanted axe swung again and again, cutting down Hobs while his Cave Goblins followed him, keeping the [Berserker] safe. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater went left and right, Rabbiteater’s overwhelming horde and Shorthilt’s adept fighters opening the gap in Reiss’ army wider. Numbtongue and Badarrow held the line.

Impossible. What kind of Goblins are those? Some kind of subspecies? Where did they come from? Liscor’s dungeon?

Az’kerash whispered, his voice an echo in his apprentice’s mind. But Reiss couldn’t answer his master. He was directing his army, giving them orders.

“Hold the lines! Snapjaw, take your riders around! Hit them from the side! Eater of Spears, kill those Hobs!”

His warriors reacted to Reiss’ orders. They moved forwards, trying to envelop the Cave Goblins. But more Goblins were coming. The Flooded Waters tribe. The Redfangs. Reiss turned towards them, calculating.

Ignore the riders. They number only four thousand at most. Focus on those grey Goblins. Wipe them out. I will begin raising them as undead. With them—

“Master! Shut up!”

Reiss roared. In his castle, Az’kerash stepped back, affronted. His waiting Chosen, Venitra, Kerash, and Bea, raised their heads. The ranks of silent undead waiting to be teleported did not move.

“Insolence!”

The three Chosen flinched as the Necromancer uttered the words aloud. He directed his will. But his apprentice wasn’t listening. Reiss was focused on the young woman who was caught up in the fighting. The Cave Goblins screened her and she had yet to enter the fray. She was shielding her head with a frying pan, shouting. He pointed at her and his warriors shouted, surging at her position. The five Redfangs and the Cave Goblins defended her, refusing to let any of his warriors get near. But it was her Reiss wanted. Her. He had to kill her.

 

—-

 

It all revolved around her. Niers stared through the scrying orb at the distant figure. The half-Elf controlling the spell was magnifying her vision, but the battle was still far away. Partially obscured by the valleys. But clear enough. The Fraerling could see the young woman, surrounded by the small Goblins with grey skin.

Cave Goblins, apparently. From the dungeon. He could hear people shouting on the walls around the half-Elf. A woman in armor was pointing down at the fighting.

“Is she mad? She’ll be killed! We have to go after her!”

“No! You’ll be killed!”

A man in armor, her older brother, stopped her. The young woman with blonde hair turned on him, but another half-Elf raised a skeletal hand.

“Ylawes is right, Yvlon.”

Ceria!

That came from both Yvlon and a young man in white robes. The half-Elf turned.

“Don’t be stupid, Pisces! What can we do?”

“But—”

Pisces’ face was white. He looked to an Antinium with three arms. The insect-man nodded, but hesitantly.

“Captain Ceria is right. If we participate, I believe our team will perish. But if we do not fight…Miss Solstice will die.”

He fell silent. The adventurers stared at the fighting. The half-Elf shook her head.

“What is she doing? She’s going to die.”

“We have to do something.”

“What? What can we—”

Niers tore his attention away from the scrying orb. He looked around. The war room was silent, unlike the shouting and thump of stones hitting Liscor’s walls. His students were bent over the map. They were creating a projection of the battle. He looked down and saw the Goblin Lord’s army, trying to envelop the other Goblins. There were so many of them. Niers hesitated. Then he looked up.

“Well?”

His students jumped. They’d been so engrossed they’d forgotten why they were here. They looked at each other. Then Wil spoke up.

“Who is that? Who is that Human girl? Where did those Goblins come from?”

The young man pointed at the scrying orb. Niers shook his head.

“Pointless questions. This is a battle, Wil. Ask later! You’re [Strategists]! Tell me how the battle’s changed.”

“It’s all changed. The Goblins could damage the Goblin Lord’s army. It will delay the siege. But not for long. That army can’t defeat the Goblin Lord’s army purely by numbers. But they can—”

Umina was running her claws across the board. Her eyes flickered as she stared at the scrying orb and adjusted the positioning of Reiss’ left flank. She looked up at Niers.

“They can aim for the Goblin Lord, though.”

Niers nodded.

“Exactly.”

It was their only hope, and he thought the Goblins knew it. The Cave Goblins were driving straight for the Goblin Lord. But there were far too many. And yet—Niers stared at the map. The second group of Goblins was closing in.

They hadn’t charged wildly forwards. They were moving in formation. The Flooded Waters tribe ran, each unit of Goblins spaced out, maneuvering to the left and right of the Cave Goblins. Redscar led them, directing the Goblins to spread out. And they were the largest group besides the Goblin Lord’s army. A fourth as large perhaps, but—Niers pointed.

“Those Goblins are about to make contact. Cameral!”

The Dullahan snapped to attention. He lifted his head up and stared.

“They’re using pikes! In a charge? That’s foolish!”

Niers saw Marian look up and snap without waiting for him to call on her.

“No, it’s tactics. Watch!”

The students and Niers stared at the scrying orb. Rags’ tribe rushed towards the Goblin Lord’s army. The pikes were indeed in front. They were anti-cavalry weapons. But Niers had seen them used like this before. He knew what to expect. The Goblins with black armor were braced, shields raised. But they faltered as Rags’ army came at them, screaming fury. Because what were they supposed to do?

Twenty-foot long pikes of wood, tipped with steel. That was what was aimed at them, a wall of pikes. There was no way for Reiss’ warriors to hit the pike Goblins of Rags’ army. They could only brace as the pikes rammed into them. And then came warriors behind the pikes, Hobs who tore into the wounded lines. And behind them crossbows fired constantly while Rags’ elite Redfangs charged into gaps.

It was precise. Orchestrated. Beautiful tactics. Niers had never seen Goblins using strategy like that. Not since the Second Antinium War. Not from a Chieftain.

“Dead gods.”

Marian murmured as she watched the Goblin Lord’s ranks buckle. Unlike the Cave Goblins, the Flooded Waters tribe wasn’t propelled by the five Redfangs or momentum alone. They dug in and advanced, supporting the pikes, pushing forwards.

“Analysis. Venaz! How is that group’s strategy compared to the Goblin Lord’s army?”

“Goblin scum. Goblins don’t have strategy, sir.”

The Minotaur looked affronted. He folded his arms. And then he winced as Niers looked up. The Minotaur bit his lip and hesitated.

“—But their tactics are superior. The pikes, the crossbows—they’re reloading quickly. There must be an army-wide Skill at work. This army looks defensive. But the pikes, the crossbows—they can take a powerful offensive. Look, the Goblin Lord’s forces are falling back. They might have more armor, but it’s not helping.”

His voice was grudging, but his analysis was on point. The Goblin Lord’s force was indeed being pushed back by the second charge. And yet—Niers looked up.

“Yerranola.”

The Selphid took one look at the board and replied in her male, Human body. She wore the body of a sixty year-old man, but she spoke like a young woman.

“Both smaller tribes are fully engaged. But the lines are drawn. The Goblin Lord’s shifting his army to surround them. They won’t go further except—the riders, sir.”

“Yes.”

Niers pointed. All of his students looked. The Redfangs hadn’t engaged yet. They had circled the battle, and were approaching from the side. The Goblin Lord wasn’t blind. Reiss had moved a wing of his army out to block the Redfangs.

“They’re going to hit the Goblin Lord’s army from the side. If they could break through, they’ll shatter his lines, cut off parts of his army and reinforce the others. But there’s four thousand riders and at least twenty thousand infantry in the way.”

The Selphid counted the numbers at a glance. She traced her claw across the map.

“If they can break through in a charge—”

“Impossible.”

Venaz asserted. Marian looked up.

“Centaurs could do it.”

“But Goblins?”

“Those aren’t any Goblins. That’s the Redfang tribe.”

Wil consulted a piece of paper on which he’d scribbled notes. Niers just nodded. He watched the Redfangs riding across the battlefield. The half-Elf, Falene, had a sense of the battle too. She was staring at them.

Four thousand Goblins, riding Carn Wolves or horses. A paltry number compared to the other sides engaged in battle. But these Goblins were different. Niers didn’t need his Skills to tell him that. He could feel it.

On they rode. The Redfangs laughed and grinned, ready for battle. They roared as they came. They had been waiting for this moment. The mountain hadn’t been enough. Garen had trained them, and the warriors who had joined him in Tremborag’s mountain. They had lived and bled and fought for this moment.

Redfang!

The roar issued from four thousand mouths. The Goblins standing in their way looked up and their eyes were wide with fear. Redfang. They braced.

Redfang!

Spiderslicer led the charge. His shortsword swung down as his Carn Wolf leapt. He dodged a spear mid-jump and cut down the Hob holding it. His Redfangs followed him. They didn’t stop as they rode through Goblins, cutting, blocking, dodging.

“Dead gods.”

Yerranola stared down at the map. The unit marking the Redfangs kept going. They charged through the Goblins sent to block them and cut straight towards the Cave Goblins. There they turned.

“They’re cutting back out!”

“Those are Centaur tactics.”

Marian watched as the Redfangs charged in and then secured an exit. They were already looping, to strike at the Goblin Lord from another spot. Niers found himself following the riders with his eyes.

“What power. They could do it! If they keep harrying—”

Wil was perched over the table, nearly blocking Niers’ view of the scrying orb. Venaz yanked him back.

“Ridiculous. It’s one mobile force. The Goblin Lord has his riders as well. Look, they’re moving to intercept.”

“They’ll lose. Those are elites, Venaz. They can do it.”

“There are too many.”

“It’s not enough.”

Umina agreed. Niers looked up sharply. The Lizardgirl was staring at the map. The Goblin Lord’s warriors were faltering. The charges had caught them off-guard. But Umina had seen what the others hadn’t. She pointed.

“They could do it. Maybe. But he’s sending his lieutenants in. And—look at that.”

She pointed at the scrying orb. In the distance, Niers saw pale bodies moving. A separate force, slowly lurching towards the Goblin’s side. And more. Across the battlefield, more bodies stood up. Bloody corpses that had just fallen.

The undead were rising.

 

—-

 

Undead!

Poisonbite heard the shout. She looked up and around. She saw Redscar pointing and turned. Her female warriors had been engaging Reiss’ warriors from the pikes, darting in and stabbing with poisoned blades before pulling back. Now they turned and saw a new threat.

The undead. A group of zombies, several thousand strong, was coming their way. And Ghouls. Poisonbite bared her teeth. Not good. The undead were immune to her warrior’s poison. She looked around.

“Noears!”

The Goblin [Mage] had charged with her. But he was nowhere to be seen. Poisonbite cursed him and turned. She screamed and the pikes turned to face the undead. They surged down the slope and crashed into the undead.

Ghouls leapt and were skewered. Zombies were impaled dozens of times. The undead had no self-preservation. But that was also a problem. They didn’t die even when impaled. They kept going, walking onto the pikes. They had to be hacked apart or the brains had to be destroyed! And Reiss’ warriors were still fighting.

“Hobs kill undead! We fight!”

Poisonbite pointed forwards. The Hobs under her command strode towards the undead. Poisonbite grimly held the line. Her daggers flashed and a Hob screamed as he tried to get past the weakened line of warriors. He stumbled back as Poisonbite cut him twice more and then dodged back. He swung at her, but the poison was already doing its job. Poisonbite moved backwards, applying a new coat to her blades as the Hobgoblin slowly weakened. He tried to keep fighting, but only two minutes later he was stumbling.

A Goblin ran him through. Poisonbite moved forwards, aiming for another Hob, and then stopped.

The poisoned Hob was moving. He was standing up. How? Poisonbite stared at him. Was the poison not working? Did he have a healing potion?

No. She stared at him. The Hob’s mouth was open. His eyes were wide. And he was dead. A bit of froth and blood ran from his mouth as he forgot his sword and swung clumsily at the Goblins around him.

A zombie. But so soon? He’d barely died. Poisonbite saw the Goblins trying to bring the Hob down a second time, cursing. She looked around.

There. A Goblin died as a female Hob ran him through with a pitchfork. But the instant his corpse hit the ground, it was sitting up. The Hob stomped, cursing, as the zombie tried to claw its way free of the tines pinning its body down.

They were rising. The dead. Not just Reiss’ warriors. But the dead on both sides. One of Poisonbite’s warriors fell, struck by an arrow. She rose and proceeded to bite the Goblin next to her.

Undead! All dead rising!”

Poisonbite screamed. The Goblins looked around. They stared at the undead. More and more were getting up. For every warrior they killed, for every Goblin they lost—an undead was spawned.

“No.”

Poisonbite backed up. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. But it was happening. She could see Goblins dressed in robes and holding wands, staffs, now. They were stationed behind Reiss’ troops, reanimating the dead. So was Reiss. Between him and his [Necromancers] and [Shamans], they were resurrecting…

Everyone.

 

—-

 

“Watch for undead! Guard backs! Kill and then chop off heads!”

Redscar roared as he fought on another front. He could see the Cave Goblins faltering. Headscratcher and the others had found the same trap waiting for him that he had. Redscar cursed as the Hob he’d killed lurched up, bright light shining from its eyes.

Ghoul. It was faster in death than the Hob had been in life. But not cleverer. Thunderfur knocked it down and Redscar leaned out of his saddle to run the Hob through the head. his enchanted blade easily sheared through the bone and the Ghoul died. Redscar turned and the Goblins around him fell back. His frost blade had cut down every Goblin who’d been in Redscar’s way. The undead couldn’t slow Redscar. But they had doubled the Goblins that his warriors had to cut through to get to Reiss.

Even the Redfangs and Spiderslicer had slowed. So many undead! They were all coming to life now. Redscar snarled as he saw Reiss and his [Necromancers] casting magic. They had to be stopped. But how? Some of the [Mages] had set up a barrier and the arrows Badarrow’s Goblins were loosing at them were just bouncing off. As for Reiss—

He had to die. They had to cut to him and kill him. But everywhere the Solstice Goblins had slowed. Their first charge had run out of steam. The undead and Reiss’ troops were pushing them back. It was just numbers. And then Redscar saw them.

Snapjaw and Eater of Spears. Reiss’ lieutenants. His last remaining lieutenants, rather. It was an irony. For all Reiss’ warriors, his best officers, the ones who inspired, who defined his army were dead. Zel Shivertail had slain them and with them gone, his warriors lacked the fire to engage Redscar, Poisonbite, and the five Redfangs where they led. But the last two of Reiss’ warriors were still present. And now they were coming.

Snapjaw rode at the head of what had to be at least fifteen thousand Goblins on horseback. She charged at the Redfangs, her teeth bared, sword drawn. Spiderslicer rode to meet her and the Redfangs howled with him. They were fearless. They met Snapjaw’s warriors in a fury of rearing horses and terrible collisions. Carn Wolves and horses went down alike.

They were stronger than Snapjaw’s forces. Redscar saw more of Snapjaw’s warriors going down each second. But she had the numbers on the Redfangs. And she—

She was strong. Snapjaw cut to the left and right, fighting Redfang warriors. She was as good as they were and her armor and sword were enchanted. But that wasn’t what made her strong. No. It was as Spiderslicer cut towards her that Redscar remembered. Snapjaw wasn’t a [Warrior]. She was—

The female Hobgoblin blocked Spiderslicer’s sword. He cut, cursing the lack of his falchion. She dodged the sword as her horse reared, hooves striking at Spiderslicer’s Carn Wolf. Spiderslicer took the opportunity. He lunged, sword aimed at Snapjaw’s throat. The Hobgoblin opened her mouth—

And bit. Spiderslicer recoiled as the metal teeth closed on his sword. He heard a crack as the poorly-tempered steel snapped. Snapjaw crunched the metal and spat. Spiderslicer stared at her and then leapt back. He cursed and a Redfang Hob took his place. The warrior rushed at Snapjaw, swinging a battleaxe. Snapjaw stared at him and then opened her mouth wide. Wide—

Her jaw dislocated. Her overly large head seemed to grow bigger. The Hob flinched. And Snapjaw bit. Spiderslicer and Redscar stared at what remained of the Hob as it slid from the saddle. The horse shrieked and fled as Snapjaw chewed.

That shouldn’t have been possible. But she had done it. The Redfangs’ assault slowed as more of Snapjaw’s riders forced their way forwards. And Snapjaw led them. Spiderslicer had to retreat, calling for another sword. And while her warriors held the Redfangs back—

Eater of Spears was headed for the Cave Goblins. Redscar saw him, a towering giant above the rest. He was leading a wave of Hobs through the smaller Goblins of Reiss’ army. His tribe. Redscar looked around. He was too far. He had to command Rags’ tribe. But one Goblin could stop him.

“Where is Noears?

The Goblins looked around. No one could answer. Redscar turned, swearing. He began to ride forwards, but it was too late.

 

—-

 

The first roar of contact had been terrifying. The first minute Erin had thought she would die. But the press of Goblins pushing forwards, the sounds of screams and the clash of metal—all of it was at a distance. Erin had been outpaced by the Cave Goblins and the Redfangs. She was stuck amid them as more and more pushed forwards. And they weren’t inclined to let Erin past.

Headscratcher! Numbtongue! Where are you?

Erin screamed above the din. Her frying pan was raised like a shield to ward off falling arrows. She was taller than all the Cave Goblins, but she still couldn’t make out the Redfangs amid the fighting. It was chaos.

Green bodies struggled with other figures. Goblins fought in ever-shifting lines, retreating, charging. Erin couldn’t tell how they were identifying friend and foe. The black armor? She tried to push forwards, but the Cave Goblins actively resisted her.

“Let me go!”

Erin shouted at them. She had to fight! To protect—

She was no warrior. Erin knew that. But she had asked them to come. So she moved forwards, ignoring the press trying to keep her back. If she could do something, anything—she had potions.

“Is anyone hurt? I have healing potions!”

It was no use. Erin’s voice was lost amid the fighting. She couldn’t tell where she was, how the battle was going—until she heard the screaming.

The battle lines abruptly opened up in front of her. Cave Goblins moved back, screaming. Erin didn’t understand why. Not until she saw the way the Goblins in front of them awkwardly shambled forwards. Her blood chilled as she recognized the light in their dead eyes.

Undead. The Goblin Lord was raising the undead. And the zombies were rising from every corpse on the ground. Cave Goblins fought the undead and Reiss’ warriors both, but their own were being turned to dead. Erin stared as a Cave Goblin fell not fifteen paces ahead of her and then got up and faced its former allies. She saw a Hobgoblin charge past the zombie, shove it aside, and bring down a huge maul on the head of a Cave Goblin.

He was wearing black armor. He roared, and undead and more Goblins in black armored poured past him. The Cave Goblins cried out and tried to fight back. But—these were Numbtongue’s warriors! Some didn’t even have proper weapons. They were musicians.

The Hob scythed forwards with his maul, bashing bodies aside. Erin stared at him and then realized he was getting closer. And she was walking towards him.

The Hob turned to Erin. He roared, pointing at her. Erin raised the frying pan. She threw it. The Hob blinked as the frying pan flew at his face. He raised a gauntleted hand and knocked it down. He laughed—

And the kitchen knife struck him in the eye. Hilt first. But Erin had thrown it hard as she could. The Hob screamed and covered one eye. He swung the maul one-handed. Erin backed up. She reached for something at her belt. The Hob raised his maul.

And Erin threw a Pepper Potion vial in his other good eye. The Hob screamed. Erin yanked another knife from her belt and charged. The Hob was flailing about. She raised a fist and aimed at his unarmored stomach.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The Hob folded over. Erin slashed up and cut at the Hob’s throat. He tried to block her. Her knife slashed across his fingers, cutting deep. He screamed and bled. Hot blood splattered Erin’s arm, her right cheek. The Hob tried to swing his maul, blinded. Erin stabbed.

The knife went between his fingers and into the Hobgoblin’s throat. The Goblin gurgled. He knocked Erin flat with a swing, but his arm had no force behind it. Still, Erin went tumbling. She cut herself lightly with the knife as she fell and scrambled up. She looked for the Hob—

And found he was on his knees. He was trying to stop the blood flowing from his cut throat. He gurgled, blinded. Erin stared down at him.

The Goblin died there. He was the second Goblin she’d killed. Erin stared at his body as the Cave Goblins rushed past her, seizing the moment of weakness. She stood there, staring at the Hobgoblin’s body until a Cave Goblin screamed at her. Then she realized the Hobgoblin was getting up.

“Oh no.”

Erin had a second frying pan at her belt. She grabbed it and began hitting the Hob on the head. Cave Goblins joined her. Erin hammered at the Hob’s head. It began deforming. She felt something crack and a Cave Goblin bashed the Hob’s brains in. Erin stumbled back as the zombie stopped moving for good. She tried to throw up.

But then she was fighting. It was automatic. Erin had a knife in one hand, the frying pan in the other. Zombies were attacking with Goblins. And Erin was in the first line of Cave Goblins. She was no warrior. But as Calruz had told her, she had talent.

Throw the pan. It bounced off the head of a Goblin warrior in black armor, stunning him. The knife followed, and a Goblin screamed as it appeared on her leather armor, just above the shoulder. Erin yanked a potion from her belt.

Down.

The Cave Goblins around her ducked. Erin threw the bottle over the heads of the Goblins and heard Goblins screaming. The fiery pot of burning oil burst and coated undead and Goblins in flame. Erin reached for another object and came up with a Tripvine bag.

She didn’t have many weapons, but she had enough. Vines burst forwards, ensnaring the undead and a few Cave Goblins. Erin ran forwards. She had a club from somewhere. A fallen Goblin? She cracked a zombie’s head and tripped another one.

Fighting. She was little better than a Cave Goblin. But she had reach. Potions. Alchemist’s weapons. And the Cave Goblins fought to protect her. Erin didn’t know when she stumbled back to catch her breath. But she was wounded. Someone had cut her across the belly. It hurt. She drank half a healing potion and looked around.

“Here.”

A Cave Goblin clutching at his nearly sawn-off arm looked up. Erin bent. The world spun. She bit the inside of her lip and offered him the potion. He let her pour it on his arm. Erin stood up.

“We have to keep fighting. Follow me.

She ran. This time the Cave Goblins followed her. All of them. They charged past Erin. The Goblin Lord’s army was trying to hold a hill. Erin threw a smoke bag and blinded the Goblins on the other side of the hill, then charged up the slope. She had to see. Wasn’t that the point?

Cave Goblins grappled with Goblins in black armor. Erin punched a Goblin and struck another with the spiked mace she held. She lashed out at another and turned.

Now she saw. Billowing smoke from the alchemist bag cleared. She saw the Goblin Lord’s army fighting on the hills, loosing showers of arrows. Undead and Goblins fighting. Rag’s tribe was holding them back. But where—

There. The Redfangs were ahead of her. Headscratcher was leading the way, roaring. He was still pushing forwards, despite the wounds on his body. Shorthilt was following him. Numbtongue had pulled back—it was his tribe that Erin was fighting with. Rabbiteater was to the right, holding the Goblin Lord back. Badarrow was camped on another hill. She saw his archers loosing arrows, shooting down the Goblin Lord’s warriors trying to attack them from the side, then another volley of arrows shot towards the Goblin Lord’s troops.

“We’re losing.”

Erin didn’t need to be a [Strategist] to see it. She stared at the lines of Goblins. They were losing. There were too many of the Goblin Lord’s warriors. And the undead! The undead were practically numberless. So long as they kept rising—Erin squinted at a coven of Goblin [Mages]. They were hiding on a hill far distant, out of even Badarrow’s range.

“Someone has to kill those [Necromancers]. Pisces told me—the undead will attack everyone if they die! Tell Badarrow!”

She shouted. The Cave Goblins looked at her. One of them turned and shouted. Erin saw the message flicker back to Badarrow in less than a minute. The Hobgoblin turned. He saw Erin and nodded. He aimed and pointed.

His Cave Goblins turned. They drew back and loosed as one. Badarrow’s arrow flew with a hail of others. The [Mages] turned. They saw the deadly arrows falling towards them and didn’t flinch. Erin saw a shimmer in the air and the arrows snapped and bounced off something.

“Shields.”

Badarrow loosed another arrow. This one didn’t arc. It went straight across from his hill towards the [Necromancer]. The shield protecting the Goblin mages must not have been able to block it. One of them spun and fell. The other [Shamans] backed up and one raised another barrier. Badarrow shot arrow after arrow, but they bounced off the new shield. He turned and directed his archer’s fire at the Goblin Warriors now assailing his hill.

“Someone has to take them out.”

Erin stared at the mages. They weren’t all just [Necromancers]. Some were hurling fire, or casting clouds of noxious gas at the Flooded Waters tribe and the Redfangs. Erin eyed the distance between them and her.

“Shorthilt.”

She was about to shout for him. Then she looked around. Something—someone was roaring. So loudly that it carried even over the raging sound of battle. Erin’s head turned.

And then she saw him. A huge Hobgoblin, at least nine feet tall. Maybe even taller. His body looked like a mass of muscles. And he was leading a group of Hobgoblins, all larger than normal. Straight towards Headscratcher.

Headscratcher!

The Redfang [Berserker] didn’t hear Erin’s warning. But he couldn’t have missed Eater of Spears. The Hobgoblin punched his way through a rank of Cave Goblins who swarmed around him. He kicked and they disappeared.

“You.”

Eater of Spears pointed. Headscratcher bared his teeth. he roared and charged. His enchanted axe swung. The glowing, expanded edge cut through the air in a wild swing. Eater of Spears leaned back. Headscratcher tried to bring his axe back. In that moment Eater of Spears punched.

Headscratcher landed. He didn’t remember flying. He tried to get up and realized he was on his back. His arms and legs flailed. He stood up, looked for his axe.

It was missing. Headscratcher got up groggily. Eater of Spears was walking towards him. His Hobs was cutting down the Cave Goblins around Headscratcher. His Cave Goblins. Eater of Spears grabbed a warhammer one of his warriors handed him and swept it in an arc. Cave Goblins went flying, broken, and shattered. A copy of Headscratcher’s assault.

“No.”

Headscratcher got up. He roared, and charged Eater of Spears barehanded. The Hobgoblin raised a fist. Headscratcher ducked and felt the blow snap his ear. He ignored the pain and struck.

One blow. Two. The fury in Headscratcher burned. He struck Eater of Spears in the stomach. Five times, six times. The Hobgoblin grunted. He bent slightly. Headscratcher struck him and felt the huge Hobgoblins ribs creak. He swung—

Eater of Spear’s uppercut cracked half of Headscratcher’s ribs. Broke others. The Hob doubled over. The huge Hobgoblin stomped on him and then kicked. Headscratcher tumbled. Eater of Spears advanced on him as the Cave Goblins tried to shield Headscratcher. He waded through them, barely noticing their blades as they cut at his legs and lower body.

Stop.

The muscle-bound Hobgoblin turned as he bent for Headscratcher. He saw a young woman standing with an army of Cave Goblins. She pointed and they charged Eater of Spears’ Hobs, holding them back. Eater of Spears stared at Erin and then he reached for his belt. She threw what she was holding.

A bottle, glowing bright yellow. The alchemical weapon flew towards Eater of Spears’ head. His eyes went wide. The Hobgoblin leaned to the left and the bottle flew past him.

“What?”

Erin stared up at him. Eater of Spears calmly drew the throwing axe from his belt.

“[Unerring Throw]? Nice Skill. Perfect shot. Only works if I hold still.”

He lifted the throwing axe. Erin’s eyes went wide. She dove. Eater of Spears took aim—

And an arrow sprouted from his chest. He barely flinched. But it made his throw go wide. A Cave Goblin died instead of the young woman. Eater of Spears looked up and raised a forearm. Badarrow’s second arrow sprouted from his arm.

“Nice shots.”

Eater of Spears grabbed the second axe from his belt, calmly ignoring the arrows, most of which broke without even penetrating his skin. He turned towards Erin and raised the second axe.

Someone tackled him. Eater of Spears grunted and took a step back. He looked down. It was Headscratcher. The Hob howled as he pushed. Eater of Spears tried to kick him, but the Hob was strong. Eater of Spears chopped down with his axe and Headscratcher lurched left. Eater of Spears kicked him down again.

Another arrow struck his arm. Eater of Spears growled. He lowered his arm, turned his head. Where—

There. Erin Solstice stood poised, arm cocked back. The bag flew into the air. Eater of Spears sighed. He dodged and the Tripvine Bag exploded harmlessly somewhere behind him.

“I told you.”

He raised his axe. Erin nodded.

“Yeah. You did.”

Eater of Spears’ arm drew back. He aimed at Erin, expecting her to dodge. But she was still. Why was—

Below him, a little Cave Goblin threw the vial it was holding straight up. Eater of Spears saw it coming and his head jerked back. But the little bottle was uncorked. And the concentrated Pepper Potion flew up his nose. Into his eyes.

Eater of Spears screamed. Erin saw his hands go up and claw at his face. The Hob, who had ignored swords and arrows without so much as flinching, howled and clawed at his face. The Cave Goblin scrambled back as Eater of Spears flailed wildly with the axe in his hand.

Got him! Headscratcher!

The [Innkeeper] turned and looked for her friend. The Hob was getting up. Headscratcher downed the healing potion, and stood up. A Cave Goblin held something up. His axe. He turned towards Eater of Spears. The giant was still roaring. Headscratcher activated the enchantment on his axe. He burst towards Eater of Spears with a roar—

And Eater of Spears charged.

He ran straight ahead, straight towards Erin. Headscratcher swung at him and the axe bit into Eater of Spears’ side, but the giant was moving too fast. Eater of Spears came up the hill and Erin dove.

Run!

The Cave Goblins scrambled out of the way. But Eater of Spears kept going. He ran up the hills, swinging his arms, sending Cave Goblins flying. He kept going, tripping, falling down the hill, standing up, running forwards.

Straight into the Flooded Waters tribe. The Goblins saw Eater of Spears coming and turned. They raised their pikes, set themselves. Erin watched Eater of Spears crash into the pikes. The metal tips dug into his flesh—

And the pikes splintered. The Goblins holding them were thrown back. Eater of Spears threw them aside. He bashed in a Hob’s skull with one flailing fist, struck at the Goblins with the throwing axe in his hand. On he went. The Goblins in front of him ran out of the way or died.

“Oh my god!”

Erin shouted. Eater of Spears just kept going! He could barely see, but it didn’t matter. He ran straight through Rag’s tribe, sending Goblins flying. They couldn’t kill him!

But they had bought a reprieve. Shakily, Erin turned. Headscratcher was bent, clutching his ribs.

“Headscratcher.”

“Go! Go back!”

Headscratcher shouted at Erin. He waved his axe and she stopped. Then she realized. They were too close to the fighting with Eater of Spears’ warriors. Headscratcher wanted her to go back. To be safe.

No!

Erin shouted at Headscratcher. He waved his axe at her.

“Go. Please?”

“No.”

The young woman shook her head. She looked around. The Cave Goblins were rallying on her. Headscratcher’s group, Numbtongue’s…they were following her.

“I can’t go. We have to stop them! The mages!”

Erin pointed at the hill. The undead were still rising. And they were truly pushing back the Solstice Goblins now. Headscratcher nodded. He pointed and the Cave Goblins streamed towards the hill. He ran ahead of Erin, swinging his axe.

But there was a wall of Goblins between them and the hilltop where the mages stood. Reiss’ Hobs barred the path, and what was worse, Draug. Erin saw the first huge undead Hobgoblin crushing bodies like grapes and even Headscratcher had to slow to battle them.

Keep going! We have to keep going!

Erin shouted as she hunted at her belt for another potion. Another of Octavia’s weapons. Anything. But she didn’t have any more tricks. And the Goblins—

They were aiming at her and Headscratcher now. One threw a [Fireball] and it sent Cave Goblins flying. Another shot what looked like poison gas from his wand. Erin covered her mouth and screamed at the Cave Goblins to run. But they were fighting undead, who didn’t even notice. They didn’t need to breathe or see.

It was impossible. They’d never make it. But they had to. They had to. Erin stared at the Goblin [Mages]. They were aiming again. Someone had to do something.

“Someone—”

And then the skies flashed. Erin saw the light. She heard the roar. The hilltop with the [Mages] vanished. Erin stumbled backwards as noise and light burst, deafening and blinding her. She couldn’t hear anything for a while. When she could see again she looked up.

The [Mages] were gone. A few were trying to get up, but over half had been charred. The rest had been sent flying. By what? Erin saw another flash.

Lightning. She looked around and saw another bolt blast into the ranks of the Goblin Lord’s forces. Goblins and Hobs went flying. And then another bolt of lightning fell. And another.

“Who? What?”

Erin scrambled onto a hilltop to see. Who was casting the magic? Who—and then she saw.

On a distant hilltop. Far, far from the battle he stood. His arms were raised. The sky was dark and clouds gathered above his head. Bursts of electricity shot from his raised hands. They arced upwards and lightning flashed down. The Goblin [Mage] laughed as he pointed and lightning struck.

Noears stood on the roof of Erin’s inn, on the shattered third floor where Bird’s tower had been. He stood alone. And each bolt of lightning he called down from the heavens was minutes apart. But the force in each one was overwhelming. It was lightning magic. Pure lightning, not conjured from his hands. But how was he doing it?

“The inn.”

Erin stared at her inn. She could feel it. Dimly, at the back of her mind. Her inn was where Noears stood. Empty. Abandoned. It had been deserted, stripped of everything. Adventurers. Guests. And her magic door.

The magic door that could teleport someone a hundred miles away to Celum, or even further, to Pallass. A magic door fueled by the mana from her inn. Only, it wasn’t there. And now, all the mana normally used by the magic door, all the power was his.

Noears!

The [Mage] couldn’t see her. He was pointed at the sky. Another bolt of lightning arced down. Straight towards the Goblin Lord. Reiss looked up and raised a hand.

A spire of bone caught the lightning, exploding just over Reiss’ head. He turned and pointed.

“[Deathbolt].”

The black magic sped across the battlefield. But even Reiss’ aim was insufficient. Noears laughed as the spell went wide of him by twenty feet. His arms trembled as they rose.

More! More lightning!

His arms tingled. Noears shot more electricity towards the sky. Charging the air. He had to keep the lightning falling. But it was so hard. And he was so far away. Sweat streamed down his face. Each time he called a bolt of lightning down, even with the excess mana, he felt his heart stopping and skipping beats. The pain—

He had to do it. Another bolt arced down from the heavens. It blew apart Reiss’ warriors. But it had missed its target—Snapjaw and her riders. Noears stumbled. His vision greyed. He pointed at the sky. He had to keep casting. Empty mana bottles lay at his feet. He had charged the air. He had to bring down more lightning. Had to—

A bolt of lightning fell from the skies. It landed among a group of Hobs. Noears lowered his hand and stared. He hadn’t called that one. What was—

He heard a song. It echoed across the hills. Noears looked and saw him.

He stood on top of a hill, surrounded by the others. Cave Goblins, holding instruments. They played with him, following his melody. The sound shouldn’t have carried across the battlefield. But it did. The Hob played on his guitar and electricity danced across the chords. He played and the lightning flashed down.

Once. Twice. Numbtongue ignored the fighting around him. Reiss’ warriors tried to swarm up the hill and his Goblins held them back. The Hob played and called the lightning. His Goblins played with them, a song of thunder.

Noears grinned. He raised his burning arms to the sky and electricity shot from his fingers. It arced into the clouds and came down. It was undirected until Numbtongue gave it form. Noears poured all the mana in his body, all of his power into the sky.

“Rain it down! Bring him down!”

He screamed to Numbtongue. And though he was too far away, he knew Numbtongue understood. Lightning flashed down across the Goblin Lord’s army. Reiss looked up as more lightning fell.

What is that? A Goblin [Bard]? They don’t exist. How? How are they doing this? Destroy them already.

Az’kerash’s voice shook. Spires of bone rose upwards, catching the falling lightning. But the cost of defending against the lightning meant less of the Necromancer’s power could go towards the undead. The ceaseless stream of bodies began to slow.

But still. It didn’t matter. Reiss looked across the battlefield and saw the Flooded Waters tribe, the Cave Goblins, even the Redfangs were stuck. They were struggling, but they still couldn’t advance. They had slowed. And like flies in a spider’s web, they were caught.

 

—-

 

“Just by numbers.”

Zevara stood on her walls. The Watch Captain stared at the fighting Goblins, feeling sick. She looked up as more stones fell towards her walls.

“Cover!”

She sheltered herself, feeling the thud of impacts. Hearing a [Guardswoman] cry out in agony and then go silent. But the majority of the stones hadn’t even hit her walls. They were all clustered on one spot.

“The eastern gates are falling.”

Zevara got up. She stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor hadn’t bothered to duck. He was standing on the walls with the Soldiers, watching the battle. He hadn’t looked away once.

“I know.”

That was all Zevara said. The metal was folding, bending inwards. A few more hits—one direct one—and it might completely fall inwards. And the stone was—cracked. The walls might come down.

The walls of Liscor. How could it happen? The Humans were using enchanted munitions, true. And they had been volleying endlessly since the battle began. But still.

“It won’t be the same. Now they have siege weapons, they’ll be able to take Liscor. The other cities.”

Zevara stared at the Human army. Klbkch didn’t turn his head.

“The Goblin Lord is winning.”

“Yes.”

The Watch Captain wrenched her gaze away from the Human army. She had a bitter taste in her mouth as she stared at the Solstice Goblins. If they had managed to take him out—but they could delay him. Weaken his army, at least.

“So many undead. How powerful is that Goblin Lord?”

“Powerful. As strong as the ones who rode with Velan.”

The words chilled Zevara. But Klbkch would know. She stared at the army of Goblins.

“They’re not going to make it. They’re surrounded.”

“They must. She is there.”

“They can’t, Klbkch. They need—something. They can’t do it. Not alone.”

Zevara looked around helplessly. The [Guardsmen] of Liscor, the adventurers stared at Zevara. They gazed out across the Floodplains, towards the fighting Goblins.

Not one of them moved. Halrac gritted his teeth as he stared at Erin. Typhenous bowed his head. Below, in the Hive of the Free Antinium, the Free Queen listened through Klbkch.

“They are going to lose.”

“No.”

Belgrade spoke involuntarily. He shuddered as the Free Queen and the puppet used by the five Queens looked at him. The Grand Queen’s voice was imperious.

“Why not? This is the desired outcome. These Goblins were not projected as part of the plan.”

“But Erin is there.”

“So? What is an Erin and why does it matter? The Human?”

Belgrade ignored the Grand Queen. He stared down at the map, longing to be above. If he could be there. If he could go—he looked despairingly at Anand. The other [Tactician]’s head was bowed. But his gaze was not despairing as he looked up.

“It is not over yet.”

Belgrade stared down at the map. It was over to him. There was no way the Solstice Goblins, Erin’s side could win.

“How do you know?”

“Because it is her. Erin. Belgrade, it is not over yet.”

The [Tactician] reached out and gripped Belgrade’s shoulders with one of his four arms.

“Believe.”

The two Workers stared at each other. And then Belgrade looked at the map. He closed his mandibles and looked up. Then his head turned.

“Where’s Pawn?”

 

—-

 

“Please.”

Pawn stood with Yellow Splatters. They were positioned near the entrance to the Hive. The public entrance, that was. The Painted Soldiers were stationed there, ready to fight the rear-guard action when Liscor fell. They were waiting. Waiting for the city to fall.

But the Worker stood with them. Pawn clutched his censer tied to his walking stick in his four hands. He looked up at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] stood with Purple Smile, at the head of the Painted Soldiers. Yellow Splatters’ arms were crossed.

“She is out there. She is leading the Goblins. They’re fighting. For her. Erin is out there. She needs our help. The Goblin Lord will win. He will—he will kill her. Please.”

Yellow Splatters did not move. The big Soldier hadn’t moved. Even after Pawn had explained what was going on. It was not that he didn’t care. He was listening, as hard as he ever had to Pawn’s please. But he was conflicted.

The Goblins were fighting. Erin Solstice was among them. She was trying to defend Liscor. And because she was there, Pawn had come to him. To Yellow Splatters and the Painted Soldiers. To beg them to defy Klbkch and their Queen. To fight a battle against the Goblin Lord, against the Grand Queen’s orders.

All for Erin. Pawn had asked them to fight, and because they were Soldiers, die. For her. But how could Yellow Splatters ever agree?

It was not their fight. Yellow Splatters looked down the line of Painted Soldiers. It was not their battle. Moreover, it was not a situation where the Antinium would survive. There were hundreds of thousands of Goblins. The Painted Soldiers were six hundred strong, and of that number, only two hundred were ‘old’. They had levels, but they were all under Level 20.

They couldn’t win. They would die, and for what? Friendship? A warm meal? A…smile?

It wasn’t enough. How could you weigh the lives of the Antinium like that? Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn. He didn’t have to explain any of it. Pawn knew. The Worker bowed his head. He had tried for half-an-hour to reason with Yellow Splatters. To no avail. The other Soldiers were restless, but they followed Yellow Splatters in this.

“Please.”

It wasn’t enough. Yellow Splatters didn’t move. He stared down at Pawn. The Worker clutched at his censer. He sought for words, spoke in a trembling voice.

“I know. I know how much I’m asking. I know it’s just one person. I know she’s not Antinium. I know. Even if the Goblins are our—our friends. Even then, I know what it would cost. But Erin…”

He broke off, shaking his head. The Painted Soldiers were all listening. They stood straight, motionless, waiting for orders. But they listened like Yellow Splatters. They judged. They decided, where they had obeyed. It was a terrifying thing.

The Worker went on. He spoke to Yellow Splatters, his voice numb.

“It’s her. She made me, me. I owe her everything. We do. If she dies…if she dies, what purpose have I? She told me of faith. She played chess with me. She was kind when no one else was. If she dies—how could I live? How could I continue?”

The Soldiers stirred. Yellow Splatters hesitated. Pawn looked up at him. The Antinium did not cry, but there was no need for tears. All Yellow Splatters had to do was look in his eyes.

“I have no right to ask it of you. But I am no Soldier. And you are. I beg you. All of you. There is no good reason I can give. Only that she must not die. Please. She gave me everything.”

He bowed his head. Spent. Pawn sank to his knees. He was empty. Helpless. He wished he could fight. But alone he was useless. As useless as he had ever been.

He began to curl up. And a part of him wept inside, though he had never known tears. Pawn sank lower and lower. Until a hand reached down. Yellow Splatters gripped Pawn by the shoulders. The Worker looked up.

The Soldier stood above him. An impassive face. Tearing mandibles. A deep gaze. Yellow Splatters turned. The bright splats of paint on his body caught the light. He looked down the ranks of Painted Soldiers as Pawn slowly rose.

Slowly Yellow Splatters stepped forwards. The Painted Soldiers waited. He raised one finger. Pointed down the line of Soldiers. The meaning was clear.

One hundred.

The Painted Soldiers held still. They waited, and for a second Pawn despaired. He feared none would volunteer. But then a hundred moved.

A hundred Soldiers. They were the not the hundred closest to Yellow Splatters. They stepped out of line, in pairs, alone, in large groups. Seemingly at random. But as Pawn looked down the line for Soldiers, at the hundred chosen, he understood.

They were the first. The ones who had heard Pawn’s stories, the ones who had survived the mass suicide. The oldest. None of them were more than three years old.

Yellow Splatters nodded. He turned, and the Soldiers stepped into line behind him. Purple Smile moved. He looked uncertainly at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] nodded to him. Purple Smile nodded slowly.

That was all. Pawn stared at the Soldiers. Yellow Splatters began to walk. They followed him, abandoning their posts. Disobeying direct orders from their Queen. The Hive.

Going to battle.

Words could not express what Yellow Splatters was feeling. He walked, feeling death in the air. Death, sadness, determination, a giddy excitement at betraying his hive. But strangely, no regret. He marched ahead, through the Hive, until he realized someone was following him. He halted and the Painted Soldiers stopped with him. He stared at Pawn and held an arm out. The Worker stopped, and placed one of his hands on Yellow Splatter’s arm.

“I’m going with you.”

Shock. The other Soldiers stared. Yellow Splatters shook his head. Unacceptable. Pawn was…everything. He had brought the Painted Soldiers freedom. Without him—he was to them what Erin was to him. But Pawn refused to be moved.

“You can’t stop me. You’ll need my prayers. It might help. And I can shout to Erin.”

It made sense. But Yellow Splatters refused to budge. He blocked Pawn’s way. The Worker looked into the [Sergeant]’s eyes.

“I can’t ask you to do this without going as well.”

But if you die—

Yellow Splatters wanted to speak. More than anything, in that moment he wanted to say something. But he had no words. And as he thought them, he realized what he was saying. It was what Pawn had said.

Slowly, the [Sergeant] turned. The Painted Soldiers stared at his back, but Yellow Splatters just kept marching. Slowly, Pawn fell in beside him. The two walked in silence. But Yellow Splatters was happy to have Pawn. Happy. Afraid. He felt alive.

This was how the Painted Soldiers went.

They marched through the dark tunnels, past Workers and other Soldiers who turned to watch. Each Soldier was alone with their thoughts, and each was together. They followed Yellow Splatters, followed Pawn upwards, out of the secret tunnels.

To death. But the Soldiers thought little of that. They had been asked and they had answered. Instead, as the ground sloped upwards, the Soldiers looked up. Bright light shone on their faces, and they smiled, then. Even if the smile was only in their hearts.

It was good to see the sky.

 

—-

 

They were losing the battle. Laken listened to the reports coming to his position with a sinking heart. He could only imagine the battle. He could hear distant sounds, the sound of thunder. And around him, the thumping of trebuchets. But nothing else. He bowed his head.

A young woman leading Goblins. An army opposing the Goblin Lord. Here he was. There was good and evil here. Perhaps not right and wrong, but a choice to be made. He looked up.

“Gamel.”

He felt a touch at his arm. Gamel stood by his [Emperor]. Laken tilted his head towards the sky. He could hear only screams. Death. But he thought he knew what had to be done.

“Get me Tessia. Now.”

Gamel ran. Laken stayed where he was. He kept listening. Lord Tyrion was aiming for the gates. He wanted them down and the walls breached by the time the Goblin Lord was finished. The Cave Goblins were dying. The other tribes were being pushed back. They were losing. There was no hope.

 

—-

 

“No.”

Rags slid from her saddle. She had arrived too late. Too late. She stood on the cliff, at the edge of the Floodplains. She had come so far. So far, at such speed. But it was too late.

The battle was underway. And even so far away, Rags could see. Her tribe was losing. They were fighting with the Redfangs, with the strange grey Goblins. But they were outnumbered, retreating. And Reiss kept advancing. Even the lightning wasn’t slowing his forces.

“Chieftain. What do we do?”

Rags turned. She saw a few hundred of Tremborag’s Goblins, eight Redfangs, Pyrite, Ulvama, and Garen looking to her. Garen was holding his crimson blade. His teeth were bared and his Carn Wolf was growling. But the Hobgoblin had a grip on his wolf’s mouth, preventing it from howling.

Because of the Humans. Their army was in front of the Goblins. A vast host, infantry, trebuchets, [Mages], and cavalry. They were spread out—Tyrion’s riders in front, the trebuchets in the middle and infantry surrounding them at the back. Rags could see tens of thousands of [Soldiers] in ranks. Waiting to move in.

They were between her and her tribe. There was no way they’d be able to get around them. Garen shifted.

“Could run past. Me and Redfangs.”

“No. You die. And we die.”

Rags shook her head. Garen had barely slipped past them once, and that was with a hundred of his warriors in the cover of night. When they were on the move? Now? They would be dead before they even cleared the trebuchets. She stared at her tribe.

“Have to do something. Have to.

“Chieftain. We can fight. Cause distraction.”

One of Tremborag’s Hobs offered. Pyrite shook his head.

“Not big enough distraction. Need one to occupy army. Especially—him.”

He pointed at Tyrion Veltras. The Hob was staring at the battle. He had hold of his battleaxe and he was strong enough to lift it. He was restless. They all were. But Rags couldn’t figure out what to do.

How? How could she save her tribe? She burned to race towards them. But that was death. Rags bowed her head. By the time they went around the cliffs, it would be too late by hours. Could they really cause a distraction? With what? Ulvama’s spells? She had nothing strong enough? What if—

Memory. Something tugged at Rags’ mind. A thought. She looked around and recalled something.

Long ago. A skeleton racing out of a cliff. Enchanted armor. Crossbows. Dropclaw bats. A bunch of cursed amulets. And—

A cave. Rags looked up. She stared around and then saw it.

“There.”

Her Goblins stared. They looked at a little cave set into the stone. Rags pointed at it.

“What is it?”

“Cave. Leads to dungeon.”

Rags explained to Garen and Pyrite. Her heart was racing. She had no idea if the dungeon led towards Liscor. But maybe—

Garen’s eyes were troubled. The Hobgoblin shifted restlessly.

“Dungeon is very dangerous. Without [Rogue], will die to traps.”

“What about Chieftain good with rocks? What other choice is there?”

Pyrite questioned the Redfang Chieftain. Garen eyed him, but said nothing. Rags leapt down the cliff.

“Go!”

The Goblins entered the cave cautiously. They looked up for Dropclaw bats, but there were none. They must have all flown off. Rags led the way. She was desperate, still despairing inside. They’d never make it. How long would it take them to find a way through the dungeon? But if—

She paused as she entered the main cave and looked around. Something was wrong. Someone had been living here. There were scorch marks on the ground, trash. Signs of habitation.

“A tribe lived here? Or old trash from your tribe?”

Garen frowned around the cave. Rags shook her head.

“Huh. New.”

Pyrite bent down and sniffed at some leftover charcoal. He straightened, frowning about, and then his keen eyes narrowed.

There.

He pointed. There was a sound. Rags turned. Garen’s Carn Wolf growled and the Hobgoblin pointed.

Goblin.

A little Goblin flinched and cowered against the rocks. She’d hid herself by a plank of wood. Rags blinked. Garen’s wolf growled, but the Hobgoblin held it still. Rags looked at Pyrite. The Goblin was very small, barely more than a child. And her skin was…grey.

“Me?”

“No, me.”

Rags put out an arm and stopped Pyrite. She approached the Cave Goblin slowly. The little Goblin cowered. She was holding something red in her hands. And she’d been lying on something. It looked like a dirty, white…hat?

“Hello?”

Rags halted as the Cave Goblin flinched away from her. The Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe blinked down at Pebblesnatch. The little Goblin looked up. Rags was barely taller than her.

“I am Rags. Flooded Waters tribe Chieftain. Who you?”

The Cave Goblin froze with panic. But then she gabbled her name. Rags frowned.

“Why you alone? You live here? Where other Goblins? Tribe?”

Pebblesnatch was too afraid to speak. Rags squatted by her, trying to demand answers, but the little Goblin was petrified. She kept staring at Garen and his Carn Wolf for some reason.

“Take too long. Want me to charm her?”

Ulvama grumbled. Pyrite stared at the [Shaman] disapprovingly. Garen stared at Ulvama’s chest. The female Hob glared at them.

“With spell.

“Oh.”

The Hobs shook their heads. Rags glared and pointed.

Out!

The others left to watch the battle and figure something else out. Rags stayed. Garen did too. He was checking out the dungeon, frowning into it.

“Dungeon was cleared. Looks like statues gone.”

“Why?”

Rags was astonished. She went to look. There was a strange wall where there hadn’t been before, and a bit of it had been broken down. The statues were all gone—smashed, if the rubble was any indication. She stared around. And then, only then, did Pebblesnatch move.

The little Goblin crept up behind Rags and Garen. The two turned to look at her and she flinched and nearly fled. But she raised a trembling claw. She had the red mana stone in one hand, her chef’s hat in the other. She was afraid. But she looked at Garen. At his Carn Wolf. At the war paint that was so familiar. And she spoke a word.

“Redfang?”

The two Goblins stared at her. Rags opened her mouth, and looked at Garen. He nodded. He tapped his chest.

“Redfang.”

Pebblesnatch stared up at him. She had seen Garen fight Headscratcher, seen him flee. But she had witnessed the Humans, seen the Goblin Lord. And she knew her tribe was dying. She looked to Rags. And then she began to speak. Rags demanded answers.

“What is beyond wall? Is there way through dungeon? Fast way?”

No. No fast way. Or safe way, either. Pebblesnatch bowed her head. She was nearly in tears as she told Rags about the Raskghar, about the dungeon and the invisible much-death in the room beyond. About the secret entrances and exits, and the flooded rift. If they could go through the many trap rooms, maybe—

Rags listened, heart racing, mind blurring with fear and thoughts and impatience. And then everything crystallized. She latched onto something Pebblesnatch had said and stared at the Cave Goblin. Garen looked at her, suddenly alert. Rags stared at the wall. At the dungeon and what lay beyond. And then she turned.

“Get Pyrite. Hurry.

 

—-

 

They were running. The Free Queen saw it through Klbkch’s eyes. She relayed the news quietly. Calmly. She felt his distress. But she kept it out of her tone.

“The Goblins are falling back. Losing ground.”

“Excellent.”

The Grand Queen and her puppet rubbed their feelers together. Her tone was smug. For that reason alone the Free Queen wished the Goblins and Erin Solstice would win. But it was impossible. How could they win? She felt Klbkch’s grip tightening on his swords and urged him silently not to move.

And then she felt it. So did Klbkch. The Revalantor slowly looked up.

“What is that?”

“What?”

Zevara glanced sharply at Klbkch. Both he and the Free Queen ignored the Watch Captain. They stared to the left. Towards an entrance into the Flood Plains only they knew. And then—

The Free Queen’s breath caught as she saw the first bodies leaving her Hive. She felt them. A hundred and two. A Worker holding a censer. A [Sergeant], larger than any other Soldier. And a hundred of the Painted Soldiers.

“What? What is going on?”

“The Painted Soldiers. They have left their positions. And so has Pawn.”

The Free Queen and Klbkch spoke the same words. Their voices were one.

“They are going to try and save Erin.”

“What?”

Zevara stared at the dark Antinium. Her eyes widened. The Grand Queen lurched upwards, alarmed.

“That is not part of the plan! Why did you order this, Free Queen?”

“I did not. They disobeyed me.”

The Free Queen spoke quietly. The five Queens went still.

“Aberration?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

The Free Queen didn’t answer. Belgrade and Anand looked up. Bird tried to sit up.

“Pawn is going? With the colorful Soldiers?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen watched them march. She felt them in her mind. Both she and Klbkch watched them go. And they thought as one.

“Unacceptable. Unacceptable. Order them back. Recover them. The Hive cannot lose an asset. The battle must be lost. Do you hear me? Free Queen? Free Queen?”

The puppet was raising its voice and the Grand Queen spoke sharply through her scrying mirror. The Free Queen glanced towards her. And in that moment she made her decision. She bent down low, towards the puppet and opened her mandibles. The little copy of the Queen bent back. The Free Queen spoke one word.

“What?”

The Antinium in the chamber stared. The little Queen and the Grand Queen hesitated.

“What do you mean, what? I gave you orders. Carry them out.”

The Free Queen stared. She tilted her head from side to side and then shook her head.

“I did not hear that. Can you speak again? Louder? Your connection is breaking up, my Queen. I am afraid I cannot hear your orders. Hello?”

“What is the meaning of this? I said—can you hear me?”

“I can.”

“My audio reception is perfect.”

“Is something the matter? Why can the Free Queen not hear us?”

“I. Wonder why.”

“I cannot hear anything, my Queen.”

The Free Queen repeated herself loudly over the babble of voices. She looked at the Workers. Belgrade and Anand shot each other quick glances. Anand nodded.

“I believe the, uh, vessel has malfunctioned. As has the scrying glass. I am quite deaf to the Grand Queen’s orders. I cannot hear a thing.”

“Nor me.”

Belgrade nodded, his antennae waving about wildly. The Grand Queen spluttered. The Free Queen smiled.

“I hear nothing. Do you, Bird?”

The little Worker looked up at the Free Queen. His voice was small, but distinct. He looked towards the ceiling. Towards the marching Soldiers.

“I hear laughter. They’re laughing. And so are you.”

The elation in the Free Queen turned to surprise. Shock. She stared down at Bird, tuning out the Grand Queen. Had he just—

The Free Queen kept looking at Bird. Her mandibles opened, and then her head turned. Her attention snapped back to Klbkch. Above, she saw the reaction to the Painted Soldiers play out, on the walls, on the battlefield, and across the world.

 

—-

 

“What in the name of love are those things?”

“Send word to Lord Veltras! The Antinium are on the march!”

“It’s only a hundred! Only—”

The Human army stared as the Antinium emerged seemingly from the ground. Tyrion Veltras stared as the Painted Antinium marched forwards, across the Floodplains.

“Jericha. What are those Antinium? A new variant?”

“They’re—we sighted them around Liscor previously but—we have no knowledge of them, Lord Veltras. They’re…new.”

“New?”

Tyrion stared at the Soldiers. They looked just like ordinary Soldiers. But the paint on their bodies. That was different. On any other species, he would dismiss it as decoration. But the Antinium had no decoration.

“There are only a hundred of them.”

“But are they going to reinforce the Goblins? Attack both sides? What?”

“We should ready a defense. Just in case. Attack them from afar, even. If they close—”

Tyrion turned to the arguing [Strategists].

“No. We hold back. Watch them.”

His words were unnecessary. Everyone was watching the strange new Antinium. Tyrion turned back to the battle. It was just a hundred. They couldn’t do a thing. He knew that intellectually. But for the first time since this battle had begun he began to grow vaguely uneasy.

And on they came.

 

—-

 

“Is that Pawn?

Ceria stared down at the Antinium from the walls. She recognized the Worker. The other adventurers craned over the battlements, keeping a watchful eye out for more falling stones.

“It is Pawn! What is he doing? Has everyone gone mad?”

Pawn, get back here!

Jelaqua bellowed at the Worker. But if he heard, he never slowed. He was marching with the others. Ceria vaguely recognized Yellow Splatters. She turned to Ksmvr to ask what they were doing. And stopped. Ksmvr was staring down at the Painted Soldiers. And he looked far away.

“Ksmvr? Ksmvr?”

The former Prognugator didn’t turn. He opened his mandibles slowly.

“Yes, Ceria?”

“What are Pawn and the Soldiers doing? They’re not fighting, are they?”

“They are.”

“But they’ll die!”

“Yes.”

The Antinium looked up. His mandible opened and he straightened. He looked down at the Painted Antinium as the Drakes and Gnolls looked down. The adventurers stood together. Ksmvr’s nodded.

“That is what they are doing. Dying.”

 

—-

 

At first the Goblins didn’t notice them. They were harrying the retreating Solstice Goblins, pressing them back. It wasn’t easy. The Flooded Waters tribe was dug in. The Redfangs fought like demons. And the Cave Goblins refused to buckle. But by numbers they were losing. Eater of Spears was cutting back. Snapjaw was attacking from the flanks, skirmishing with the Redfangs. And Reiss had created a shield of bone spires. Now he was directing the undead to attack.

So it was little wonder that the Antinium weren’t spotted by the Goblins on either side at first. There were only a hundred. But they were different.

They marched in ranks of five abreast, Yellow Splatters and Pawn in the lead. Each Soldier’s body was marked by paint. Each was unique.

A flower drawn in black paint with white petals. Raindrops, the first ever seen. A series of numbers without reason. Words painted in every color that had meaning only to the Soldier who’d drawn it.

Their march was steady. Quick. And as they marched, they listened. The Goblins were ahead of them. But it was not on them the Painted Soldiers focused. It was on the Worker who marched at their head. Pawn swung the censer, his voice loud. The censer burned cinnamon. The sweet smoke drifted across the Soldiers.

Time seemed slow to him. Despite the urgency of their pace, Pawn felt like each moment was forever. Was this Erin’s [Immortal Moment]? His words echoed in his mind, across the Soldiers.

“We are going to war. We are going to fight, though this is not our battle.”

Click.

The Soldier’s mandibles snapped together as one. Pawn heard the sound reverberate through his soul. He went on. His voice was shaking.

“We pray not for victory. We pray only that we might live. That we survive. That Erin lives. That our friends live.”

Click.

The Goblin Lord’s army had seen them now. Reiss turned on the back of his Shield Spider. His master uttered the first curse word he had spoken in three years. Reiss stared, and then pointed.

Goblins in black armor moved to set themselves against the Antinium. They stared uneasily at the insect-people. But [Archers] were already moving. A thousand Goblins set themselves in place. Enough. The Painted Soldiers’ pace never wavered. Pawn continued, staring at the Goblins as they slowly took positions. They were so far away, still.

“There are no gods for us to pray to. None that will listen to the Antinium. None that will care. We are alone. But we are still Antinium.”

Click.

“So. Pray not to gods, but believe in each other. Fight, and survive. Believe that Heaven awaits. Arrows shall pierce our bodies. Steel rend our chitin. We will bleed and perish. But believe. We may fall, but we will find Heaven afterwards. Even if it only exists in our minds. And know that you will be remembered forever.”

Click. Now the Goblins were ready. A ripple went through their ranks. They were raising bows, aiming. A Goblin [Mage] conjured fire. Pawn’s grip tightened on his staff. He shouted the last words, or perhaps they shouted themselves.

“For so long as one Antinium lives, we shall never be forgotten.”

Click.

There was no signal. No command. The Painted Soldiers saw the Goblins draw back. Their pace quickened. The march turned into a run. Then a sprint. The Goblins aimed. They loosed as one. Pawn was running. He raised his staff up. The censer released smoke. And the arrows flew.

The Painted Soldiers charged. The Goblins were hundreds of paces away yet. But the arrows were falling. Like rain. They landed among the Soldiers, hundreds of them. First one volley, then another. The Goblin Lord’s archers never stopped firing. But the Soldiers ran on. They had no shields to protect them. Only an invisible thing.

Faith.

Believe. Believe they would survive to meet the Goblins. The first arrow struck a Soldier on the shoulder. It did not pierce far, but the tip cut past the shell of the Soldier. Blood ran down his chest. Still he ran.

Arrows fell among the Soldiers. They touched them. The Antinium bled. But none fell.

Perhaps it was a miracle. The arrows seemed to be missing. Or maybe it was the mud, the fighting. Poor visibility, a chance gust of wind.

The Goblins stared. They had expected a few Soldiers to fall. But the arrows were missing. And the Soldiers were drawing closer. The front rank of Hobs shifted uneasily. The Soldiers were as big as they were. And the one in front was bigger than the rest, or so it seemed. But they were Hobs. They held their ground. And the Antinium ran faster.

Pawn was in front. He didn’t know if he was screaming. He didn’t realize he’d outdistanced the others, even Yellow Splatters. He ran at the front rank of Goblins and then realized. He didn’t have a weapon!

The first Hobgoblin in black armor was turning, eyes wide. He had never seen the Antinium before. Pawn started to slow. The Hobgoblin had a mace. It raised it to strike at the Worker. Yellow Splatters charged past Pawn. His first fist struck the Hob across the face. The second grabbed the mace hand. Two more blows struck the Hob and the Goblin fell.

Pawn saw the Goblins turn. One struck at Yellow Splatters with a sword. The Soldier punched and the Goblin fell back, his face broken. A Soldier crashed into the Goblins next to Pawn. Another leapt. The Hobs looked up and a Soldier landed, crushing one with a knee. And ninety eight more charged past the rest.

It shouldn’t have mattered. They were only a hundred. A hundred bodies. A hundred fragile souls, nothing more. But they didn’t stop. The Painted Soldiers overran the first rank of Goblins, then the second. They didn’t stop.

Go!

Pawn screamed. The Goblins fell back. It could speak? The Worker ran with the Soldiers. They crashed into a wave of Goblins armed with spears. The metal broke on their bodies. It pierced them. It didn’t matter. They didn’t so much as slow. They had one thought in their minds.

Further. A Soldier reeled back, a spear stabbed through his guts. He looked down at the spear as the Goblin holding it twisted. The Soldier punched down and the spear broke. He grabbed the terrified the Goblin and broke its neck. Then he ran on.

Arrows flew down from above. The Goblin Lord was shooting at his own warriors! The Antinium looked up. One of them was struck half a dozen times. He bled. The raindrops on his body became green with his blood. And he did not stop.

The Soldier with raindrops ran on, ignoring the arrows protruding from his body. His fellows joined them. They had yet to fall. They would not fall.

On. There was nothing to hold them back. The Goblins began to flee in the face of the Antinium. They screamed and turned. Swords didn’t hurt them! They bled, but they didn’t die!

Hold your positions! There are only a hundred!

Reiss bellowed. But the Goblins were afraid. The Soldiers charged on, a wedge now. Led by Yellow Splatters. And Pawn. The Worker ran through Goblins, forging ahead. Towards Erin. Towards the Goblin Lord. He whirled his staff and struck a Goblin with the censer. With his other hand he struck another Goblin with a mace he’d picked up.

It wasn’t enough. They’d never make it. The Soldiers were taking injuries. And they were beginning to slow. Pawn saw one fall. The one with numbers. But the others kept moving. They’d never get to the Goblin Lord.

But they didn’t stop. They overran formations, charged past the stunned Solstice Goblins.

Onwards.

The Goblin Lord’s lines began to break.

 

—-

 

“Madness.”

Tyrion whispered. The Goblins were retreating. The Antinium were smashing through their lines. It was a suicide charge. But somehow, the Soldiers weren’t dying.

“Do they have some kind of special armor? How are they still moving? What kind of Antinium is this?”

Jericha stared at the Antinium. Her face was pale. The Soldiers should not be doing this. Even Antinium had limits. But not this group. And the Solstice Goblins were rallying around the Soldiers. Redscar pointed and his Redfangs raced after the Painted Soldiers. Lightning flashed down ahead of them, clearing a path. Numbtongue roared and Yellow Splatters looked up. The Goblins surged after the Antinium.

This was the spear they needed. The five Redfangs charged again. The momentum was again against the Goblin Lord.

But he had his army. He could still win. He just needed to slow them. Tyrion gritted his teeth. He looked around.

“Jericha!”

His aide blinked. She looked at Tyrion and then colored.

“My lord?”

“Tell the Gold-rank teams to deploy their [Archers]. Take down the Goblin leaders.”

The [Mage]’s eyes widened. She nodded and shouted orders. Tyrion saw the message race across the lines of his soldiers, to the group of irregular adventurers. They were behind the lines of cavalry. They had no intention of participating in the mass-combat. But at Tyrion’s orders the teams with high-level [Archers] came forward.

“He wants us to hit the Goblin leaders? From here?

One of the Gold-rank captains exclaimed with dismay. Another, a man named Jackal, turned to the [Messenger].

“Which ones are we hitting? The Goblin Lord’s?”

“No, the Goblins defending Liscor.”

“Damn.”

Jackal swore. He looked at his team. The only other adventurer with a bow, their [Ranger], looked unhappy.

“Jack, what’s the point of this? You saw that girl. Are we supposed to shoot her, too?”

“Only the Goblins. Lord Veltras was very specific about that.”

The [Messenger] interjected unhelpfully. Jackal gave him a long look. The Gold-rank adventurer shook his head. He selected an arrow and put it to his shortbow. The odds of him hitting one of the Goblins from here was remote, but the other adventurers might have a shot.

“We’ve got orders. Tyrion wants those Goblins to lose. So…let’s support that Goblin Lord. Sight on those Hobs. That one on the hill with the bow.”

Reluctantly, the other adventurers took aim. They sighted on Badarrow, who was loosing arrow after arrow. Jackal’s grip tightened on his arrow.

“[Farseeker Arrows]. [Double Arrow].”

He could hear the other adventurers using similar Skills. Jackal drew back. He could see the Antinium pushing forwards. He gritted his teeth. And then he looked up. Something bright flashed in the sky.

Dead gods! Take cover!

Jackal pointed up, screamed and threw himself sideways. The other adventurers didn’t bother looking. They dove. And then they saw what Jackal had.

The arrow that flew down out of the sky was glowing, its tip sparking with electricity. An enchanted arrow. It detonated as it struck the earth in front of Jackal’s team. The men and women cried out as the lightning earthed itself, mostly harmlessly.

My arm!

“It got my armor!”

“Who shot that? A Goblin?”

The Humans milled about in a panic. Someone blew an alarm, but the adventurers were more concerned with the attack. Jackal pulled himself up. The [Ranger] grabbed his arm.

“That didn’t come from the Goblins. Jack! It came from the walls?”

“A Drake shot that?”

Jackal stared at Liscor. It was far too far away for anyone but a Level 30 [Archer] to hit them from. And an enchanted arrow? His eyes widened. He saw a figure standing on the battlements.

“Five families save me. That’s Halrac. He shot that arrow!”

The adventurers looked up. Some of them uttered oaths. Jackal looked at his companions uneasily.

“Is he—”

“He’s covering the Goblins.”

“He can’t do that!”

Another Gold-rank captain exclaimed. Her face was pale. She raised her bow.

“There’s one of him! He can’t stop us from—”

A second arrow blasted a hole in the dirt in front of her. The adventurer recoiled. Jackal stared at the walls. The distant shape drew another arrow. Jackal looked at his team. Slowly, he lowered his bow. The [Messenger] stared incredulously at him.

“What are you doing? Lord Veltras ordered you to attack the Goblins!”

“Yeah. I don’t think so. You want to take them out, get your [Archers]. Halrac’s got the angle on us and he uses enchanted arrows. And he’s got a new bow. Get the Kingslayer to do it.”

“She’s not—”

The [Messenger] clamped his lips shut. Jackal eyed him, but the man was already riding back. The Gold-rank teams stared as another arrow flew from the wall. But it wasn’t aimed at them. And then they saw more flashes of light.

“What are they doing?”

“They can’t be—”

“They’re supporting the Goblins.”

Jackal was surprised there was no warble in his voice. He stared at the walls. Halrac was loosing arrow after arrow into the Goblin Lord’s army. And he wasn’t the only one.

 

—-

 

The first arrow blew a cluster of Goblins to bits. The second one was aimed directly at Reiss. He barely saw it. A wall of bone rose in front of him and the arrow nearly shattered the wall of bone. Reiss stared. Someone was shooting arrows at him! And then he saw a glowing ball of light falling from the sky.

A star. It shone with beautiful blue light, surrounded by a nimbus of blue energy. And it landed and bloomed. Goblins died as the first comet struck the earth. And then the second.

“[Valmira’s Comets].”

Typhenous stood on the walls. He pointed and another comet fell to earth. By his side, Halrac loosed another arrow. The distance was incredible, but the [Scout] had calculated each shot. And he had a bow capable of making it.

To Zevara, it looked as though Halrac was holding nothing but air. Until she turned her head slightly and saw the invisible bow refracted slightly across the light. The arrows Halrac were firing were visible enough—until the [Scout] paused and drew another arrow out of the air. It was transparent and practically invisible. He aimed, fired. Reiss snarled as an arrow streaked past him. Only his master’s warning had saved him from the stealthed arrow.

“They’re covering the Goblins?”

“And the Antinium. Watch Captain, other adventurers are attacking as well!”

A [Guardswoman] shouted at Zevara. She turned and saw one of the other Gold-rank teams loosing arrows as well. Other mages capable of hitting the Goblins at this range were casting spells. Ceria and Pisces were trying to figure out a spell capable of hitting the Goblins.

“Should I tell them to hold their fire?”

“No—no, I—”

Zevara hesitated. She looked back at the Goblin Lord. The Antinium were going for him. The Redfangs were cutting their own way through. This was it. She hesitated. They had a chance. If they—

A bright nova shot from the walls of Liscor. Zevara gaped as a massive ball of fire shot down towards the Goblin Lord’s army. Reiss’ warriors looked up, screamed, and vanished. Reiss shielded his eyes and stared. That had come from Liscor’s walls.

Olesm!

The [Strategist] had been using Liscor’s enchantments to shoot down trebuchet stones. He turned as Zevara ran over to him. He raised one claw as the smoldering scroll turned to dust.

“What was—”

“Tactical shot, Watch Captain.”

Zevara stared at Olesm. He didn’t look the least bit ashamed. She hesitated.

“I see. Refrain from further shots. Unless you’re sure you can get that bastard. Focus on hitting those damn rocks!”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Olesm saluted with one claw. He narrowed his eyes and turned back to watching the skies. So did Zevara. The next wave of boulders would be coming. She waited, tensed, ready to call out alarm. She saw the trebuchets firing, braced, saw where they would land…

“What the—?”

 

—-

 

Tyrion saw the boulders arc into the air. He saw them land. He stared as a dozen boulders crashed into the back of the Goblin Lord’s army. He roared.

What was that!?

Jericha was already racing towards the trebuchets. She came back, panting.

“It was Emperor Laken, Lord Veltras!”

“He ordered that?”

“No, sire. He claims they misfired, sir.”

Mis—

Tyrion nearly choked on his own words. He nearly turned and rode towards the blind [Emperor] and caught himself just in time. He pointed at Jericha.

“Aim at Liscor! Tell that damned—ensure there are no more mistakes. Go!”

Jericha nodded and fled. Tyrion turned back to the battle. He was apoplectic with rage. His [Strategists] had gone silent. It shouldn’t have happened. But he could see it. So could anyone with an eye. Zevara, Olesm—even the blind [Emperor] must have sensed it.

The laughing Titan of Baleros saw it. He watched as the Antinium carved their way left of the Goblin Lord, drawing his forces away. As the adventurers bombarded the Goblin Lord’s forces. The lightning, the chance ‘misfire’ by the trebuchets—it broke the neat lines of the Goblin Lord’s army. Distracted him. All of it conspired for one thing, one moment that could be exploited, where the waves of warriors between the Goblins and the Goblin Lord drew back. It gave them what they needed.

An opening.

 

—-

 

And they came. Reiss tried to stop them. He saw his lieutenants trying to do the same. But Snapjaw was blocked by the trebuchet’s boulders and Redscar rode down on her. Eater of Spears was being targeted by the [Scout] with the magical arrows. And the Antinium had pressed too far into his lines. They were falling. But they had given them a gap. And into that gap they came.

Cave Goblins. A young woman. She led them, rallied them and forced the lines open. And the five charged ahead. Headscratcher. Numbtongue. Shorthilt. Badarrow. And Rabbiteater.

They were wounded. Tired. But they didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. There were only Reiss’ Hobgoblin bodyguards between them and the Goblin Lord. Headscratcher led the way. His axe shone as he cut down Hobs, swinging, clearing a path. And the world watched as he came on.

Ilvriss stared down at the scrying orb. He saw the Hobgoblin swinging, Shorthilt leaping forwards to cut an enemy down as Headscratcher swung again. The magical weapon cut the air, taking down three Hobs at once.

“Nice axe. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

The Wall Lord clenched his claws into a fist. He saw Badarrow shoot a Goblin at point-blank range, and Rabbiteater dash past him. The Hob caught a blast of fire inside the liquid cloak.

“Waste of a good vintage. Go, you damn Goblins! Go!

Numbtongue sang as he charged, swinging his guitar. In his seat at the table, Blackmage stood up.

Go, guitar Goblin!

Reiss turned. He pointed, and black magic coalesced around his finger.

“[Deathbolt]!”

The five Hobs saw the spell coming and avoided it. Flos laughed as he sat at his table, peering at the scrying orb.

“You can’t hit warriors with that spell! They’re going to reach him.”

“She did it.”

Gazi smiled. Her main eye was closed. Trey stared at Erin Solstice. So did Teres.

“That’s her?”

Erin was shouting. She raised a frying pan and threw it. The dented, battered pan flew through the air and nearly reached Reiss. But Erin was too tired so it just landed a few dozen feet short of him. The Blighted King shook his head.

“Pointless.”

He turned away from the scrying orb and waved his hand, dismissing it. The other nobility hesitated, then clustered around the orb. On came the five Redfangs. And then they were there.

Distant specks. Even in the scrying orb they were tiny. Falene stared at the Redfangs, trying not to blink. She saw them scale the hill, fighting past the last of the Hobs. And then they were there.

He waited for them. Reiss had dismounted from his Shield Spider. He stood tall, black magic swirling into a long sword. Death magic. A blade of darkness. In his other hand he conjured shards of bone. The Goblin Lord waited for the five of them.

They had never met. But it didn’t matter. They were Redfangs. And he was the Goblin Lord. They didn’t say much. Reiss saw them spread out as the Cave Goblins bought their heroes time.

“I am a Goblin Lord. Reiss. Why are you defying me?”

That was all he asked them. And the Redfangs shrugged. Headscratcher smiled.

“Because.”

They took their spots. Headscratcher in front, Shorthilt to the side. Badarrow took aim. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater came at the Goblin Lord from behind.

They fought. Reiss swung the magical blade. He shot bone darts, conjured a wall of bone. The undead rose, bursting from the ground. The Redfangs dodged and struck at him.

Armor of bones. Claws of bone. Reiss caught Headscratcher’s axe by the handle and threw the Hob. He shouted. He was a Goblin Lord! They were just Hobs!

He couldn’t be felled. Not by them! That was the difference between a Goblin Lord and a mere Chieftain. He had done what no other Goblin could. That was what it meant to be him. Reiss slashed and opened up Numbtongue’s chest. The Hobgoblin retreated, drinking a healing potion.

An arrow struck Reiss in the side. He staggered, pointed. Rabbiteater was blown back by an explosion of air. Shorthilt found a Draug locked onto his leg. It bit and tore at him as he cut it down. Headscratcher brought his axe down and Reiss conjured a shield of bone to protect him. The axe bit through the bone and Reiss stumbled back.

I am Reiss!

He spun and slashed Badarrow across the chest. The Hob grunted but managed to kick Reiss anyways. Headscratcher shoulder-charged the Goblin Lord. Reiss roared and threw him.

Strength. Skill. Speed. The five Hobs attacked again. Reiss defended himself from all sides. He was stronger than they were. He was beyond any Goblin.

Any one Goblin. But there were five. And it was enough. Reiss stumbled backwards as another arrow struck his leg. Shorthilt cut him across the back and Reiss struck at him. And then Rabbiteater slashed down and Headscratcher cut at him from the side. The Goblin Lord blocked one with spell, the other with his hand. And Numbtongue struck him across the face.

He fell. The Solstice Goblins roared. Reiss struggled to get up. Headscratcher charged him. And the Goblin Lord looked up. His black eyes widened. The white pupils contracted.

Always. You always disappoint me, my apprentice.

A voice spoke. Headscratcher blinked. He hesitated, and that was what saved his life.

Reiss’ body jerked. A hand rose and a voice spoke. But it was not Reiss’.

“[Mass Silent Sickle].”

Cutting blades filled the air. Headscratcher’s eyes widened. Rabbiteater threw himself forwards. The liquid cape exploded as the blades lacerated the liquid, cut into his armor. The [Champion] fell back, bleeding as the Goblin Lord rose. But he was not Reiss any longer.

Az’kerash turned. He wore a Goblin’s face. A different body from his own. But it was he who spoke. He who regarded the five Redfangs with contempt. Frustration.

“Five Hobs. An army of three tribes. Antinium. How dare you interfere? My apprentice fails me time and again. So it falls to me to do what must be done.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. Who was this? Every instinct in them cried out that it was not Reiss. And moreover—the way the stranger moved made them nervous. He looked from face to face and then gestured.

“I have little interest in wasting power. This will be enough for the likes of you.”

He raised one hand. The Redfangs braced. The ground shifted. Bone rose from the ground, white, pure ivory. It formed into a blade and a handle, curving, forming a guard, a mesh. The Necromancer drew a pure white rapier from the earth and passed his hand over it.

“[Bone Rapier]. [Bloodcaller’s Curse].”

The blade turned red. The Redfangs watched as the Necromancer lifted the blade. Reiss’ body was injured, but it moved fluidly. Az’kerash smiled thinly.

“It has been long since I last took up arms. This will be enough. Come, you—”

He broke off. His rapier snapped up and he slashed the arrow in half. The Necromancer stared at Badarrow. The Hobgoblin blinked. The Necromancer lunged.

“Watch out!”

Shorthilt slashed. Az’kerash pulled back smoothly. Badarrow stumbled. He stared at the wound in his shoulder. A deep hole had been drilled in his arm. Az’kerash retreated back, slashing. Shorthilt grunted as the blade opened up cuts along his arms. He deflected one, ducked back.

“I am out of practice.”

That was all Az’kerash said. The Hobs looked at each other. Badarrow scrambled for a potion. Shorthilt did the same. The Hobs drank as Az’kerash watched, a sardonic smile playing across his lips. The Redfangs waited. Shorthilt felt at his injures and froze.

The cuts weren’t healing, even with a potion. Badarrow stared at his wounded shoulder. The Necromancer nodded.

“A fool relies on alchemical tricks. So, Goblins. Show me what my apprentice failed to defeat.”

He raised his rapier. The five Redfangs looked at each other.

They could have run. They could have fled.

But they couldn’t have. Not really. They spread out, setting themselves. Headscratcher’s axe glowed. The Necromancer regarded it idly.

“A simple enchantment. Without form.”

He stepped back. Headscratcher roared and swung. The Necromancer let the tip of the magical blade pass by his chest. He turned. Numbtongue, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater leapt at him.

“Why a guitar?”

Az’kerash slashed across Numbtongue’s chest. He stepped, and blurred out of the way of an arrow.

“[Flash Step].”

He cut across Rabbiteater’s back, twice. The Necromancer frowned as his blade cut through the cloak but barely penetrated the armor.

“A Skill?”

He turned. Shorthilt’s sword curved towards his chest, then down towards his arm.

“Lacking.”

The rapier snapped down. The blade deflected Shorthilt’s attack perfunctorily. Headscratcher charged again. This time he bled.

The five Redfangs attacked as one. The Necromancer wove in between them, using [Flash Step], but no other spells. His blade lanced out, deflecting blows, attacking. The Redfangs stumbled, bleeding.

The Necromancer was toying with them. He didn’t go for deadly strikes. Not at first. He let them attack him. Because it was meaningless. All of it. Headscratcher’s ferocity, the fearlessness, even the strength of the others was meaningless to him.

It was not speed, nor strength, or any ability granted to him by his class. It was simply skill. Skill, and experience. The truth dawned on the Goblins as the Necromancer waited for their next attack, calm, eyes as old as centuries, black as midnight.

It was just…time. Time. Not just ten years of training. Or even forty. But centuries. Az’kerash had fought, practiced, and lived through centuries of battle. Every attack they could conceive of, he had seen done. He knew the limits of form and which motion followed the next.

On the hill, the Necromancer danced. It was an immortal dance. A waltz known only to masters, to those who had studied. The Necromancer was tracing a pattern with each step, following an unseen meter as he traced his steps, thrust, dodged, and parried.

It was a thing of beauty. The height of skill. Az’kerash had studied a way of fighting that turned swordplay into a science. Art. And Goblins had none.

They were warriors, but self-taught. Trained by a warrior who relied on simplicity, economical movements. There was perfection in that. But no patterns. Headscratcher bled, and blood dripped down the haft of his axe. Onto the ground. Badarrow drew an arrow and hesitated.

“Well?”

Az’kerash mocked them. He smiled. The five Redfangs looked at each other. He was a master. And they couldn’t match him. But one of them stepped forwards, nonetheless. It was Shorthilt. The Goblin held his sword with both hands. He moved calmly, advancing, his stance set. And Az’kerash paused. Uncertainly.

Here came Shorthilt. Quiet Shorthilt. Shorthilt, who loved weapons. Who thought about how to cut with the most minimal of effort, how to strike in a way an opponent would never expect. A Hobgoblin, a warrior who studied weapons like poets studied love.

He walked slowly towards Az’kerash. The Necromancer paused, then lunged. A blow aimed at Shorthilt’s heart. The Goblin parried and spun. He cut, and Az’kerash was already gone. The Necromancer scored a cut down Shorthilt’s back. The Hobgoblin didn’t waver, though his blood spattered the ground. He struck out and Az’kerash went for his throat. But Shorthilt was already pulling back. His feint turned into a block. Again, Az’kerash cut him. But the Necromancer was no longer smiling.

Shorthilt breathed evenly. He watched Az’kerash, his blade changing positions, he couldn’t keep up with the Necromancer. He was ten, no, twenty steps behind Az’kerash in the dance. But he did know the dance.

And he was not alone. The other four Redfangs waited. Then they came forwards. They did not know the dance. But they knew their brother. And they attacked alongside him.

Rabbiteater and Numbtongue. Badarrow and Headscratcher. In tandem, alone, all together. The Necromancer spun back. But Shorthilt was moving with him and he could see where Az’kerash would be. The five Redfangs followed Az’kerash, blades cutting air. Stepping forwards, blocking his path.

Around them the Hobgoblins, Az’kerash’s warriors, and the Cave Goblins looked up. They saw their leaders fighting. But—it was not Reiss. The Goblin Lord’s warriors saw the stranger wearing Reiss’ body. Saw his frustration. That look of immortal, confused annoyance.

“Why? Why?”

Az’kerash snapped. His blade lanced out. This time Headscratcher deflected the blade. Shorthilt lunged. His sword crossed past the Necromancer’s face. He swept the blade sideways and Az’kerash stepped back. He raised a Goblin’s claw at the same time as, hundreds of miles away the Necromancer raised his real hand and touched his face. He stared down at the blood on Reiss’ claws. He looked at Shorthilt and the Goblin smiled.

The Necromancer’s eyes blazed. He heard a laugh, from the Redfangs. And an echo of that from his apprentice. He closed his eyes and raised his hand.

“Enough.”

The Hobs leapt at him. Az’kerash pointed.

“[Sightless Winds].”

The skies turned black. A wind howled. Color and light were obscured as a wind blew. Darkness surrounded the Redfang Warriors. Erin looked up. She lowered the shortsword in her hand and stared up. The spell blew around the hill for all of six seconds. And then it was gone. And there he stood.

The Necromancer stood with rapier raised. A smile crossed his face. Headscratcher stood in front of him, axe raised. The Hob stared into Az’kerash’s eyes. He strained. But his arms betrayed him. Headscratcher stumbled back, and Az’kerash withdrew the rapier.

Blood spattered the ground. Headscratcher looked down at the hole in his chest, just below his heart. He sank to his knees. Erin screamed. She ran for the hill.

“Better.”

Az’kerash turned. Shorthilt leapt at him. The Necromancer spun away and cut Shorthilt’s stomach open. He slashed his arm back and the [Weapon Master] fell. His ribs gaped open as Shorthilt slashed at Az’kerash. Rabbiteater screamed and shielded Shorthilt. He dragged his friend away as Badarrow loosed arrow after arrow. Numbtongue charged Az’kerash, but Badarrow tackled him. The Necromancer walked away from them. He ignored Headscratcher and raised his hand.

“Time to end this farce.”

He pointed down. The Antinium were fighting below him. A few dozen wounded bodies, bright with paint. The Necromancer’s lip curled.

“[Mass Stone Lances].”

Spires of rock rose from the ground. They levitated upwards around Reiss’ body and shot down. Yellow Splatters looked up. He saw the first spear aimed at Pawn and threw himself forwards.

The first javelin of stone stopped halfway through Yellow Splatters. The second passed through the Soldier with raindrops. The other Soldiers turned and the spell blasted them apart. The Goblins in black armor, the undead, all were consumed by the thunderous onslaught. Pawn fell to his knees, grabbing for Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] reached up for him.

“No, no!

The Goblins fled around them. The Necromancer turned his hand left. He flicked his hand, and a bolt of lightning curved around him. He looked across the battlefield at the Goblins. Reiss’ warriors and the Solstice Goblins. They looked up at him, and despair filled both. Az’kerash spoke with Reiss’ voice.

“Kill the Goblins! Slaughter the traitors! I, your Lord, command you!”

Reiss’ tribe looked up. They felt the order run through them. Wrong. All wrong. But they moved nonetheless. They surrounded the Cave Goblins, the Flooded Waters tribe, the Redfangs. The Cave Goblins struggled to hold and fell. Rags’ tribe fell back as the undead rose and attacked from all sides. The Redfangs tried to charge Az’kerash, but they were scattered.

“At last.”

Az’kerash shook his head. He stared down at the slaughter, ignoring the Hobgoblins behind him. He half-turned as a young woman ran up the slope.

“Headscratcher?”

Erin fell to her knees. The other four Redfangs were carrying him backwards. Az’kerash pointed and a spray of bone shards sent them tumbling down the hill. Erin ran forwards. A limp body rolled towards her.

Headscratcher!

He was lying face-down. Erin rolled him over. Headscratcher’s face was muddy. He blinked up at her. Blood ran from the wound above his heart. He gripped at her hand. Erin grabbed for a healing potion. But it didn’t close the wound. She splashed it over him, and then another.

“Headscratcher! Headscratcher, stay with me!

The Hobgoblin smiled. He blinked slowly, his crimson eyes leaking water. Erin bent over him, tears falling. Headscratcher smiled. He opened his mouth and whispered. Erin lowered her head.

“What?”

The Hobgoblin began to whisper. Erin heard him cough. She waited. And then she looked down.

“Headscratcher?”

She saw two open crimson eyes. A smile, parted lips. But the words never came. Erin looked up. The Necromancer turned to look back at her. The Goblins looked up and heard her scream.

And they screamed. The Goblin Lord. The brothers who reached out for their lost heart. And the Goblin who rode forwards. A howl burst from his lips. The betrayer. The traitor. Too late. As he watched his son fall. Garen Redfang screamed and rode forwards. And behind him rode Rags.

 

—-

 

Sire! We’re under attack!

Tyrion turned his gaze away from the Goblin Lord. He frowned at Jericha.

“What? By whom?”

“Monsters!”

The [Lord] twisted in his saddle. He heard the cry go up. He saw the Goblins riding Carn Wolves and his eyes narrowed. But then more [Soldiers] screamed.

Spiders! Spiders to the rear!

“Spiders?”

Tyrion was incredulous. He looked back, towards the High Passes. And then his eyes widened. He saw the first Shield Spider scuttling forwards. One, followed by tens of thousands. Hundreds. They poured out of a cave, an opening in the rock face. Only, the cave had been widened. The rocks had been cleared, a tunnel formed. The Shield Spiders had done the rest. They crashed out of the dungeon, past a broken wall. A nest of them.

Shield Spiders.

They were creatures of the dungeon. A nest grown for who knew how long. A trap, in truth. And they had been walled off. Contained. But the passage of so many armies had woken them. Made them restless. But they were still trapped. Until a Chieftain who knew rocks had broken the walls. Then they had been released. They poured out of the dungeon, a ravening horde.

The Goblins they ignored completely. They were, after all, both creatures of the dungeon and thus quite invisible to the spiders. But the Humans? The Humans were prey. The Shield Spiders raced across the Floodplains as Rags, Garen, and the Redfangs rode ahead of them. Behind them Pyrite, and Tremborag’s Goblins ran, screaming in fury. The Humans turned to meet them, but the Shield Spiders fell on them.

“Kill the spiders! On me! Guard the trebuchets!”

Tyrion roared. He rode forwards as his army struggled to turn. The Goblins raced past him. The Shield Spiders tore into the soldiers. Some were as large as houses. Others even bigger, but they struggled to get out of the dungeon. But those that poured out were already large enough. And a dancing Goblin standing on a cliff cackled and pointed her staff down at them.

“Grow, grow and go faster! Get angrier!”

Ulvama shouted. The Spiders below her began to grow and they raced ahead of the others. Frenzied, they tore everything in their wake to bits. Ulvama laughed and cast another spell. A few Hobs and warriors guarded her as the [Shaman] cast her spells, already prepared to run for it. Pebblesnatch threw a rock.

Tyrion Veltras roared as he charged a Shield Spider. They were overrunning the rear. One reared up and smashed at a trebuchet, enraged beyond reason. Another charged forwards and stopped. A young man stood in its way. He raised his hand.

“Halt.”

The Shield Spiders in front of Laken Godart froze. He pointed.

“Begone.”

They hesitated, then flowed away from him. The fleeing Humans turned. Laken Godart raised his voice. His voice rallied the soldiers.

“Stand and fight!”

A wall of bodies formed. Tyrion Veltras charged past them. Lord Pellmia cursed as he rode forwards. His son was in the rear! Lady Ieka narrowed her eyes and conjured a flurry of spectral arrows. She aimed up at the laughing [Shaman] who ducked behind a stone for cover.

The Humans turned and fought. Lord Gralton and his dogs raced into the fray, the mastiffs tearing, biting. The Shield Spider’s rush halted there. But they were only a distraction. The Goblins raced past them.

Necromancer!

Garen screamed. He rode straight towards Az’kerash. The Necromancer was staring at the Shield Spiders with unconcealed confusion. His eyes flicked down towards Garen and dismissed him. He pointed and a [Deathbolt] shot down at Garen. The Chieftain cut straight through the magic spell. He screamed. And the Goblins heard him. Redfang Warriors looked up.

Redfang!

It was a universal cry. But it came from a voice they had known. The wounded Redfangs looked up. And then a second voice joined it. A young Goblin rode past them. She raced through the fleeing Goblins and raised her sword. A small Goblin shouted.

“To me! Rally! Rally!

Her tribe looked up. Rags waved her sword. She rode her Carn Wolf past the undead, shouting. Flaming arrows burst from her claws and struck zombies and Draug. Redscar turned. He pointed. And the cry went up.

Rags! Rags!

Chieftain!

The Flooded Waters tribe took up the shout. Hobs raised their weapons. They streamed towards her. Redscar urged Thunderfur towards his Chieftain. He bellowed at the others.

Rally!

The Goblins looked up. They raced towards their Chieftain, abandoning their positions, fighting. There was no strategy. Just her. Rags raced at the head of a wave of Goblins. She was laughing, weeping. She pointed at Az’kerash and her tribe howled. They charged after her.

“That Goblin was dead!

Az’kerash snapped in fury. He pointed as a spear of stone shot towards Rags. Her eyes widened. A lightning bolt blew the [Stone Lance] to bits. Az’kerash turned. Noears unleashed lightning bolt after lightning bolt. The Necromancer pointed, and lightning curved around him.

“Ridiculous. One Goblin can change nothing! Stop laughing!”

He turned. The Goblins were chanting a name.

Redfang!

A word. An idea. A hero. Az’kerash’s lip curled. He saw the Hobgoblin riding at him and pointed.

“Stop that Goblin!”

Reiss’ army moved, forming a wall tens of thousands of Goblins deep. Garen drove into them, heedless of the spears stabbing towards him. His eyes were locked on Az’kerash. The Necromancer pointed a finger at him. And then another flash of red caught his eye.

Another Redfang warrior plunged towards Garen. A single Goblin charged into the army, following his Chieftain. And then another. The Redfang tribe raced towards their former Chieftain.

He had betrayed them. He had left them. All that was true. He was not their Chieftain. But he had led them. And in this moment that was all they needed. The Redfangs charged, and they broke through the black-armored Goblins. Fighting, falling, his name on their lips.

Perhaps they could have been stopped. Snapjaw rode towards Garen. But she was a touch too slow. They passed her, sweeping into the undead, fighting to get clear. The Redfangs roared as they found the strength for one last charge. For him.

Garen Redfang. He rode at their head, a final, bloody red spear. Spiderslicer raced after his Chieftain, grinning. The Necromancer faced the Goblin at last. Garen’s eyes locked on his.

“Fall, you arrogant Goblin.”

He raised his hands and bone spires shot from the ground. Walls of ivory burst from the ground. Stone tipped projectiles shot from the sky. The Redfangs charged through them, as Carn Wolves and Goblins fell left and right. The Goblins and undead tried to block their way. But the Redfangs kept coming. They shielded their Chieftain from the spells. Carn Wolves fell. Redfang Warriors fell. Garen kept riding, his Carn Wolf stumbling. The Hobgoblin’s body bled as the spells tore at him.

But he was nearly there. Az’kerash snarled. He pointed.

“[Deathbolt]! [Deathbolt]! Die, damn you!”

The first bolt caught Garen’s Carn Wolf. The wolf, who had never been named, stumbled. Garen clung to it as it fell. He looked down and the Carn Wolf fell beneath him. The Hobgoblin paused once, and then leapt. He ran towards Az’kerash.

The second [Deathbolt] came for Garen. He was caught, unable to run. So he cut the spell in two. Az’kerash roared in fury. He pointed and a spray of razor-sharp bones sprayed down.

There was no way to dodge it. Garen shielded his face. But a Goblin rode in front of him. Spiderslicer blocked the spray of projectiles the only way he knew how. He fell, limply. Garen reached for him. And then he kept running.

A Hob cut him from the side. A Draug slashed him. Garen stumbled. Arrows rained down around him. A spire of bone burst from the ground. He dodged it, stumbling. He stumbled onto the top of the hill and the Necromancer stared down at him.

“You. He knows you.”

“Yes.”

Garen reached for a healing potion. He found none. His arm ran with blood. He shrugged and raised his sword. The Necromancer stared down at him. Then he looked past Garen. The Redfang Chieftain half-turned. The hill was swarming with the undead and Reiss’ warriors.

“Kill him.”

The Goblins hesitated. But the undead didn’t. They came towards Garen. And four Hobgoblins blocked them. Shorthilt, his body cold, his stomach and chest torn open. Rabbiteater, supporting him, holding a magical axe. Badarrow, tears streaming from his eyes. Numbtongue. He stood over the body of the Hobgoblin and the young woman kneeling over him.

Az’kerash had no words. His fury was expressed by a single movement. He lunged. Garen dodged, and the tip of the bone blade scored a cut down his cheek. He slashed and Az’kerash stepped back. The Necromancer pointed.

“[Bone Spr—]”

He jerked back as Garen’s blade slashed at his hand. The Hobgoblin stepped forwards and the Necromancer backed up. He blurred backwards, raised his hand—

And ducked. Garen was already leaping, cutting for the place Az’kerash’s head had been. Once more the Necromancer tried to take his distance. Once more Garen followed him.

He wasn’t quick enough. Reiss’ body was worn down. Or perhaps Garen was too fast. The Necromancer backed up, and Garen advanced. Below him, the undead swarmed around the hill. The four Redfangs were fighting. And Erin was on her feet. She swung at a Ghoul, trying to keep it away from Headscratcher’s body. The monster lunged at her—

And a flaming crossbow bolt thunked into the side of its head. Erin stumbled back. She looked up and saw her savior. A little Goblin riding a Carn Wolf. She was followed by an army of weary Goblins. They surged past her. Erin’s eyes widened.

Rags!?

It was her. The little Goblin pointed past Erin, at the four Redfangs. Then she turned.

“Erin! Get back! We fight! Garen fights that thing!”

She pointed up at the hill at Garen and the Necromancer. The young woman gaped up at her.

“You can talk?

“Yes!”

Rags grinned. Erin looked up at her. There were a thousand things to say.

But there was no time. The two began to fight the undead swarming up the hill. The Goblin Lord’s warriors advanced slowly, but they had not the will to fight. They watched as the Hobgoblin with the famous name and blade confronted the Necromancer.

Garen Redfang. He limped, favoring his right foot. Az’kerash moved fluidly from form to form, his rapier glowing. He ignored Reiss’ wounds. His gaze was contemptuous.

“You can never win. Why do you Goblins strive so? This has been completely, utterly, pointless.”

Garen didn’t reply. He stared at Reiss. Straight into his eyes. He bared his teeth.

“My brother. Let go of him.”

The Necromancer’s eyes widened slightly.

“Your brother? Hah. He is my apprentice. Mine.

“No. He is free. Let him go.”

“You cannot break my link with him. Any more than you could hope to defeat me.”

It was true. Garen looked up and saw the thing looking through Reiss’ eyes. The Necromancer. A being of centuries. He had faced Velan the Kind. He was…a monster wearing Reiss’ flesh. Still, the Hobgoblin raised his blade.

“I’ll try.”

Garen tensed. Az’kerash sneered. But he stepped back. With one hand he held the rapier of bone. The other glowed, fingers twisting, preparing a spell. The Necromancer saluted Garen with his rapier, in a fashion that had passed from the world a century ago.

“Very well, let’s end it. And his hopes. Come, Goblin child.”

Garen leapt. The Necromancer struck, with both spell and blade. Below, the Goblins watched. Erin turned and saw the battle.

It was not one for stories. There was no whirling of blades, or long duel like the Redfangs had shared. It was over in a second.

The two had their measure of each other. Az’kerash had experience, a powerful body, and magic. Garen was wounded in a dozen places. But it was the Chieftain of the Redfang tribe who saw through the Necromancer.

The spray of razor-sharp stones tore the air, shrapnel that Garen avoided by throwing himself right. Az’kerash stepped into that opening, in a single lunge. He stabbed into Garen’s chest, and the howl that burst from his lips was Reiss’ voice, despairing. Garen jerked as the blade pierced his chest. But he only grinned. His arm swept down and he cut Az’kerash’s arm off at the elbow.

The two staggered back from each other. Garen stumbled and sat. And Az’kerash screamed. He staggered back, and in his castle, the Necromancer clutched at his hand. His true body was unharmed, but he shrieked, feeling the pain of it. His Chosen looked up in horror at their master as he cried out. And the link broke.

Reiss sank to the ground, clutching at the stump of his arm. He stared at the fallen arm. And then he looked up. A Hobgoblin sat in front of him, pulling the rapier from his chest. Garen touched the hole in his chest and his breath caught. He looked at it and then laughed.

He laughed as blood streamed from his chest. He gazed up at the Goblin Lord as Reiss looked down at him. The eyes were still black and white. But they were his brother’s eyes. The Necromancer had no tears to shed. Reiss stared down at Garen. The Hobgoblin smiled.

“Hi, brother.”

“Garen. Why did you come back?”

Reiss stared at Garen. The Redfang Chieftain went to shrug. Then he shook his head.

“Thought I’d do right thing. Shouldn’t have run. Shouldn’t have abandoned. You. Team. Tribe. Rags. Should have stayed.”

He labored to sit up. Reiss stared at him. The Goblin Lord stumbled.

“Garen—”

“Brother. It’s over.”

Garen’s head lolled back. He grinned bleakly and Reiss looked around.

The undead had fallen. Rags’ warriors held the hill. They stood, wounded. Exhausted. But Reiss’ army surrounded them. Yet the black-armored Goblins made no move to take the hill. They stared up at their Goblin Lord. The Redfangs held their ground, a fraction of their number. Redscar wept as he stood over Spiderslicer.

Dead. So many dead. And for what? Reiss turned to look at the city in the distance. Liscor was cracked. The walls were broken. The eastern gate lay open. He saw Drakes and Gnolls lining the walls. Watching. Reiss stared at the city and saw just that.

A city. It did not shine. It was not beautiful. It was a thing of stone and mortar. Of magic, yes, but only magic. Not dreams. He stared at the city and realized it did not hold what he wanted.

He looked down. His arm bled onto the ground. He heard his master’s voice, raging at him. He looked at Garen. Reiss felt so tired.

“What are we doing? Garen. Brother. What did we do? I do?”

“Stupid things. Bad things.”

Garen’s eyes brimmed with tears. Reiss nodded. He closed his eyes. Slowly, he reached down. His left hand shook as it reached down. Garen raised his right arm. He coughed and blood ran from his chest. Reiss slowly pulled him up. The two stood together. They wept. And embraced. And they were dying. Reiss looked at Garen.

“Brother. I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

Garen leaned on Reiss. He gripped Reiss tightly. The two stood there. Below them, the Goblin Lord’s army sighed. They lowered their weapons. They looked down. Rags stared up at Garen and Erin’s eyes overflowed with tears. It was over. The Goblins stood still.

And Tyrion Veltras pointed at the Goblins.

“Charge.”

 

—-

 

War horns blew. The Goblins looked up. The Humans were riding. The Shield Spiders lay dead. Their entrance from the dungeon was collapsed and the rest were torn to pieces, impaled, destroyed by magic. Tyrion Veltras shouted orders as he rode forwards.

“Archers, loose at will! Mages, target the Goblins! Full bombardment to the left and right flanks! Cut them off! Cavalry on me!”

Sire? That’s the Goblin Lord’s army!”

Jericha rode with him. She looked up at her [Lord]. Tyrion Veltras’ face was a mask of fury. He pointed at the Goblin Lord. He had seen enough.

“You heard me. All forces, charge! Drive the Goblins into Liscor or kill them all! I came here to kill a Goblin Lord. He falls.”

He raced forwards. The Humans on horseback thundered after him. Reiss and Garen turned. Rags looked up and saw the silver army sweeping towards them. A glorious host. Humans. Erin raised her head.

“No! Please. No.”

 

—-

 

“No.”

Reiss repeated the words. His gaze found Tyrion. The [Lord] was leading the charge. Garen stared at the army.

“We have to run.”

Where?

Reiss turned, despairingly. Garen looked around. The mountains were so far away. They would never make it. But—there. He pointed.

“The city. We run for the city!”

Liscor was close enough. Reiss stared at it.

“Liscor.”

He turned. The Goblins were staring, transfixed by the death coming their way. Reiss shouted desperately. He saw heads turn. His Goblins. Rags and her tribe. Reiss pointed.

“The city! Go to the city! Run!

The Goblins looked up at him. They turned as one and began to run. It didn’t matter whose side they were on. They ran. Reiss turned to Garen, desperately.

“We must get to the city. Hold off the Humans until then.”

Yes, we must.

Reiss froze. The voice in his head. Was it his? But there was no time. Garen clutched at his chest. Reiss stared at him.

“Healing potion.”

He had one. Garen took it. He drank from the bottle. But the cursed wound wasn’t closing. He touched the wound at his chest. The Chieftain’s smile was bitter.

“Garen—”

Reiss reached for him and realized his arm was still missing. Garen offered him the bottle. His eyes were very tired.

“I will stop Humans. You got to the city.”

Yes.

Again, Reiss heard the voice. He stared at Garen. The Chieftain raised his blade. He stopped as Reiss held out an arm.

“No.”

Garen looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord shook his head. He straightened, ignoring the little voice inside his head. He closed his eyes and listened to his heart instead.

“No. I will stop the Humans. You go to the city. Bring them inside. Save them.”

He looked at Garen. The Hobgoblin’s eyes widened. He met Reiss’ gaze and the Goblin Lord saw his eyes flicker a second in doubt. Reiss smiled and nodded.

“Go, brother.”

For a second Garen wavered. Then he reached out. Reiss took his hand. The two held each other, and the moment was all too brief and as long as forever. Then Garen turned.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Not for long.”

Reiss called after him. Garen laughed. The two parted. Garen ran down the hill, blade held aloft. Reiss turned to face the Humans. He called the undead Shield Spider to him. The dead, rotting monstrosity crawled over. Reiss stared at the headless, mindless thing. Then he shook his head and climbed up. He nearly fell as he clung to its back. Then, slowly, he began to ride down the hill. Towards the Humans. Buying time. And behind him, his people ran for Liscor.

 

—-

 

It was over. But it wasn’t over. Zevara saw Tyrion charging and knew what he was doing. She screamed down at the soldiers on the ground.

Seal the gates!

The eastern wall was breached. The gates had been torn open. The wall was crumbling. Two more breaches had opened up. Enough space for the Goblins to flood into the gaps. If they entered the city, if the Humans did, Liscor would fall. Workers and Drakes and Gnolls swarmed around the entrance, trying to haul wood and stone into place. But so slowly.

The Goblins were running. Tyrion Veltras was coming across the Floodplains, a blur of speed crossing the hills and valley like lightning. They fled from him towards the only place that could offer safety.

Liscor.

Zevara saw them coming. She saw the Cave Goblins, the Redfangs, the very Goblins who’d fought for Liscor among the Goblin Lord’s forces. And she wavered.

“They’re coming for the city!”

A cry went up across the walls. Zevara looked down the battlements. The adventurers were staring. The army of Goblins swept towards them.

“Archers. Aim for the first rank of Goblins!”

Zevara’s voice was strangled. She saw Drakes and Gnolls look up. They slowly took aim. Olesm turned. He shouted in horror at Zevara.

“What are you doing? Those are the Redfangs! They fought for us!”

He ran towards Zevara. She knocked him back, pointing at the Goblin horde.

“They cannot enter the city. This is what Tyrion Veltras wants!”

“But they fought for us—

“And the Goblin Lord’s army is right behind them! If they get into the city—”

Zevara choked on the possibility. Olesm stared at her, his scales white.

“Zevara—”

Move aside! Tell the archers to loose the instant the Goblins get within range! Form a spear wall at the gates! Block them! I said block the gates!

Zevara roared as she raced down the steps. She saw the Workers and [Builders] struggling to put a palisade in place. But it was too little. They were dragging chunks of stone from the broken wall over, trying to fill the gap. But there was not enough time.

“Watch Captain.”

Embria sat atop her horse at the bottom of the gates. She saluted Zevara with her spear. The Watch Captain looked up at her.

“Embria. The Goblins.”

“I can see.”

The Wing Commander stared at the desperate Goblins. She shook her head.

“Block the gates. I’ll stop them from entering the city. Don’t go after us. Hold the Humans out.”

What? Are you mad?”

Embria didn’t answer her. The Wing Commander turned. Her small company of [Soldiers] stood at the gates. Behind them were a thousand of Pallass’ [Soldiers]. They looked up as Embria rode past them.

Drakes! Prepare to sortie! We need to hold the Goblins back from the city. Don’t falter! Soldiers of Pallass, on me! 4th Company of Liscor, on my tail! [Captains], give your orders!”

She rode forwards. Zevara stared at her back.

“You’ll die!”

The Drake turned. Her face was pale.

“I have orders. Keep Liscor safe.”

A voice shouted from above. Zevara looked up. Relc. He shouted down at his daughter.

Embria!

The young Drake raised her spear. She fastened the helmet to her head and pointed her spear ahead. The [Soldiers] tensed. The [Captains] roared as they advanced. Embria moved forwards at a trot.

“[Daring Charge]! [Piercing Arms]!”

“[Shieldwall Formation!]”

“[First Strikes]! [Formation: Accelerate]!”

“[Bravehearts]! [Reckless Charge]! [Minute of Iron]!”

The Skills overlapped with each other. The Drakes forgot their fear. They streamed out the gates, following Embria. The Wing Commander was breathing heavily. The Goblins were streaming towards her. She quickened her pace. The horse began to run. Then gallop.

“[Blades of Glory]. For Liscor! Charge!

The Drakes and Gnolls followed her with a roar. Zevara saw the Workers drag a boulder in front of the gate. She heard a cry from above. Relc stared as his daughter rode straight at the Goblins.

They saw her coming. And they wavered. But fear drove them on. The Goblins ran for Liscor as Embria’s thousand Drakes surged towards them.

“I told you I could rout two thousand Goblins with a thousand [Soldiers]. How about this?”

Embria muttered to herself. She saw the first volley of arrows fly from the walls. Light flashed from the walls. Someone was activating the enchantments, one after another. Magic blasted the Goblins apart. Embria raced forwards. Her spear swung down and she stabbed the first Goblin. The line of Drakes crashed into the fleeing Goblins. And the Goblins began to die.

 

—-

 

“What is that Drake [Commander] doing? She’s left the city!”

Umina cried out in horror. Niers stared down at the projection.

“She’s trying to push them back.”

Marian was white with horror. The Centaur’s eyes were fixed on the red Drake leading the thousand-odd [Soldiers] forwards. She turned to Niers.

“It’s suicide! She’ll be overrun! And if not by the Goblins, she’s exposed to the Humans—”

“That’s their way. If she can hold the Goblins back, Liscor can repair the walls. ”

Venaz stared down at the image in the scrying orb. Every Drake and Gnoll on the wall was firing arrows at the oncoming Goblins. Half of the adventurers were not. The [Strategist], Olesm Swifttail, had made his choice. His claws shook as he unrolled the trigger scrolls. He blasted the Goblins apart, aiming for the black-clad Goblins. But Goblins died either way.

Below, Embria held the line. The Goblins surged towards her, but the ranks of fresh Drakes and the Skills of her company cut them down. Drakes with glowing blades sliced down rank after rank of wounded Goblins. And the Wing Commander spun, her spear slashing in every direction.

And from the other side, the Human army met the rear of the fleeing Goblins. Tyrion Veltras led his cavalry through the Goblins from behind. His [Mages] began bombarding them from behind. They cast spells into the air. The trebuchets fired. It wasn’t meant to harry the Goblins anymore. They had come to finish everything.

 

—-

 

Everything. The Goblins looked up. Magic and arrows flew down from the sky from both sides. A sea of Humans came at them from one side, and on the other, the Drakes held the gates to their city. The Goblins turned in despair, searching for a way out.

But there was none. On both sides came death. The death of deaths. Unavoidable. Inescapable. From the ground, from every side. The Goblins cried out. Look. Look up.

The sky is falling.

Rags turned, screaming for the Goblins to follow her. She rode towards Liscor. But the city was death. She looked behind her and saw death. Where could they go? Garen struggled. He fought his way towards the Drakes. He stumbled. Bled. He was lost among the Goblins.

And Reiss rode towards the Humans. Some of his warriors stayed with him. They marched with their Goblin Lord, though he had not asked them to. The rest fled. Reiss rode towards the silver line of Humans, watching as Tyrion Veltras’ sword flashed again and again. He never slowed. And his eyes were on Reiss.

The Goblin Lord bled. He didn’t care. He didn’t bother drinking a potion, though the voice in his head urged him to, told him to turn and run. It didn’t matter.

It was crumbling. His dream. It felt like he was waking up. Reiss saw the silver wave of Humans racing forwards and leading the spear’s tip was him. Tyrion Veltras.

“You.”

If there was anyone to hate, it was him. Him. Reiss leaned forwards. He called for magic. And found some. A dark magic. Not his own. But it would do. He reached for it and called forth a blade made of death. It swirled around his left arm, came into being. Death. Let it at least take him.

He shouted a challenge. The Shield Spider lurched forwards, dying. Reiss raised his arm and lifted the magical blade. He rode forwards as his warriors ran with him, shouting.

The Humans were aimed at him. Tyrion’s lance was steady as he surged on his steed. Reiss aimed at him. He hated Tyrion Veltras. Hated him for causing all this?

Causing all this? Reiss didn’t know. His vision was blurry. He thought of him. His brother. That damn Goblin. Garen Redfang.

His brother. Why was he angry at Garen? He was grateful. Furious. Why did he hate Tyrion Veltras? He was just a Human. The one he should hate was right here. Inside him.

A slave to the end. Reiss felt the voice calling at him. He resented it. He wanted to be free. But he hadn’t been. Garen had been right. Garen was wrong.

There he was. The Human was aimed at him, bent low on his stallion. His lance tip was aimed at Reiss. Swing. Cut him down. Do it. Don’t fail me. Don’t fail us.

The Goblin Lord aimed. He drew his hand back and the deathly blade swung. He shouted as he charged. But it wasn’t Tyrion that Reiss was thinking of.

Look at him! Strike! Kill him! Cut him down with magic, end him. Slay him.

It would be so easy to obey. But Reiss didn’t. He saw Tyrion charging him and his head turned. He wrenched it around, looked back. The Goblin Lord’s mouth opened. He shouted, defying. For an instant. Free.

Brother—

The lance pierced Reiss’ chest. Lord Tyrion’s thrust opened a hole in Reiss’ left shoulder, and then pierced through. A hole opened in the Goblin Lord’s chest, exposing his ribs, tearing away his shoulder, his severed arm.

Snapjaw screamed. Eater of Spears stopped and howled. Reiss jerked. The Goblin Lord spun, trying to cut at Tyrion as the [Lord] raced past. He slipped, and the voice in his head cried out in fury. Reiss grinned. And then he fell. And his army broke.

 

—-

 

Garen heard the cry. He felt it, in his heart. But he never looked back. He pushed his way through the Goblins. Towards the city. He had to get them there. He had to do it. He had promised.

A line of Drakes and Gnolls held the place in front of the city. They spread out in front of the gates and breaches in the walls. Barely more than a thousand. But they fought with a dozen Skills strengthening them. They cut down the wounded Goblins. The warriors barely had time to raise their blades before the Drakes impaled them. Arrows flew down from above.

Death. Garen wanted to rage up at the walls. But he had no strength for it. So he ran forwards. The Goblins ahead of him died. But the line of Drakes was wavering.

If they could break it. If they could get one Goblin through. Then maybe—Garen raised his blade. When had it grown so heavy? The rust-covered blade was wet. With Reiss’ blood. Garen stared at it. Then he staggered. Something had struck him.

He looked up. A Drake with a halberd stared down at him. Garen turned. The Drake spoke.

“Garen Redfang. Goblin [Chieftain]. Soldiers, pull back.”

The other Drakes and Gnolls fell back. The [Captain] raised his halberd. Three more joined him. They surrounded Garen. The Hob turned.

“Come.”

He struck at them. The Drake with the halberd blocked, grunting. Garen turned, cut at the next [Captain]. They blocked him. Cut him from all sides. Garen stumbled.

He was so weak! Why couldn’t he—he swung and the Drake with the halberd effortlessly parried the blow. He stabbed back and Garen reeled.

“We have him.”

“Don’t let your guards down.”

“Together—”

The Drakes snapped orders. Garen saw them moving out of the corner of his eye. He swung at them. Impacts from the other side. Garen stumbled. He couldn’t fall down.

Not yet. He had promised Reiss. He had promised. Not yet! He roared, but the Drakes just laughed at him. They came at him. Four on one.

Easy. Tremborag could do it. He had fought. Why couldn’t Garen? It was just a hole in his chest. Holes. He stumbled. The blade was heavy in his hands. So heavy. Garen turned. The [Captain] with the halberd swung at his head.

He was Garen. Garen.

Redfang!

Yes. That was it. Garen’s head rose. He lifted the sword. It weighed as much as a mountain. But he swung it. Fast. The [Captain] gaped as Garen’s blade sheared through the haft of his halberd. He tried to back away. But Garen swung again.

Faster. This time as quick as when he’d cut Halassia. When he’d betrayed his friends. The Drake fell, headless. The other [Captains] cried out. They leapt at him.

As quick as he’d been when he’d cut his brother. Garen stabbed a Drake through the chest. He spun and the two remaining [Captains] fell back. Garen advanced on them. He roared the word and heard the cry. Who was shouting it?

He was. Garen swung his sword again. The third [Captain] fell. The Gnolls and Drakes backed up. Garen advanced. The city was so close. All he had to do was kill them. And he’d fulfill his promise.

Goblin. Turn and face me.”

Garen looked left. A Drake with fiery red scales bore down on him, spear in hand. She was beautiful. But Halassia had been more beautiful still. Garen raised his sword. Embria met him in a single charge.

He cut her horse in half. She struck him in the chest. But Garen was already dead. So it didn’t matter. The Drake went down. Garen slashed at her, but she was quick. She met him, spear blurring.

Like that, and that, and that. Garen’s blade rang as he struck at her. The Wing Commander’s eyes were wide. She fell back, as he swung his sword. Faster. And faster still. She slipped in the mud and he cut her across the stomach.

She screamed and fell to one knee. Garen raised his sword and heard a shout. He turned and saw a Drake running at him. He had green scales and he was ugly. He had a spear as well. And he was quick.

As fast as Garen. The Hobgoblin grinned. Relc leapt and his spear thrust three times. Garen parried each blade and swung. Relc blocked the blade and stood over his daughter. The [Spearmaster] lanced out and Garen felt him strike his chest.

He was quick! When had Garen fought someone like this? Really fought? Greydath? Didn’t count. Look at him. Garen struck and Relc’s knees buckled as he blocked. Hard. As hard as Moore had hit him.

Harder. As hard as Headscratcher. Relc backed up. He stabbed again. Garen let him. The two traded blows and Relc bled. Garen had stopped bleeding.

He thought he was grinning. He couldn’t see anymore. But he had promised. So Garen fought, feeling his arms shaking with each impact. He felt something strike his chest. Then he couldn’t feel his arms.

He was having fun. And he was doing it. He tried to speak, but he’d forgotten how. Garen tried to say it, but he thought it instead.

Do you see it, brother? I’m doing it. I’m fighting. We’re fighting together. Just like we promised.

It was true. He knew it had to be. Somewhere, Reiss was fighting. And so was Garen. On the same side. At last.

Hey, brother. Reiss.

He was so sorry about all of it. But he’d done his best, hadn’t he? Garen swung and looked around. Where was he? Where was he? He looked back.

I’m so sorry. Are you—

The spear went through Garen’s chest a final time. The Hobgoblin stopped. He didn’t move. Relc pulled the spear out. He stumbled, clutched at his arm and stared. Garen slowly fell back. He was still looking over his shoulder. Grinning.

The [Spearmaster], the former [Sergeant]—the [Guardsman] stared down at the fallen Goblin. He gasped for breath. Around him, the Goblins stared at the fallen figure. They looked at the Drakes. They turned.

Arrows flew past Relc. He saw magic blowing Goblins apart. He heard the screaming. Saw the Humans charging. The Goblins were dying by the thousands now. Embria was clutching at her stomach. Trying to drink a healing potion. Relc looked around and saw the thin line of Drakes. Killing Goblins. The enemy. The [Sergeant] raised his spear and shouted.

Fall back! Hold the gates!

“No—don’t—”

Embria tried to get up. She was trying to go forwards. But the Goblins were broken. Relc saw them streaming away from Liscor. One of them, a Goblin with a scar on his face, stopped. His Carn Wolf crouched over Garen’s body. Relc looked up at the Goblin as he stared down at the [Sergeant]. He backed away, dragging his daughter to safety. Redscar dismounted and stood over his Chieftain’s body. Relc turned and screamed the words.

“Fall back!”

The other Drakes obeyed. They fell back around the gates. And the Goblins fled. Not towards Liscor. Not out of the valley.

Towards the mountains. South.

 

—-

 

“Two. Bring down the last one.”

Tyrion aimed his lance away from the fallen Hobgoblin. He pointed. Ahead of him was a running Goblin. She was on foot, urging the Goblins in a new direction.

Towards the mountains. That was their only salvation. The Goblins had to climb. Climb and climb until they were out of range of the horses. But the distance was far too far. And Tyrion was charging after them. The [Lord] coldly followed, running down Goblins. His eyes were locked on Rags.

The broken Goblins saw the Human [Lord] coming. They looked up. Reiss’ Goblins. Redfangs. Cave Goblins. And they looked towards her.

“Save her! Save Chieftain!”

Someone shouted it. Save her. Save one of them. At least one of them. Save hope. The Goblins tried to bar Tyrion’s way. But they couldn’t so much as slow him down. He galloped past Hobgoblins, letting the warriors behind him run the Goblins down. He pointed and the [Mages] sent fire racing ahead of him. Rags ran through spells as they targeted her position. A Human [Mage] on horseback took aim at her with a wand.

Lightning blasted him from his saddle. Tyrion saw a flicker and raised his shield. He reeled in his saddle. A Goblin [Mage] cackled.

Noears stood on the roof of The Wandering Inn. He laughed as he shot lightning down at the Humans. The wind blew around him as he called lightning down again and again. He aimed at the [Lord]. At the Human [Mages] with their wands and robes and conceit. He burned them, and looked up as a hundred glowing spells arced towards the inn. He spread his arms and the lightning flashed a last time.

The magic destroyed the third floor of the inn. It left nothing behind. Tyrion rode on. Closer. He saw a gigantic Hobgoblin charging at him.

“Take him.”

Eater of Spears threw the second axe. Jericha blocked the axe with a shield of magic. The Hob swung at Tyrion, but the [Lord] rode past him. Eater of Spears’ arm struck a Human from the saddle. The rest rode past him. Others stopped. The Hobgoblin roared as arrows struck him from all sides. He reeled as a [Fireball] burst on his chest and then howled. He charged. But the little Humans fled from him.

They struck him from all sides. Aiming for his legs. His eyes. Eater of Spears tried to catch them. But they raced around him. He turned and a spell burned away his face. Still he stood. He kept moving, trying to catch one. Until at last he stopped. Snapjaw watched her friend die as she raced after Rags. She tried to fling herself at the Humans, but her warriors stopped her.

Her.

And Snapjaw rode with tears in her eyes.

This is how they died.

 

—-

 

Rags turned. She saw Tyrion coming at her. Goblins flung themselves at Tyrion. He didn’t turn. He was nearly on her. Nearly—

Watch out! Drakes attacking from the left side!

The voice came from the left. It was panicked and the rider’s reaction was instinctual. Tyrion shifted right instantly, turning in an arc that curved leftwards, looking for the attack. Where were they? Why had the Drakes advanced this far? They were aiming for his head. Where were they? Where were—

There was no one. Tyrion’s gaze found only Goblins. And then the source of the voice.

Numbtongue stood to one side. A broken guitar lay at his feet. He laughed at Tyrion as the [Lord] pointed. He picked up a sword and charged. A spear ran him through. He kept laughing as he swung his sword and cut the rider down. He lay on the ground, gasping for breath. The Humans kept going. He touched his guitar and played a chord.

Lightning flashed down from the sky.

 

—-

 

The mountains. They were so far away. Rabbiteater clutched Shorthilt, dragging his friend. Shorthilt’s blood ran onto the ground. The wounds Az’kerash had given him hadn’t closed. He bled. But Rabbiteater refused to let go.

“Come. Hurry! Move!

Rabbiteater swore at his friend. Shorthilt looked back. The Humans were following Rags. But the second wave of riders was coming for them. He looked up. Rabbiteater gritted his teeth and tried to run, but his feet slipped on the ground.

“Go.”

Shorthilt looked at his friend. Rabbiteater shook his head. His cheeks ran with tears. Shorthilt looked down. His beloved sword was broken. But he had something else.

An axe. The jade edge dripped with his blood. Shorthilt lifted it.

“Take.”

Rabbiteater stopped. Shorthilt pushed at his chest.

“No.”

The [Champion] looked at Shorthilt. The Hobgoblin bled. He held the axe out.

Take. Run!”

Rabbiteater hesitated. Shorthilt screamed the word.

“Run! Run!

His blood ran onto the ground. It touched Rabbiteater’s cloak and the cloak turned red. Shorthilt looked at his friend and Rabbiteater took the axe. He turned and ran as the Humans chased him. Shorthilt smiled. He turned and began walking back. He found a chipped sword on the ground. A claymore, in fact.

It was muddy. The edge was dull. Shorthilt stumbled forwards. The Humans lowered their lances and charged him.

He cut them down. His sword cut metal. It cut bone. It cut all things. Shorthilt walked forwards and then turned back. He raised his hand and fell.

 

—-

 

“Yellow Splatters? Rain? Counting? Where are you?”

Pawn walked through the bodies. His censer-stick overturned bodies. The Worker pulled at corpses. Not seeing the Humans coming towards him. Not caring about the sea of horses that drove past him. Goblins fled around him, but Pawn paid them no mind. The Worker wandered past a running Hob. He called out.

“Where are you all?”

His voice was lost. Forlorn. The Worker stumbled. He searched ground. Spells fell around him. Pawn’s left antennae was broken. Two of his arms hung limp. But he kept searching. He cried out.

“Please tell me!”

But there was no answer. The Worker fell to his knees. He stared down. A Soldier stared up at him, what remained of his head looking blankly up at the sky. Pawn curled up.

“No. Don’t go. Please! Someone. Anyone. One of you has to be alive. One of you…”

He looked around. The Painted Soldiers lay around him. The Necromancer’s spell had torn the earth. Pawn saw parts. But nothing moved. He cried out.

“Please! Please. Don’t—don’t—”

He dug in the earth, scrabbling, begging.

“Don’t leave me alone.

Another body appeared in the dirt. Faded yellow paint stared up at him. A large body lay where it had fallen, arms still spread. Protecting him. As they all had. Pawn bent.

“No.”

He clutched Yellow Splatters to him and looked up. The Humans rode at him. They saw the Worker and didn’t swerve. Pawn stared up at the sky. He screamed. And the horses reared. They galloped past him.

And the wave of riders parted down the middle. The Humans fought their horses. Spells rained down around Pawn. But he kept screaming. And the sea of Humans rode past him, on either side. He held Yellow Splatters and the Painted Soldiers lay around him. No one touched Pawn. He knelt on the ground until they passed. And he sat among his people. They were all—all—

 

—-

 

All gone. On a hill, a Goblin with a bow shot again and again. His fingers bled and the ground exploded around him. Badarrow stood over Headscratcher and Erin. The army ignored the girl, but they came at him. They wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.

Until she was dead.

Rags kept running. She couldn’t stop. She had failed them all. But they were dying for her. All she could do was run. He wouldn’t stop. Even if she died. So she’d never give him her life. She looked back and saw him racing towards her.

The mountain was in front of her. The slope turned from grass to stones. Rags scrambled up, following the Goblins fleeing upwards. But not enough. It was still, not enough. The Humans followed them up the slopes. She sobbed. Rags scrambled past a pair of Goblins who were sitting down, holding each other. They screamed at a Redfang who’d turned to keep running. She passed by a sitting Hob. He held a battleaxe in his hand.

Rags’ head turned. She saw Pyrite looking back at her. Then he stood. The Hob walked past Rags and barred the way. She turned to scream at him.

“Chieftain.”

He pointed past her. Up the mountain. Rags turned to go back. A Hobgoblin seized her. They dragged her upwards. Snapjaw ignored Rags screaming as she rode upwards. Tyrion bared his teeth. He raced at her. And the Hob walked forwards.

The blazing battleaxe lit up the dark slopes. Pyrite stood in front of the Humans, in front of Tyrion. He waited; a guardian of the place between life and death. Behind him fled hope. She called his name. He smiled.

The [Lord] was riding at him. He didn’t slow.

“Arrogant.”

That was all Pyrite said. He watched the Goblins flow past him and looked up. The sun was setting.

How red, how red.

But it wasn’t time for poetry. Pyrite gazed at the sky and thought. He completely ignored the [Lord] charging at him. At last, he nodded.

“It was fun. I wish I were stronger. I wish…”

He looked down. Tyrion aimed at Pyrite. And the Hob lifted his battleaxe. He came down with a roar that shook the mountain.

The lance pierced his stomach. Pyrite slammed against the rocks. Tyrion Veltras paused as he withdrew the lance. The Hob gasped. He reached up. Coldly, Tyrion drew his sword and ran him through a second time. Pyrite stood up. Tyrion cut at his shoulder. The Hob lifted the battleaxe and swung.

Tyrion’s stallion died. The [Lord] slid from the saddle. He struck Pyrite twice more, cutting deep. The Hob swung. Tyrion Veltras blocked with his shield. A third time he ran Pyrite through.

Die, damn you.”

“Not yet.”

Pyrite grabbed Tyrion. He lifted the [Lord] up and hurled him down the mountain. The [Lord] bounced. The Hobgoblin grinned. Then he saw the [Mage] aiming at him. The [Knights] ran him through. Pyrite laughed louder at the looks on their faces.

“Fat.”

Lightning struck him. Pyrite’s heart stopped. But the lightning was weak. Barely an echo of Noears. He looked down at Jericha. She paled as Pyrite roared with laughter. The lightning stopped.

“What are you?”

Goblin.

He swung his battleaxe. They died. The magic burnt him. Steel pierced his chest. Pyrite fell to one knee. He looked back and heard a cry. A little Goblin reached for him. Pyrite smiled.

“Chieftain.”

She was far above them. So far she was out of reach. Pyrite sat back. He reached down for a snack. And he closed his eyes.

Tyrion Veltras reached the Hobgoblin too late. The [Lord] stared down and slowly sheathed his sword. He looked up and saw Goblins climbing into the mountains.

“My lord?”

Jericha looked at him. Tyrion stared down at his stallion.

“Enough. If the [Mages] don’t kill them, let them go. We aren’t done. Get me a fresh mount and turn the army. Liscor remains.”

He turned. Jericha looked back. The Hob smiled at the sky.

 

—-

 

The last of the Goblins fled or died. Those that remained waited for death or fought in knots, separated, surrounded by Humans. One of them was Redscar.

He rode with the last of the Redfangs. The Humans surrounded him. Redscar turned, his blades flashing. Thunderfur biting. Goblins died around him. They joined the dead. Countless thousands.

He fought in a slowly-tightening circle of space. Redfangs fought with him, many on the ground. Carn Wolves howled as they leapt at screaming horses. But with each second Goblins fell. Still, Redscar fought.

He was covered in wounds. His war paint was covered by blood. His healing potions had been expended long ago. And his friends, his family, were dying. They covered the ground, overwhelmed by numbers. The Humans were circling, riders charging, infantry hacking at the riders. But they could not bring Redscar down.

Thunderfur leapt forwards, howling, Redscar struck to the left and right, forcing the Humans back. He cut spears meant for him or Thunderfur, parried blades, his arms a blur. The [Archers] and [Mages] dared not target him as he locked blades with the warriors around him.

They fell. Redscar killed them like flies. His blades cut through their armor. He brought [Knights] down. He killed [Mages]. They could not kill him. He turned, two swords in his claws.

In one claw he held the sword enchanted with frost, blood mixing with ice. In the other he held a crimson blade, as red as rust.

Redfang. The rust-red blade bit again and again. And each time, Redscar howled a name. A name few of the Humans recognized. But they feared it.

The onslaught slowed, from awe as much as anything else. The Humans held back, staring. Redscar turned, screaming. They held back, too afraid to approach.

He was one Goblin. One Goblin, not even a Hob. But they could not bring him down.

“Pull back.”

A man rode towards the circle of warriors. They moved backwards and Redfang paused. The warrior on horseback stared at the Goblin. Those who knew him waited. Another man raised his voice.

“Sir Vumat. Allow us to—”

“No.”

“Then let us finish him off at range! If we—”

“No.”

The [Knight] turned his head. He looked back at Redscar. The Goblin leaned over his Carn Wolf. Sir Vumat stared at Redfang and slowly lowered the visor on his helmet.

“If that Goblin lives, he will one day be a threat as great as Garen Redfang.”

Slowly, he rode forwards. Redscar bared his teeth. The [Knight] saluted him.

“I am Sir Vumat. I have come for your head Goblin, dishonorable as it may be to face you wounded. I will slay you here.”

Redscar locked eyes with the [Knight].

Try.

They rode at each other. Sir Vumat’s sword flashed. His armor shone. Redscar and Thunderfur howled. Their audience watched.

Four times the two warriors closed. Four times they struck at each other. Then Sir Vumat’s stallion reared, screaming, as Thunderfur’s jaws closed around its unguarded throat. The [Knight] fell from his saddle, his armor torn by Redscar’s blades. He lay still on the ground. Already dead.

Redscar turned. He raised his swords, challenging another to come forwards.

No one dared. But then arrows began flying. A [Mage] targeted Redscar and he felt a sharp pain tear at his right ear as he dodged. He pointed and Thunderfur leapt.

All he wanted was death. But Redscar felt her running. He looked back and saw the distant shapes fleeing towards the mountain. He stared and whispered.

“Chieftain.”

He turned and rode. The last of the Redfangs followed him. Redscar found a Goblin fighting with a dagger, his bow broken. He bent and grabbed Badarrow. The Hob fought him. He had been standing over a body. Redscar dragged him away. He left the young woman behind. She was still there, covering the Hob as Redscar fled the field, tears falling like rain.

 

—-

 

“Lord Veltras, the Goblins have fled or perished.”

Jericha stated the obvious. Tyrion could see nothing living on the Floodplains. Nothing but humanity. He passed by the Goblin corpses. He stared towards the hill where the Goblin Lord had perished. He frowned.

“The Goblin Lord’s body. I don’t see it. Ensure he is dead. As well as the other one.”

“I will locate their corpses.”

“Good.”

Tyrion Veltras kept staring at the hill. He saw a kneeling figure. A young woman shielded a Hobgoblin’s body. His army had avoided her, as had Tyrion himself. She was, after all, Human.

“My lord?”

“It’s nothing. Aim towards Liscor.”

The words shocked those around Tyrion.

“But the Goblins are dead!”

“So? This changes nothing. Prepare to charge the gates. Tell the trebuchets to launch a single volley. Jericha, a [Siege Fireball]. Destroy those barricades. On my signal.”

Tyrion took a fresh lance. He studied the gates.

“Ready the charge.”

“My lord.”

“What is it?”

Tyrion glanced to one side. Jericha’s voice quavered.

“I—I’ve just received something. A [Message]. From—”

“There is nothing she can say to stop me.”

“Nothing?”

Tyrion whirled. The air opened up in front of him. A smiling face filled the open space. Magnolia Reinhart stared past Tyrion for a second, and then her eyes fixed on him.

“Oh, good. The projection spell worked. Ressa, hold the artifact steady. Hello, Tyrion.”

“Begone, Reinhart!”

Tyrion slashed his lance through the air. The magical spell wavered but didn’t vanish. Magnolia smiled deeper. Her eyes looked past Tyrion at the battlefield. The look in her eyes deepened.

“I see I was too late. Well, I have enough time for this.”

“Whatever you have to say—”

“Be silent, Tyrion. And listen to me. I warned you. I gave you every chance. So this is my ultimatum. Turn back. Leave with the Goblin Lord’s head.”

“And if not? You cannot stop me.”

Magnolia paused. She was filling the image in the screen. But quite deliberately. Jericha trembled as she stared at something past Magnolia. Tyrion stared, but he couldn’t make it out. What was she hiding? The [Lady] sighed.

“No. I suppose I can’t. But I can ensure one thing. If you go through with this, you may take Liscor. And if you do, I will promise you one thing: you will have nothing to come back to.”

“What does that—”

Tyrion’s breath caught as Magnolia moved out of the way. He saw a keep behind her. An old, rather austere structure. Nothing like her estates. But large enough to be called a palace by some. A fortress, moreover. Defensive. A home he knew well.

The Veltras estates. His family home. And Magnolia stood not a hundred feet in front of it. It wouldn’t have mattered if she were anyone else. The keep was a citadel. But she was there.

And she was not alone. The projection jostled as Ressa placed whatever was keeping the recording still on something and stepped forwards. She stood behind her mistress as Magnolia smiled. They stood together. Just the two of them.

“A lovely home.”

That was all Magnolia said. Tyrion’s grip turned white on his lance.

“You dare. If you dare—I will personally ride on you and—”

“Do what? Cross a thousand miles in a moment? No, Tyrion. Be silent.”

And he was. Magnolia looked at him.

“You could never imagine I’d do this. That is why you are a fool. A damned fool, Tyrion.”

“You have no honor. Not a shred of morality. I warn you—”

The [Lord]’s voice shook. Magnolia gazed at him.

“Well?”

“I will not be blackmailed. Not by you or anyone.”

Tyrion heard Jericha gasp. Magnolia’s right eye twitched. She stared hard at Tyrion.

“Really.”

“Touch them and—”

“It is your choice.”

“I will not be stopped.”

Something cold had replaced the Lord of the Veltras family. He spoke with icy calm. And he leveled his lance at Magnolia.

“Know that you will die. I swear it on my family name.”

“And I swear by my family that I will do what I promise.”

Magnolia stared at Tyrion. He hesitated. Fear crept into his heart, for all he tried to tell himself she was lying. But she wouldn’t. Not her.

“Lady Reinhart. You cannot—”

“Be silent, Jericha.”

The woman fell still. Magnolia regarded Tyrion. And then she slowly shook her head.

“Tyrion Veltras. You will turn around. Or everything you fear most will come to pass. But should that not sway you, if that is not enough—”

“What else could you do?”

Magnolia looked at Tyrion. As if she couldn’t believe he’d ask. She smiled, and it was a colder smile than Tyrion had ever seen before.

“To you? Nothing. However, I thought I’d remind our peers what they’re fighting for.”

Slowly, Tyrion looked around. And he realized that there were more projections hanging in the air. Images. Of [Ladies]. Lady Bethal, smiling, surrounded by her [Chevalier] and husband, Thomast. Her Rose Knights. Chattering to a pale Lady Ieka.

Lady Wuvren. Sipping tea and talking to an older woman in front of Lord Erill. The [Merchant Lord]’s lips were tight. His eyes were locked on his mother. She was looking from him to Wuvren, uncomprehending.

Lady Zanthia. Her house’s retainers stood at her back as she spoke to Lord Pellmia. The [Lord] was white. He stared past her at his city.

Tyrion looked around the battlefield. Not all the [Lords] and [Ladies] had the floating images projected to them. In fact, no more than a dozen had received the message. But it was enough. They looked to Tyrion, faces pale. Desperate. Unbelieving.

“Well?”

Magnolia waited. Tyrion looked back at her.

“This is war.”

“I thought it was already war with the Drakes. Or will you fight on two fronts at once?”

The mocking smile. Tyrion turned from her.

“Jericha. Cut the connection.”

“Lord Veltras?”

“Wait for my order.”

“Tyrion—”

Magnolia’s voice cut off abruptly. Lord Tyrion took a few deep breaths. He tried to calm himself. And then he slowly turned in his saddle.

The others looked at him. Lord Erill, Ieka, his aide, Jericha. An army, waiting, soaked in the blood of Goblins.

Tyrion’s head turned past the image of Magnolia. He looked to Liscor, walls cracked, gates partially blocked. In that moment, Tyrion Veltras’ eyes were cold. He glanced at his allies, soldiers, at Liscor, and at Magnolia. Weighing. Calculating.

The city of Liscor watched, not understanding what was happening. But word was already spreading. The world held its breath as, but for Tyrion Veltras, history would change. The [Lord] looked at Liscor and closed his eyes. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned.

“Forwards.”

The world froze. Jericha opened her mouth. Tyrion looked at her.

“We march past Liscor. To the Blood Fields.”

The nobility stared at Tyrion in shock. He turned.

“Send a [Message] to the Drakes. The Goblin Lord is dead. However, I, Tyrion Veltras, challenge the Drakes. Meet me at the Blood Fields in six days. Let their armies face ours or forfeit.”

Jericha raised a shaking hand to her head. Erill exhaled, his hands shaking. Ieka stared at Tyrion.

“All of us?”

“No. The nobility will leave. Those who do not wish to do battle. We leave the trebuchets. Half the foot. We ride. Move.

Tyrion snapped. He rode forwards. Shocked, uncomprehending, the army hesitated. But then the first rank of riders rode after Tyrion.

Liscor watched. The Drakes and Gnolls stood on the walls, weapons ready. But the army of Humans passed by them. They marched away from the city, across the muddy Floodplains. South. To battle in the most traditional of ways. Spellbound, the Drakes stared as Tyrion Veltras’ army broke up, some groups milling about, heading north. They watched as the Humans collected what few dead they had, as they quit the field.

And then wild cheers burst from Liscor’s walls. They shouted for joy as the Walled Cities scrambled, redirecting their armies. But the Drakes and Gnolls and Liscor celebrated. Somehow they were saved. They laughed and cried and hugged each other.

And the Goblins lay outside the walls.

 

—-

 

He was dead. Reiss pulled himself up. The left side of his body was missing. His heart was gone. But he still stood. He heard a voice. There was always a voice. But at least now he recognized it.

Reiss.

It called his name. Somehow it knew his name. But it didn’t matter. The voice urged Reiss up, filled him with life.

My apprentice. Kill Tyrion Veltras. End his life. I will give you strength. Go to him and I will ensure his death. Go and—

“No.”

Reiss shook his head. He stood amid the dead. Forgotten. The voice raged at him. But Reiss ignored it.

“No, master. No more.”

There was nothing left. She was gone. He could feel her going higher, ever distant. Her, and so few of them. Reiss wept, but no tears flowed from his cheeks. He staggered forwards as the voice cursed him. His master abandoned Reiss at last and the Goblin Lord laughed.

A hollow sound. He walked forwards, looking at the dead. He fell to his knees and waited to join them. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

He was so tired. It would be over soon. But he was tired. Reiss looked around. And he saw it. Sitting on a hill. The Goblin Lord turned and began walking towards it. A good place to wait to die.

 

—-

 

Erin Solstice knelt over Headscratcher and saw the army of Humans leaving. She saw them pass by Liscor. She didn’t know why. She held a limp body in her arms. She wanted it to move. More than anything. She wanted them to get up. She wanted time to stop. She wanted to be undone.

They were gone. All of them. Some were alive. More were dead. She had seen them die. And she couldn’t stop it. They had run right past her. Ignored her. She’d been helpless, but they’d spared her.

She couldn’t even save one of them. Not one. She had led them to this. All to this. Erin cradled Headscratcher in her arms. And then she stood up. She couldn’t help it. She had to—had to—

It wasn’t real. Erin walked away in a daze. All of this wasn’t real. She was going to wake up and find out this was all a dream. The Goblin Lord hadn’t come yet. This was all a dream.

She was dead. She would wake up. Let this be a dream. Please. Oh, please.

But it wasn’t. And more tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t know where she was going. Mechanically, she walked back, tripping, falling, sobbing. She walked towards her inn. The third floor was destroyed, but the rest was intact. The door was ajar. Erin walked inside and stopped.

A Goblin met a young woman in the inn. She was weeping. Her clothes were bloody.

He was dying. He was already dead. But some part of him held death back. He sat at a table, slumped over. He turned his head as Erin stopped. She stared at him. A—face stared back.

Perhaps he had been handsome once. Perhaps his smile had once been reassuring. His eyes might have terrified. He might have inspired hope, or confidence, or hatred. But now he was just dead. She stared at the Goblin.

“You’re him.”

He took a breath.

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Erin looked around.

“You’re dead.”

“Almost.”

It was a dream. In a trance, Erin walked forwards. She poked at his side. The Goblin didn’t wince.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“Just to sit here. Until it ends.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Erin took a seat across from him. The Goblin stared at her. He was taller than her, but not as tall as he’d seemed. He looked tired.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. You…speak well.”

“Yes. I learned to long ago.”

The two stared at each other. Erin trembled.

“Tell me this is a dream.”

“I wish it were.”

The Goblin Lord looked at her. Erin shook.

“Why did you do it?”

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t an answer. Erin punched at him. Something broke. The Goblin Lord’s head lolled back. And then forwards. His voice was quiet when he spoke. Sad.

“I never wanted this. I only wanted my people to be safe. For there to be a place—one place in this world—where Goblins could live. One place.”

Erin didn’t respond. She buried her head in her hands. Reiss looked around. His eyes reflected nothing but death. He whispered.

“I never wanted this. But I wanted this. I wanted to take something from them. Everyone who had taken from me. I wanted—to hurt them.”

“It’s not right. They did nothing wrong.”

“Didn’t they? They lived while my people died. That’s enough.”

“It’s not the same. They didn’t know.”

“They kill Goblins for sport. For money. Like rats. Monsters.”

“I know. I know. And I hate them for it.”

Erin whispered. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“You hate them as I do.”

“I do. But I’m one of them.”

“So. What do you do? Do you kill them? Or are you on their side?”

The Goblin Lord looked at her. Erin shook her head.

“I—I don’t. How could I? But I don’t kill Goblins either. I—there’s a sign.”

“A sign?”

She got up to show him. The Goblin Lord read it. And he laughed. He laughed and laughed, wheezing until there was no air in his lungs.

“And this works?”

“No. I don’t think it ever works. But I keep it up. And I give Goblins food. I—I tried to keep them safe. And they died for me.”

“That is what we do. It was not your fault. It was their choice. And his fault. And mine.”

The Goblin Lord nodded jerkily. He looked at Erin. She was curled up in her chair.

“I asked them to fight.”

“They would have anyways. They loved you, I think.”

“I wish they hated me.”

“How could they? You fed them. You gave them—things. You cared. They followed you. I wish I had seen it.”

“It was beautiful.”

Erin closed her eyes. The dead Goblin smiled. Then the smile vanished.

“If only I had seen it. If only I had been there. I wish I had met you long ago. If I had—”

He broke off. Erin looked up. Blood had stopped running from his wound long ago. Erin could see his lungs inflating slowly. Bone and flesh lay exposed. But Reiss refused to die.

“This isn’t our world. We’re just monsters. Why? We didn’t ask…we didn’t want to be. Why us?”

The Goblin Lord spoke bitterly. He looked past Erin.

“From the start we were made like this. Enemies. From the very start. That was what he said. Why us? Was it punishment?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just…by design. Maybe you’re characters in a game. Maybe that’s where I am. Maybe this is all a dream.”

“A game?”

Reiss looked at Erin. She stared blankly past him.

“Like chess. Pieces on a board.”

He turned. The Goblin Lord saw the chess board on the table. He stood up.

“Chess. A game?”

He walked over to the magical chessboard. Erin nodded. Reiss looked down at the board. He stared at the pawns. The pieces.

He tried to break it. But it was the wrong board. Reiss’ smashed it against the table. He struck it, tried to tear it apart. The magical chessboard refused to break. The Goblin Lord’s grip weakened. The chessboard tumbled to the ground, and he laughed hysterically. Bitterly.

“Not so simple. I tried. Goblin Lords have tried. Kings have tried. We all fail. And we die. Look—”

He turned. Erin saw the light in his eyes fading. Reiss stumbled back to her.

“I tried. I did it all for them. I think I forgot.”

He looked at her. She looked up at him. He was so sad. She hated him. More than anything in the world. But he was crying. He had no tears left, but he was weeping. Reiss sank onto the table. Erin stood with him. The Goblin Lord’s one arm rose. He looked up at her.

“Someday Goblins will know peace. Surely?”

“I—yes.”

“Yes.”

He smiled. But it was a lost smile. Reiss stared past Erin. He had never told her his name.

“Someday. Someday…”

That was all he said. His arm fell back limply. Erin stared down at him. Slowly, she closed his eyes. And then she picked him up.

He was too light. Erin walked with him outside. She stared as the Humans rode towards her. The Drakes. Her friends. They met warily, staring at each other. Enemies. But they stared at her. At the body she held. And then it was truly over.

 

—-

 

There were words. Questions. Erin answered none of them. She stood, blankly, until they went away.

She let them have the head. It was what they wanted. But she kept the body. Goblins didn’t really believe in burial, anyways. They ate their dead, when they had to. But he had been like a Human. So she buried him.

There was nowhere to do it around her inn. So Erin found a place amid the dead, where a spell had blown away dirt. She laid him there and covered his body with dirt. Then she found the others.

Some people helped her. Erin made them go away. She found them—some of them. One of them. She buried them and stood up.

Ghosts walked around her. Erin walked back to her inn. It was quiet. She lay down in the kitchen. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Her eyes closed. And she heard a voice.

 

[Conditions Met: Warrior → General Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Warrior removed.]

[General Class Obtained!]

[General Level 6!]

[Skill – Inspiring Words obtained!]

[Skill – All-or-Nothing Charge obtained!]

[Skill – Crossc—]

 

Shut up!

 

[Level Ups Cancelled]

 

The voice went away. Erin covered her eyes. And outside her inn, past Liscor, an army marched.

Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe it was a story. A book. And if it was, it was an epic about Tyrion Veltras and his failed attempt to seize Liscor. Or perhaps it was a tale of the Drakes and their valiant defense of their home. Possibly the narrative wasn’t about either. It might have been a saga about Magnolia Reinhart. Or someone else.

But it was not about Goblins. And like the side characters, the forgotten villains and fodder of every story, they died and were forgotten. That was how the world worked. The faceless monsters died and the heroes got on with their lives. Already the world waited for the outcome of Tyrion’s challenge to the Drakes at the Bloodfields. They moved on. In between the tale of the Human’s pyrrhic victory at Liscor and the next battle, there wasn’t so much as a gap.

No one asked what happened to the Goblins. No one cared. No one wrote their story. After all, what did it matter? Who would weep for a Goblin?

The answer was a young woman. She lay on the floor of her inn and shook. She sobbed and cried all the tears in the world. It wasn’t enough.

Her name was Erin Solstice.

 


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude

(The Wandering Inn is on break until March 18th for Patreon readers and March 23rd for public readers.)

 

She had watched him die. Poisonbite scrambled up the mountain. Her hands were scratched and bloody. She was hurt. Her wounds burned. But she was alive.

It was no blessing. Poisonbite’s eyes ran. She could still smell the stench of burning flesh, the death in the air. It rose upwards. Far below, the basin, the Floodplains of Liscor was filled with the dead.

Goblin dead. Few others. They had been cut down like a [Farmer] harvested grain. Poisonbite had fled the fighting. She had hid, and been overlooked by the Humans as they charged past her. She had hid, as she always did. To live. To survive. But no part of Poisonbite could rejoice.

Noears was gone. He had not fled. She had witnessed his end. Seen him conjure lightning from the skies. For a second he had shone brighter than all the Humans. And for that they had ended him.

Why? Poisonbite gasped, wiping at her eyes. Why hadn’t he run? He might have lived. But he had stayed there. And his sacrifice had meant something. More Goblins had escaped because of him. Because of him, she was there.

Poisonbite could feel her. She scrambled higher, heading up a rocky slope full of loose boulders. She had climbed for over two hours, but still the mountains loomed overhead. Taller than imagination. But she was close.

The little Goblin stopped as she crested the edge of the slope. She saw dark shapes. Rocks. And Goblins. They sat or stood so still that they appeared to be part of the mountainside. Only the crimson glow from their eyes betrayed them.

Goblins. Poisonbite looked around. There were so few of them. Cave Goblins. Goblins she knew from her tribe. Tremborag’s former warriors. A handful of Redfangs. And Goblins in black armor. Poisonbite stared at them, but she did not reach for her dagger. She had lost her other one in the fighting.

Poison had failed her. Steel had failed her. As it had failed all the Goblins here. They had died like flies before the Humans. Where a vast army had been were now thousands. And though some Goblins climbed as Poisonbite had done, they were few. The last of them were here. And she was up ahead.

Slowly, painfully, Poisonbite staggered forwards. The Goblins watched her pass. She heard a voice ahead of her. Saw a gathering. Hobs and Goblins stood around a little Goblin kneeling on the ground. She was weeping. Goblins did not cry. But she did. Rags screamed. Poisonbite approached slowly. And she saw tears. Tears and missing faces.

 

—-

 

They were all gone. Rags shook with the pain of it. They were dead. Garen. Reiss. Noears. Pyrite. Her tribe. His tribe. Everyone. Everyone was—

Snapjaw had carried her up the mountain. The female Hob stood to one side. She was dry-eyed, but empty. She had watched Eater of Spears die, and Reiss. A few others stood around Rags. She knew some of them. Others had been enemies. But there was no fighting here. The Goblins who wore black armor, who had fought under Reiss, were devastated. They did not look up. They did not move.

Devastation. How had it come to this? They had fought for Liscor. She had seen them. But she had been too late. They had fought and it was all meaningless. Rags still saw him riding at her. Tyrion Veltras. An army of Humans. It had all been for nothing.

Rags choked on the knowledge. She screamed and wailed, though her throat was torn. The other Goblins watched and listened. No sound was enough for Rags’ grief. She only looked up when she sensed the others.

They came to her. First Poisonbite, who would not talk. She sat and curled up, covering her face. But she was not the last. Rags turned and saw them.

He walked up the slopes, followed by Cave Goblins. His armor was torn. He was wounded. Yet, still he shone. The axe he carried was gold and jade. The cloak he wore billowed red, the color of blood. He walked through the other Goblins and stopped before Rags. She looked up. She had never seen this Hobgoblin in her life. But he saluted her.

“Chieftain.”

“Who are you?”

Rags whispered. The Hobgoblin bowed his head.

“Rabbiteater. Redfang.”

The name told her everything. Rags got up and looked at Rabbiteater. He returned her look. She did not know his story. She did not know why he looked like an adventurer, or why the Cave Goblins followed him. But he had lost his friends. He was…one of them.

He joined the gathering. Snapjaw looked up and Rabbiteater returned the look. The two Hobs stared at each other and then away.

“Who?”

Rabbiteater looked at Rags.

“Headscratcher. Shorthilt. Numbtongue. Badarrow.”

The names meant nothing to Rags. But they were part of the countless thousands she had heard. She nodded. Rabbiteater sat down and buried his face in his hands.

The last of them came with the rider. Only he did not ride his Carn Wolf. He urged the injured animal up the slopes. Pushing, pulling. Trying to support its weight. Rags turned as Redscar crested the slope. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Redscar?”

Rabbiteater looked up. He saw the Hobgoblin lying on the back of the injured Thunderfur and sprang up with a sharp cry. He ran, sobbing, and Badarrow looked up. The two Hobs embraced as Redscar walked towards Rags. The Goblins stared. Because in Redscar’s hands was a blade.

A rust-red sword, made redder with dried blood. A magical weapon with a name.

Redfang. Garen’s blade. Rags stared at Redscar. Then she looked to the other Hob. Badarrow stood, painfully, supporting his side. He leaned on Rabbiteater and stumbled over to Rags.

“Chieftain. I, Badarrow.”

That was all he said. Rags looked at him.

“Others? Headscratcher? Numbtongue? Shorthilt?”

“All dead.”

Badarrow did not cry. His fingers still bled. Torn from his bowstring. Redscar did not weep either. He sat down. And his wounds dripped like tears.

“Healing potion.”

He was dying. Rags whispered. Then she shouted. One of the last healing potions was found. The Goblins who had followed Redscar up the slopes helped tend to Thunderfur. They looked at Redscar with awe. The Goblin was silent.

Poisonbite. Snapjaw. Rabbiteater. Badarrow. And Redscar. Five. All that remained. Five.

Rags waited. She hoped Ulvama would be there. She had hoped that Pyrite—but he was gone. All who had lived had come here. And this was all that remained.

She looked around. The Goblins did not meet her gaze. They were empty. Shattered. They had all seen death. But this was too much. Too much. Some Goblins just curled up. Others, like Hobs, were sitting still. They would not move. They wanted to die.

So the Goblins mourned. In silence. In pain. The spring air was cold on the slopes of the mountain. The night dark, just before dawn. Rags cried. She cried every tear she had. It was not enough. And she wondered what the point was of continuing on. She saw a Redfang warrior reach for his dagger and look at it.

Perhaps that was what he had been waiting for. On a rocky ledge higher up the slope, a shape stirred. Two eyes opened and red light shone from them. The figure stood and laughed.

As one, the Goblins looked up. They saw a tall figure, half-naked, leap down towards them. On his back he carried a rusted weapon as tall as he was. A notched greatsword. And he had a beard, grey. He laughed as he appeared above Rags.

Greybeard. Greydath of Blades. The Goblin Lord looked down at the Goblins. His grin was wide. His eyes shone. Rags looked up at him. She was not surprised. She was beyond surprise. She had only grief in her. Grief, and anger.

“You.”

“Me.”

Greydath agreed. He leapt down and stood in front of Rags. There was no apology in his eyes. He looked around at the others, clearly counting. Then he shrugged.

It was that shrug which made the fury in Rags rise, loud enough to drown the sorrow. She saw Snapjaw stir. Saw Rabbiteater and Badarrow look up with sudden, furious recognition. Redscar pointed.

“You. You are Goblin Lord.”

“I am.”

He did not deny it. Greydath watched as the Goblins stirred. They looked at him. But they felt nothing. Rags sensed nothing from the Hobgoblin. It was as if he were a ghost. Not a Goblin. Certainly not a Goblin Lord.

“You saw it all.”

Redscar looked at Greydath. It was not a question. Greydath nodded.

“I saw it.”

“You did nothing?”

Rags whispered. Greydath glanced at her.

“Should I?”

The small Goblin had no answer for that. She just stared. But another Hobgoblin moved. Snapjaw drew her sword. She pointed it at Greydath.

“You! You let him die!”

“Reiss?”

Greydath shrugged. It was too much. Snapjaw lunged, sword swinging. Greydath moved. His arm blurred and he blocked Snapjaw’s blade with his greatsword. The sound rang in the night. Snapjaw staggered back. Greydath turned. Rabbiteater had the magical axe in his hands. He was staring at Greydath with hatred. So was Badarrow. The Goblin had an arrow pointed at Greydath’s chest.

“You coward. You did nothing! You let him die! He was Goblin Lord! Like you!”

Snapjaw screamed. She tried to bite at Greydath, but he dodged her. The Goblin Lord threw Snapjaw back. He was still smiling.

“So? He fought.”

“Garen died.”

Redscar’s voice was quiet. He lifted Redfang and Greydath’s eyes flicked to him. The other Goblins were getting up. The Goblin Lord looked calmly at the three Redfangs.

“He chose to. He could have run. He was a traitor. Reiss, a slave. What of it?”

The words made the Goblins furious. They slowly advanced and Greydath waited. His smile was mocking. Designed to infuriate. But Rags did not draw the shortsword at her side. She looked at Greydath’s face.

“Pyrite is dead. You taught him.”

For a second she saw Greydath’s smile flicker. But then the Goblin Lord turned to her.

“So what? He was a Hobgoblin. One Hobgoblin.”

“It doesn’t matter to you that he died?”

Greydath tilted his head back and forth. He stared past Rags, into the dark sky. Then he shook his head.

“Goblins die.”

That was it. It was too much. Poisonbite leapt at the same time the Redfangs swung. Greydath spun. All four Goblins stumbled back. He laughed at them.

“Is that all? Is that all you can do? This is why they died. Because you are weak. And you. You failed them all. You could stop nothing. Just run.”

Greydath pointed at Rags. She felt the words go through her. She stared at Greydath. Hurt and pain and anger welled up and her. And then it vanished. She felt a calm cold settle over her. A certainty. She looked into Greydath’s eyes and saw none of the mockery in his voice. Slowly, Rags shook her head.

“Why are you doing this?”

The Goblin Lord hesitated. Then he shrugged.

“To tell you that you are weak. To make you angry.”

“Is that why you waited? To tell me this?”

Rags asked him. Greydath shook his head.

“Not you. You think I waited for you? No. I waited here. Waited. Watched. For whomever came. For you. Or Garen. Or Reiss or Tremborag. Or even—”

He glanced at Rabbiteater and Badarrow. The Hobgoblins exchanged a glance. Rags looked at the Goblin Lord. The question burned in her heart. All the Goblins felt it and she gave voice to it.

“Why?”

At first Greydath did not respond. Rags pressed him.

“Why? Why did you watch? Why did you not help? Why did you do nothing? You are a Goblin Lord. Stronger than anyone else! Why did you let them die? Why?

“Because it is meaningless. Because it had to be so.”

The Goblins stirred. Their fury rose. But Greydath was unmoved. He looked around at them. There was no contempt in his gaze. Just age. Tired age. It made them pause. The Goblin Lord raised his voice as he turned to face them all.

“Goblins die. You think you are alone? That this moment is unique? It happens everywhere. A thousand thousand times. In every part of the world. Year by year. Day by day. Goblins die. Chieftains die. Tribes die. Lords die.”

He lifted his greatsword. The battered weapon was just iron. It was bent and chipped. Notched. But when Greydath held it, it shone. The Goblin Lord swung the blade and the air tore. He stared at the blade and he shook his head. Then he planted the greatsword in the ground.

“This sword is useless. I am useless. Goblins cannot be saved by me. Or even a hundred of me. We wait for only one thing. A Goblin King.”

The Goblins listened. Greydath stepped back from his blade, spreading his clawed hands wide. He looked at Rags.

“You ask why I waited? Why I did nothing? Because it did not matter who came. It did not matter if no one came. If I brought you to this place. If I helped, it would be meaningless. I can only watch.”

Why?

“Because you are not enough.”

He pointed at Rags. Greydath turned and his finger found every Goblin. They flinched back from him. His eyes burned.

“You are weak. You must be stronger. So suffer. Die. Struggle. But grow. I search the world for Goblins who can rise. Beyond Lords. Beyond all others. I test them, goad them. But never help. A true King must rise alone.”

Rags felt a chill. So that was it. That was the reason he’d sought her out. Not just her, but every Goblin of note. But—she stared at Greydath. For a second she thought she felt him standing before her. Then he was gone again. Not a Goblin Lord. But he had been. Why had he given it up?

“Tremborag said you betrayed Velan. Is that true?”

The Hobgoblin turned. He hesitated a second time, but guilt never crossed his face. Just…sadness. And that age. How old was he? Greydath shook his head.

“No. Velan chose his death.”

Why?

If he had answers, Greydath refused to give them. That too was why he had come. To make her question. To make her wonder. It did nothing to heal the pain in Rags’ heart. Greydath shook his head.

“If you want to know, look back. Find it yourself. Garen searched. And so did Reiss. They found something of the past.”

“The key. The treasure of Velan the Kind.”

Snapjaw whispered. Greydath nodded. He pointed up, towards the invisible summit of the mountain, high, high above. Clouds obscured sight. But Rags still looked up. A vast mountain, stretching up as if it could go on forever. Greydath grinned.

“It is surely there! High above. Claim it if you will. The treasure of the Goblin King. Seek the other key. The two will unlock his gift. If you claim it, perhaps you will be strong enough to follow. Perhaps not. But it is waiting. You have the key. Garen’s will. It is your decision to follow his footsteps. To succeed where he did not.”

He pointed at Rags and she felt a jolt as every Goblin looked towards her. But the brief moment of…it was replaced by despair in a moment. Rags laughed and the Goblin Lord looked puzzled. Rags laughed, with wild hysteria.

Key? What is the point? Garen didn’t know where other was! How can we find?”

Greydath blinked as Rags’ despair. But then his grin returned.

“Search! Struggle! Or die. It matters not. Someday, a Goblin King will rise again. And until that day comes, I will search and wait.”

He turned away from Rags. And it was to all Goblins he spoke now. The former Goblin Lord spread his arms. His body was scarred from tens of thousands of battles. He had lived longer than all of them put together, surely. His words reverberated in their ears. In their souls.

“Grow. Despair. Rage! It matters not what you are! A coward, a traitor, a slave—all these things are what is Goblin! Be what you are. But grow!”

Greydath’s eyes found all of them. He looked from face to face, burning with a passion that Rags couldn’t name.

“Find the truth. It is at the beginning. And only Goblin Kings know of it.”

They stared at him. Greydath held their gaze for another second, then lowered his arms. He was done. He turned back to Rags.

“You will not see me, child. Not until you take another step.”

“Good. I hate you.”

That was all Rags said. She did not like Greydath. She did not trust him. But—she had to admit—the pain in her chest had vanished for a moment. Now it returned, biting. Greydath saw it. He looked straight through Rags, as if he had seen someone like her a million times. But he said nothing more.

He walked past Redscar. Past Rabbiteater, Badarrow, through Tremborag’s Goblins. Past staring Cave Goblins. He left his greatsword behind. Greydath stood on the edge of the slope. He looked back once and grinned.

Grow. And never forget.”

How could they? The Goblins stared at his back. The Goblin Lord bent. Then he jumped. He hurled himself down the mountain, a tremendous jump that carried him down the rocky slope, onto a distant rock hundreds of feet down. His feet struck the rock and Greydath leapt, propelling himself faster.

He leapt again, launching himself down the mountain. Going faster. He was laughing. Greydath laughed as he fled. Rags listened to it echoing back up towards her. The funny thing about laughter was that it sounded like sobbing, sometimes.

And then he was gone. Leaving the Goblins alone with nothing but the dead. Rags looked around. She tried to find that grief once more, but in truth, she was just numb. So many had died. It felt wrong, but after a while she couldn’t even grieve.

“Pyrite.”

Rags felt something in her mourn. But Greydath’s words had created something else in her. An urge. To keep living. Why had he died? It was to save her. Why had Noears fallen? To protect his tribe. How could she die and let them down?

Garen. Reiss. Rags would mourn them again and again, later. And she would not forget them. But—she looked around.

There they were. Goblins of every kind. Staring at her. Right at her. Rags felt the weight of their gazes and nearly stumbled. She saw someone turn to her.

“Chieftain.”

Rabbiteater bowed his head. Snapjaw knelt. Redscar and Poisonbite approached. Badarrow waited.

“Me?”

Rags asked it as she looked at the others. At Redscar. At Snapjaw. After so much, they still looked to her? Redscar nodded. He half-smiled. Pain ran through him and her. But he still smiled.

“Who else could be Chieftain?”

Rags looked around. At Redscar. At the two Redfangs, Rabbiteater and Badarrow. At Snapjaw. Poisonbite. She shook her head. And then she stood tall.

The little Goblin climbed onto a rock. She stood in front of the Goblins. Thousands. They had lost their tribes. Their leaders. Their family and friends. The Humans had shattered them. The Drakes had pushed them away. They had been used again. Used and killed.

But still, they were here. And the living were here thanks to the dead. They looked up at the small Goblin. She took a breath of the cold air and looked past them. The sky was lightening. Dawn was not far away. Rags closed her eyes. Then she drew her sword. The Goblins below her did the same.

Their weapons were heavy. Blood stained. But as they raised them, flames burst into life. Their weapons ignited, and the fire burned in the darkness. Candles for the fallen. Rags held her flaming blade aloft and looked at them. Her people. She shouted down at them.

“I am Rags! Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe! Chieftain of the Redfangs! Chieftain of Reiss’ Goblins! Chieftain of the Cave Goblins! Great Chieftain of the Mountain! Follow me.

And they did. The Goblins limped after the small Goblin. They supported each other. They wept and mourned, but they did follow. Their eyes fixed on the small Goblin’s back. Was she a bit taller than before? Surely. A tiny bit. She seemed taller. Still a child. But taller.

She walked ahead of them as the sun rose. It was cold. And she was so tired. But still Rags walked. The light shone down on her body and she shaded her eyes. And she led them forwards.

Into tomorrow.

 

—-

 

They found him as dawn shone down on the battlefield. Only when Tyrion Veltras’ army had left the Floodplains did the gates of Liscor open. Oh, some Humans still remained on the field, but the army had gone. That left only the Goblin dead.

And the Antinium. They lay in a neat row. A hundred and one bodies. Fragments, really. The Painted Soldiers had died as Antinium do. Hard. They had fought to the last. He knelt before them as they approached him.

“Pawn? Pawn!

Lyonette rushed towards the Worker. He was motionless. She called out and the other searching Antinium made a beeline towards him. Belgrade, Anand—and Klbkch. The Revalantor was riding a horse of all things. He dismounted and the horse shifted uneasily. But it was too well-trained to move.

“Pawn. Are you—are you okay?”

The Worker didn’t move. He knelt in front of the Painted Soldiers. In front of a Soldier with yellow spatters of paint.

“They’re all dead.”

“They fought well.”

That was all Klbkch said as he dismounted. Lyonette looked up, her eyes flashing, but Klbkch just strode past her. He surveyed the dead as Anand and Belgrade approached. They had an escort of Painted Soldiers. They stopped in front of the bodies.

“All of them?”

Belgrade stared at the fallen. Anand shook his head.

“It was statistically unlikely they would survive. The fact that Pawn did is nothing short of a—”

He broke off. Pawn hadn’t moved. His antennae was broken. He was broken. Klbkch stared down at him. Then he glanced at the body.

“Yellow Splatters is dead.”

Pawn jerked. Lyonette glared up at Klbkch.

“Be quiet! Can’t you be kind? Can’t you be sorry for them? Pawn just lost—”

“They were under his command. Pawn led them. They fell. They fulfilled their duties.”

Klbkch stared coldly at Lyonette. He looked across the Painted Soldiers, living and dead.

“This is why the Antinium exist. Why Soldiers exist. To fight and die. How should I speak of them?”

“With compassion.”

The young woman met the Revalantor’s eyes. Klbkch hesitated. Then he shook his head.

“What good would that do?”

Lyonette opened her mouth, but Klbkch was already turning. He bent down and inspected Yellow Splatter’s body.

“Slain by a spell.”

“He died protecting me.”

Pawn whispered. Lyonette hugged him. Klbkch looked back at Pawn.

“Yellow Splatters was unique. His talents were commendable. Belgrade.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch?”

The Worker shot to panicked attention. Klbkch pointed at Yellow Splatter’s body.

“Recover his remains. Bring them to the Hive. I will petition the Queen to perform the Rite of Anastases on his corpse. Yellow Splatters may be revived.”

What?

Lyonette stared at Klbkch, uncomprehending. But the other Workers looked up. So did the Soldiers. They stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor nodded coolly.

“The odds of success are low. Yellow Splatters may not have the levels to be resurrected. I suspect he does, but we will see. It may even be possible to give him a more fitting body. Perhaps a voice. The Queen will—”

“No.”

The word was quiet. It came from Pawn. The [Acolyte] looked up. He did not weep. The look in his eyes silenced even Klbkch for a moment. The Revalantor turned to face him.

“Explain yourself, Pawn.”

“No. You won’t revive him.”

Pawn moved forwards to stand between Klbkch and Yellow Splatters. He spread his good arms, protecting the fallen [Sergeant]. Pawn stared at Klbkch, and at the other Antinium.

“He’s in a better place. Why would you want to bring him back?”

“He is needed.”

Klbkch’s mandibles closed together, a tad uncertainly. Pawn shook his head.

“He’s free. Leave him be.”

He faced down Klbkch. The Revalantor wavered, then he turned.

“Decide as you will. But be swift. He must be brought to the Hive soon or any chance of resurrecting him will be gone. I must go.”

“Where?”

Lyonette was incredulous. She stared around the battlefield. At the dead. They littered the ground. So many that she felt sick. But Klbkch walked past and over the dead as if they were invisible to him. The horse whickered as Klbkch mounted it. The [Guardsman] and Revalantor looked down at Lyonette.

“I have my duties.”

He wheeled the horse southwards. Lyonette watched him begin to canter down the hill. Pawn turned.

“And that’s it? They died and that is all you’ll say?”

Klbkch didn’t turn. Pawn shouted at his back.

“What was the point? Why was it only us? What was this for?

His voice broke. He fell to his knees. Lyonette bent as the other Antinium surrounded him.

“Pawn. Pawn, it’s going to be okay.”

Lies. Pawn looked up and Lyonette blinked back tears.

“She’s alive, Pawn. You saved Erin. You did save her.”

“It’s not enough.”

The Worker whispered. The Antinium shifted restlessly. But Pawn paid no mind. He looked back at the dead as Lyonette tried and failed to haul him to his feet.

“What can I do? What can I say? To the others?”

He gave the other Painted Soldiers an agonized look. They stared down at their brethren, silent. Unreadable. But not emotionless. Lyonette looked at the silent Antinium. She brushed tears from her eyes. Didn’t they know? She raised her voice and the Antinium looked at her.

“They were heroes. Obviously! Tell them that!”

Pawn looked at her.

“Heroes?”

“Yes. What else could they be? Tell them that. They were heroes. And you’ll never forget them.”

Lyonette blinked. Water ran down her cheeks. Pawn stared at the tears. And then he looked at the dead. Slowly, he stood.

“Never. We will never forget.”

The Soldiers looked at him. The Worker stood taller. Never, ever. So long as one Antinium lived. Never. Lyonette could not read the emotions running through the Antinium. She turned her head, stared towards a hill with an inn and a shattered roof.

“Come on, Pawn. We’re going home.”

The Worker looked at her. Slowly, Lyonette pulled and guided him towards the hill. The Antinium surrounded their dead. Belgrade stared down at Yellow Splatters. He looked at Anand, but the other [Tactician] had no words. Slowly, the two Workers looked back. The Painted Soldiers stood around Yellow Splatters. They gazed silently at the fallen [Sergeant] and realized the choice was theirs. Theirs alone.

They made their decision.

 

—-

 

Osthia watched the Antinium go. She knelt by the body of a fallen horse, ignoring the stink and the mud and blood that clung to her scales. She had smeared mud onto her body. And she had waited for the Antinium to go.

It was agonizing. Osthia wanted nothing more than to get up and fly past them. But she dared not. That was Klbkch the Slayer she had just seen. And she had recognized the strange Antinium from the battle. They were the enemies of her people.

As were the Humans. Osthia looked around and then dared to crawl a bit further. She was on the lookout; Tyrion Veltras’ army may have left, but a good number of his nobles had split from his army and any one of them could be her doom. She could not be caught.

She had crawled past bodies already rotting, past glowing green flies, through the mud. All to avoid the attention of the Humans. Even now, she hesitated. She had to make it to the city. But her wings were bound. Reiss had kept her under guard until his lines had broken.

She had watched him die. Osthia still wasn’t sure what she thought about it. She knew what had possessed him in his last moments. That dark presence lurking behind his eyes.

Az’kerash. Liscor had to know. Her people had to know. Osthia gritted her teeth. There was at least two miles between her and Liscor. But she had not the strength to keep crawling, nor the patience. She had to risk it all. She got up slowly and began to run.

At first her weary legs betrayed her. But as she ran, stumbling, Osthia found her pace. She ran past and over Goblin bodies. So many. Osthia had seen battlefields before. But this had been a slaughter at the end. She stared at black bodies lying in piles.

They had been the Goblin Lord’s forces. Her enemy. They had killed her uncle and Garusa and so many of her comrades. They deserved death for that alone. But Osthia couldn’t find any victorious glee in her. She only felt numb.

They had died fleeing the Humans. Running away. It hadn’t been a battle. There wasn’t honor in this. But they were Goblins. Just Goblins—

Osthia tripped. She windmilled her arms and her manacled wings flapped uselessly. The Drake caught herself, and stared at the city. She was so close! She sprinted towards it. If she could just get in range of the walls—

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Who was that? Osthia turned.

Someone was coming. Approaching her at speed, on a horse. A Human? Osthia didn’t bother to look. She put her head down and pumped her arms. She had to get to the city! If they spotted her, noticed she’d been a prisoner—

They had to know. Drakes, not Humans. Az’kerash had been Human. This might be a plot. The Walled Cities had to know! Osthia tried to outrun whomever was chasing her, but they were faster and she was exhausted.

Closer now. But too far away. Osthia waved her arms desperately. Liscor was just in front of her. She cried out, her voice raw and unused.

Help! Someone deliver a message to Pallass! It’s—”

The rider bore down on her. Osthia spun, ready to make a final stand. She had a sword looted from the dead. But it was no Human who rode the horse, or Klbkch. It was a Drake. He drew up and Osthia gaped up at him.

“You’re—”

His scales were dark red, no, closer to purple. He wore a breastplate that blazed with gold and fire that Osthia recognized. But it was his face that spoke to her.

Wall Lord Ilvriss?

He blinked. But Osthia knew him. A Wall Lord of Salazsar? What was he doing here?

“Who are you? Identify yourself. Are you a captive?”

He eyed her suspiciously. Osthia’s bindings gave her away. The Drake nodded, and then remembered to salute.

“I am. Wall Lord—sir! I was a prisoner of the Goblin Lord!”

“Goblins don’t take prisoners.”

Osthia blinked.

“This one did. But—sir, I have critical news! It must reach the Walled Cities! Now!”

She stumbled over her words. She had to say it.

“It’s the Necromancer. It’s Az’kerash. He’s alive! He—”

Ilvriss jerked in his saddle, but not with the pure shock Osthia had expected. Instead, he swung himself to the ground and practically leapt at Osthia. His claw covered her mouth. She jerked in surprise.

“Wall Lord—”

He muffled her. Ilvriss stared around, but no one was nearby. He ignored the female Drake’s protests and hissed at her.

Quiet! I know.”

She went still, her eyes wide. Ilvriss glanced around again, and then straightened. He stared long and hard at Osthia.

“This Goblin Lord had ties to the Necromancer?”

“He was his apprentice. He—”

Osthia struggled to describe all she’d witnessed. Reiss’ subservience, his resentment, the reasons he’d followed the Necromancer. She couldn’t. But Ilvriss just nodded.

“You must have valuable intelligence. I will hear it. But not here. We’re too exposed. Follow me. What’s your rank and name, soldier?”

He offered Osthia a claw. She stared at him, and then swung herself up into the saddle. The horse grunted.

“Osthia. Osthia Blackwing, [Captain]. Pallass’ 5th Oldblood Winged Division. Wall Lord—”

“Say nothing.”

“But—”

The Drake gave her a long look. Ilvriss shook his head.

“This secret is our only advantage. We will make him pay. I swear it. But we must trap him. Come.”

He urged the horse into a trot, heading back towards Liscor. Osthia saw more Drakes racing to join him. They’d been—combing the dead. The undead, rather. For signs of the Necromancer? She stared at Ilvriss’ back. And then she remembered to ride to avoid falling off. She was exhausted, grieving, though she didn’t know why. But she burned with vengeance.

She would not forget him, ever. And the Necromancer would pay. She swore it. The Drakes rode away from the battlefield, towards the city. They passed another figure, who picked his way across the dead, slowly, stick in hand.

 

—-

 

“Is this hell?”

I don’t know. I have always imagined hell, if it exists, as a place of suffering. A place of torment, as you would imagine. Screaming, pure agony distilled into an experience. But perhaps hell is quiet.

If it is, I walk through it. My cane taps the mud. Every few feet I run into something. A body. Sometimes my cane taps on armor, other times flesh. If I were anywhere else I would be confused, unsettled by the strange forms lying around me. But I know what has passed here. And I am sick.

Everything is so…quiet. I can hear practically nothing. Nothing but my heartbeat. There are distant sounds. Galloping hooves, sometimes voices. The buzzing of flies. But around me nothing but silence. The dead lie in droves. Invisible to the blind man.

But I can feel them. Soft shapes, hard metal. They’re lying everywhere. I can’t imagine how many. I know there was a battle here, but I can see none of it. I wish my senses as an emperor extended to this place. I wish I could know the extent of my failure. My unforgivable…

Dead. Just like that. And the smell. I gag, but my nose has already gotten somewhat accustomed to the smell. It will only grow worse as time passes. And, I’m told, the dead will begin rising. I shouldn’t be here. But I can’t help it. I have to know. I have to know.

“Emperor. Your majesty!”

A voice calls out to me. Gamel. He’s been following me. I ignore him. I nearly trip over an arm. Bent down to touch clammy flesh. The body’s warming. I shudder.

“What have I done?”

“Sire, please—”

A hand reaches for me. I knock it away. Walk forwards. I’m deaf to the voice that implores me to move back, to rest. I’ve been walking through the night and into the day. Searching for something to make sense of it all.

How could I? I didn’t realize this would be the result. Could I have done anything differently? There must be consequences for this. There must—I thought they were monsters.

Laken!

Gamel grabs me. I start.

“Gamel?”

His voice is hoarse.

“Laken—sire. You must rest. Let me take you away. Lord Yitton and Lord Gralton—”

“Let them wait. Gamel, I have to be here. I have to witness this. How many are there around me?”

I cannot see them. But I know they are there. Gamel hesitates.

“A—score, sire. Many bodies. Please—”

“Thousands? Tens of thousands?”

“I cannot count them all. Your majesty—”

I’m shaking. I push Gamel back and stumble forwards. Where am I? I don’t know. I move forwards, tapping with my stick. Then the tip of it strikes something and something makes a sound. I freeze and Gamel draws in his breath.

“Emperor! Stand back! One of them is alive!”

He draws his sword. I hear it unsheathed, hear the laugh from below. I hold out a trembling hand.

“Gamel, hold.”

“­Sire!”

Hold. This Goblin. Is it hurt? Is it trying to attack me?”

There’s a pause. Gamel gulps.

“It—should be dead, sire. Somehow, it’s breathing. And it’s looking at you.”

“I see. You there. I apologize, but I can’t see you. I’m quite blind, you see.”

I sense something in front of me. Cautiously I tap forwards and hear a faint sound. Breathing. And—a voice? My heart skips a beat.

“Can you talk?”

“Your m—”

“Back up, Gamel.”

I bend my head to listen. A low voice. Weak. But the words are perfectly understandable. If I were not told—no, if I forget all of what’s passed—I could believe I was listening to another Human being lying on the ground.

Maybe this is just a strange dream. Or a trick. But I cannot help but believe. I listen, as the Goblin speaks. And I shake my head.

“I’m sorry.”

I hear a faint laugh. Scorn. The Goblin has every right to it. What good are my words? He—it is a he—is dying. I kneel down in the muck. I hear a sound from Gamel, but I ignore it.

One Goblin. He sounds so Human. I open my eyes, blindly, as if that could help me see him. I wish I could. I wish—and then I have a thought. I bow my head over the Goblin. He could sit up and kill me. I think he could. But he lies there, too tired to add to the dead. And I speak to him.

“I’m—I couldn’t stop any of this. It was out of my control. I can’t change their minds. I can’t do anything for anyone else. Or for you. I shouldn’t. But I want to cheat. The world should not be like this.”

The Goblin gurgles a response. A question. I pass my hand over my eyes. They shut. My eyelids are too tired to keep them open.

“If you are willing, Goblin. Believe. You need not be loyal to me. But if you will it—”

I bend my head down and whisper.

“Live.”

I hear a gasp. The intake of breath. And I sense something beneath me move. That’s all. I straighten and turn. I sense a figure hurrying towards me, hear the jingle of Gamel’s chainmail.

“Your majesty? Are you alright?”

“I am. But—get a healing potion, Gamel. Leave it there.”

“But—”

Do it.

I walk away. I hear Gamel hesitate, then fumble at his belt. I don’t wait to see what happens. I don’t wait to see if the Goblin survives. That’s all I can do for him. In fact, there’s nothing I can do here. I can only remember this moment. Never forget it.

“Take me back, Gamel. Take me back.”

He does just that. I slowly walk across the battlefield. Up hills, avoiding valleys. It feels much the same to me. But I stop when I hear a familiar voice.

“Your majesty. What were you searching for?”

“Sin, Lord Yitton. Sin, and guilt. Evidence of it, at any rate. Did you make contact with your children?”

“I did. My daughter does not wish to see me. And I was informed that it would be dangerous to approach Liscor at the moment.”

“But they’re well?”

Lord Yitton hesitates.

“Yes, Emperor Godart. I believe so.”

“That’s good. One good thing, at least. I’m done here, Lord Byres. I intend to return home. Will you join me? Lord Gralton’s forces will be coming with, I think.”

“Yes. I…spoke with Lord Gralton.”

Yitton Byres shifts. He was surprised that Gralton didn’t go with Tyrion. So was everyone else. But Gralton decided staying with me and Yitton was better than going to fight the Drakes. I nod.

“His company will be welcome. As would conversation on the road. And the escort. I’m afraid my people aren’t warriors. And I’m rather stranded. But I’ll happily travel with you, if you don’t mind the slower pace due to the prisoners.”

“I—would be delighted to travel with you, your majesty. However, regarding the prisoners you claimed. The soldiers are talking. They’re quite upset. Would you consider—”

“If you’re asking me to let them go or kill them, the answer is no, Yitton. Mark my words. If anyone harms them, soldier or noble or adventurer, they will pay. Spread the word.”

“…I understand.”

Do you? I wonder. But I don’t want to talk, not now. There’s time enough on the road to speak of morality to Yitton. Gralton too. I walk slowly towards the horse Gamel has saddled. And as I do, I hear shuffling. Sounds to my left. A smell not of horse or Human.

But Goblin.

 

—-

 

The train of prisoners was small. Barely a few hundred. But they had been captured, found among the dead. And for all they were monsters, they had been forbidden from being harmed. By the Human who never opened his eyes. He was the blind emperor. Some of the Goblins knew and feared him. Others just hated.

Being alive was little comfort to them. They waited, not sure of what the future held. But it could surely be little worse than the present. The Goblins sat together. And one of them had a hat.

Pebblesnatch curled up, tears running down her face. She clung to the muddy chef’s hat. She wept, and wept unceasingly. By her side, a female Hobgoblin stroked the top of her head.

Ulvama was injured. But she had survived capture and the battle. That was little consolation to her. The [Shaman] stared hatred at Laken. At him and every Human she saw.

Both Goblins looked up as they heard Laken Godart speaking. He was talking to the man named Yitton Byres and another man who smelled like dogs.

“North, Yitton, Gralton. I’ll beg your help until we reach my estates. North. And the Goblins come with us.”

The Goblins looked up as the Humans crowded around them. They were forced up, forced to march. Some resisted. Some wanted to fight and die rather than march again. But the [Emperor] forced them to move. He claimed them as his own and they were spared. But for what, they didn’t know. They could only cling to life. While the dead waited behind them.

 

—-

 

A hundred thousand corpses or more. Fields of the dead out of reach. A fallen apprentice. The death of Garen Redfang. And the end of Tyrion Veltras’ plans. The end of his plans as well.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, walked past the waiting undead. Ghostly wraiths, huge walker zombies, undead knights. And his Chosen. They stood where he had ordered them, ready to be mass-teleported. It had been a day, but the undead didn’t grow bored. But his Chosen, Venitra, Bea, and Kerash, were restless.

And afraid. Their master was furious. He raged. He had screamed. They had never seen him thus. Now he paced back and forth, fuming.

“Disaster. What has passed here?”

No one answered. Az’kerash whirled. He stared past them, clutching at his hand. The same hand that had been severed on Reiss’ body when Garen struck. The Necromancer’s body was wholly intact and pale, but the pain was still there, a memory. He grimaced.

“Of consequence? Nothing. What a perfect waste of my time and energy. My apprentice died without returning anything of merit to me. Useless.

The word made Venitra flinch. Bea stared past her creator as he strode past her. Speaking to himself.

“A few Drake armies and a Human one. Paltry destruction, and for what? Only Zel Shivertail’s death was of importance.”

He paused. And a look of satisfaction flickered across Az’kerash’s face.

“At least he is dead. In that sense, my investment paid enough dividends. But had Liscor fallen—”

The undead watched their master anxiously. Az’kerash’s anger blazed hot—then, suddenly, after half a day of fury—it suddenly went cold. All the wrath drained out of the [Necromancer] and he stood calm and dispassionate. The living lost significance for him.

“He is dead. And it matters little now, I suppose. A lesson in foolishness. A waste of effort. Little more. Kerash.”

The undead Gnoll stood straighter.

“Master? Do we go into combat?”

Az’kerash shook his head.

“You are not needed. This—distraction at Liscor has cost me enough time and energy. I have work to do. The next generation awaits. Kerash, return to your duties. I will begin work once more. Prepare my materials. And bring me mana potions and—scales. Drake scales, I think. And chitin. Antinium-harvested. Or spiders if there are not enough.”

“Yes, Master. It will be done.”

The Chosen turned. The undead were already moving away. Az’kerash let them go, ignoring Venitra and Bea. He had barely paid attention to Kerash. In times past he had interacted often with his prized creations, his Chosen. But they had failed him and so they were dust, tools to be used and discarded. And they knew it.

So too did Reiss pass from Az’kerash’s mind. He turned his attention towards the future, and a new creation. Something that would last. That would not disappoint. The Necromancer’s mind fragmented, each piece taking a new challenge to think on. If he had any thoughts to spare, it was only to think of another possible apprentice, and to be irritated at the failure of his last one. But it didn’t matter.

Az’kerash repeated the thought to himself. He pushed his defeat from his mind. He dismissed what had passed. The future awaited. And what had he lost? What had happened at Liscor?

“Nothing. Nothing of consequence at all.”

The world remained the same. Az’kerash summoned his magic to him and began to work. The Goblins, his apprentice—the defense of Liscor itself—meant little. After all, what had changed? The Humans made war with Drakes and each other. The Drakes squabbled. There was no change to this world.

 

—-

 

Beneath the earth, the Antinium were restless. Hundreds of thousands of Soldiers and Workers shifted uneasily. They waited in the tunnel they had built from the northern-most of the Hives towards Liscor. It was a grand project that had taken five Hive’s worth of Workers tunneling around the clock. Even so, it had only barely been completed in time.

All had been in order. Three Hives had sent their finest into the tunnel, towards the city of Liscor. They had waited there, as Workers continued tunneling. When the time came, the plan was to have them exit the tunnel and march on Liscor at best speed. They could reach the city within a day of nonstop marching. Two at the most.

That was the plan. The Queens had hatched it together and their Hives had obeyed. But their plans had fallen to ruin. Because Liscor had not fallen. The Goblin Lord had been broken at the city and Tyrion Veltras’ aim of attacking halted by Human machinations. And the Queens were…displeased.

Order.

Xrn’s voice cut through the tunnel. The Armored Antinium, shifting in their armor, the Silent Antinium, restlessly pacing back and forth, and the beating wings of the Flying Antinium halted. They looked up as Xrn stood above them.

The staff shone in her hands. Her eyes blazed. With fiery orange-red of annoyance, the green of surprise, and a steely grey determination. It was that last which called to Tersk, Prognugator of the Armored Antinium. He held still, though the raging voice in his mind made him want to strike out randomly. He called up at Xrn.

“Prognugator Xrn, my Queen—”

The azure Antinium gazed down at Tersk and shook her head.

“Ignore her. The Queens are furious. Their orders are not to be trusted. Hold your positions until we receive proper orders.”

Pivr fanned his wings.

“But my Queen—”

I am in charge here. Not the Flying Queen. The Grand Queen has appointed me herself and I speak for her, especially when her judgment fails. Hold.

Xrn’s voice made the Antinium grow still. It restored order and Tersk felt the balance in him reassert himself. He stood still, waiting. Xrn shook her head.

“We will have to collapse the tunnel. Pull the Workers and Soldiers back. All this effort. There truly is no predicting other species. Alas.”

She stared bitterly up towards the ramp that had been built to carry the army out of the ground. Sunlight shone down into the Hive. Tersk noticed some of his Soldiers and even one of his fellow Prognugators staring at it. Some had never seen sunlight. Pivr, whose Flying Antinium were allowed onto the surface to practice flying, had bragged about being in the sun. But no matter how many times Tersk saw it, he always thought—

Hoof beats. Tersk stiffened as he heard the sound echoing towards the tunnel. The other Antinium heard it too. All of them froze. Workers, Soldiers, Prognugators, all stared towards the entrance. Xrn’s eyes flashed bright yellow in warning, caution. She held up a hand and raised her staff.

Someone had found the entrance to the tunnel. Someone riding a horse. They would have to die if they came closer. The Antinium were in violation of their treaty, far, far outside the zone they were allowed to operate in. They would have to kill the wanderer.

“If they flee, my Soldiers—”

Pivr shut up as Xrn stared at him. The Centenium slowly moved towards the entrance of the tunnel. Her staff had stopped shining, casting most of the tunnel into darkness. She aimed at the entrance, the lights in her eyes turning to blackness. Tersk waited as whomever was above seemed to dismount from the horse. They were approaching, their footsteps crunching the earth above. And then—

“Xrn. Hold.”

An Antinium appeared in the entrance to the tunnel. Xrn froze. Her staff had shone bright pink-red for a moment. But at the sight of Klbkch, she lowered her staff and the magic shimmered out.

Klbkchhezeim?

The other Antinium stared as the Slayer walked down the ramp. Tersk felt a surge of something in his chest. He had met Klbkch, but the name, and the knowledge still made him more alert. The Slayer. And his was not the only reaction.

The Flying Antinium’s wings fanned unconsciously as one. They shifted, eternally restless. The Armored Antinium were more subdued. But it was the Silent Antinium’s reaction that was most significant. They crept closer, fixed on Klbkch. The hunched Soldiers of the Silent Antinium, camouflaged, stared at him. After all, he was…

“Klbkch. Why have you come here? We know of what happened at Liscor. There is no point to our presence.”

Xrn was speaking with Klbkch. The Revalantor of the Free Antinium, the one who was meant to guide their Hive towards its destiny, turned his head. He stared at the army of Antinium.

“No. They will not be needed. But this tunnel must remain. My Queen has sent me here to ensure it is not destroyed.”

“Not destroyed?”

Xrn opened her mandibles in surprise. Klbkch nodded. He stepped past her and raised his voice, addressing all the Antinium.

“The Workers will continue the tunneling. The Free Antinium will dig from their end as well. We will complete the tunnel. Not to be used as a staging ground for an assault, but to connect the Free Hive to the others.”

“You mean—build an underground route? But there are hundreds of miles yet to be constructed! We only built this much of the tunnel to prepare for an assault. To link all six Hives would take—”

Klbkch turned to Xrn.

“What? Effort? Workers? We have enough. And time as well. The Antinium lack none of these things. It has only been desire that prevented such activity until now. But that ceases. The Hives will be connected.”

Several colors flashed through Xrn’s eyes at once.

“The Grand Queen has not given her permission for this project. She will surely object.”

“That is her choice, yes. But my Queen has spoken. And her will be done. I have decided as well.”

Klbkch faced forwards.

“The tunnel will be expanded. The Hives linked, the passages guarded. The six Hives will be open to each other at last. So proclaims the Free Queen of the Antinium.”

The Soldiers shifted. It was the same as gasping aloud. Tersk didn’t know how to process this information. But the Workers just streamed past Klbkch, and got to work. Tersk saw Xrn’s mandibles opening and closing as her eyes changed color. Blue, doubt. Yellow, caution. And then—a bright white light. Green and pink.

She smiled. Klbkch nodded.

“We shall have to hide the presence of the tunnel. Workers, seal the entrance after my departure. Xrn. We should speak.”

“Indeed we should. Klbkch.”

He strode up the ramp. Xrn followed him. The Antinium looked up into the sun. Tersk saw Workers move forwards and the light slowly disappeared. But he remembered. And he remembered a city. An inn. He wondered if he would see Pawn again. And he thought that if he did, nothing would ever be the same.

That was probably a good thing.

 

—-

 

Liscor was quiet the day after the battle. The relieved celebrations had given way to a strange silence. After all, the city had not been attacked. But a battle had taken place. And there were dead.

Goblin dead. Perhaps it didn’t matter. But the Drakes and Gnolls of the city couldn’t forget that it was Goblins who had been driven to besiege Liscor, and Goblins who had defended it. Both had died. And that meant…

Nothing. To some, nothing. To others, everything. But perhaps the effects were most greatly felt outside of Liscor. In an inn on a hill.

The day after the battle, The Wandering Inn was closed. The shutters locked. It was barred to all visitors, and indeed, most who would have gone to the inn couldn’t even find the willpower to try. The [Innkeeper] did not want visitors.

So her guests stayed away. Even the regulars. They found other things to do. Other people to visit.

And in Liscor’s prison, a Minotaur in a magic cell heard voices. It had been quiet. It was almost always quiet where he stood. His gaze was blank. But his ears twitched as he heard voices, coming closer.

“You have as long as you want. But try to bribe me one more time and I will arrest you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes. I apologize. Look, it’s just that in Human cities—”

Someone spat.

“Pah. Go on.”

The Minotaur stared blankly ahead. He didn’t respond to any words or stimuli most of the time. He barely ate any food. But the second voice. Something in it called to him. His gaze was fixed ahead of him. But as a shorter, slimmer figure walked forwards he slowly looked down.

A half-Elf stood in front of Calruz’s cell. Her robes were magical. One of her hands was nothing but bone. She looked up at him. The Minotaur slowly returned the gaze.

“Hello, Calruz. It’s been a while.”

He said nothing. Ceria Springwalker frowned.

“Hey. It’s me. I’m coming to visit you at last, you giant jackass. I wasn’t sure if I should, but—hello?”

Calruz didn’t respond. The Minotaur’s gaze was slightly unfocused. Ceria frowned. She walked back and forth and the eyes slowly tracked her.

“Can you hear me? Are you…”

She hesitated. A thousand things seemed to be on the tip of her tongue. She said none of them. Ceria folded her arms?

“Do you even remember what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

The half-Elf jumped. She stared at Calruz. The Minotaur’s eyes focused on her.

“I know you.”

“I hoped you would. You’re—what you did—”

Ceria struggled for words. Calruz spoke again.

“Below. She’s still there.”

The [Ice Mage] froze.

“Who? Nokha?”

Again, the Minotaur didn’t respond directly to the question. He looked straight through Ceria.

“I can hear her. You shouldn’t have taken me out. She knows. She’s waiting for you to let her out.”

“Who? Who’s ‘she’? Did she do this to you? Where is she?”

Slowly, Ceria approached the walls of the cell. She stared at Calruz. The Minotaur stared blankly at her for a minute, then two. And then something changed. He blinked.

“Ceria?”

This time he looked at her. And recoiled. He was surprised to see her. Ceria backed up, clearly uneasy.

“Calruz? What were you talking about? Who’s ‘she’?”

“Who?”

The Minotaur stared blankly at her. Ceria looked around. Calruz shook his head.

“Sometimes I feel like…what did I say? What have I done?”

“I—”

The half-Elf had been prepared for something. Not for this. She took another step backwards, looking down the prison. Calruz stepped forwards. He placed a hand on the magical barrier.

“I remember it. All of it. What I did. I went mad. Springwalker, you have to believe me.”

Ceria caught herself. She glared back at Calruz, biting her lip, clenching a fist.

“I believe you’re mad. You—you turned into a monster.”

“I know. I must be punished. But part of it—I didn’t intend for it. I started losing myself. You have to believe me.”

The Minotaur spoke urgently. His hands trembled on the walls of his cell. Ceria eyed him.

“I do. I do, Calruz.”

“Please tell them that. Please. I never intended this. Tell them. Make them know.”

“They’ll never forgive you, Calruz. I don’t think I can—”

“I don’t want that. Death is my only salvation. I’ll settle my debts that way.”

The Minotaur never blinked. Ceria froze.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s nothing less than I deserve. You and I both know that. Tell them I’ll accept whatever punishment. The Gnolls—they deserve justice. Whatever it takes. Tell them. Please.”

“Oh, Calruz—”

Ceria went over to the cell. She bowed her head and put her hand against the magical barrier of the cell. Calruz stared at her.

“I’ve lost my honor.”

“Calruz—”

Her voice broke. Ceria leaned against the wall of the cell, her shoulders shaking. It was then that Pisces decided to stop listening. He straightened and turned his head. The undead mouse collapsed.

“Well?”

Yvlon stared at him. She and Ksmvr were waiting outside the dungeon. Pisces blinked.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t pretend. What are they saying?”

“I stopped listening.”

Yvlon jabbed Pisces in the side. He yelped.

“I did!”

The armored woman eyed him, but eventually nodded.

“What do you think she’s going to do?”

“Beyond saying goodbye? I have no idea. She may wish to…stay for the trial.”

“I can’t blame her, can you?”

“Captain Ceria is blameless in the guilt of former-Captain Calruz, surely.”

Ksmvr looked anxiously between Pisces and Yvlon. The [Necromancer] nodded.

“Oh, undoubtedly. Yvlon is merely referring to Ceria’s perceived guilt. If she wishes to stay, well, I am sure we can find work here.”

“And after the trial?”

Pisces shrugged. He stared towards the walls of Liscor.

“I imagine we find work.”

“Just like that?”

“It is our function.”

Ksmvr put in unhelpfully. Pisces just shook his head.

“What would you have me say, Byres? Some grand proclamation about our future? We obtained…success in the dungeon. Ceria, perhaps, closure. But this siege, the Goblins…it has made one thing abundantly clear to me. And one thing alone.”

“Go on?”

“Stronger. We must be stronger, all of us.”

Pisces looked at Ksmvr and Yvlon. He touched at his robes, and remembered the army of the undead. The Goblins. The helplessness of the adventurers on the walls, save for a few. He shook his head.

“Stronger.”

Yvlon echoed the word. She felt at her reinforced arms and nodded.

“I can get behind that idea. We need to be Gold-rank. To improve. To become…”

She trailed off. Like Pisces, she stared towards the walls. Ksmvr looked as well. His voice was anxious.

“What will we become? Comrade Pisces? Yvlon?”

The two looked at each other. Yvlon smiled and Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“Why, whatever is worthy, Ksmvr. Something greater. Something new.”

“Together.”

Yvlon put her hand out. Pisces hesitated, then placed his hand delicately on hers. Ksmvr put two of his hands on the pile. The Horns of Hammerad at looked at each other.

“Together.”

 

—-

 

In Liscor’s prison, a Minotaur and half-Elf talked. In the dungeon, the monsters crawled. They bred and fought and slept. It was…emptier. There were still monsters aplenty, but some had left. Goblins, for one. The Shield Spiders had retreated, their mad rampage on the surface having reduced their numbers considerably.

None of that mattered to the dark figure that skulked through the darkness. Toren, the undead skeleton hummed to himself as he dragged another body into the dungeon. Or rather, imagined humming to himself. He was a skeleton after all, and he couldn’t talk.

What he could do was drag things. In this case, he was dragging a dead body. A Human [Pikewoman] who’d been slain in the field. And half of a horse. It was a heavy burden, but Toren didn’t get tired. He did hurry though; the smell of fresh meat would attract scavengers. He’d left a few bodies out to distract them, but if he tarried too long he’d have to abandon his prize.

It was a winding route Toren took, around traps, through secret passages. But at last he reached a spot that he knew very well. He had claimed it. A mockery of an inn had been set up. And beyond it, a door had been placed at the far end of the hall. The door was closed. Toren perked up as he dragged the dead body towards it.

He was in a good mood. The skeleton had been in high spirits for the last few weeks, actually. To him, all the events that had passed recently were nothing but good news. First the adventurers had come by and killed a lot of monsters. Then all the annoying Raskghar died. And now?

An army of the dead. Dead Goblins, all about. Some humans and animals too. And there was Toren. Toren, who was in need of the dead.

The adventurers and the people of Liscor had done a good job of cleaning up their dead, but all the rest were just lying there. Fresh for the taking. And since Toren knew that any body could become a zombie or Ghoul if you did things right, he’d collected the bodies nonstop.

The door at the end of the hallway was shut, so Toren let go of his burden to open the door. He dragged the dead woman’s body and the horse’s half into the door and found a place for them. The dead were piled up. Not exactly neatly, but Toren knew where each one was. He wiped his skeletal hands on the dead horse, and then couldn’t help it. He turned to count.

One, two, three, four…thousand…

The dead bodies filled the amphitheater Toren had found. An obscene mass-grave. Only to the living, though. To Toren, it was possibility. It was death, raw and untapped. And he had amassed the collection all by himself.

A skeleton could do a lot if it spent all day and night just carrying dead bodies around. Toren grinned. And then he checked something at his side. A mask. It hung loosely, ready to be put on. Toren hesitated.

The mask called to him. But no adventurers had come into the dungeon for a while. They would come in time. And when they did she would grow louder. But until then, he, Toren was in charge. And he intended to make full use of his time.

The dead bodies lay in piles. Some were already stirring. The dead were rising. Toren carefully shut the door. Soon, there would be more undead. And he knew that they would grow stronger in death, especially with so many dead bodies. He had wondered what would happen if he could harness that power. The dungeon was full of monsters. Full of enemies. Alone, Toren could only run. But with an army?

The skeleton didn’t cackle because again, that was a thing that required lungs. But he was good at grinning. And he did just that. He grinned and squatted by the door. Waiting. And the dead lay. And began to rise.

 

—-

 

Jelaqua noticed the first zombie get up as she prepared the pyre. She glanced at it.

“We should burn the rest of the bodies.”

Seborn and Moore glanced at her. The Selphid amended her statement.

“Not us. But the city should. Hells, isn’t there a suppression company for hire on Izril? They’d already be here if this were Baleros.”

Different continent, Jelaqua.

“I guess. But Liscor will be swimming in undead if they don’t do something soon.”

More work for adventurers.

“It’s just—”

Jelaqua sighed and shook her head. She stared down at the wood as Moore poured oil on the branches. Here was one less undead to worry about. The half-Giant paused as he splashed oil on the body in the center of the pyre.

“Are you sure, Jelaqua?”

He looked at her. The Selphid hesitated. She looked down at the body. Garen Redfang stared up at her. He had no right to look as happy as he did in death. Not with his chest filled with holes. He had taken two dozen stabs from Relc’s spear before he’d fallen. And before that—

Jelaqua traced the hole in his chest. Just above his heart. It was a clean strike. She wouldn’t have imagined anyone could hit him like that. Even a Goblin Lord.

“You know, guys, Selphids love dead bodies like this.”

The Selphid spoke quietly. Moore and Seborn looked up at her. They knew most of what Jelaqua meant, but they let her say it anyways. The Selphid, wearing the Raskghar’s body, spoke quietly.

“Among my people, the bodies of warriors over Level 30 are worth their weight in gold. More, really. Something happens to people as they level. They change. Even in death, bodies like that are as strong as steel. They don’t break. I’ve seen it happen. People moving long after their hearts have stopped. After they’ve taken wounds that would kill them.”

Seborn grunted. He stared down at Garen and shook his head.

Treasure to the Selphids. He was a traitor, regardless of how he died.

“But he came back.”

Moore hunched over his staff. He didn’t weep. None of the Halfseekers did. But neither did he look away from Garen. Seborn looked away. Jelaqua nodded.

“He did. But he was a traitor, Moore. By all rights I should claim his body. Or leave it to rot. That’s what Selphids do.”

“To your enemies?”

“No. And not to our friends, either. To the useless. That’s the biggest sign of contempt.”

The other two Halfseekers looked at her.

Well?

Jelaqua bent over Garen. She stared down at him. At the slight smile on his face. And she thought of all he was. All he had been. Traitor. Murderer. Friend. Companion.

“Good night, Garen.”

The Selphid stepped back. She lit a torch and tossed it on the pyre. The soaked wood went up in seconds. The Halfseekers watched as the wood blazed. Smoke began rising. The body burned and the three watched until it was nothing but ash.

No one said a word. Not until the pyre was smoldering embers. Then Jelaqua turned.

“He’s gone.”

That was all she said. Moore cleared his throat.

“Do you think the key…?”

He glanced at the pyre. Jelaqua shook her head.

“I checked. He didn’t have it on him. Or in him. He must have given it to someone. Or it was lost in the fighting.”

“Do you think it was true, what he said? About the Goblin King’s treasure?”

Moore stared at the ash. Jelaqua shook her head.

“If it was true, if there is a treasure up there…”

She looked up. The High Passes stretched up overhead. The Halfseekers looked up and took in the enormity of the mountains. So high. None of them spoke. Then Seborn sighed.

It doesn’t matter. The key’s gone. If we found it—

Then what? They didn’t have answers for that either. The three stood around, not sure of what to say or do. They were…uncertain. Until someone broke the silence.

It was Moore. The half-Giant stood in front of the pyre and looked down. His hands reached out and lightly grasped the shoulders of his two remaining comrades. The other Halfseekers looked up at him. The half-Giant’s voice was quiet as he spoke.

“Time. Time stopped. For us and for him, I think. Ever since that day we were shattered. And so was he. We searched and lived, but we couldn’t really rebuild. We couldn’t move on. Now we can. Garen is dead. We have fulfilled our oaths.”

“We did, didn’t we?”

Jelaqua tried to smile. Moore did not.

“We can move on. We can dream of the future again, Jelaqua.”

Some of us have obligations. Debts.

Seborn spoke quietly. Jelaqua nodded.

“Thinking of quitting, Seborn?”

I don’t know.

The Drowned Man folded his arms. Jelaqua nodded. She stared into the ashes.

“I’m tired. But I can’t just turn my back now, can I? I think…one more adventure? One more try?”

She looked up. Seborn hesitated. Moore nodded.

“One more time.”

There’s only three of us.

“For now.”

Jelaqua smiled tiredly.

“Maybe we’ll meet someone on the road. Maybe they’ll come to us. Or we to them. It’ll happen. The only question is what we should do until then.”

Seek fame? Settle grudges? Earn money?

“Maybe. Do you remember our old motto, Jelaqua? Perhaps that should be our goal.”

Moore rumbled. Jelaqua blinked up at him. And then she guffawed.

“Oh, come on, Moore. That?

She punched the half-Giant in the side. Moore sighed. Jelaqua turned. She cast the pyre one last look. Seborn walked with her.

Let’s go.

The three began walking away. The last of the embers began to die out. They had no words for Garen. He had betrayed them. But still, he had been a Halfseeker. And the Halfseekers had…a motto of sorts. A saying. A goal.

The Halfseekers. The Half Freaks. Those who belong nowhere but here. Adventurers for hire. People, really.

Searching for a home.

 

—-

 

“So, was it worth it?”

Magnolia Reinhart looked up from her cup of tea. Lady Bethal, Lady Wuvren, Lady Zanthia, and the women whom Magnolia Reinhart trusted most implicitly sat around her. They were in Magnolia’s mansion. They had left, and they had come back. And the world was changed now.

“I can’t say, Bethal. Not yet. But I believe it was worth the attempt.”

The woman calmly stirred a few more sugar cubes into her tea. The aged Lady Zanthia grimaced and pointedly sipped her dark tea that had no sugar at all in it. Bethal didn’t give up, however. The [Lady] eyed Magnolia.

“You threatened Tyrion to his face. With the only thing that would make him back down. Would you have done it, if he attacked Liscor? Killed the boys?”

The other [Ladies] glanced up at Magnolia. The Lady Reinhart pursed her lips. Only Bethal could be that indelicate in company. Well, Bethal, and Zanthia.

“It was a threat.”

“And?”

The other [Lady] met Magnolia’s eyes. The woman in the pink dress paused. Her eyes flickered, and then met Bethal’s gaze impassively.

“I’m known for keeping my promises, Bethal.”

The [Ladies] waited for more, but that was it. Magnolia sipped her tea. At last Lady Wuvren sighed delicately.

“So you are. I however wonder if it was wise to repeat the threat to the other nobility. That will have even greater consequences.”

“It was necessary to force Tyrion to back up. That young man never backs up if he thinks he has a chance of victory. You have to slap him with the truth before he’ll see it.”

Lady Zanthia growled around her tea. Magnolia nodded.

“It was inevitable.”

“And necessary?”

Bethal caught the sugar cube Magnolia tossed at her. She added it to her tea cup.

“I know it was to prevent the conflict with the Drakes from starting, but was that preferable to this? It seems like we’ve only created a larger mess from all this business with the Goblin Lord, don’t you agree?”

The [Ladies] exchanged glances. Zanthia muttered something about the follies of youth, loud enough to be heard by all.

“No one wins a war, Bethal. And this was a war, make no mistake. We only stopped it from being a larger one. But no one wins in a situation like this.”

Magnolia sighed.

“On the contrary. It’s quite possible to win. It just so happens that we lost this one.”

“So the Drakes won? I hardly imagine they’d agree with that.”

One of the other [Ladies] raised her eyebrows. Magnolia shook her head.

“That wasn’t what I was referring to, Lady Asca. Humans? Drakes? No. I rather imagine Izril lost as a whole.”

The women looked to her. Magnolia sipped from her teacup, her face grave.

“The most famous Drake [General], Zel Shivertail, is dead. The world is poorer for his absence, not least because he was a better man than most men I have met. The Drakes have lost him, many of their soldiers battling the Goblin Lord, and are now wary of Human aggression once more. As for the north—we spent time and effort fielding an army that did very little. The Goblin Lord razed a number of settlements. And now we are at peace.”

“And in this peace you’ve won, we’ll spill as much blood in a civil war between the nobility. Was this really worth the cost, Magnolia?”

Zanthia glanced up. Magnolia Reinhart drummed her fingers on her arm rest.

“I will acknowledge the cost. However…I cannot but believe the decision was correct. Moreover, it has resulted in some unusual gains. Ressa? Please show Lady Zanthia the correspondence we just received.”

A [Maid] moved in the background of the conversation. Lady Zanthia found a letter being offered to her. She frowned, fished out a monocle, and read the letter. She grunted loudly.

“I see.”

“What is it?”

Lady Wuvren leaned over to see. Zanthia shoved the letter in her face. Magnolia explained to the other listeners.

“The letter comes from one of the Walled Cities. And a certain member of the nobility. It would be unwise to name names. And in truth, the letter says very little of consequence. There are more perhapses and maybes than I could count, nothing of substance. But it leaves the door open for an invitation in the future.”

“An invitation?”

“To the Walled Cities. Perhaps to a soirée or gathering.”

“No Human noble has been invited to a Walled City in—”

Bethal broke off. Magnolia nodded.

“Exactly.”

“And all this came from opposing Tyrion’s plans? But the Drakes have to have known your stance, Magnolia. Why all of this now?”

One of the younger ladies looked confused. Magnolia sighed slightly.

“There’s a limit to what one can prove with words. But with this? I have rather indelicately put my finger down on the side of peace between Drakes and Humans, and like-minded individuals have taken note.”

“So. You make gains. But remember the cost.”

Zanthia kept her gaze on Magnolia’s face. The Lady Reinhart nodded.

“I am well aware of the cost. After all, we are the nobility of Izril. And we do not forgive.”

“Or forget. Any of us.”

 

—-

 

It was just politics. Lord Erill knew that. Which was why what he had chosen to do was a reply in kind. Less than a day had passed since Magnolia Reinhart had forced Tyrion Veltras to back down. What most people didn’t mention was how she’d done it.

With threats. With an open invitation to violence. Lord Erill was a [Merchant] before he was a [Lord]. He was used to underhanded business, even shady deals and other…unpleasantness. But even he had been shocked by the open threat he’d received.

Accede or die. That was Magnolia Reinhart. And the threat hadn’t just come to him, but the other nobility. But the image he had received had been meant for his eyes alone. His mother. Lord Erill’s blood burned at the thought. He was no warrior. He had come at Tyrion Veltras’ request and lent coin and his warriors to the cause, but he didn’t take to the battlefield. In the same way, he would never reply to Magnolia with steel. Or even an open threat. She was too powerful for that.

But there were ways and ways. Lord Erill knocked on the tent flap. He waited for the response and pushed his way in.

“I have something for you. And your friends.”

The [Lord] didn’t beat about the bush. He cut to the chase. He placed a bag of holding on the table as the occupant of the tent looked up. Erill spoke quickly, trying to conceal the nervousness in his chest. Magnolia was one thing. But this group was another. But Magnolia had made her choice. And so had he.

“I want no part of your…organization. And as far as you and I are concerned, I was never here. This is a one-time offer.”

“Which is?”

“Gold. Gems. Other goods that can be exchanged. Two hundred thousand gold pieces’ worth in total. Consider it my repayment to Magnolia Reinhart. I want her to know nothing of this. And I owe you and the Circle nothing. This is a donation. Are we clear on that?”

“Perfectly.”

Lady Ieka reclined in her chair. Lord Erill nodded to her.

“Then I bid you good day. I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”

He turned and walked out of the tent. Lady Ieka eyed the bag of holding. She stared at Lord Erill’s back and smiled. The [Merchant Lord] hurried away, his task done. He wanted nothing to do with the Circle of Thorns, and the less he knew of them, the better. But he had not been the only visitor to Lady Ieka’s tent. And some had stayed longer.

“Dear me, Magnolia. You do have a talent for making enemies.”

Lady Ieka reached into the bag of holding and drew out a pair of coins. She flicked them up and the gold flew into the air. Lady Ieka waved the smoking pipe she held and the coins turned into butterflies. They landed, fluttering their wings of gold. Ieka smiled.

“The Circle of Thorns will remember this.”

 

—-

 

“You know they’ll all be coming for you. You’ve made more enemies and some of the third parties will take their side.”

Ressa stood with Magnolia after the tea conference had finished. Magnolia was watching Reynold ferry her trusted inner circle back to their estates. They’d all be under guard after this. And she had no doubt reprisals were coming.

“I know, Ressa.”

The [Maid]’s look made it clear how doubtful Magnolia’s knowledge really was.

“This was really better than a war?”

Magnolia sighed. She turned from the window and looked at her oldest friend.

“I talked it over with the old man, Ressa. On one of his talkative days. And a number of [Strategists]. They had Tyrion moving south and establishing a defensive line. He would get far enough for sizeable gains, but this would be the prelude to a long, long war. It would merely place the north at an advantage. And in the meantime—he wouldn’t even get to Pallass before the Antinium did something. Or our pale friend.”

“Something has to be done about him sooner or later. Why not force his hand?”

Ressa pointed out that fact. Magnolia shook her head.

“Not yet, Ressa. Not yet. Before we can take either the Necromancer or the Antinium off the board, I need to be sure we’d win. And I’m not. I want to take care of him without forcing a war. Because he’ll just run if he’s unprepared. He needs to die.”

“The bounty you placed isn’t drawing the people you wanted.”

“Give it time. News spreads slowly in some circles. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll try something else. But I think this was for the best. The Drakes can’t afford a war and neither can we.”

“So it’s just backstabbing and poison. Kidnapping, ransoms, plotting…dark shadows lurking in doorways…”

Magnolia forced a smile onto her face.

“That’s why I keep you around, after all. Besides, it’s good to lure our enemies out into the open, isn’t it?”

“By striking the beehive?”

“Hush. What choice did I have?”

Ressa was pointedly silent. Magnolia turned. She walked towards her pink couch and ran her hand along the embroidered fabric.

“It couldn’t be allowed, Ressa. That was all there was to it.”

“If you can live with the consequences…”

“I can.”

“Then there’s nothing more to say. I’ll prepare the staff for war.”

Ressa vanished. Magnolia sighed. She whispered after Ressa’s back.

“Oh, don’t do that. Far better to prepare them for peace. After all, war is a constant. But in peace…things change.

She looked back out the window. And she felt the world turning again. Shifting. Again and again, on the smallest of things.

 

—-

 

He stood on his desk, checking his notes, writing orders, calculating. A thousand things were on his mind, each more pressing than the last.

Painted Antinium. The ramifications of Magnolia Reinhart’s actions. Even the reemergence of the famed ‘Gecko of Liscor’. All these variables were in play. And that was only the Izrilian angle. There were matters in Baleros to attend to. Niers Astoragon scribbled notes as he checked the tally of the Forgotten Wing’s forces across Baleros. He was adding up numbers, checking their monetary reserves. And doing figures all the while.

If you had a head for such things, or experience, you could see that Niers was planning on a lot of investments. Spending capital. And you only did that for a few reasons.

“Going somewhere?”

Niers jumped. He stared back up at Foliana. The [Rogue] had appeared behind him as she liked to do. The tiny [Strategist] glared.

“Not yet.”

“But soon. You asked Peclir Im about travelling. What’s all this for?”

The Titan hunched his shoulders.

“It’s just a short trip. And if I can ensure that our company is prepared in the meanwhile—I can accelerate the training of a few of my students, reach out to some of our old graduates and other companies.”

“Make the company stronger so you can leave it? Hmm.”

“Just for a little trip. But you know it’s best to be prepared…”

Niers trailed off. Foliana eyed him.

“Mm. Where will you go?”

“That’s—”

“Bet it’s Izril. Bet it’s Liscor.”

“Shut up. And keep that to yourself.”

“You really want to visit, don’t you?”

Niers ignored her. He stared at the list of figures, speaking to himself.

“Just a little bit. And then I’ll be ready.”

Foliana watched him work. She vanished after a while. Niers didn’t know if she’d left or was just hiding. He stared at the numbers, and then glanced at something to his right.

It had been hard to get the [Diviner] to capture a single image from the scrying orb, even with these ‘movies’ that Wistram was selling. But it had been done. And now Niers had an image on his desk. It was somewhat blurred by distance. And you couldn’t make out features. But it was nevertheless an image of her. Niers stared at the young woman waving the flag. He stopped work and stared at it.

“Was that you?”

The figure didn’t answer. But Niers didn’t care. He wanted to know. And soon—soonish—he might find out. He just had to work in the meanwhile. Soon, some day—

 

—-

 

“It was her.”

In another part of the world, a pair of crowned heads conferred. A loyal servant of the throne waited. The voices were regal, by virtue of station if nothing else. They argued.

She was of the opinion that it could be a mistake, or worse, a trap. He was of a different mind.

“It was her. You saw it.”

“I did.”

Both stared at the pool in front of them. Unlike a scrying mirror, the pool was enchanted water. It had reflected the battle at Liscor for its interested audience up till now. It was really more of entertainment than anything else. They had no stakes in the fate of Izril, directly or otherwise. This had been a pleasant diversion. Or it had been right up until they’d seen her.

Possibly no one else had noticed. After all, she hadn’t been on screen long. And she was certainly not part of the larger narrative. But to them, she had stood out. As the half-Elf casting the scrying spell had been watching, before the battle had started, they had seen her.

For a second the young woman had been in sight. Climbing up the walls, carrying a little white Gnoll. It was uncharacteristic of her, as was her humble attire. But her face, her voice—that was unmistakable.

“Make sure it’s her first.”

The man with the crown spoke sharply to the waiting servant of the throne. The man bowed, crisply.

“I will make the arrangements, your Majesty.”

“Good. Bring her back. Her kingdom has need of her.”

The man stared into the enchanted pool. Her image was gone. But Lyonette du Marquin still stared back up at her father. He sat back on his throne. Wondering where she had been.

 

—-

 

A different [King] sat on a different throne. His was far grander. And his name was far more important. As monarchs went, he was known throughout the world. Derided perhaps, but known.

The Blighted King sat, listening to his steward, advisor, and personal mage, Nereshal, speaking. The [Chronomancer]’s words were crisp, and he did not waste time. Nevertheless, Nereshal could not hide his unease.

“Several of the [Mages] are protesting the—the scope of the second ritual, Your Majesty.”

“Do they? Why?”

The Blighted King looked up. Nereshal licked his lips.

“They speak of cost for little gain. Such a ritual might cripple the next generation of the kingdom. And yet—”

“Rhir’s population can sustain ten times the cost if needed.”

The cold voice made Nereshal sweat.

“Yes, sire. But some—”

“They are uncomfortable. It is not a question of cost.”

The Blighted King looked at his advisor. Nereshal nodded silently. The man on the throne turned his head and shook it slightly.

“You saw the recording as we did, Nereshal. The Antinium. Our old enemies gain in strength. They evolve. Meanwhile, the Demons have planted spies in my kingdom. Spies and traitors. What use is a sword if it is not wielded, Nereshal?”

“None.”

“Well then. It must be done.”

“But if those summoned are weak—”

A hand halted the protest. The Blighted King stared ahead. He spoke slowly, reluctantly.

“We erred. The chosen ones are weak. Timid. Children instead of warriors, heroes of prophecy. But they grow with guidance. Too much protection, but it is necessary. We will treat them as the smallest of flower buds, to be raised with care this time. And their comrades will aid in that process. It will be the salvation Rhir seeks. So we have spoken.”

“It will be done. And those who are protesting…?”

“They will obey or be dealt with. Inform them of our will, Nereshal.”

“By your leave.”

The man retreated. The Blighted King sat alone on his throne. As he did, he spared a thought for the cost. But what cost could be greater than the one the Demons exacted on Rhir year by year? And what was promised was worth more than…anything. He had spoken to the children from another world. And they had given him such dreams that even his nightmares were soothed.

Weapons that rained death from the sky. Steel and fire. He dreamed of it. Weapons to end this war with the Demons once and for all. Weapons to purify Rhir.

Someone had left a window open in the throne room. A gust blew inwards and the man on the throne caught a whiff of it. The air smelled of rot and death. The smell of home. The Blighted King sighed and dreamed of the day when there would be only spring.

 

—-

 

It was a spring day when the [City Crier] shouted the news to a crowd gathered in one of the northern cities of Izril. Humans and a few non-Humans gathered to hear what had happened in the south. They had no scrying orbs, and didn’t pay for the latest news by [Message] spell. So they listened. The man who stood on the lip of the fountain shouted the news clearly for all to hear. After all, he earned his coin from delivering the news. A little hat sat at his feet. Mostly copper coins sat in it.

“News from Liscor! The Goblin Lord’s army has been defeated! Lord Tyrion Veltras has struck a great victory and now heads south to the Blood Fields to challenge the Drakes! The battle went thusly: first, Lord Veltras besieged the Goblins with weapons from afar! He hurled gigantic stones by means of a great and powerful new weapon—trebuchets! With their aid, the Goblins were broken. Then, as they fell to infighting, Lord Veltras himself led a charge…”

The gathered crowd listened as the [Crier] elaborated on the heroic battle, embellishing a few details, making up the rest. After all, his class demanded he tell the news, but it didn’t demand accuracy or even truth. And it was in his best interests to make Tyrion Veltras stand out in a good light as possible. He was paid for that as well.

The splendid rendition of Liscor’s battle as it happened, with cowardly Goblins and noble Humans riding to the aid of the ungrateful Drakes went on for some while. Most of the people in the square had work to do and drifted in and out. That suited the [Crier] because he could repeat the tale multiple times, changing it slightly each time for the benefit of his audience.

On one of his retellings he got a welcome surprise. Someone tossed a silver coin into his hat. He looked up and shouted his thanks. He got no reply. A City Runner jogged past him. She’d only stopped to listen for a few minutes.

“Letter delivery? Put it over there.”

The [Receptionist] at the local Runner’s Guild looked up and spotted the bag of letters the Runner was holding. She didn’t bother asking about the run or the contents—this was one of the bulk letter deliveries the guild received once or more times per day. It was a direct route and sometimes contained mail from cities hundreds of miles away. Letters travelled down the main road and stopped at city to city, making the round from City Runner to City Runner.

The [Receptionist] didn’t worry that the young woman with the bag was new. You didn’t trust something like this to a green Runner. She accepted the letters, counting them quickly, and then tallied them up, gave the Runner a seal, and pointed her towards the board.

“Are you heading back to Reizmelt? We’ve got two deliveries that could go right now. Or, if you could do a rush delivery, we’ve a contract that needs to get to Malmerra by dawn tomorrow…”

The City Runner paused by the board. She took one of the contracts to Reizmelt and the [Receptionist] had the package by the time she returned. She handed it to the Runner with the instructions.

“Be careful. It’s fragile.”

The warning was heeded as the package was carefully stowed in a bag of holding. The [Receptionist] eyed the bag appreciatively. That was good stuff for a City Runner. She frowned. Something about this young woman seemed familiar, and it wasn’t just her rather unique appearance.

“Hold on. I know you, don’t I? You’re her! The girl who made a name for herself doing that spice delivery two weeks back? Don’t they call you…?”

She tried to strike up a conversation, but the City Runner couldn’t stay to chat. She was already moving. The [Receptionist] sighed. But she knew she’d see that particular Runner again. Everyone went everywhere in this business, after all.

Back out of the city the young woman ran. She ran unconsciously, her stride long, passing by wagons, riders, and foot traffic. Some cursed her, others laughed as they pointed at her feet. Some knew her and shouted at her. She waved but didn’t stop.

And then she was out of the city. There the road opened up. The spring air blew, and the cool wind was at the Runner’s back. She ran across the grassy landscape, along the dirt road.

A City Runner. She was quick. But still, [Riders] passed her on the road. Carriages sped by. She was no Courier. She had seen them running. Some, the fastest, were just blurs or afterimages. Others were slower, but they were so well-defended that trying to take their deliveries from them would be suicide.

She was neither that quick nor that famous. But the road she took was well-travelled, and so there was no danger—unless you counted stepping in horse crap. It meant she wouldn’t be paid as much, as her delivery wasn’t that difficult or time-constrained, but it suited her just fine.

And the wind blew at her back. The [Wagon Drivers] and [Guards] walking with their caravans grumbled as the spring wind blew into their faces. The City Runner ran past them, and they pointed her out. The wind changed back as she passed.

Reizmelt was a small city, but a good one for a Runner. It lay between a lot of cities, so the odds were you’d pass by here for a delivery. It wasn’t where you went for the best deliveries, but as a place to rest it worked. The Runner slowed as she approached the gates. She jogged into the city and checked her destination. She headed to a residential district and several minutes later she was done. A Runner’s Seal lay in her pouch, ready to be exchanged for a few coins.

But not today. The evening sky was drawing in, and the City Runner was tired. So she jogged further into the city. She passed out of the permanent homes and into a place where the transitory went. Inns, brothels, taverns, all littered the streets. The Runner slowed further as she passed by an opening in the city, a square of space for vendors and people to mingle.

In a plaza, a [Fist Fighter] plied his trade. The young woman stopped to watch as he stood in a small ring, lined by nothing but twine. He was bare-chested despite the cool air and his hands were wrapped with leather, making them thicker, rounder. He rang a little bell and called out, attracting attention.

A crowd gathered around him. The young man shouted a time-worn slogan.

“Challenge me! A gold coin to the one who can knock me down and keep me down! Five silver to fight! If you’re standing in five minutes, the gold coin is yours!”

The word ‘gold’ attracted more than a few people over. One of the men, a passing [Farmer], inquired about the prize. The [Fist Fighter], a young man with a twice-broken nose and a boxer’s ears, replied.

“Five silver coins if you’ve a [Warrior] class of any kind. A gold coin if you win. Two silver if you’ve no classes in combat.”

The [Farmer]’s eyes lit up. He handed the young man a pair of silver coins and entered the ring to the shouts and cheers of his fellows. The City Runner watched and saw the [Farmer] had more than his fair share of muscles. And the young man was smaller than he was by a good deal. Still, the boxer waited, undaunted.

The [Farmer] took a few practice swings as the [Fist Fighter] waited. Then he nodded and someone rang the bell. The fight began as the young man tipped over a wooden hourglass.

On the [Farmer] came and his swings were fast and wild. The [Fist Fighter] danced in the area, dodging and weaving, blocking what could be blocked. And when the swings missed he lashed out. His leather-covered fists sent the [Farmer] reeling back. One and two and again. The young man took no hits and the [Farmer] fell down after a minute.

The audience groaned and cheered. Another man scrambled up. He was a tough, a bouncer. He offered five silver to the cheers and entered the ring. The [Fist Fighter] had no time to rest. Nor did he need it. Two minutes later, the bouncer stumbled out of the ring. His companions mocked him, but none of them dared to enter. But they weren’t the only takers by far.

So the boxer beckoned and they came. Mostly men, but a female challenger sometimes came by on the rare day. First the brave or foolish stepped up and were carried out. But then the serious fighters came by. Those who waited for the [Fist Fighter] to tire or thought they knew his game.

And he beat them all. Soon, the little cup by the ring had silver coins aplenty. And the young man was covered in sweat. He was about to scoop up his cup when a new challenger stepped into the ring.

“Boy. I’m an adventurer in a Gold-rank team. What will I have to wager for a gold coin?”

A man with steel armor and an enchanted shield and a steel mace strutted forwards. His team stood behind him. They laughed as the [Fist Fighter] sized up his opponent. The crowd jeered and dared the young man to take the fight. The City Runner watched.

And the boxer looked up and calmly replied as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“Five silver, sir.”

The adventurer went red. His team laughed, and the man took his armor off. He was scarred and his muscles bulged. The crowd oohed and went silent. The [Fist Fighter] raised his gloves and went still.

They started with the bell. The [Fist Fighter] wasted no time. He charged and his fists flashed.

First once. Then twice, he struck the adventurer with blows that made the audience wince. The big man stumbled and cursed. He swung, but the young man danced around him. Punching, jabbing. He struck again. But the adventurer, who was part of a Gold-ranked team, was ready.

[Flurry of Blows]!

And his punches were quick. The [Fist Fighter] stumbled as the first punch lifted him off his feet. How many pounds lay between the two? The City Runner counted, and saw the next blow take the boxer in the stomach. The young man stumbled and received a punch to the back of the head.

Down he went. The adventurer nearly kicked at him until he was reminded that was against the rules. He waited as the boxer rose. When he raised his hands, the adventurer rushed forwards with a yell.

The crowd shouted and moaned as the [Fist Fighter] tried to weave and block. But this time he was outmatched. Twice he went down and twice he rose. The big adventurer knocked him down a third time and there the boxer stayed. Not because of a count. If he’d had the strength he would have risen a dozen more times. The Runner had seen it done.

The adventurer who had boasted walked out of the ring, nose bloody, bruised, but gloating. He stopped and took his prize: a gold coin, or in this case, twenty silver coins from the cup. He walked away, laughing with his team goading him for taking the hits in the first place. The boxer lay on his back, staring up at the sky as the crowd departed.

The young woman approached then. She saw the [Fist Fighter] trying to open a small bottle filled with a weak healing potion. But his hands were clumsy with the gloves. So she took it for him and offered him the bottle.

Silently, the [Fist Fighter] drank. He looked at the Runner and nodded to her. She nodded back. After a while he was able to move again.

Coin gone, bloodied, he sat up. The Runner waited, but the boxer was done for the day. He shook his head. She left him there to clean up and collect what remained of his day’s earnings. And she went to the inn both were residents of.

The Huntress’ Haven was ill-named. Not because it wasn’t a haven for anyone who liked hunting; the place was a haven for adventurers and their ilk. But only because the [Innkeeper] was a man, more like a bear himself. He waited the tables himself and turned as the City Runner pushed into the building. He roared at her.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Wind Runner, back from another delivery! You want food? I’ve got a meat stew boiling.”

The young woman nodded. She waited for him to get a bowl and eyed the simmering cauldron over the fire. The [Innkeeper] ladled some of his soup into the generous bowl. It was thick, with heavy chunks of meat.

There were a few unspoken rules for eating in this inn. Mostly it had to do with the stew, which was pretty much a standard for dinner.

You didn’t ask which kind of meat was in the stew. The [Innkeeper] was a former adventurer and he hunted down most of what went into his kitchen. It was always edible, fresh, and non-poisonous. Cheap, too. Taste was not a guarantee.

The City Runner took the bowl with thanks and walked across the room. The inn wasn’t too occupied despite the dinner hour, which the [Innkeeper] noticed with a scowl. Nevertheless, his regulars ate at their tables.

One of them was a girl who sat at the back. A teen, really. Younger than the boxer, who came in, bruised and bloody to mockery from the [Innkeeper], who had told him again and again not to fight adventurers. The City Runner paid no attention and glanced at the girl.

She was shivering. And hunched over her hot food. The young woman was wrapped in thick layers of clothing despite it being spring and her hair was jet black.

She ate furtively, close to the bowl, in small bites. If you looked closely, and she was unguarded, you’d see she had pronounced canines. Not that she ever smiled or showed you her teeth if she could help it.

The Runner didn’t look. She took the hot bowl and went up the stairs to her room. The inn was old and the floorboards creaked. She found her room, second to the last, and went in. She placed the bowl on the side table next to her bed and looked around.

The wind blew. A small breeze, filled with the scents of the mystery stew, dust, and the smell of the inn. In her small room, Ryoka Griffin let the gust blow the hair around her face. Then she opened the window.

The wind flew from her inn and into the night sky. Ryoka sat in the open window, and lifted the bowl of soup up. She dipped a spoon and tasted. The wind blew in a small tornado, swirling her soup. The young woman smiled and the wind lifted her hair.

“So the Goblin Lord’s gone.”

She looked out across the city. Night was falling. Ryoka ate slowly, savoring the hot meal. The wind didn’t bother her. It was comforting. She closed her eyes, picking apart the story she’d heard from half a dozen [Criers]. Battle. A rout. Tyrion Veltras challenging the Drakes. Goblins fighting Goblins? But Liscor still stood.

“Good thing I wasn’t there to make it worse.”

That was all Ryoka said. She put the empty bowl to one side and perched on the inn.

“Trebuchets.”

A howl filled the air as a sudden gale rattled the tiles on the inn’s roof. Below, the [Innkeeper] struck the floorboards and shouted for Ryoka to keep it down. The wind subsided to a breeze.

“Sorry.”

Ryoka stared across the dark landscape. The air was cool. The wind swirled around her, soothing. The young woman closed her eyes and thought of her friends. Then she opened her eyes. Her past lay behind her. A white Gnoll. A smiling young [Innkeeper]. Shattered ice.

The dark night air was still. But still the wind blew around Ryoka Griffin. She stared up and smelled the earth. The flowering world. And she sighed. Ryoka stared into the night and whispered.

“It’s going to be a beautiful spring.”

 

End of Volume 5.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Another volume ends. This one was the longest. The longest and, perhaps, the hardest. Certainly the longest.

I have mixed feeling about how it ended. As I wrote many times, I wanted to end the Goblin war arc in this volume. Honestly, I thought we’d be done at the end of Volume 4. So much for predictions.

But really, I do have regrets. Some of them are just in how I wrote some chapters, or how I built up plotlines. I made some places too long, didn’t focus on other details. I think…this is the first major war I’ve ever written. It will not be the last.

It’s funny. Each author has their own way of telling stories. Of talking about battle and conflict and loss. I have my own style. I read all the comments talking about how the characters, Goblins especially, seemed to slip out of trouble at the last moment. And honestly? The final battle had always been planned like that.

It’s about expectation. This is a story about fantasy. Magic. Another world. People don’t die as senselessly as they do in our life. Sometimes they do. Other times they lived charmed lives. But war brings death. And characters die.

This chapter ended with despair, with sadness. And it was meant to. I believe a good story has happy moments. Wonderfully inspiring moments. But also sadness. Otherwise how would it reflect life? To me, a great story inspires emotion. Happiness, anger, grief, annoyance…the only failing comes from a scene that doesn’t convey those feelings as strongly as it should.

Did I do a good job? I hope so. And I’ll keep doing my best. And, for anyone worried, after this volume won’t be another war. We will have peace, and all that entails. At last, the Goblin Lord’s arc is done. I can focus on all the stories I’ve neglected. And yes, Ryoka Griffin. Not wholly on one place or another. But I can branch out. The writing doesn’t need to be as constrained. More calm, magical moments waited I’m excited about the future.

But I will take a break. I always take a break at the end of each volume. This time I’m taking 2 weeks off. I feel a bit guilty about that, but only a bit.

I pushed very hard in Volume 5. I wrote chapters that were upwards of 20,000 words in one sitting. My hands and, I think, my mind, are very tired. So tired I can’t really feel it. So I need two weeks. In truth I’ll just have one week off; I have a project I need to finish that will take a week to complete. So, two weeks. On Monday, the 18th, I’ll be back with the first chapter of Volume 6. I’m sorry about the delay, but I think I’ll be ready to write my best then.

Thanks so much for reading Volume 5. I hope you enjoyed it, ups and downs, good parts and bad. I’ll see you soon. After a bit of a rest. I think we could all use one. Waiting for spring,

 

–pirateaba

 


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